Peter Clement - The Inquisitor

She kept blowing, watching the numbers bounce up and down with each breath, until she felt light-headed again, this time from hyperventilating. As for being out of her mask, she doubted anyone in here would sneeze or cough on her anytime soon.

She frantically continued to exhale, determined to succeed, driven more to save her unborn son than herself.

Her pale swollen abdomen, in which he lay, glistened with moisture in the cold.

And her fury built at the idiot who did this to her… to him.

"That asshole knew," she kept saying, muttering aloud to keep her teeth from chattering. "Heard me yell, yet just ran off. If I get out of here, so help me, whoever it is will pay."

7:45 p.m.

Susanne Roberts met Earl at the ambulance entrance to ER, handing him a full set of protective clothing. "Mrs. Quint and I s me I led the fumes as we were coming down the elevator from a nursing department meeting. She said it reminded her of ether, from the old days, when she'd worked summers in her hometown hospital as a candy striper."

"And you're sure Janet's okay?" he asked, hurriedly pulling on the surgical wear.

"Apart from being as furious as I've ever seen her. She insists whoever dropped the jar deliberately left her down there."

His innards, already knotted, yanked themselves tighter.

"She did sustain some superficial cuts on her palms, though the trail of blood she left and the handprint on the morgue door probably saved her life…"

He pulled on gloves and rushed through the triage area, tying his mask as Susanne continued to explain. He'd gotten her phone call about ten minutes after arriving home. The return trip had taken seven, plus a ten-second tirade at the cop who'd pulled him over, then provided an escort the rest of the way, siren blazing.

He heard Janet the second they entered the inner doors.

"I'm fine, damn it!"

He arrived in a resuscitation room full of people, at the center of which his wife sat on a stretcher, arms defiantly crossed, eyes flashing over the top of her mask, and raising holy hell when anyone tried to touch her.

He relaxed a notch and took in the rest of the scene.

Susanne must have paged everyone she could think of. The inner circle clustered around Janet included an anesthetist and three staff obstetricians, one of them packing up a portable Doppler machine. Outside this group stood Stewart Deloram and Michael. Next was a ring of residents, all offering to draw blood or run batteries of tests, their usual response when they hadn't a clue what to do. To his credit, Thomas stood quietly behind this bunch and attempted to rein in their well-meant enthusiasm. Even Paul Hurst had showed up. He hovered nearby, his gloved fingers held in a pyramid tapping nervously against his mask. Probably afraid of bad publicity, Earl thought, pushing through the crowd.

She saw him. "Earl! Thank God. Now tell these people to let me out of here."

"Of course," he said, grabbing her outstretched hand. "As soon as the doctors looking after you say it's okay."

Immediately the residents fell silent, his authority over them well established. Looks of relief swept through the eyes of her colleagues. Michael gave him a wink, and the anesthetist's shoulders relaxed. At last, they all seemed to say, an adult to take charge. Even Stewart approved, giving a covert thumbs-up signal.

But not Janet. "What are you talking about, Earl Garnet? The Doppler's fine, and I am not staying in this place another second. Now you just tell everyone that we're going home."

"Michael's the doctor in charge, love." He spoke as firmly as he dared, knowing the real reason she sounded so unreasonable. He could always tell when something really scared her, because she started issuing instructions, as if through them she could regain control of a world that frightened her. Threaten her child, and she'd damn well order a whole hospital of doctors to obey her bidding. "Then we'll go, I promise," he added. To further reassure her, he interlaced his latex-covered fingers in hers and squeezed gently, mindful of her cuts.

She glared at him defiantly.

He smiled, knowing she couldn't see it, but hoping his eyes would transmit the message. "Hey, I'm not leaving here without you, trust me," he whispered, leaning closer and touching his forehead to hers.

The darkness in Janet's eyes softened. "All right, I'll be good," she said, her voice a notch lower, but still at a strained pitch.

"Attagirl, Janet," he heard Michael say, and his portly friend stepped up beside her, eyes clearly indicative of a smile. "I'd say you're probably right that there's nothing wrong," he continued, not making the mistake of talking to Earl as if she weren't in the room. His voice resonated with the warmth and encouragement he usually gave to people under his care. Nor was there so much as a trace of the forlornness in his eyes that Earl had seen earlier. "You would have been unconscious a lot longer if your passing out had been the result of chloroform. So I think we can safely conclude you fainted, the consequence of a vasovagal response due to holding your breath."

He referred to how refusing to breathe can slow the heart rate, causing both the blood pressure and the breath holder to drop like a rock.

"Exactly, Michael," she said, "so let me out of here."

"Okay, but why not let me draw one blood test, just to document no significant chloroform levels?"

She studied him. "But won't it have worn off?"

"If there's not even a trace, then you had no significant exposure. If we do pick up a level, however low, we know approximately what time you inhaled it, and can calculate an estimate of what must have been the maximum concentration in your circulation. Either way, it's more reassuring to know, right?"

Only if it's good news, Earl thought. Still, Michael had a point.

Janet seemed to consider his equation as well. "Okay, but just that one test." She scanned her audience of residents. "And no offense, but you lot are a little too eager with the needles. I'd like Michael to do the honors." She held out her arm like a princess expecting a kiss on the hand.

The corners of his eyes corrugated into even deeper smile lines, and he reached for a tourniquet. "Is everyone agreed that's all we do?" he asked, eyeing the anesthetist and the trio of obstetricians.

They all nodded.

Good old Michael, thorough as always, with just the right touch to get everyone to do his bidding.

"But wait," Stewart said. "She could have liver or renal damage, or both, and there's no telling about the fetus-"

"I'm sure that won't be a factor if there's no significant blood levels of chloroform," Earl said. Then he curtly took Stewart by the elbow and led him away from the stretcher. "What the hell's the matter with you?" Earl whispered once they were out of range for her to hear. He felt furious at the man for his insensitivity. "We all know the risks, especially Janet. She's already worried shitless without you spelling out worst-case scenarios. Are you trying to frighten her to death?"

Stewart's eyebrows shot toward his frizzy black hairline, which no cap in the world was apparently able to contain. His stare grew incredulous, as if he truly didn't understand the fuss. "Hey, no need to take my head off. I'm just trying to be helpful, for fuck's sake." He jerked his arm away from Earl's grip and strode out of the room.

Earl resisted the urge to run after him, not sure he wouldn't throttle the jerk for being so clueless and definitely in no mood to initiate the placating that might avoid a lifetime grudge. It was pointless either way, he decided, fed up with Stewart's petulance at the moment. Besides, nothing could sway that stubborn temperament until it cooled off. He'd deal with Stewart tomorrow. Maybe by then he could also get a clearer story about the business with Wyatt's patients.