Peter Clement - The Inquisitor

"So?"

"Thomas Biggs was doing one of his rural rotations in the Finger Lakes district. He couldn't have done it, and I had to cast around for another candidate. Thinking back, I remembered how you tried to fob me off with that story about the dark man when I wanted to take a close look at Palliative Care."

"Hey! That story's true, every word of it."

"Yeah, right. I also found it odd how you'd leapt to Yablonsky's defense during death rounds, since she personified the kind of indifference you detest. It didn't make sense unless you knew for certain that she hadn't caused Elizabeth Matthews's death. What happened? You were making your usual rounds when you slipped the people who needed it a shot of extra morphine, found the poor woman in agony, and for once her husband not at her side. So you gave her an injection, not realizing I'd already ordered a proper dose. At least you, or whoever else worked with you-"

"I'm not saying that-"

"Fine. Simply make sure your band of merry men, whoever they are, is disbanded before you leave. You do that, and I'm not going to be asking questions."

Jimmy said nothing for a few seconds, then chuckled. "Well, well, looks like you've a touch of the outlaw spirit as well."

"Maybe. Let's just say I'm willing to bend the rules when it makes sense. But I also intend to make you lone rider types obsolete around here. If there's wrongs to be righted, it'll happen legally. Get my drift? And that includes helping widows."

"So I can go to Denver without dragging along a potential scandal waiting to happen."

"You'll have no problems from me." I wish you wouldn't go, he almost added. Yet he knew in his heart that Jimmy had to leave. With him completely out of the scene, there'd be less chance of a misstep that might remind someone of his close proximity to the patients in Palliative Care.

"And to be thinkin' someone once accused you of not being one of the good guys," Jimmy said, and picked up the pace, forcing Earl to do the same. The increased speed made the waves clap more loudly against the red canvas shell that covered the cedar frame.

At each new level of speed, as soon as Earl matched his strength, Jimmy notched it higher, their breathing and the splash of water drowning out the sounds of the city behind them.

"What about you and J.S.?" Earl shouted.

"She needs time to trust herself again."

"And then?"

"I'll ask her to marry me."

Earl started to laugh. "Maybe you should at least court her with a few canoe rides first."

Sunday, July 20, 10:05 a.m. Palliative Care

"I'm going home for keeps," Sadie Locke told Earl, her eyes more alive than he'd ever seen them. When she'd left a request that he drop by, she'd said she had great news.

"Really?"

"Yes! Donny's arranged for someone to run the Lucky Locke Two so he can stay in Buffalo, and we're moving into our old home, along with the nurses he's hired, until…" She shrugged, seeming almost apologetic for broaching the subject of her pending death.

He smiled and took her hand. "That's wonderful, Sadie. Absolutely wonderful."

"And I hear you're a new dad. I'm so glad your wife and the boy are safe. What's his name?"

"Ryan."

"And I hear he has a brother?"

He smiled. Evidently she'd been finding out all about him. He didn't mind- in fact, he considered it a good sign that she still took an interest in the world around her. "Yes. Brendan. He's six."

"A good spread. Too close in age, and brothers fight."

The small talk continued until he decided he'd better get back downstairs to Janet. "Well, I have to be going, Sadie, and I'm delighted at your plans-"

"Dr. Garnet, can I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure."

"You've seen people die. I don't know what to expect. Is it always hard?"

He felt stunned by the question. And at a loss about how to answer. "Well, Sadie, it's very individual. But as long as pain is well treated, and I'm sure there'll be no problem with that now, most pass away very peacefully."

"I hear some fight and hang on. I don't want that."

He thought a moment. "You know, there's one thing that's always amazed me. Some people make a decision it's time to let go, and then the rest just happens. It's as if there's a fundamental life switch that's in us to throw, if we can access it. Don't ask me how, but over and over I've heard a dying patient say it's time, and then there's no stopping the process. Sometimes in just a matter of hours. When that happens, it's all calm and very natural."

"Do you think there's a heaven?"

"Whoa, Sadie. Maybe you'd better talk to Father Jimmy about that."

"Nonsense. He's a company man and is going to spout the party line. I want to hear a skeptic's point of view."

He chuckled. "A skeptic?"

"You know what I mean. No agenda to push."

He let out a long breath. "I don't know. I figure there's something a lot bigger than us out there." He remembered the time he'd felt like a drop of water returning to the ocean, but shut it out. That wouldn't comfort her. "You know, another thing I've noticed is that people with loved ones around find it easier."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Not only the dying, but facing the unknown that lies beyond. It's as if the friends and family are proof they're not a nobody, that they've led a good life, and if there is a reckoning, it'll work out."

"Like me having Donny."

"Like you having Donny. I mean, already it's made a difference. You're almost glowing."

"I am happy he's here, and relieved he's staying."

"So you see-"

"But what about the stories of seeing people on the other side? Is that heaven?"

He chuckled. "I guess it depends what they think of you, for better or worse."

"So you're a hell-is-other-people kind of guy."

"Except heaven can be other people too, if they think well of you." He started to think his answers sounded pretty good.

"No Exit"she said, almost dismissively.

"Pardon."

"No Exit. It's a play by Jean-Paul Sartre, an existential philosopher. Father Jimmy loaned me a copy. You're practically saying the same thing as that guy."

Earl said good night and retreated from the room, feeling he'd been whipped in Philosophy 101 by an octogenarian.

He lay in a gray zone.

I could see him below me.

Smelled the cloying, sick sweetness of his burns, felt the tube feeding oxygen to his seared lungs, and saw the glistening muscle that bulged through the deep fissures of his cracked skin.

But I floated above it all, no longer part of him.

Even the pain seemed distant.

But not the fear.

Out there in the darkness they waited.

Shrouded black shapes ready to take me, their silence as vast and overwhelming as the void behind them.

I didn't want to go there.

But I could feel myself being pulled inside out by their stares.

And one in particular who stood a little apart from the rest.

I didn't know him, but the ice in his gaze froze me with terror. I could feel the cold off him every time he drew near, and though I tried to scream, no noise came from my throat.

Yet he must have heard something, because he would recede a little, all the while looking at me with a hatred that putrefied any remaining shreds of life, further weakening my tie to the blackened husk below.

He moved on me again, sapping my resistance a little more.

I couldn't hold out much longer.

The shapes swayed expectantly.

And began to close in.

Monday, July 21, 7:00 a.m.

Emergency Department, St. Paul's Hospital

Nothing happened, you know," Michael said. He'd lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Nothing happened where?" Earl asked.

They were suiting up with the new Stryker outfits that had been delivered to ER over the weekend, accompanied by the long-expected directive that all critical care areas would have a resuscitation team dressed in them at all times. It was like stepping into a one-piece snowsuit made of yellow vinyl, and they were worn over the normal protective wear.