Robin Cook - Marker

"What happened?" Laurie asked. She started to get up.

"Easy," the female EMT said, placing her hand on Laurie's chest. "You just had a little fainting episode. But everything is okay. We're going to be getting you out of here in two seconds."

The male EMT snapped his phone shut. "All right, let's go!" He walked around behind Laurie's head and insinuated his hands beneath Laurie's back and into her armpits. The woman went to her ankles. "On three," the man said, and then quickly counted.

Laurie felt herself lifted over onto the gurney. The EMTs quickly secured her with straps, raised the gurney to waist-height, and jockeyed it out into the corridor.

"How long was I unconscious?" Laurie questioned. She'd never fainted before. She had no recollection of falling to the floor.

"It couldn't have been for very long," the woman said. She was at the foot pushing, while the man was at the head, pulling. Mike walked alongside.

"Sorry about this," Laurie said to Mike.

"Don't be silly," Mike responded.

They took the elevator down to the basement level. As they passed the mortuary office, Laurie saw the evening tech, Miguel Sanchez, standing in the doorway. Laurie waved self-consciously. Miguel waved back.

The gurney bumped across the morgue's concrete floor, past the security office, and out onto the loading dock. The ambulance was parked next to one of the Health and Hospital's mortuary vans. Laurie thought of the irony that she was going out the same way the bodies came in.

Once in the ambulance, the female EMT inflated a blood-pressure cuff around Laurie's right upper arm.

"What is it?" Laurie asked.

"It's fine," the woman said, although she reached over and opened the IV a little more.

For Laurie, the ride over to the Manhattan General Hospital was surprisingly rapid. She'd felt detached enough to close her eyes. She could hear the siren, although it seemed as if it were in the distance. The next thing she knew, the doors of the ambulance were flung open, and she was rolled out into bright light.

The emergency room was typically chaotic, but she didn't have to wait. She was whisked into the depths and directly into the acute care section. As she was being transferred onto an examination table, Laurie felt a hand grip her forearm. Laurie turned and found herself gazing up into the face of a youthful woman dressed in scrubs, complete with a hood.

"I'm Dr. Riley. We are going to be taking good care of you. I want you to relax."

"I'm relaxed," Laurie responded.

"Since we've not met before tonight, I need to ask if you have any medical problems, whether you are taking any medication, or whether you have any allergies."

"No to all of those questions. I've been blessed with very good health."

"Good," Laura said.

"Wait a second," Laurie said. "There is something I wanted to mention to you. I've recently been tested positive for the BRCA1 marker."

"Have you seen an oncologist about it?"

"Not yet."

"Well, I don't think that is going to influence what we need to do in this situation. Let me give you the game plan. First, we'll do a rapid culdocentesis, which is to confirm if you have any blood in the space behind your uterus. It's done with a needle through the apex of your vagina. It sounds worse than it is. You'll feel a pinch, but that's about all."

"I understand," Laurie said.

True to her word, Laura quickly did the procedure, with little discomfort to Laurie. The result was positive.

"This pretty much makes the decision about surgery for us," Laura said. "My biggest concern is that you are continuing to hemorrhage into your abdominal cavity. We've got to stop that. We also will need to give you some blood. Do you understand everything that I'm saying?"

"I do," Laurie said.

"I'm sorry you've had to experience a problem like this. I want to make certain you don't think it is your fault. Ectopic pregnancies are more common than people realize."

"There is something in my past that may have contributed. In college, I had an episode of pelvic inflammatory disease associated with an IUD."

"That may or may not have contributed," Laura said. "Meanwhile, is there anyone you would like us to call?"

"I've already called the person I'd like to be here," Laurie said.

"Okay, I'm going up to the surgery floor to make sure everything is ready. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Thank you again. I'm sorry if I've ruined your Saturday night."

"What are you talking about? Getting you back to normal is going to make my Saturday night."

For a few minutes, Laurie was left by herself. She felt curiously detached, as if the whole episode involved someone else. She could hear telltale evidence of dramas unfolding in neighboring rooms, and saw people dash by the open doorway on various urgent errands.

Laurie felt lucky to have Laura Riley as her doctor, and was indebted to Sue for recommending her. With the kind of confidence and professionalism that Laura projected, Laurie wasn't as fearful about the upcoming surgery as she would have imagined. She knew she needed it, with the growing fullness in her abdomen and the general weakness the blood loss caused. Her only real worry was the fear of being victimized by SADS after the surgery and becoming a member of her own series, but she put the thought out of her mind. Instead, she thought about Jack and wondered when he would get her message. There was some concern that he was upset enough at her not to come in. If that were to happen, Laurie had no idea what she would do, so she put that thought out of her mind as well.

JACK HAD MANAGED TO FOOL Flash with a head fake and clever use of a pick, and for a moment, Flash had no idea where Jack was. By the time Flash had figured out what had happened, Jack had snaked his way in under the basket. Warren had seen the move out of the corner of his eye and shot a perfect pass into Jack's waiting hands. Jack twisted around and was poised to make a simple layup to win the tied game. Unfortunately, that was not what happened. By some inexplicable miscalculation on Jack's part, the ball didn't glance off the backboard and drop through the basket as he intended. Instead, it fell far short, lodged between the basket's rim and the backboard, and stayed there. Play ground to a halt. Totally embarrassed to have missed such an easy shot, Jack had to leap up to knock the ball free. Then, as the final indignity, a player on the opposing team grabbed the ball, stepped out of bounds, then let loose with a long pass down the court to Flash, who'd taken advantage of Jack being under the basket to break free. Jack was supposed to be guarding him. Instead, Jack had to watch impotently while Flash went in to make a layup at the opposite end, and, unlike Jack, he didn't miss. The game was over. Flash's team had won.

Jack slunk off the court, wishing he could disappear. He dodged some of the puddles along the sidelines. With his back pressed against the chain-link fence in a dry area, he sank to a sitting position with his knees up in the air. Warren sauntered over, hands on his hips and a mocking, wry smile on his face. Warren was fifteen years Jack's junior, with a body that would have made a men's underwear model jealous. As the best basketball player in the neighborhood, and as a keen competitor, he hated to lose, and not just because it meant he might have to sit out a game or two. For him, it was a personal affront.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Warren questioned. "How could you miss that shot? I thought you had recovered, but that has to go down as one of your more pitiful exhibitions."

"Sorry, man," Jack said. "I guess I wasn't concentrating."

Warren gave a short, derisive laugh as if that was the understatement of the year before taking a seat next to Jack with his knees angled up in a similar fashion. In front of them, a new group of five was getting ready to take on Flash and his team. Despite the crummy weather and the fact that it was Saturday night, there had been a big turnout.