Robin Cook - Marker

Jack's basketball had recovered to a degree over the last several weeks, but that afternoon, Laurie's pushiness and her playing the victim role had provoked him to no end. He could sympathize with her about what she was facing lately, but from his perspective, she had no idea what being a victim was really like. On top of that he couldn't believe she kept harping on him about his use of humor, which he felt was his only defense against the harsh reality that fate and AmeriCare had thrown at him. And, worse yet, he couldn't comprehend that she wouldn't listen to what he'd been thinking about this new curveball of her being pregnant. After she'd broken the news, he'd thought of nothing else and had been looking forward to sharing his feelings, both pro and con. The news had forced him to face the idea of a second family as a reality, and he'd come around to believing he might not be quite as scared of the situation as he thought… at least until that afternoon, when she acted so demanding and victimized. When he thought about the conversation again, he couldn't believe she was "sick and tired" of discussing having a family, because, prior to her moving out, he couldn't remember that last time she'd even brought up the subject.

"Hell!" Jack exclaimed suddenly, snapping his headband off his forehead and throwing it to the pavement.

Warren looked at him questioningly. "Man, you're in bad shape! Let me guess! Laurie's still acting up."

"You've no idea," Jack said scornfully. He was going to elaborate when he heard a distant muffled beeping. Grabbing his backpack, he opened the zipper and took out his cell phone, which he normally didn't bring out onto the court unless he was on call. But that evening after the fracas with Laurie, he wanted to stay in touch in case she came to her senses. When he flipped the lid and saw that he had a message, he checked caller ID.

"It's her," Jack said with a touch of exasperation. With no idea what to expect and scant hope for a miracle, he called his voicemail. As he began to listen to the message, he stood up. As he continued to listen, his jaw slowly dropped, then he disconnected and looked down at Warren, momentarily paralyzed. "Good God! She's been taken by ambulance to the Manhattan General for emergency surgery."

Breaking free from his brief, stunned immobility, Jack bent down and snatched up his gear. "I got to change and get the hell over there!" He turned and started at a run toward the playground exit.

"Hold up!" Warren called after him.

Jack didn't stop or slow down, knowing full well the seriousness of a ruptured ectopic pregnancy. When he was held up by traffic on the street, Warren caught up to him.

"How about I give you a lift," Warren said. "My ride's just around the corner."

"Fantastic," Jack responded.

"By the time you get your ass back down, I'll be sitting out here waiting on you," Warren said.

Jack waved acquiescence before sprinting across the street. He took the stairs in his apartment building by twos and started pulling off his clothes on the final flight. The rest of his basketball outfit came off as he traversed his apartment, anxious to get to the hospital before Laurie was taken up to the OR. He didn't like the idea of her having surgery, and he didn't like the idea of her being at the Manhattan General.

As he thundered down the stairs, Jack struggled into the same clothes he'd worn that day. True to his word, Warren was sitting in his black SUV when Jack emerged from his building. Jack jumped in and Warren took off with a screech.

"Is this surgery serious?" Warren asked.

"You'd better believe it," Jack answered. While he tied his tie, he chastised himself for reacting so emotionally to Laurie's mini-outburst that afternoon. What he should have done was just let her rant without getting his dander up, but he'd not been in control. He'd not been in control since she walked out of his apartment.

"How serious?" Warren asked.

"Let me put it this way; people have died from the problem she has."

"No shit!" Warren murmured as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

Jack grabbed the handhold above the passenger-side door to steady himself as Warren 's SUV surged forward to make the traffic light at the 97th Street traverse. A few minutes later, Warren had the Manhattan General in his sights.

"Where do you want to be dropped off?" Warren asked.

"Follow the signs for the emergency department," Jack said.

Warren ended up nosing in between two ambulances at the receiving dock, and Jack jumped out. "Thanks, man," Jack called.

"Let me hear how things go!" Warren shouted out his window.

Jack waved over his shoulder, then vaulted up onto the platform and ran inside. The waiting area was packed with people. Jack headed directly for the double doors that led into the emergency room proper, but he was barred by a beefy, red-faced, uniformed policeman. The man had been standing to the side, but stepped in front of the doors as Jack neared.

"You gotta sign in at the desk," the officer said, pointing over Jack's shoulder.

With a bit of effort, Jack got out his wallet and flipped it open. Attached was his formal medical-examiner badge. The policeman drew Jack's hand closer to examine it. "Sorry, doc," he said when he recognized what it was.

After glancing into a few of the cubicles and having no luck finding Laurie, Jack stopped one of the nurses, who was scurrying down the corridor with a clutch of blood-sample tubes in her hands. When Jack asked for Laurie by name, she squinted as if she were slightly myopic at a dry-erase board that Jack had not seen back near the entrance doors. "She's in the acute-care area," the woman said. She pointed into the depths of the complex. "Room 22."

Jack found her alone in the room, surrounded by all sorts of acute-care equipment. Behind her was a flat LCD screen with realtime tracings of her blood pressure and pulse. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were folded on her chest with her fingers intertwined. Except for her pallor, she looked the picture of contented repose. Behind her and hanging from an IV pole were a cluster of bottles and a plastic pouch of blood, which ran into her left arm.

A few steps brought Jack to Laurie's side. He put his hand on her forearm, reluctant to wake her from her peaceful slumber but afraid not to. "Laurie?" he called softly.

Laurie's heavily lidded eyes opened. She smiled when she saw Jack. "Thank goodness you're here."

"How do you feel?"

"Considering everything, I feel pretty good. Anesthesia came down and gave me some kind of preop. I'm about to go up to surgery. I was hoping you'd get here before I went in."

"Is it a ruptured ectopic pregnancy?"

"All indications point to it."

"I'm so sorry you're going through this."

"Aren't you a little relieved? I mean, be honest!"

"No, I'm not relieved. In fact, I'm worried. Can't we get you over to another hospital? What about your father's hospital?"

Laurie smiled with drug-induced serenity. She shook her head. "My doctor only has privileges here. I asked about going someplace else right off, but I'm afraid I'm stuck. She's pretty sure I'm still bleeding internally, so we don't have the benefit of a lot of time." Laurie detached her forearm from Jack and gripped his. "I know what you are thinking, but I'm okay with being here, and more so now that you've come. Although theoretically I'm at risk of being a victim of my series, I don't think it's that high. The odds are in my favor, especially with Najah away from the scene."

Jack nodded. He knew she was right statistically, but it was hardly consolation, particularly with the case against Najah so circumstantial. The fact was, he didn't like Laurie being there period, yet he resigned himself to there being little choice. She could exsanguinate during a transfer.