Robin Cook - Godplayer

“That sounds wonderful,” said Cassi. The idea of a vacation with just the two of them was something to look forward to even if for some reason it didn’t work out.

There was a knock at the partially opened door, and Joan Widiker peered around the edge.

“Come in,” said Cassi, and introduced her to Thomas.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Joan. “Cassi has spoken of you often.”

“Joan is a third-year psychiatry resident,” explained Cassi. “She’s been a big help to me, especially in building up my confidence.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Thomas, feeling an instant antipathy. He could tell she was one of those women who wore their femininity up front like a badge of privilege.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” said Joan, sensing she was interrupting. “I really just stopped by to tell Cassi that all her patients are being well taken care of. They all wished you the best, Cassi. Even Colonel Bentworth. It’s the strangest thing,” laughed Joan. “Your having a medical problem seemed to have had a therapeutically beneficial effect on them all. Maybe all psychiatrists should have surgery once in a while.”

Cassi laughed, watching her husband straighten his coat.

“I’ll come back another time,” he said. “I’ve got rounds.” Turning back to Cassi he gave her a kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning before surgery. Everything is going to be fine. Just get a good night’s sleep.”

“I can’t stay either,” admitted Joan after he left. “I have another consult on the medical floor. I hope I didn’t chase your husband away.”

“Thomas is just being wonderful,” beamed Cassi, eager to share the good news. “He’s been so considerate and supportive. We’re even going on a vacation. I guess I was wrong about the extent of his drug taking.”

Joan questioned Cassi’s objectivity, remembering the degree of her dependency on Thomas. But she kept her thoughts to herself and just told Cassi how glad she was that things were working out well. Wishing her all the best, Joan departed.

For a while Cassi lay in her bed watching the sky change from pale orange to a silvery violet. She wasn’t sure why Thomas was being so nice to her. But whatever the reason, Cassi was infinitely thankful.

As the sky finally became dark, Cassi began to wonder how Robert was doing. She didn’t want to call in case he was still asleep. Instead she thought she’d run up there and see for herself.

The stairwell was conveniently opposite her room, and Cassi climbed quickly to the eighteenth floor. Robert’s door was closed. She knocked quietly.

A sleepy voice told her to come in.

Robert was awake but still groggy.

In response to Cassi’s question, he assured her that he had never felt better. His only complaint was that his mouth felt like a hockey game had been played in it.

“Have you eaten?” asked Cassi. She noticed the computer printout had been moved to his night table.

“Are you kidding?” asked Robert. He held up his arm with his IV. “Liquid penicillin diet for this guy.”

“I’m having my surgery in the morning,” said Cassi.

“You’re going to love it,” said Robert, his eyelids resisting his attempts to keep them open.

Cassi smiled, squeezed his free hand, and left.

The pain was so intense Thomas almost cried out. He’d stumbled against the antique trunk Doris kept at the foot of her bed. He was searching for his underwear in the dim light. Deciding he didn’t care if he did wake her up, he switched on the lamp. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find his shorts. She’d thrown them all the way across the room, where they had caught on one of the knobs on her bureau.

After finding all his clothes, Thomas switched off the light and tiptoed into the living room, dressing rapidly. Being as quiet as possible, he let himself out. When he reached the street, he checked his watch. It was just before 1:00 A.M.

He went directly to the surgical locker room, took off the clothes he’d just put on, and donned a scrub suit. Walking down the corridor, he paused outside the one OR that was in use. He tied on a mask and pushed through the door. The anesthesiologist told Thomas that the patient had suffered a dissecting aneurysm following a catheterization attempt that afternoon.

One of the staff abdominal surgeons was the attending on the case. Thomas went up behind him.

“Tough case?” asked Thomas, trying to see into the incision.

The doctor turned around and recognized Thomas. “Awful. We haven’t determined yet how far up the aneurysm goes. May extend into the chest. If it does, you’d be a Godsend. Will you be available?”

“Sure,” said Thomas. “I’ll probably catch a little sleep in the locker room. Give me a call if you need me.”

He left the OR and wandered back down the hall to the surgical lounge. Three nurses who’d just finished a case were taking a break there. Thomas waved at them and continued on to the locker room.

Cassi’s evening had passed pleasantly enough. She’d given herself her insulin, eaten a tasteless dinner, showered, and watched a little television. She’d tried to read her psychiatry journal but finally had given up, realizing she could not concentrate. At ten o’clock she’d taken her sleeping pill, but an hour later she was wide awake trying to analyze the consequences of Robert’s findings. If there really was sodium fluoride in Jeoffry Washington’s vein, then someone in the hospital was a murderer. Given the fact that she would be coming back from the OR tomorrow groggy and helpless, it was not surprising the thought kept her from sleeping.

She was restlessly turning from side to side in the dark when she heard a sound. She wasn’t positive but she thought it had been the door.

Cassi lay on her side, holding her breath. There were no more noises, but she felt a presence as if she were no longer alone in the room. She wanted to roll over and look, but she felt irrationally terrified. Then she heard a very definite noise. It sounded like a glass object touching her night table. Someone was standing directly behind her.

Breaking the paralysis her terror engendered took every ounce of mental strength Cassi possessed. But she forced herself to turn toward the door.

She gave a muffled cry of fright as she found herself staring at a shadowed figure in white. Her hand shot out and flipped on her bedside reading lamp.

“My God! You startled me!” said George Sherman, pressing a hand to his chest in a theatrical demonstration of distress. “Cassi, you’ve just taken ten years off my life.”

Cassi saw a huge bouquet of dark red roses in a vase on her night table. Attached to the side was a white envelope with “Cassi” written on it.

“I’m sorry. I guess we scared each other,” said Cassi. “I had trouble falling asleep. I heard you come in.”

“Well, I wish you’d said something. I expected you’d be asleep and didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are the beautiful roses for me?”

“Yes, I thought I’d be through much earlier, but I got tied up at a meeting until a few minutes ago. I’d ordered these flowers this afternoon and wanted to be sure you got them.”

Cassi smiled. “That was so kind of you.”

“I heard you were to be operated on in the morning. I hope everything goes well.” He suddenly seemed to realize she was sitting up in her nightgown. He reddened, whispered a fast goodnight, and beat a hasty retreat.

Cassi smiled in spite of herself. The vision of him knocking her wine into her lap came back to her. She detached the envelope from the roses and slipped out the card. “All the best from a secret admirer.” Cassi laughed. George could be so corny. At the same time she could understand his reluctance to sign his name after the scene Thomas had pulled at Ballantine’s.