Robin Cook: Godplayer

In contrast to Essex General, the ER at the Memorial was flooded with patients. Thomas ran straight to the admitting office.

“Your wife hasn’t come into the ER,” one of the clerks told him.

The other clerk punched Cassi’s name into the computer. “She hasn’t been admitted either. It shows she was discharged this morning.”

Thomas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his abdomen. Where could she be? He had only one other thought. Maybe she’d gone up to Clarkson Two.

Although he’d never stopped to wonder why, Thomas did not like to be on the psychiatry floor. It made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t even like the sound the heavy fire door made when it closed behind him with its airtight seal.

As he walked down the dark corridor, his heels echoed loudly. He passed the common room where the TV was still on although no one was watching. At the desk a nurse who’d been reading a medical journal looked up at him as if he were one of the patients.

“I’m Dr. Kingsley,” said Thomas.

The nurse nodded.

“I’m looking for my wife, Dr. Cassidy. Have you seen her?”

“No, Dr. Kingsley. I thought she was on medical leave.”

“She is, but I thought she might have come in here.”

“Nope. But if I see her I’ll tell her you’re looking for her.”

Thomas thanked the woman and decided to go to his office while he tried to figure out what to do.

As soon as he opened the door he went to his desk to get several Talwin. He took them with a splash of Scotch, then sat down. He wondered if he were getting an ulcer. He had a boring pain just below his sternum that he also felt in his back. But the pain he could live with. What was worse than the pain was the pervasive anxiety. He felt as if he were about to shatter into a million pieces. He had to find Cassi. His life depended on it.

Thomas pulled over the phone. Despite the hour, he called Dr. Ballantine. Cassi had spoken to him before, and there was a chance she’d approach him again.

Dr. Ballantine, groggy with sleep, answered on the second ring. Thomas apologized and asked if he’d heard from Cassi.

“I haven’t,” said Dr. Ballantine, clearing his throat. “Is there some reason I should?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Thomas. “She was discharged today, but after I took her home I had to come back to the hospital for an emergency. When I got out of surgery there was a message to call my mother. She told me Cassi had apparently given herself another overdose of insulin. An ambulance took her to the local hospital but by the time I got there she’d signed herself out. I have no idea where she is or what state she’s in. I’m worried sick.”

“Thomas, I’m so sorry. If she calls, I’ll get in touch with you immediately. Where will you be?”

“Just call the hospital. They’ll have my number.”

As Dr. Ballantine replaced the receiver, his wife rolled over and asked what the trouble was. As chief of service, Ballantine got few emergency calls at night.

“It was Thomas Kingsley,” said Ballantine, staring into the darkness. “His wife is apparently very unstable. He’s afraid she may have tried to kill herself.”

“The poor man,” said Mrs. Ballantine as she felt her husband throw off the covers and get up. “Where are you going, dear?”

“No place. You go back to sleep.”

Dr. Ballantine put on his robe and walked out of the bedroom. He had an awful feeling that things were not happening the way he’d planned.

Cassi awoke with the same violent headache she’d had in the intensive care unit. The difference now was that her mind was clear. She remembered everything that had happened the previous night. After checking out of Essex General she headed into Boston thinking she should call Dr. McInery, but when she reached the hospital she no longer felt she needed emergency care. But before she could face her fears about what had happened, she knew she needed sleep. She’d gone to the empty on-call room on Clarkson Two and stretched out on the cot.

As she fell asleep she knew she’d have to find someone to talk to about Thomas. Had he been involved in her second insulin overdose? She didn’t see how since she had taken her regular medicine herself. But the fact that all the phones except Patricia’s were out seemed too much of a coincidence to be an accident, and her car had never in the past failed to start. What if her fears about Thomas’s connection to the SSD cases were true? What if she hadn’t been hallucinating and he was responsible for Robert’s death?

If it were true, he had to be ill, mentally ill. He needed help. Dr. Ballantine had said he would do anything he could if Thomas needed counseling. Cassi decided to see him in the morning. For the moment she was safe.

Checking her urine a final time, she decided she might as well fall asleep. Hopefully Patricia couldn’t alarm Thomas until morning.

When she awoke well before dawn, the psychiatry ward was still deserted. Cassi washed up as best she could and ran down to the lab where she persuaded a sleepy technician to draw some blood for a sugar level, only to have the night lab supervisor refuse to run it because Cassi didn’t have her hospital card with her. Not up to arguing, Cassi left the sample and told the man to do whatever his conscience dictated. She said she’d stop back later. Then she went up to Ballantine’s office and parked herself in the hall opposite his door.

An hour and a half passed before he appeared. He saw Cassi as he came down the hall.

“If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you,” she said.

“Of course,” said Dr. Ballantine, turning to unlock his door. “Come in.” He acted as if he’d expected her.

Cassi walked into the office, looking out the window to avoid meeting Dr. Ballantine’s gaze. She could see over the Charles River to the MIT building directly opposite. Although she wasn’t sure why, Cassi thought that Dr. Ballantine seemed somewhat annoyed to see her.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I need help,” said Cassi. Dr. Ballantine was standing before his desk. He was not making her feel comfortable, but she didn’t know who else to turn to.

“And what kind of help do you need?” asked Dr. Ballantine. He made no gesture for Cassi to sit down.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Cassi slowly. “But before dealing with anything else I must get Thomas into therapy. I know he’s abusing drugs.”

“Cassi,” said Dr. Ballantine with patience. “Since we last talked, I’ve checked Thomas’s prescribing habits. If he errs, he errs on the side of caution as far as narcotics are concerned.”

“He doesn’t get pills under his own name,” said Cassi. “But drugs are only part of the story. I think Thomas is ill. Mentally ill. I know that I haven’t been on psychiatry long, but Thomas is definitely sick. I’m afraid he considers me a threat.”

Ballantine didn’t respond immediately. He looked at Cassi with surprise and, for the first time since he’d seen her, concern. His expression softened and he put an arm around her shoulders. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. And I think the problem has gone beyond my capabilities. What I’d like you to do is sit down and rest for a few minutes. There is someone else I think you should talk to.”

“Who?” asked Cassi.

“Please sit down,” said Dr. Ballantine softly. He moved his wing chair from the corner and placed it in front of the desk, facing the window. “Please.” He took Cassi’s hand and gently encouraged her to sit down. “I want you to be comfortable.”

This was the Dr. Ballantine Cassi had remembered. He would take care of her. He would take care of Thomas. Gratefully she sank into the soft leather cushions.