Fredric Stern - The Endorphin Conspiracy

The orange glow of the sun faded quickly, giving way to darkness much earlier than usual for a mid-summer night. A billowy layer of black storm clouds had rolled in late in the afternoon, and a nasty summer storm drenched the streets of New York.

Inside the protective walls of the Neurosurgical ICU at the New York Trauma Center, however, all was quiet. Two patients had been discharged to the floor earlier in the evening, and only one remained. Jill Aker, the rookie nurse on nightshift had just received report from Cathy Johannsen. The ICU was required by law to have at least two RN’s on duty, even if there was only one patient. Jill had met Geoff only once, on his first day as chief resident. She was sure he had barely noticed her, but here she was with his life in her hands. It made her more than a little nervous.

“Eight hours in surgery? Jeez,” Jill said.

“Takes a long time to do what they had to do. Ruptured spleen, lacerated liver, shattered thigh bone, fractured cheek, not to mention various lacerations that needed suturing. Oh, yeah, the head bolt—the pressure monitor.”

“Isn’t that important?”

“Depends who you ask. I think they put them in way too often around here. Supposed to be just for comatose head injury patients to monitor their level of pressure around the brain, their level of consciousness and all that, but Geoff was responsive to pain even in the ER. He hasn’t fully awaken yet, opened his eyes or said anything, but he’s definitely not in a coma. I don’t get it.” Cathy stared over in Geoff’s direction, frustration in her voice.

“Aren’t they doing a study on that? That’s probably why they all get the head bolts put in,” Jill said.

“There’s a study, all right, but he’s no guinea pig!”

Jill wanted to ask Cathy what she thought about the murders. Did she really think he was guilty? She was dying to know, Cathy being his friend and all and the announcement this morning that the charges had been mysteriously dropped. It all seemed so bizarre. But she sensed this was the absolute wrong time to ask.

“They must be treating him overcautiously. It happens all the time, because he’s a doctor.” Jill put her hand on Cathy’s reassuringly. “Listen, I know you’re upset about this, that you’re a friend of Geoff’s. Why don’t you go get something at the snack bar.”

She looked at her watch then reached into her purse. “Look. It’s midnight, cheeseburger time at Randy’s Bar-B-Q pit. I think we could both use a good greasy burger and a shake to take our minds off things. My treat.”

Cathy forced a smile and took the money. “Sure. Thanks for the words of encouragement, Jill.” She stood to leave. “Keep your eyes on our VIP. Anything, I mean anything , seems out of the ordinary, page me.”

“No sweat, Cath. Trust me. He’s in good hands.”

The doors of the NSICU closed with a whoosh. Jill sat alone at the nursing station, the eerie stillness of the room pierced only by the constant beeping of the monitors. She couldn’t believe she’d sent Cathy off like that. She was jumpy enough about the whole situation with her around, let alone by herself in this big, dark, empty ICU.

But she wasn’t alone. Geoff was there. Maybe he’d wake up on her watch. She decided she’d keep him company until Cathy got back.

The phone rang, just about sending her through the ceiling. Jill jumped on the receiver before the first ring was half-way through, her heart racing.

“NSICU!”

“Jill?” It was Cathy. “Everything okay?”

Silence. Jill took a deep breath. “Of course everything’s okay. Your call just about gave me a heart attack, that’s all,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Our patient hasn’t stopped talking since you left.”

“Very funny. How do you want your burger?”

“You mean how well done? I’ve never seen a Randy burger anything but charcoal broiled!”

“Guess you’re right. I’ll tell him to make it crisp. See you in a few minutes.”

Jill put down the phone and walked over to bed one. She stood at the bedside for several minutes, simply staring at Geoff, the casted leg suspended by a wire from the frame above the bed, the shaved and bandaged head sprouting a bolt and accompanying tubing, the swollen and bruised face, his handsome features blunted but recognizable.

Her gaze shifted to the monitors: heart rate seventy-five and regular, BP 120/80, normal cardiac rhythm, brain pressure normal at sixteen. Every system was being monitored, everything under complete control. Amazing. If she was ever in an accident, the NYTC was where she’d want to be.

She could see Geoff’s eyes darting rapidly back and forth beneath his closed lids. He must be dreaming, maybe lightening up. REM sleep was lighter than deep, stage four sleep.

Carefully, she placed her thumb and forefinger on his upper lid and tried to gently open it. She met some resistance.

“Geoff,” she whispered. She moved in closer. “Geoff, can you hear me?”

A sound. A deeper breath. Perhaps a grunt? She forced his eyes open. More resistance, she was sure of it this time. His eyes continued to dart around, taking no particular notice of anything, let alone her. It gave her the creeps, so she let go. She tried another strategy, pinching his arm, squeezing it hard, hard enough to make any conscious person complain.

A movement. He moved his head. A moan. He was waking up!

“Geoff, this is your nurse, Jill. You’re in the NSICU at the Trauma Center, Geoff. Everything is okay. You’re going to be okay. You’ve been in an accident, a bad accident, and you had surgery—”

A word came softly from between his dry, sticky lips.

Jill reached down to squeeze his hand. She leaned in closer.

“What, Geoff? What did you say?”

“Oma…”

“Oma? What’s Oma? Geoff, try to open your eyes. Look at me. Say it again, please.”

His puffy lids twitched, then parted, not fully at first, the room light overwhelming his eyes.

Geoff clamped them shut, then slowly tried to open them once more. Again he spoke. “O’Malley. Call O’Malley.”

A whooshing sound was heard, the sound of the NSICU door opening. Jill could barely contain her excitement. She continued to hold Geoff’s hand, gazed at him as she called out, “Cathy, over hear, quick! Hurry up, girl. Drop those burgers! Geoff’s awake, and he’s trying to say something! Something about someone named O’Malley.”

Their gazes met. Jill leaned in closer, her eyes studying his. What she saw in those crystal blue eyes was not pain, but fear. Mortal fear.

“Nurse Akers, why don’t you go take a break. I’ll keep an eye on your patient for a little while.”

Jill startled, turned around to see where the authoritative voice came from. “Oh, Dr. Pederson, it’s you!” She took a deep breath, tried to relax. “Are you sure? There’s always supposed to be a nurse on duty in here. Medical center rules—”

Pederson held up his hand, smiled, spoke in tones so soft Jill had to strain in order to hear him. “Don’t worry about it. How could our patient be any better off than with the chairman of neurosurgery and the director of research at his bedside?”

Jill looked toward the doorway, saw Joseph Balassi enter the NSICU, approach the bedside. “Well, whatever you say, Dr. Pederson. You should know. Is fifteen minutes okay?”

“That would be perfect.”

Jill Akers left the room.

Pederson and Balassi stood over Geoff, glanced down at him. Pederson looked at the ICP monitor, turned to Balassi. “He seems to be rousing. You can take it from here. Call me when you’re done.”

Pederson left the NSICU.

Geoff’s eyes widened. Was he still dreaming, or was this a hallucination?