“The press may come looking for me here. Would you please not give out any information about my father?”
“It’s against federal regulations to do so, Mrs. Tremaine. Anyone who does will be fired.”
Shona nodded. “Thank you. My…husband may show up looking for me. His name is—”
“Geoff Tremaine? He won’t be hard to recognize. Do you want us to let him know where you are?”
She wanted her husband, Geoff, not the reporter. She sighed. “If he does show up, it’s okay, but no camera team, and no one except Geoff.”
“We wouldn’t do it any other way.”
Shona thanked her. She knew her switch wouldn’t deter him for long. He would figure out soon enough where she had taken Dad.
Steeling herself for what she might see, Shona rushed to the trauma room and tried to peer in the glass windows through small gaps between the slats in a blind.
She could see little except medical equipment, a monitor and people in multicolored scrubs and masks standing around the trauma bed. She strained to hear anything encouraging through the verbal cacophony that filtered through the door.
“Central line is in. Stop CPR. What’s the rhythm?”
“Still PEA.”
Shona caught her breath. She’d learned enough from her sister to know that meant pulseless electrical activity.
Very bad.
“Continue CPR.”
“Got it.”
“We need to push some volume back into his circulation. Get that O negative blood in now. How much longer on those four units of fresh frozen plasma?”
“Lab said just a few more minutes. They have to thaw them first.”
“Where’s the 20 milligrams of vitamin K? I wanted it stat.”
“Right here, Dr. Morris.”
“Give it IV push.”
“But doctor, what about the risk—”
“I’m not worried about the risk of anaphylactic shock at this point, Carrie.” There was tension in the doctor’s voice. “He’s bleeding to death, and we don’t know what’s causing it. He needs it IV. Now. And someone see if there’s a family member here who knows what’s going on.”
Shona caught her breath. “I’m his daughter!” she called, stepping to the door. She gasped, suddenly overwhelmed by what she saw.
Blood. There was blood everywhere, on the bed, on Dad’s body, on the hands of the staff, on the instruments they were using on Dad’s hideously battered flesh.
Without warning, a wave of nausea overwhelmed her. She turned away, doubling over, fighting to keep her gorge down.
Someone caught her from behind and placed a basin in front of her just in time.
“That’s why we don’t like people coming back at times like this,” came the gentle-sad voice of the older nurse as Shona gave up all pretense of dignity.
Past humiliation, Shona retched, miserable and terrified. No one could bleed as much as Dad was doing and live. She was losing him.
Geoff raced into the parking lot of the ER at Bradley-Cline Hospital and pulled into a nearby slot, scanning the area for Shona’s Escalade or Kemper’s Seville, which she often drove. He recognized none of the vehicles.
He frowned at the ambulance bay. There was no way he could have beat the ambulance here, but he couldn’t have been so far behind them that the ambulance was already gone, could he?
It was possible, if they had another hot call.
Still…something didn’t feel right. Shona’s car should be here. She had been following the ambulance when he spoke to her; he’d heard the siren over the line.
She might have parked elsewhere in an effort to avoid notice, as much as possible. Her car and Kemper’s had government plates.
While waiting for the camera crew, Geoff parked and went inside to check with the receptionist.
“I’m sorry,” she said when he asked about Kemper’s arrival. “We’re unaware of anyone here by that name.”
He didn’t argue, but returned to his car, backed out of the slot and cruised slowly around the parking lot. He saw nothing familiar. He dialed Shona’s number again, but she didn’t answer. He did recognize a film crew from Channel 32, and a newspaper reporter for the Jefferson City Herald. He was sure more reporters would be arriving soon.
His own camera crew had not yet made it here, and he had a sneaking suspicion they wouldn’t have anything to film once they arrived. He knew Shona too well. She didn’t want a media circus tonight.
Typically, she was gracious and outgoing to all members of the media, as was her father. This was different. He couldn’t blame her for wanting her privacy during this crisis.
Instead of calling Wendy, which he knew would be expected of him with this switch, he pulled from the parking lot and turned left, in the direction of St. Mary’s. Traditionally, Shona’s family had always used that hospital. He would follow his hunch without alerting others.
FOUR
After the nurse carried away the basin, Shona collapsed gratefully in a chair someone pushed over from the central desk.
Another member of medical staff in bloodstained blue scrubs knelt beside her, his eyes compassionate, but his tone brisk. “Ma’am, does your father have any history of hemophilia?”
“No.” Didn’t he think she would have told them immediately if that were the case?
“Does he take any kind of blood thinner like Coumadin? Or a lot of aspirin?”
“Nothing like that. He seldom even takes a painkiller.” Shona accepted some wet paper towels from an aide and dabbed at her face and mouth.
“Has he been ill recently, running a high fever?”
“No. He had a cold, but nothing serious. Please, do you know what’s happening?”
The man shook his head. “That’s what we’re still trying to find out.” He returned to the trauma room.
“Got something here, Dr. Morris,” someone said. “He could be coming back around. We’ve got a better rhythm.”
“Stop CPR. Is there a pulse?”
There was a waiting silence for a few seconds.
“No, Doctor.”
“Okay, continue CPR.”
Shona couldn’t take it. She had always thought she would be strong in a situation like this. She wasn’t. She had never felt so alone in her life.
Geoff pulled into St. Mary’s parking lot behind a police car. He saw another unmarked car at the curb, and an ambulance hovered in the bay, as if it had recently made a delivery. He was pretty sure he had found the right place, though Shona’s vehicle was not in sight.
As he pulled into an empty spot, his cell phone beeped. He checked the screen and saw Wendy’s number.
He pressed the talk button. “Wendy, I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now. Do you mind if I call you back—”
“Where are you?” Her words were clipped, impatient.
“I’m at the hospital.”
“No, you aren’t. The crew can’t