And she had to be dreaming.
But the puddle of warm urine she was sitting in felt real.
She pinched her cheek. That felt real. She pinched her thigh. That felt real. She took a deep breath, waiting for the pain to shoot through her lungs. Didn’t happen.
She bent forward, surprised to find she could reach the toe tag without bending her knees. She’d studied ballet when she was young. Back then she could touch her head to the ground without bending her knees. She pulled off the tag, instinctively knowing her body was in that kind of shape now.
There was a case number on the tag. That she expected. Date and time of death too, she also expected. Cause of death: Gunshot wound to the heart. That was a shocker, she’d expected cancer.
She looked down again at her breasts. Beautiful and perfect, no sign of a gunshot wound.
She shook her head, testing the hangover, which seemed to be gone now, but something not gone was the mane of hair that swished around her shoulders. She tugged on it, expecting the wig, but the hair was real.
“ Okay, Isadora, let’s figure this out.” She got off the gurney, half expecting her legs to buckle. They didn’t. She picked the sheet up off the floor, went to the deep sink, ran some water on a dry part of it, cleaned the urine away.
She wanted a mirror, wanted to see her face, but that would have to wait. She needed to get out of here before someone discovered she wasn’t dead, before they discovered that something very strange had happened. She’d been around long enough to know if she were found-dare she even think it, with her youth restored-that they’d lock her away. Then they’d poke, prod, test and retest her till they found the secret.
She didn’t want to be poked and prodded.
She didn’t know why this had happened, but it had. She’d always taken things as they’d come, played the hand she was dealt. Lately she’d gotten some bad cards, now she’d been dealt a royal flush. These were her cards now and she was going to bet them like there was no tomorrow.
To do that she had get out of this room, away from this hospital. But first she needed clothes. Fortunately she knew the hospital as well as she knew her own home. She padded to the door, opened it. The office was empty. She went to the door, checked the hallway. Not a soul, but for how long?
She jogged down the corridor to the stairway. Safely inside the stairwell, she went up two flights, opened the door a crack, saw an intern with blood on her scrubs enter the intern’s locker room. That was her goal.
She counted to thirty, guessing that would be enough time for the woman to shed her scrubs and get into the shower. Then she gave herself a count to fifteen, before stepping out of the stairway and crossing to the locker room. Inside, she heard the shower running and she found the woman’s locker open.
Izzy pulled out a pair of scrubs, stepped into them. She spotted a couple pair of grey Nikes, one pair well worn, one pair obviously new. She grabbed a pair of socks, put them on, then slid her feet into the new pair. Her new body demanded the new shoes, but unfortunately they were a little tight. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought as she laced them up. In less than a minute after she’d entered the locker room, she left it and was back in the hall, heading this time for the elevator, which would take her to the ground floor and freedom.
She decided to leave the hospital through the emergency room exit, but when she got there she saw attendings, interns and nurses galore, standing at the ready. Something bad had happened and they were waiting to try and right some of the wrongs.
“ What happened?” Izzy heard a young nurse ask.
“ Gangbanger shot into a car full of people, caused a major accident at the Spaghetti Bowl,” a much older nurse answered.
She couldn’t leave with them standing there, not dressed the way she was. And she couldn’t turn her back and walk away either. She was wearing scrubs and though she had no name tag around her neck, she looked like a doctor. All she could do was stand and wait till the casualties arrived, then make her way out of the hospital during the confusion.
She heard sirens. Any minute the ER was going to be a beehive of activity. She couldn’t stand around unnoticed. She’d be required to do something. She looked around, headed for the restrooms. She’d hide out in the women’s till it was safe for her to make her exit.
Inside the restroom, she picked a stall, went in, closed the door, sat on the toilet to wait and her mind went straight to the fact that not only was she not dead, but she wasn’t old anymore. This was impossible. How could such a thing have happened? God, aliens, a youth ray turned on her by some genius scientist? Whatever, it couldn’t last, could it?
She closed her eyes, watched psychedelic images swirl around on the inside of her eyelids. Reds and greens and blues like she’d never seen before. Was she on drugs? Was this whole thing an hallucination? Whatever it was, she had to figure it out.
And she had to get ahold of Amy and warn her about Lila Booth. Maybe she already had, but maybe Amy hadn’t been at that ball last night.
Was it only last night? Or had she been in some kind of suspended animation? No, it wasn’t that. She’d been in the hospital morgue, that she knew for sure. And there was only one reason she’d’ve been there with a toe tag. She’d been dead.
Thinking about it was giving her a headache. She had to do something. It was time to go. She got off the toilet. She’d be home soon, then she could figure it all out.
When she left the restroom, she was confronted with orderly chaos. Everybody seemed to be busy saving lives, doing what doctors and nurses did in an emergency. She started for the exit.
“ Where’s Dr. Shaffer!” the young intern Izzy had seen earlier shouted. “If he doesn’t get here quick we’re gonna lose this one.”
“ What is it?” an older doctor, one Izzy didn’t know, one who looked like he had a foot in the grave, said.
“ Look at this X-ray, she’s got a bullet in her heart.” She was sweating bullets. “It’s beyond me.”
“ Me too,” the old guy said.
“ Shaffer’s halfway between here and Carson City,” a woman in black said, black skirt, black blouse. “He’s twenty minutes away.”
“ Shit,” Izzy muttered. Then, “I’m a heart surgeon, maybe I can help.” She moved passed them. The patient was a young woman, she was on her side, nude from the waist up. There was an entrance would in her back, no exit would. “Let me see that.” She snatched the CXR out of the intern’s hands, looked at the chest X-ray. “Double shit.”
“ Who are you?” the older doctor, named Irwin Shaw, according to his nametag, said.
“ I’m going to need an OR,” Izzy said. “OR 3 would be good.” She gave the older guy a look. “You any good?”
“ Who’s asking?” His hands were shaking.
“ You shouldn’t be here.” She recognized the symptoms. He was a drunk in need of a drink. “I don’t want you anywhere near my OR.”
“ How about you?” She turned to the intern. “Who are you and have you ever assisted in open heart surgery?”
“ Kathy Wells, and yes, I’ve assisted Dr. Shaffer several times.”
“ If you’re good enough for Aaron, you’re good enough for me,” Izzy said.
“ Wait a minute!” Shaw said.
“ I don’t have a minute.” Izzy turned to the woman in black. “You must be Aaron’s right hand woman, Belinda Quinn, right?”
“ Yes.”
“ Fine, get me a perfusionist, an anesthesiologist, the best two surgical nurses you can muster up and get them all into OR 3.”
“ I don’t know, Dr. Shaffer will be here in twenty minutes.”
“ And this young woman will have been ten minutes dead.” Izzy turned to the intern. “We’re going now.” Back to Quinn. “Do your job.” To an orderly who was watching. “Let’s move her on up.” She clapped her hands. “Now, do it now!”
“ Yes, ma’am.” The orderly went to the gurney.
“ Dr. Shaffer’s not answering his cell,” Shaw said.
“ I said move it, Belinda.” Izzy felt the walls closing in.
