into her stomach. As she scrambled from the shower, she opened her eyes momentarily from instinct, and screamed even louder, her hands scrabbling over her face. The smell of rank flesh filled the air and she recognized it instantly. It was the same smell that had lingered about Nancy's and Sandra's faces when they'd stumbled into the ER. Alkali. Somehow, it had gotten into her water supply. That meant it could flow from the sink faucet as well.
She pulled herself up from the bath mat, felt her way to the toilet, and raised the lid. She forced her eyes open again, for an instant, and saw through the tears and excruciating pain that the water was clear. Lowering her head, she leaned heavily on the rim, splashing water up into her face continually with one hand and alternating prying her eyelids apart with her other, trying to get her breathing back under control. Though she felt no burning in her mouth or throat and could taste nothing unusual, she hocked and spit, a cord of drool dangling from her bottom lip. The pain in her face did not seem to be subsiding.
She flushed the toilet, saw that the fresh water spiraling in was also clear, and leaned farther down, scooping it up over her face. She tried desperately not to think of the alkali eating its way through her flesh, focusing instead on treating the injury as if it were someone else's.
She flushed and irrigated for about another four minutes, preparing herself to make the dash to the telephone. Her bedroom phone was the closest, but the one in the kitchen had a sink nearby. She should start filling the sink while she dialed-there was a wash rag draped over the faucet she could use to plug the drain. Once the water was running, she'd have to force her eyes open again to check that it was clear.
Continuing to splash herself with water from the toilet, she envisioned the route to the kitchen. Out the bathroom door, right down the hall, dodge the small table with the vase set against the left wall, six paces to the kitchen door, then around the central table to the countertop. The dial pad was on the inside of the telephone receiver; 9 was the second button up on the right side, 1 the top left.
The pain came in waves, like tiny fragments of shrapnel flying in her face from a series of explosions. Her harsh breaths, strengthened with groans, fired through her chest as though she were finishing a marathon. Grinding her teeth, tensing her entire body, she drew her legs up under her and prepared for the blind sprint.
Douglas DaVella's records popped up on-screen, and David scanned through them eagerly. DaVella had come into the ER for a standard physical after a fender bender in '87-no significant findings-and he'd seen a gastroenterologist in '91 for irritable bowel.
Clearly, they hadn't cross-referenced medical files with employee records when Clyde had worked at the hospital as Douglas DaVella. That made sense, given patient confidentiality and logistical considerations.
David jotted down DaVella's social security number, date of birth, and address-1711 Pearson Rd. He'd just noted that the address was in Venice when his pager went off, its text message alerting him to get down to the ER immediately.
Chapter 45
When Pat ignored David, he thought it was merely residual ill will from their confrontation earlier in the week, but the entire staff was stiff with him as he made his way to the Central Work Area. He couldn't find the attending on call, so he tapped a nurse on the shoulder as she passed. 'Can you tell me what's going on?'
'You haven't heard?' She had a cruel, stupid face and wore too much eye shadow.
'I guess not,' David said.
A medicine intern looked up from his paperwork. 'There's been another attack, Dr. Spier.'
David felt the air leave his lungs all at once. 'On who? Who is it?'
The CWA was full, but no one answered. They stared with dull, implacable eyes, or turned back to their charts. 'Who is it?' he said again.
The medicine intern angled his head toward the door to Hallway Two and David walked out at a fast clip. Bronner slumped in a chair near the door to Exam Eight. Jenkins stood over him, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
Jenkins looked at David with more concern than anger, which sent David's anxiety through the roof. He strode toward the door and shoved it open.
Diane lay on the bed inside, her forehead and right cheek blistered in streaks and patches. A series of raised white bubbles ringed her right eye.
David stepped forward, dazed, his hand swiping the air several times before finding the back of a chair. He leaned. A tingling warmth spread across his face, and he blinked hard several times to strike preemptively against tears.
Diane looked away. 'That bad, huh?'
He knew his voice would be unsteady, so he waited a moment to speak. 'No,' he said. Fighting to keep his emotions from overwhelming him, he crossed to her bed, dragging the chair along with him. She still didn't meet his eyes. He wanted desperately to touch her, to caress her face, but could not. Her hair, still wet from saline irrigation, had darkened the pillow. He took her hand, and she let him.
He sat at the side of her bed.
'You just missed plastics. Can't do anything acutely. Probably have some scarring, but no disfiguring contractions. Neosporin and Silvadene, blah blah blah. Wait and see. Should be fine.' Head still turned, she laughed to herself, a nasty little laugh. 'Wait and see.'
'Ophthalmology?' David asked, still not trusting his voice to form longer sentences.
'Hourly Pred Forte, Cipro four times a day. Mild corneal epithelial erosion, faint anterior stromal haziness, no ischemic necrosis of perilimbal conjunctiva or sclera.' She shook her head. 'Words. Lots of words.'
'Prognosis?'
'I should have little or no corneal scarring.' She raised an index finger and twirled it lazily. 'Whoopee.'
David exhaled, relieved. 'You're very lucky.'
'Lucky. God, do we sound that stupid to people who come in here? I don't feel lucky, David.'
He weathered her burst of anger quietly. She was entitled to it. After a moment, he asked, 'Where did he…?'
'Emptied out medicine gelcaps, filled them with alkali crystals. Then, he broke into my place, unscrewed my showerhead, and stuck them behind there. Hot water melts the capsules. Presto. Liquid alkali.'
'Who thinks of that?' David asked in disbelief.
'I hate to confess I find it somewhat ingenious. If he'd just packed the showerhead with straight crystals, it would've clogged up, or I would've noted the immediate change in water color. Of course, it was slightly diluted, which is why I can see you right now.'
He picked at the skin of his cuticle, drawing blood. 'That bastard. That sadistic bastard.' He stood up and paced around the room. 'This is my fault.'
'This isn't your fault, David.' Her face remained turned away. 'Pardon my manners, but I don't really feel like being comforting right now.' Her voice softened, though she still didn't turn to him. 'It's a fucked situation. Let's use it for what it's worth. You told me he sensed you and I were close when I burst in on you in his room in the ER. He probably did this to piss you off or get back at you for something. I'd guess that I'm actually irrelevant.'
David stared at the back of her head, admiring her, still waiting for the heat to leave his face.
'It's a more elaborate setup,' Diane continued. 'Not to mention a tedious, time-consuming one.' Her voice colored with acrimony. 'Our little boy's growing up.'
David tried to think, but couldn't find his way through the jumble of his emotions. He walked over and stood beside her bed. 'Look at me.'
'No.' Her shoulders began to shake.
'Diane. Look at me.'
Her voice, tiny like a child's, was wrenched high. 'I can't.'
Crouching, he reached out and touched her unmarred chin, ever so gently, and turned her face to his. The blisters were slick and shiny with cream, and they leaked a pale yellow fluid.
She tried to turn her face away, but he didn't let her. Her lips were trembling so hard she could barely speak. 'I look repulsive. I must look repulsive to you.'
