Page 5 of Bad Blood

Movement from the street catches my attention and I peer through the side window next to my door, catching the glimpse of a U-Haul and movers. A new neighbor. Yay.

A shiver races up my spine as I drop onto my leather sofa and prop my feet up on the coffee table, inspecting my heel and the path I took in here for any remnants of blood. It doesn’t require stitches.

The computer is stuck rebooting, and the spinning wheel of death is the only thing on my screen. These things happen at the most inopportune times. I set it next to me on the cushion, grab the remote from the arm of the sofa, and pull the throw blanket over my lap.

It takes me three tries to find a station still reporting on the lawsuit. I need to know what I’m up against tomorrow and prepare. The more information, the better.

The arrogant face of Christopher Jenks, the top reporter for Fox 5 New York, fills the TV screen. I can’t remember the last time I watched the ten o’clock news and can’t say I’ve missed it. He sits straighter in his chair, shuffles his papers, and gives the camera a cockeyed grin.

“As stated before, this is not the first litigation against Mount Sinai West in the last year. Malpractice lawsuits are not uncommon, especially in the field of oncology, but when the same physician is behind the complaints, we have a duty to you, our viewers, to look into it.”

I try not to gag. His theories on information he doesn’t have make my insides swirl. I hate how people only look for a way to slander situations to make them fit their agenda.

Yes, Kline’s been under investigation for malpractice before, and yes, it seemed shady, but I have no doubt HR dealt with it in the way they deemed necessary. Not everyone’s standards are as high as mine, but ethics regarding medical practices is the one area I don’t see any leeway. I’ll never understand how anyone could settle for mediocrity.

“This case is being investigated more than any previous suits, and a new claimant has stepped forward, naming another physician as a cohort in the recent wrongful death lawsuit.”

I can salvage this.

“We’ll be coming to you live, tomorrow—”

I turn off the TV, set the remote on the arm of the sofa, and return to my laptop, sick of hearing Jenks and his appreciation for his own voice. There’s no way I’m going to get what I need from a news broadcast.

Nelson, Markus.

I remember every case I’ve ever worked on. Every single face. The labs and scans are there, as well as the operative note. And, lo-and-behold, there’s my signature. Why can’t I place him?

Nelson, Nelson, Nelson.

The name doesn’t ring a bell.

A quick scan of his chart does nothing to refresh my memory.

Kline has to be behind why I can’t remember him, but how? I shouldn’t blame him, but that’s the only plausible explanation. I can count on one hand the number of times I went into surgery to be called out for something emergent. Could this be one of those times?

It doesn’t make sense. I should still recognize the patient’s case. I slam my laptop, toss it onto the cushion beside me, and pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I try not to let tears of frustration out. What has Kline done?

I need to run. Need to escape. I’ll expend some energy, get my thoughts in order. And come back and start digging. Kline might have the upper hand but won’t have it for long. I will figure out what he’s up to, even if it takes all night. The answer is in the files. I know it is. All I have to do is find it.

2

No Harm, No Foul

Brighton

Tuesday, May 9 th

8:07 a.m.

My mind does some jacked-up shit when faced with the unimaginable. It’s the trauma brain in action—jumping to conclusions, racing through scenarios.

But this is excessive, even for me.

I speed past the horde of news vans blocking the parking garage and into the front lot closest to the hospital entrance, devising a way to get from here to there without making a scene.

The press lines the sidewalk to the hospital, cameras flashing like erratic fireflies. I glance into my rearview mirror, steeling myself.

I can do this. I’ll ignore them.

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