Page 88 of Ward D
No, not another one. I can’t take it anymore.
I step aside while the code team rushes into the room with a crash cart. I try to get a glimpse inside, but all I can see is somebody intubating him. That’s not a good sign. A moment later, they have got him on a stretcher and they dash past me, with Will intubated. A nurse is blowing air into his lungs manually with a bag while they roll him along.
“Hey.” Hazel grabs my arm. “Do you know what they gave him?”
My mouth almost feels too dry to speak. “I think it was Ativan,” I croak. “Is he… what’s going on?”
She flashes me a grim look. “He wasn’t breathing.”
A second later, they are out the door and gone. I’m assuming they’re taking him down to the ICU. But at least he’s alive. He’s got a chance of surviving.
Please let him survive this night.
59
The police have been questioning me for over an hour.
In their defense, it’s a long story with a lot of details. And while it’s a very crazy story, they don’t look at me like I’m crazy. They hang on my every word and write everything I say down on a little notepad.
“You had quite a night,” a tall dark-haired officer named Moreno comments.
“Yeah.” My hands have not stopped shaking for the last hour. I’m not sure if they’ll ever stop shaking. Good thing I don’t want to be a surgeon. “Where did you take Jade and Damon?”
“To jail,” Moreno says. “Don’t worry—they won’t be able to hurt you ever again.”
Of course, that’s not much consolation after all the things that they’ve already done. Five dead bodies on the unit. And Will down in the ICU, a tube stuck down his throat so he can breathe.
Over Moreno’s shoulder, I can see them wheeling a stretcher out of the seclusion room. Unlike when they were taking Will out of the unit, there’s no urgency now. All the people in that room are already dead. The stretcher has a body on it, covered head to toe in a white sheet.
As the stretcher hits a crack in the floor, something drops out from under the sheet. It takes me a second to realize what it is.
It’s a package of Ring Dings.
It must be Cameron under the sheets. I should have guessed based on the bulky outline of the body—the former college football player. I clasp a hand over my mouth, my eyes filling with tears. I was such a jerk to him the last time we talked. He tried to extend an olive branch, and I shut him down.
In my defense, I didn’t realize it would be the last time we would talkever.
And now he’s dead. He’ll never be an orthopedic surgeon. He’ll never beanything. How could this be? He was only twenty-four years old. Yes, he wasn’t perfect, but he was a good guy. All he wanted was to put people back together again after they got hurt.
“You okay?” Moreno asks me.
I consider lying and trying to be strong, but instead I shake my head. “No. Not at all.”
My phone buzzes inside my scrub pocket. With the door to the unit open, we seem to be getting cell reception, although I’ve been too busy to spend any time on my phone. Eventually, I need to tell other people what happened here, but I’m not ready for it. Not yet.
I did do one thing though when I had a spare moment. I googledThe Daily Chronicleand brought up a list of the staff members. And there he was, third from last, along with a color photograph. William Schoenfeld, Staff Reporter.
He was telling the truth all along.
My phone buzzes again, and I pull it out of my scrub pocket. There are a bunch of text messages from Gabby that are equal parts curious, irritated, and concerned. I skim to the final message:
Where are you??? There are like a million police cars here!
I clear my throat. “Hey, is it okay if I leave? My roommate is waiting outside and I’ve been up the whole night.”
Moreno hesitates. “Okay, but I’m going to give you my card. After you get some rest, give me a call right away. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”
I don’t doubt that.
