Jenny, NSW
‘Why’d you call me in? It’s my golf day for Christ sake.’ Hands on hips, foot tapping, the Head of the Emergency Department, Doctor Frank Campion’s body language confirmed his words. ‘Okay, okay keep your shirt on,’ Bart West glared back at him. ‘There’s a wave out there with my name on it too.’ ‘So? Get to the point then and we can both clear off.’
Bart picked up a handful of papers and waved them in Frank’s face. ‘It’s not that simple. I think we’re in deep shit.’ Frank raked both hands through his salt and pepper hair and sighed. ‘Sometimes Bart, for an ED Resident, you’re such a bloody drama queen. What’re you on about?’
‘Yeah, I am just a Resident, but at least I keep a heads up on the paperwork. Have you looked at the figures lately?’ countered Bart.
Before Frank could reply something heavy clunked against the office door and then started to push it open. A big industrial vacuum cleaner nosed through the opening.
‘Oh, sorry Doc Frank, ya workin’ today too? I jus’ wanted to clean ya office.’ Murray Quinn the hospital cleaner stood in the doorway. Murray was one of the hospital’s rehab success stories. Mowed down late one night by a hit and run driver, it had been touch and go whether he’d survive, but three months in a coma, another six in rehab and his body had mended nicely. An Acquired Brain Injury victim, that’s when the hospital admin had stepped in and offered him a job cleaning. They’d gained a lot of publicity mileage with his story.
‘Hello Murray, how’s the job going?’
‘Good Doc Frank, I’m working really, really hard.’ A frown creased Murray’s brow, he rubbed his big ham fists together. ‘What’ll I do now then?’
‘Maybe you could come back in a little while,’ suggested Frank. ‘Dr West and I are just having a short meeting.’ ‘But… but?’ Murray started to rock from side to side.
‘The office looks pretty tidy today, why don’t you skip it altogether and slip down to the cafeteria for a cuppa. Then you could just move on to the next job, how does that sound?’
Murray stopped rocking. ‘Okay Doc, that’s a good idea.’ ‘What’s that on your hands?’ asked Bart.
The cleaner’s face lit up with a smile. ‘I got tatts. You want’a see?’ He held out both hands. Across the knuckles of one was tattooed the word ‘second’ and on the other was the word ‘chance’. ‘I reckon that’s what the hospital give me, another go.’
‘Very nice,’ Frank said as Murray dragged the vacuum cleaner out of the room and the door closed behind him. Bart sighed, waving the papers in Frank’s face again.
‘What?’ ‘I’ve been going over the stats. I’ve checked them five times. I can’t figure it out, it doesn’t make sense.’ Bart pushed the papers into Frank’s hand.
‘You’re not making any sense either,’ growled Frank looking at the papers. ‘What’s this all about?’ ‘Hospital records,’ sniffed Bart, pacing nervously up and down the room. ‘It’s incredible, there’s no logical explanation. For the last six weeks we’ve been loosing a patient every Sunday morning between eleven and eleven thirty.’
‘Loosing?’ cut in Frank.
‘Yeah, lost, y’know, dead, deceased, stopped breathing,’ blasted Bart.
‘Well, for the sake of stating the bleeding obvious, we are a hospital, we can’t save everyone.’ ‘You don’t get it do you? Same day, same time.’
‘An unfortunate coincidence?’ asked Frank.
‘And what if I added same room into the equation?’ Bart answered Frank with his own question. ‘Same room?’
‘Yep, Room 15 in the ED.’ Bart slumped into the chair behind the desk. ‘Can you think of some sort of medical explanation for this?’
‘It must be a mistake.’
‘Look at the paperwork Frank. You’re the department head, what’s going on? I’m just the Resident. The data doesn’t lie.’
Frank scanned the pages, flipped backwards and forwards between sheets, double checking. ‘This is bullshit!’ ‘It’s correct.’
Frank bit at his bottom lip, his brain working in overdrive, when he spoke, he chose his words carefully. ‘So what are we dealing with here? Are we talking murder?’
‘I don’t know. Hell Frank, I’m not a bloody detective.’
‘Look, we’re both doctors, we’re in the business of saving lives, not this…this… bullshit!’ Frank threw the papers down onto the desk.
Bart took a deep breath and stood up. ‘What are we going to do then?’
‘We’re going to get to the bottom of this, now. It’s Sunday, almost eleven, you and I are going down to Room 15 and together we’re going to sort this out.’
Bart ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? Now that you know about it, shouldn’t you be calling the cops of something?’
‘There’s no time for the police.’ Frank opened the door and waited for Bart to follow him. ‘Can you think of anything better?’
Standing beside Frank outside the closed door of Room 15 Bart asked again. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ ‘No, I’m not sure, but nobody messes with my department and my patients and gets away with it.’ Frank had his hand on the door knob. ‘Shhhh, we’re here now.’
The room was in semi darkness, the blind on the window half closed. A girl her face grey, lying ramrod straight in the bed, tubes running from her body, hooked up to machinery. The only sounds the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor and soft whoosh of the ventilator.
Bart went to the bed and looked at the girl then turned and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Frank who was studying the chart at the end of her bed.
‘She’s a Uni student, admitted late yesterday complaining of stomach cramps, high temp and a rash. Her vitals have taken a dive and we haven’t been able to isolate the cause.’
‘Is she going to die?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘So, there’s no reason to believe that she’s going to die in the next half hour?’
‘None at all, the machines are working for her,’ replied Frank. ‘It’s almost time,’ He pointed towards two chairs set up in the corner of the room.
‘We aren’t in any danger are we?’ Bart’s face was shiny with sweat. ‘What if we’re dealing with a murderer? What if he’s armed? Have you got a plan, for Christsake?’
‘Shhhhhhhhhh… we wait.’
Bart shifted nervously on his seat. He folded his arms across his chest and then unfolded them and stuck his hands in his pockets. ‘You should have called the cops, we shouldn’t be dealing…’
Something clunked heavy against the door. The end of Bart’s sentence caught in his throat. His hands locked into fists, but they seemed glued to the inside of his pockets. He was frozen to his seat. Frank jumped up ready for action.
The door of Room 15 opened wide enough for a hand to slip inside, feel along the wall for the power point, yank out the plug of the life support machinery and replace it with the plug it was holding.
A hand with the word ‘chance’ tattooed across the knuckles.
Then it disappeared out the door and seconds later the loud boom of an industrial vacuum started up.
