Overkill(28)

“It’s been four years.” Zach plowed his fingers up through his hair and kept them around his head. His scalp was damp from the sweat he’d broken while in Rebecca’s room. “I didn’t expect her eyes to be open.”

“She has sleep-wake cycles. But even while awake, she has no awareness of, or reaction to, her surroundings. She has no cognitive function. She doesn’t think or respond to any stimuli.”

“Nothing?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Family members often cling to the hope, the belief, that their voice or touch is somehow getting through to their loved one, that they’re communicating on some level.”

Zach lowered his hand from his head and looked at her directly. “Her father.”

“He comes every day. He and Mrs. Pratt used to alternate, but since she passed, he’s missed very few days. He usually comes early in the morning and stays for an hour or so. You missed him today.”

“That’s a good thing.”

She rolled her lips inward, then said, “Mr. Bridger, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know the circumstances of how Rebecca came to be here.”

“They were well publicized.”

“I didn’t follow the story as it was unfolding, but when I took over Rebecca’s care, my predecessor informed me of the contention that exists between you and Mr. Pratt. And, just so you know, the staff is aflutter because you’re in our midst. Within minutes of your arrival, it had spread throughout the building that you had darkened our door.”

“I’d hoped to sneak in and out with only you knowing.”

“I believe that would have been impossible.”

“Yeah, me too. Can you keep a lid on it?”

“I already have. Everyone on staff received a text reminder from me about our privacy policy, which is strictly enforced.”

“Thank you. On behalf of Doug and Rebecca, too.”

“For you to have risked exposure of your visit, there must be a compelling reason for it.”

“There is, but I’m not at liberty to discuss it. I will tell you that it’s not a financial problem. The tabloid stories are fiction. I haven’t gone broke, I’m not living on the street. You don’t need to be concerned about any interruption of the payment schedule. ”

“I wasn’t.” She moved closer to her desk, narrowing the distance between them. Speaking more softly, she said, “Why did you come, Mr. Bridger? What is it you want to know?”

He spread his knees and clasped his hands between them. Head down, he stared at the carpeted space between his shoes. “When your predecessor filled you in on Rebecca’s history, did he give you all of it, or just hit the high points?”

“He hit the high points, but I took it from there. I read all the reports, all the doctors’ notes and recommendations, examined every chart.”

Although he didn’t raise his head, he nodded. “So you know about Rebecca’s drug and alcohol abuse, all that?”

“Yes, I know about everything.”

He did look up at her then.

Her expression remained impassive, but she pointed to a file cabinet. “Rebecca’s medical records, the ones previous to her being admitted here, are locked away. They’re for my eyes only. You can depend on my discretion.”

“That’s good. Thank you. If things get crazy again, and they might, I wouldn’t want all that exposed and scrutinized,” he said, glancing at the file cabinet.

“Why do you think things might get crazy again? Are you second-guessing the decision you made four years ago?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

She must have sensed his impatience with himself. “Take your time.”

When he felt ready to put his ambiguities into words, he said, “When this happened to Rebecca, I would have hated it like hell for anybody, for a total stranger. There was no love lost between us, believe me. Neither of us left the marriage with a broken heart. But I guess that vow about in sickness and in health subconsciously factored into my decision to take no action. Now, though, I’ve been given a reason, a crucial reason, to reevaluate.

“First thing I want to ask is how long can Rebecca remain like this? And, please, no bullshit about the brain being a mysterious organ, or stranger things have happened, or you’re not God.

“Based on all those letters,” he said, chinning toward the name plate, “and your history with similar patients, you’re qualified to give me your best guess. How long?”

She indicated that she understood his request and would give it to him straight. “Rebecca hasn’t experienced any organ failure. She hasn’t contracted pneumonia, and we do all we can to prevent that and other infections, any of which could be fatal. In every regard, she’s well cared for. Her bodily functions are closely monitored and seen to. She’s exercised daily. She gets adequate fluids and nutrition.”

“Through tubes.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed his forehead. “What you’re saying is, she could stay like this indefinitely, that nothing will ever change.”

“On the contrary. She could decline. It could be sudden and steep, or gradual. Any of the things that I just told you hadn’t happened yet could occur at any time. For instance, the brain stem could cease function, requiring that she be put on a ventilator.”