Saving Meghan(112)

“I don’t know,” the nurse said, clearly shaken. “Five minutes, maybe more.”

“Get this tube out!” Becky screamed. “Get this damn tube out now!”

“Call the police!” Zach shouted at the duty nurse. “Lock down the Mendon Building. Tell them to find Dr. Nash. Tell them to find her now!”

“She’s got her,” Becky said, her voice a tremor. “She’s got Meghan. Get me unhooked. Do it! Do it now!”

Zach gave it a thought, just for a moment or two, where he contemplated the consequences of complying, then realized that if he were in Becky’s position—if it were Will and not Meghan in jeopardy—he’d rip the damn tube out of his nose himself.

Zach quickly donned a pair of disposable gloves retrieved from the shelf behind Becky’s bed, forgoing the usual hand hygiene. Instead of a towel, he used his jacket to catch the fluids that would soon spill out. Without alerting the nursing staff, Zach separated the tube from suction. Normally, he’d have used a syringe flush with ten milliliters of normal saline, but he did not have one at the ready. He instructed Becky to take a deep breath and hold it. Clamping the tube with his fingers, doubling it up on itself, Zach began to pull. Becky’s face contorted in discomfort as the tube came up her nasal passage. Clear fluid poured out her nose and onto the jacket as the tube came free.

Zach went to work on the IVs next, disconnecting them with practiced efficiency, while Becky blew residual fluids into a tissue. As he removed the hookups connected to various monitors, alarms began to ring out. A team of nurses, as well rehearsed as any Broadway troupe, stormed into the cubicle, ready to take action, looking shocked to find Zach helping Becky out of her bed.

“Get me a pair of scrubs,” Zach said, putting his arm around Becky to help keep her upright.

“Where are you taking her?” a perplexed-looking nurse asked in a panicky voice.

“I’m taking her to her daughter,” Zach said.





CHAPTER 57





MEGHAN


Walk or bleed.

Those were my two options as I opened the door marked ROOF ACCESS—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and stepped from the stairwell into a cool night. City lights from the surrounding buildings battled back the dark like an artificial dawn. A breeze blew my loose hair in front of my face, setting a chill against my skin.

Nash half dragged, half shoved me onto the roof. All was silent except for the sounds of traffic below and a steady hum emanating from big metal boxes dotting the rooftop. I tried to find my composure, strengthen my resolve, but my heart was lodged in my throat while my knees knocked together like castanets.

Dr. Nash held the scalpel to my neck, pressing the point into my skin. In my mind, I saw the blade sink into my flesh, felt it tear across my throat, ripping open a grisly gash in the shape of a wicked grin.

“Please … please let me go.” My weak voice quaked with fright. I thought of my father, how he’d hate that voice. He’d want me to stand up to Nash like he’d wanted me to stand up to my mother. He’d want me to be strong, to fight back.

“Walk,” Nash said.

It was the damn scalpel—the needle to end all needles—that made my legs move.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

A voice in my head shrieked at me: Run! Fight! Scream!

But my body wouldn’t obey. I was moving in slow-motion, taking one step after another, shuffling forward like a sleepwalker. For years, I’d been pushed around, told what to do, where to go, what to eat, when to sleep, what doctor to see, what pill to swallow, so taking another step toward the roof’s edge seemed simply like something else I had to do. But my feet slowed, giving me hope that a bit of fight might bubble up from deep inside me.

“It all fell apart,” Dr. Nash said, mumbling to herself, as though she were trying to sort out what had happened. “I had to do it.… I had to.”

Nash gave a second hard shove from behind to hurry me along. I stumbled forward, my arms flapping for balance, feet skidding for traction, no more than twenty steps from the drop-off. I couldn’t tell how high up we were—ten stories, twelve? What did it matter? If I went over, I’d never get up again.

I felt another hard push from behind.

Fifteen steps now.

Off in the distance, I heard the wail of a siren, and for a brief moment allowed myself to believe it was a rescue team coming for me. But that wasn’t possible. Dr. Nash had told Nurse Amy she was taking me to see my mother. There was no way to know we’d gone up a stairwell. The only way they’d find me was if I hit the pavement. I didn’t know how Dr. Nash would get away with my murder. I didn’t much care.

“Please don’t hurt me … please, please don’t.”

I tried to sink to my knees, but my sudden movement caught the scalpel and it sliced into my flesh. Nash yanked me up as blood snaked down my neck in warm, wet rivulets. It was hardly a gush, so I figured the slice could not have been too deep, just a nick, but it awoke something inside me. The sting had come and gone. It wasn’t so bad, was it? I could take the pain. I didn’t have to be afraid to the point of paralysis. Not if I wanted to live.

To save myself, I had to channel the strongest person I knew—my mother. Real or imagined, I’d have to fight back the way she had fought my disease.