Fatal Reaction (32 page)

CHAPTER 91

Ana turned off the news and shook her hair loose from her ponytail. She finger-combed the tangled strands and tucked them behind her ears, debating, for a second, about calling Ethan. She told herself the nightmare was over, but her mind wouldn’t let it be over.

She scrolled through her cell phone contacts and stopped at Ethan’s number, deciding quickly that it was better to be alone for the right reasons than to call him in a moment of weakness. Her leaning on him was as unfair to him as Jared’s giving her false hope had been to her. All of the visits, the nights spent on her couch, the comforting and listening, exactly what she needed when she needed it, had her believing in an impossible future.

Your wife’s been asking for you.

The nurse’s voice echoed in her head. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but she felt like she owed Colby an apology. She reached to turn off the lamp, and the white beam of headlights panned across the living room. She looked out the front door at an unfamiliar white Tahoe parked in her driveway, the cargo area of which was piled so high with clutter that it blocked the light from the lamppost on the other side of the yard.

Ana prepared to tell whoever it was that they had the wrong house.

The driver’s door opened, but no dome light came on. A dark silhouette reached across the front seat, and when a car passed, its headlights illuminated his face.

Jared.

Ana rushed to open the door, not caring that she looked eager. The late hour said as much about why Jared was there as the bag slung over his shoulder.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Of course, yes.” She felt a little tongue tied.

“I’d have come earlier, but I had to pack.” Jared made no assumptions. He didn’t set his bag down, or get comfortable.

Ana locked the front door out of habit.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you in the ER. I shouldn’t have let Mike make me leave. I wanted to be there, but he—”

“Has a way of intimidating people.”

Jared nodded. “He cares a lot, and he wants the best for you. I do, too. That’s why I left Colby.”

“Jared, she’s sick.” Ana couldn’t believe she was defending her, but the woman had nearly died. “I don’t want to be to blame . . .”

“You’re not to blame for anything, and I didn’t leave her alone. Dorian’s with her.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why that nurse was looking for me. Colby wanted to be discharged, against medical advice. A lot has happened in the last few days, most of it terrible, and before all of it, Colby and I were trudging along, subsisting on broken vows and the fear of what came next. We couldn’t even sleep in the same room, and I couldn’t face her after what she did with Simon and Dorian. There were reasons, I’m sure, for her to blame me. I didn’t pay her enough attention and I wasn’t there enough, but we grew apart a long time ago. I knew, before I caught her with Simon, that she’d been cheating. I guess it’s a mixed blessing, right?” Ana raised her eyebrow. “Her telling me she is in love with Dorian relieved me of any guilt I felt about being in love with you.” Ana was speechless. “Ana, I love you. There’s something about you that just gets me, and if you give me the chance, I’ll prove to you that I can make you happy.”

Ana kissed him to stop him from talking. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her. He gathered her up and smothered her in combustible kisses until they were both out of breath.

“I don’t want to presume anything,” he said, a peaceful, dazed look settling over him. “I’ll start looking for an apartment first thing in the morning—”

“Yes,” Ana said, already unzipping his coat and stealing another kiss. “You can stay, as long as you want to.”

“You mean beyond tomorrow?”

“And even the next day.”

When he set down his things, she knew he’d never leave.

EPILOGUE

The surgical team worked in unison, tending Emily who was consciously sedated and seemed only vaguely aware of her surroundings.

Derrick stood by her side, near the chest-high drape that separated her engorged stomach, painted Betadine orange, from her face, which held the listless expression of someone drugged and distant.

“Can I hold her hand?” Derrick asked.

The anesthesiologist, a middle-aged man whose hazel eyes were barely visible past the reflection in his glasses, nodded.

“Are we ready?” Dr. Davis, dressed in blue surgical scrubs, looked to him for confirmation.

“All set, Dr. Davis.”

Sweat beaded on Derrick’s brow as she pressed the tip of her scalpel into Emily’s stomach. He turned his face toward Emily and locked her gaze. Her ivory skin looked pale against the surgical cap covering her hair. Dark circles, from long nights with no sleep, swallowed her tired eyes. The last month had been hard on her; the weight gain, the constant urinating, and the stress of prelabor contractions. One of the conditions of her pregnancy was that the baby be delivered by cesarean, the only safe way, considering the transplant.

Emily was reluctant to ever have surgery again, but as they counted down the days, excitement replaced both her and Derrick’s fears.

This was their miracle.

“How are you doing?” Derrick whispered.

“Good,” Emily slurred.

“You’re going to feel a little bit of pressure.” Dr. Davis widened the opening, reaching inside of Emily and manipulating the tiny infant until she could coax the baby into the bright light of the operating room.

Derrick squeezed Emily’s hand, and she, as best she could, squeezed back.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“We’re almost there,” Dr. Davis said.

Derrick pressed his lips to Emily’s hand. “You’re doing great, honey.”

Emily winced, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

A nurse rushed in from the corner with a receiving blanket draped over her hands. There was a sound of wet suction, and an infant’s cry filled the room.

“It’s a girl.” Dr. Davis held out a pair of scissors for Derrick to cut the umbilical cord, but he shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, crying with joy. His heart swelled with pride as he looked at the perfect, tiny being he and Emily had created. “It’s a girl,” he said to Emily. “She’s beautiful.” He smothered her with kisses, and she, in her dazed state, managed to kiss him back.

The nurse carried the baby to a station in the corner. She cleaned her up, weighed and swaddled her, and held her out to Derrick.

“Six pounds, three ounces.”

Derrick, who had never handled a newborn, held his daughter tight to his chest, rocking her until she stopped crying. Her slate-blue eyes glistened from the ointment the nurse had put in them, and despite what the books he had read said about infants’ eyesight, he could tell she was looking at him. He bent down for Emily to see her. “She looks like you,” he said through tears.

“No,” Emily said. “She looks like
you
.”

Dr. Davis laughed. “And the arguing begins. Have you thought of a name?”

They’d tossed a hundred around during Emily’s pregnancy and kept coming back to the donor, Janice Harmon, who had made the whole thing possible. Janice wasn’t the best name for a baby, but they were determined to work it in.

“Sabrina,” Derrick said. “Sabrina Janice Warren. You like that name?” he asked the baby.

Emily smiled. “Sabrina Janice Warren,
our daughter
. I like the sound of that.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Succinylcholine is an injectable drug used as part of anesthesia and in emergency medicine to facilitate the passage of an endotracheal breathing tube. It paralyzes all of the muscles in the body, including the lungs. Succinylcholine acts within seconds, and its effects typically last less than ten minutes. Body enzymes break the drug down quickly, making it difficult for a crime lab to detect its presence postmortem. Tests for breakdown substances, known as “metabolites,” do exist, but the testing is difficult and results are controversial. Succinylcholine has been considered by some to be a near-perfect murder weapon.

Insulin is used to control blood sugar levels in people whose bodies cannot naturally produce enough of the hormone. Too much insulin reduces the blood glucose (sugar) level to a point that the brain cannot function. Overdose of insulin leads to a condition called hypoglycemia, which can cause a person to lapse into a coma, or even die. There are numerous cases of insulin being used as a murder weapon. Unlike succinylcholine, insulin is slow-acting, and its effects can be easily detected and reversed. Like succinylcholine, it metabolizes quickly, making it difficult, but not impossible, to prove that a victim has died from its effects.

Succinylcholine, and to a lesser degree, insulin (unless someone is diabetic), are difficult to obtain outside of the medical community. While both have been used in real-life murder cases, this is purely a work of fiction. Details of the crimes within, as well as locations, are hybrids between fact and fiction, altered to meet the demands of the story.

In other words, don’t try this at home.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After the author’s fifteen years of working in health care, Belinda Frisch’s stories can’t help being medicine influenced. A writer of dark tales in the horror, mystery, and thriller genres, Belinda tells the stories she’d like to read. Her fiction has appeared in
Shroud
magazine, Dabblestone Horror, and Tales of the Zombie War. She is the author of
Cure
,
Afterbirth
,
Fatal Reaction
,
Better Left Buried
, and
The Missing Year
. She resides in upstate New York with her husband and a small menagerie of beloved animals.

Visit her blog at:
BelindaF.blogspot.com