Notorious D.O.C. (Hope Sze medical mystery) (37 page)

I whipped my head to the side, screaming incoherently now.

While she raised her arm for a death blow, I bucked again. She fell
toward the fridge and I managed to kick her off me.

I threw myself on my stomach and scrambled to my feet, toward the
door. She launched herself at my bad leg.

I howled and grabbed the phone off the wall. I slammed it into her
head just as she reached for her knife. The cheap plastic split, so I dug my
hands into her hair and slammed her head into the linoleum as hard as I could.
Once. Twice.

Finally, her hands loosened and I scrambled to freedom.

EPILOGUE

I ached all over. I couldn't even go to the bathroom without help.
Twisting to grab the toilet paper was like an Olympic event.

But I was alive.

Alive, while Reena slumbered on in a genuine coma and Jodi Green, or
whatever her real name was, smoldered in jail.

My parents had taken me home to Ottawa. My mother was in heaven,
bringing me bone soup and gruel in thirty-degree weather, while my father
showed me
Just for Laughs
gags and
Kevin tried to trick me into doing his summer school homework.

Ryan brought me movies and more sunflowers. It hurt too much to hug,
so he kissed my hand, my eyelids, my intact ear, and the other few body parts
that didn’t throb. "I'm sorry I didn't block your fire escape."

"How were you supposed to know? My parents are ready to put the
landlord through the meat grinder."

He made a face. "I was the one on the ground. Anyway. I'm still
not a hundred percent sure why Reena and Jodi ran Laura down."

"Laura figured out that 'Jodi' was an imposter who stole someone
else's ID. I think Laura was already suspicious, but then she saw that 'Jodi's'
X-rays didn't match the real Jodi Green's, who was a few years older, so her
growth plates had already closed. Since you don't suddenly start growing again,
Laura knew 'Jodi' had committed identity theft, but she wanted to prove that
the X-rays weren't just mislabeled before she brought them to the police. And
that's when 'Jodi' got Reena to run her down." I sighed. "I wish I'd
figured it out sooner myself."

"You did awesome." Ryan licked his lips. "At least you
won't have to worry about the phone calls and graveyard pics anymore."

I’d almost forgotten about them. "Yeah, Jodi's in jail and
Wendy's not her bitch anymore."

"No." He examined his feet. "It was Lisa."

I goggled at him. Little Lisa?

"I knew she'd taken a picture in the graveyard in Alexandria, so
I went through her iPhoto library and found the picture. It was the same one. I
confronted her." He scratched a mosquito bite on his arm. "Anyway.
She won't be doing it anymore." He raised his eyes to me. "That's
past, right? We can do better."

I knew he was right. We could do better.

The question was, would we?

Tucker came to visit next with books, chips, and chocolate. He wiggled
my left big toe. "You still got sensation?"

I nodded.

His face sobered. "You were lucky."

I nodded again.

"And brave. And beautiful. And totally kick-ass."

I smiled.

"You're the one," he said, more softly.

I shook my head, but before I could speak, he said, "Don't talk.
I'll read to you. I know smart girls like you have good taste. How about
CJEM?"

He actually pulled the familiar green-blue Canadian Journal of
Emergency Medicine cover out from under his arm.

"You are kidding me."

"Garbo speaks. Well, if that's not your cuppa, your parents told
me you like Little House on the Prairie."

"Bring on
Farmer Boy
."
I settled back into my pillows and fell asleep before he read about Alonzo's
teacher defeating the bullies.

So both men were willing to kiss me all better, but both were also
willing to wait. Near-death has its privileges.

Tucker came whenever he could get away from the hospital long enough
to make the drive. Ryan stopped by most evenings. We watched
Despicable Me
, Wallace and Grommett,
chick flicks—anything but murder and mayhem.

Mrs. Lee brought me a kiss, homemade dumplings, and a card. Inside,
she'd tried to imitate a patient history.

Pt. ID:
Hope Sze

CC:
wounded in the line of duty

Diagnosis:
courage, fortitude, and speedy healing

She signed it
"With love
and profound thanks, Regina and Laura Lee."

I smiled.

She held my hand, trying not to squeeze too hard. "Now I can let
her go."

We both cried, smiled, and cried again. For some reason, I thought of
Mrs. Valdez's baby girl and wished her luck. Then we ate dumplings with chili
garlic sauce.

We were alive.

We could rebuild.

It was enough.

***

Well, it totally sucks to be in jail. I can’t believe I
left a hair in that car. I was so careful with my wig.

Even my lawyer says the DNA evidence is going to put me
away. But anyway. Onward.

I don’t
want to be like ninety-nine percent of the girls here. It’s a loser-pa-looza.
Waa waa waa, my boyfriend got me to smuggle drugs and I’m the one who got
caught. Woo woo woo, he beat me up so bad, I had to shoot him. They can’t see
beyond their acne scars and instant mashed potatoes.

But there
are one or two other girls like me. Smart girls who knew exactly what they were
doing. Now they’re doing their time, but it means they have a lot of free hours
to think. A lot of hours to plan. A lot of hours to make sure they get it right
the next time.

One of
them is hot, too. We could do a lot of damage together.

THE END

Copyright 2011, Melissa Yuan-Innes

Published by Olo
Books

http://olobooks.wordpress.com/

In association
with Windtree Press

http://windtreepress.com/

Author's Note:

Massive
thanks to Bruce Kahn, the police officer who reviewed the details; Dayle
Dermatis, who read an earlier version and introduced me to the acronym TSTL;
and Camden Park Press and Dr. Greg Smith for proofreading. As usual, this is a
work of fiction. All errors are my own.

Melissa Yi is an emergency doctor who did
her residency training in Montreal, minus the murder and male mayhem. She now
runs codes in Ontario.

Please consider signing up for Melissa’s
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Did you miss Hope's debut in Montreal or her encounter with
an escape artist?

Turn the page for a sample of

Code Blues

and

Terminally Ill

CODE BLUES

A
Hope Sze medical thriller

by
Melissa Yi

I pictured the city of Montreal as a
woman with bleached blonde hair and a generous, lopsided bosom, who would draw
me into her perfumed embrace and whisper, “
Bienvenue
.”
Instead, I found a skinny brunette with a cigarette jammed in the corner of her
mouth who turned around and bitch-slapped me.

At least, that’s what it felt like.
Even before I got mixed up with murder.

At 7:25 a.m., I stepped through the
ER’s automatic doors on the east side of the hospital, near the bike racks. I
promptly spotted ten people on lime-green plastic chairs, dozing or watching
the TV in the waiting room on my right.

Ten people already, on my first day
of residency, also known as my first official day as Dr. Hope Sze. Happy Canada
Day to me.

Dr. Dupuis handed me a chart for a
seventy-five-year-old woman with abdominal pain. “Have fun.”

I drew the dirty pink curtain around
bed number 11 before I began the interview. The patient’s son helped swish it
around his side of the stretcher. My patient turned out to be a tiny,
white-haired, half-deaf woman who only spoke Spanish. Her family spoke a little
French, but not much. I found myself yelling and playacting a lot. “Do you feel
nauseous? Are you vomiting?” Grab stomach, pretend to retch. “Do you have pain
in your chest?” Hands to heart, with tormented eyes raised to the acoustic tile
ceiling, like I was Saint Hope at the stake. “Do you have diarrhea?” That one
was hard. I made shooing motions around my rear end. Even the patient laughed.

During the physical exam, my hands
traversed all over her abdomen, while I asked if it hurt. “
Dolor? Dolor
?”

The family enjoyed this
demonstration of fifty percent of my Spanish vocabulary (the other word I knew
was
si
, or yes) and praised my
excellent command of the language. “
Très
bien
!” The patient beamed at me. She didn’t look too pained. I was in the
middle of asking her to turn over for a rectal exam when I heard a flat woman’s
voice from the speakers overhead, “CODE. BLUE. OPERATING ROOM.”

I froze.

“
CODE.
BLEU. BLOC OPÉRATOIRE
.”

The pink curtain ripped open,
revealing Dr. Dupuis’ flushed face. “Come on!” he yelled.

We flew around the nursing station
and past the X-ray light boxes. He slammed the side door open with the heel of
his hand. We dashed down the narrow back hallway.

He punched open another teal door.
As we sprinted up two flights of stairs, one of my black leather clogs almost
went airborne. I jammed my foot back into it. Dr. Dupuis ended up a half-flight
ahead of me, but I caught up to him on the landing.

We dashed left, and then another
left past the elevators, and then we were at the T junction of a hallway and
Dr. Dupuis was yelling, “Where is it?” at a guy in a white uniform and a blue
bonnet-cap.

The guy pointed back over Dr.
Dupuis’s shoulder. “Men’s change room!”

Dr. Dupuis doubled-back a few steps
and shoved open the door to a small, jaundice-yellow room.

Should I follow him in a men’s room?

The door nearly swung shut again. I
thrust it open.

Beige lockers lined the four yellow
walls and made a row down the middle of the room. A wooden bench stretched
lengthwise in each half-room.