Peril (5 page)

“Scott, your type of surgery had been done before. It was just the cells that were different.”

He nodded. “You know, at first, it really was amazing what the graft could do. The amount of information I could keep in this soggy noggin was like something you'd see in the movies. It made planning missions easy. I could make inferences between different intel reports—it was easier to see connections between terrorist groups that were physically separated from one another. I mean, miles and miles of bare mountain tundra.”

“Then what exactly is the problem? You sound happy to have these new skills. Don't you think it helped you get the Silver Star?”

Scott's eyes darkened like a blue sky gathering storm clouds. “Maybe the graft enhanced our efforts, but we would have succeeded in that mission—even without the surgery. If that's all it was, just a great memory, I wouldn't be here.”

“Then why are you here?”

Scott leaned forward and brushed his hands over his short hair. “It's hard to explain. It's the emotion that's all wrapped up in them.”

“Can you try?”

He exhaled slowly through puffed cheeks. “My marriage was in trouble long before the surgery. Got a lot worse after.”

Tyler nodded and remained silent, partly because he could relate emotionally to issues of marital discord Scott was doing his best to hide. Unfortunately, Scott's glossy eyes and reddened cheeks betrayed the bubbling caldron inside. The effervescence of a marriage disintegrating traveled to others like mist in the wind.

“I don't know if I can help you understand how my memory works
now. It's like a running calendar of events, but also with it is the exact emotion I felt at the time. So every argument my wife and I had, not only do I remember what I said but I can see in her face how I made her feel.”

“Don't you think that would happen normally?” Tyler asked. “Events that are highly charged release adrenaline into our bodies. We know this cements memories more quickly and deeply and that emotions tied to those situations erupt when they're revisited. This is the basis of Dr. Reeves's research into post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Scott smiled thinly. “It's different than that. I know guys who have PTSD and it's nothing like what I'm experiencing. It's more like having your own personal analyst. You go back through these events, over and over, reliving and analyzing the bad decisions you made and what you could have done differently.” He ran his palms over his pants. “You begin to see your part in the total destruction. People are so quick to put blame on someone else, but I know that I have hurt her very deeply.”

“You're still together then? Isn't there hope?”

Scott leaned his chin into his hand and looked out the window. This side faced west into a broad valley just as the mountains grew from foothills to stone guardians of solitude. “I'm making some decisions now that may ultimately end my marriage.”

“But you're not divorced yet. There's still a chance. There's always hope,” Tyler said.

“Are we going to talk about G-O-D now?”

“Do you want to?”

“Are you a minister as well as a surgeon?”

Tyler laughed, partly at the remark and mostly to relieve the tightness in his chest. “Definitely not, but there are things I've seen . . . miracles that can only be explained by my belief in God. The human body is an amazing organism. It's so intricate that I don't think it could have ever come together in a pile of goo lit by a strike of lightning.”

“You say that out loud very often?”

“It might surprise you how many people there are who work in medicine and believe in a higher power.”

“Sounds very impersonal.”

“How do you mean?”

“Some big presence in the sky.” Scott stopped, his mouth open, his
breath held in his chest. He shook his head and the icy gaze returned. “Did you know she was here?”

“Who?”

“My wife.”

“When?”

“Before my surgery. A couple of weeks before.”

Strength leeched from Tyler's muscles. “Do you know why she came?”

Scott kneaded his hands together. “I only know it wasn't her first visit. She'd had one a couple of months prior.”

“Did you ask Dr. Reeves about it?”

“Not yet. I thought you'd know what the reason might be. Reeves isn't always forthcoming with information.”

Tyler reflexively glanced at his watch; his soul cried for him to leave.
Will Morgan understand if I'm late again?

He looked back at Scott. “One, no, I never knew that she came to visit. Two, if she was seen in a doctor-patient capacity, it would be a breach of her privacy rights for me to look at her chart since I've never provided direct care to her.”

“You don't find it strange that a woman—” He closed his eyes.

What is really going on?

“Scott, what is it that you really want to know?”

The alarm on Tyler's watch toned, like the warning of a bomb about to detonate.

“I want to know why my wife was here and what Thomas Reeves might have done to her. Was she part of the protocol?”

Chapter 4

Early Evening, Monday, June 11

M
ORGAN REACHED FOR THE
amber bottle.
How easy would it be to die?

She smoothed her thumb over the prescription label, calculating the number of antidepressant pills it would take to cease her existence. She eyed the full glass of water on her nightstand and felt herself breathing.

In. Out. In. Ou—

She flinched when the house vibrated beneath her. Tyler was home. Fully releasing her held breath, Morgan took the bottle of amitriptyline and tucked it into her pillowcase.

Did Tyler make it to the grave today?

Even though Morgan's heart ached for the sweet lavender smell of her daughter fresh out of the bath, it couldn't bear going to the patch of ground that held her tiny little body. The marble of the grave marker sapped her strength with every visit. It was becoming more difficult to shake the coldness and find any light to ease this darkness creeping into her soul.

Despite her best efforts, even now she couldn't help rehearsing the pain. Morgan had suffered unforeseen complications a few days prior to Teagan's birth—complications that had caused her kidneys to go into failure. Despite her induced delivery, her kidneys continued to deteriorate over the next several weeks and Morgan was placed on dialysis.

Adjusting to a chronic illness in the same breath as trying to care for a new infant was mind-boggling. The hopes of getting her pre-baby body back quickly fell away when she'd had a catheter placed into her abdomen for dialysis. The gallon of fluid that sat in her belly for several hours to draw out toxins made her feel like she was nine months pregnant again, without the joy of anticipating a prize at the end of the road.

The doctors soon shared that it was unlikely her kidneys would recover from HELLP syndrome, and that she would need a kidney transplant, or dialysis for the rest of her life.

In her mind, she could still see Tyler as he came into the kitchen during those days. His routine was to undress in the mudroom and to put contaminated clothing directly in the wash. Teagan had been born in the middle of flu season, two days before Valentine's Day, and they wanted to ensure those viral particles didn't travel from their clothing to her newly minted respiratory system. Plus, they were at a point where they needed to keep Morgan as healthy as possible, too. Strange how such small particles could survive outside a host for many hours. Just like an organ could be outside a body for hours yet still bring life to another.

They'd sheltered Teagan for the first eight weeks of her life. Morgan had a good friend who'd volunteered to take care of Teagan when she went back to work. Quickly mounting medical bills had sidetracked her plans of staying home. Her insurance benefits were better than Tyler's, and they were going to need the extra income to cover those costs the insurance didn't pick up.

Tyler's contract work for Dr. Reeves was both a blessing and a curse. The income was badly needed, but now Tyler was hardly home.

It didn't bother her as much as it should have.

After entering the kitchen, Tyler would pick up a glass of red wine that waited for him. Oftentimes, he didn't want her to bother cooking him dinner when his arrival home was never dependable. Bad habits came quickly, and he usually got something on his way home.

It was easy to pour a glass of wine and have it waiting for him. One of the few wife-like tasks she still tried to do.

That was something she missed. Him sitting at the kitchen island in his plush, white terry cloth robe, sipping a cabernet, sharing about his work adventures. Teagan sleeping nearby in her Pack 'n Play. Morgan rummaging through the refrigerator, trying to dream up something new and creative. During her maternity leave, managing Teagan and the dialysis hadn't been too bad. She fit in extra sleep when the baby napped.

After a few stories from his day, Tyler would pick up Teagan and brush his whiskers against her cheek until her dark blue eyes opened and greeted his matching pair. He'd kiss her cheek, walk her upstairs, and get her settled to bed. By the time he was done, Morgan would have something prepared for him to eat. It never bothered Morgan that Tyler roused Teagan from her sleep; she was always quick to go back down.

If I'd known those quiet evenings with Teagan were numbered, I never would've allowed my baby to go back to sleep.

Morgan went back to work. Twelve-hour shifts weren't optimal on dialysis, but working in the pediatric ICU didn't offer any alternative and she dreaded thinking about leaving the type of nursing she loved. Her unit had borne with her even though she needed extra breaks for dialysis exchanges. Then, after a long day, she'd come home to have to set up her treatment and manage Teagan. Tyler started coming home later and later, and she gave up keeping Teagan downstairs awaiting his arrival.

After Teagan's death, Morgan had opted for a shunt to be placed in her arm to facilitate the hemodialysis treatment she currently endured three times a week. And she'd gone on the transplant list.

That had been the beginning of the distance between them. It was as if they were on opposite sides of a small, barely trickling creek. But every action—going to bed without talking, leaving in the morning without a word, and not talking on the phone through the day—was like a cup of water into the stream that eventually grew to the raging, class-five rapids that was the current state of their marriage. Tumultuous.

Churning.

She could so easily be drawn under the foaming water for a cold, suffocating death.

That evening had started like any other for Morgan.

Snow was falling softly and the grass had a nice layer, though it was melting quickly on the streets. She'd picked Teagan up from Victoria's house. The first inkling Morgan should've had that something was amiss was when she arrived late from work and her daughter was packaged up and ready to go. Normally she found Victoria with the baby cuddling in the living room. Through the sidelight windows, Morgan could see Teagan was parked by the front door and buckled into her infant carrier. In one swift movement, Victoria had swung open the door, picked up the carrier with her free hand, and shoved it into Morgan's arms, not even allowing her to come inside. It was a side of her friend that she'd never seen. Impatience. Anxiety. Victoria said Teagan had been fussy all day and she didn't know if she could continue to care for her.

Packaged infant.

Crying all day.

Wanting out.

How many times had she heard the exact same story at work? There should have been something that tugged at Morgan's nursing instinct. She should have known then, as she carried her baby to the car, that a cascade of events was brewing inside her daughter's body. Trauma that her own dear friend set into motion.

The drive home was short. Teagan hadn't stirred. It was already late in the evening, so Morgan decided to leave the baby buckled in the infant carrier while she had her dialysis fluid drained and clean solution infused back into her abdomen.
Thirty minutes tops
.

She'd pushed down the carry handle and taken a quick peek before she went upstairs. Teagan seemed to still be sleeping. After reviewing the events in her mind, Morgan now remembered how her skin looked pale.

Morgan had just finished the treatment when she heard Tyler coming through the heavy garage door that jolted the whole house when it closed. At first, her heart hammered at the sound of the break in the peaceful quiet of the house, but it was his outright scream for her help that caused her to stumble from the bathroom.

She raced down the stairs, crashing into the kitchen. Tyler had Teagan on their marble island, his lips pressed over her nose and mouth. Teagan's head was as blue as the blueberries they'd had for breakfast.