Lancaster County Target. Kit Wilkinson
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stopped at the third floor and Blake turned them toward the renovation area, taking in her words, which were more personal to him than she knew. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, I’m going to ask. Nursing isn’t allowed?”
“No, it’s not. It’s Hochmut.” Abby smiled and waved hellos to the few staff members they passed. “The Amish can have shops, build furniture or buildings, and farm. Professions that require higher degrees are not pursued.”
“Hochmut?”
“Ja. Hochmut,” she repeated with a teasing look, correcting his pronunciation.
“I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch.” Blake felt himself blush—her unfamiliar words were just another reminder of how little he knew of this place where he had come to find answers about himself.
“It means ‘arrogance.’ It’s what comes with letting the world in, with studying and learning more than needed. By going to school and becoming a nurse, I’ve become too much a part of the world. In many ways, I’m not worthy to take vows. But I have vowed in my own way to take care of people. My people. They need health care that they are comfortable with and I can provide that. I think I made the right decision. One day my family will understand. Some of them already do.”
Blake tried to wrap his head around the Amish culture. After the letter his mother had left him, he’d researched anything and everything Amish. But now that he was there in Lancaster, he realized there was still so much to learn. And there was already one strike against him. Would his biological family think less of him for his medical profession?
“How about you?” She looked back at him with her bright blue eyes. “Why did you leave New York? And how did you pick Fairview Hospital of all places?”
Blake had a stock answer for that question. It was the one he’d given to everyone else who’d asked him, even his closest friends. No one knew the real reason he’d come to Lancaster. He’d told no one that he had recently found out that he’d been adopted, that he’d been born in Lancaster, not in New York City as he’d thought his entire life. He could hardly process the news himself, much less deliver it to others and expect them to understand. It was best to sort it out first. By himself. Yet he found himself on the verge of telling Abby the truth.
“Lots of reasons,” he said in a low voice.
“Dr. Jamison. Dr. Jamison.” The young nurse from Nicolas Hancock’s room raced after him, waving a set of papers. “Here, Doctor. I called Mr. Hancock’s lawyer, but I only spoke with a receptionist. She wouldn’t let me through, nor would she tell me if there was a next of kin to notify.”
“Thank you.” Blake took the papers.
She glanced at the closed doors to the renovation area and easily guessed their intentions. “The renovation area has been locked up after what happened to you, Abby. But if you want to take a look, then we might have a key at the station.” She started back in the direction she’d come. “I have your hermetically sealed IV and tubing, too, Doctor. Would you like to have that, too?”
“Yes, if you could bring the IV, too, I’d appreciate it.”
Abby looked up at him. “Hancock? Did she say your patient’s name was Hancock?”
“Yes. Nicolas Hancock.” He handed Abby the chart so he could steer the wheelchair. “But he wasn’t really my patient. Supposedly, he was a transfer. Somehow my name got on that chart. My signature, even—but I never laid eyes on him until I was paged for a Code Blue. I came right away but it was too late. The crash team tried and tried to resuscitate but he didn’t make it.”
Abigail stared down at the front page of the chart in her lap. “I’ve seen this before.”
“Seen what?” Blake thought again about the fact that Hancock and Abby had had elevated adrenaline levels. Had that not been a coincidence?
“This chart. This name. This patient.” Her eyes were wide.
“What? What do you mean? I thought you worked in Maternity.”
Before she could answer, the young nurse returned with a set of keys to unlock the refinished wing. She opened the doors and handed Blake a small sealed plastic bag, which had Hancock printed across the side. He hung it on the back of the chair, thanked the nurse for her help and rolled Abby into the closed-off wing. The farther they got into the hallway, the more the blood had drained from Abby’s face. He stopped the chair and walked in front of her. He took her arm and checked her pulse.
“Your heart is racing and you look really tired, Abby. This is too much. Let’s go back down and rest. As you can see, the hallway is empty. There’s no one else here.”
“That doctor was here.” Abby, white as snow, pushed him aside. She stood and began to move through the dim hallway. “He was here. In this hallway with that patient.” She pointed at the chart. “He gave him an injection. Blake, I saw it. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. That’s why he injected me, too.”
“What doctor? What are you talking about?” Blake moved quickly around the wheelchair and put a hand under her shoulder to support her. He took the chart from her hands and tossed it back onto the wheelchair so he could take her hand. “I really think this is too much for you right now. Please sit back down. You’re not really making a lot of sense.”
“He tried to tell me that patient had a highly contagious disease, but I knew it wasn’t true. There was no indication of it on his chart.” Her pulse quickened as she pressed against him.
Blake didn’t answer. She was already too worked up. He should never have let her talk him into this stupid excursion. “You need to be resting. Come on.”
Abby continued, ignoring his efforts to make her return to the wheelchair. Her persistence was admirable, he supposed. But as a doctor, he had to object to the way she was putting herself at risk. But she would not stop. She continued down the hallway without his help.
“So how did he die?” She looked back at him.
“Cardiac arrest.”
“Too much epinephrine?”
“Too much adrenaline. Yeah. Probably epinephrine. We saved the IV tubing—that’s what’s in the bag that the nurse brought to me. We might be able to get some idea of what the patient was given...but...” He caught up to her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Abby, are you saying you saw another doctor inject Hancock with medication? Here? Not in the patient’s room?”
Click.
The doors behind them, the ones they’d come through, closed tight. The lock popped and the sound of it echoed down the dead, dark corridor. It was pitch-black.
Abby shuddered against Blake’s supportive arm.
“Let’s get you back. I think you’ve remembered enough for now.” Blake started to redirect them the way that they’d come. “I’m sure someone will hear us if we knock.”
But Abby pulled against him. “We are much closer to the stairwell. You said that’s where the custodian found me, right?”
“Right.” Blake shook his head, following behind her in the darkness. “Really, please, let me get you back to that wheelchair.... Are all Amish women this stubborn?”
“Most are much worse.” She pushed open the door of the stairwell. There was some dim lighting.
“I’ll keep that in mind in case I have any more Amish patients.” Blake linked an arm gently under hers, supporting most of her weight. He led her carefully down the stairs. Shadows seemed to dance above them in the dim lighting. Twice she stopped and looked up.
“Do you...?” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn he saw someone above them. A shadow. A movement. Someone dressed in white.
“Yes,” Abby said. “I see little...”
Blake frowned at her words. She was