“I’m enjoying this little bit of mothering,” Terese said. “Sleep well.”
They parted. Jack walked back toward the guest room, but before he got to the door, Terese called out: “One more question: Why do you live in that awful slum?”
“I guess I don’t feel as if I deserve to be all that happy,” Jack said.
Terese thought about that for a moment, then smiled. “Well, I shouldn’t imagine I’d understand everything,” she said. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Jack echoed.
21
* * *
SATURDAY, 8:30 A.M., MARCH 23, 1996
True to her word, Terese had come into Jack’s room and awakened him several times during the night. Each time they’d talked for a few minutes. By the time Jack awakened in the morning he felt conflicted. He was still thankful for Terese’s ministrations, but he felt embarrassed by how much of himself he’d revealed.
As Terese made him breakfast, it became apparent that she felt as awkward as he. At eight-thirty, with mutual relief, they parted company in front of Terese’s building. She was off to the studio for what she thought would be a marathon session. He headed for his apartment.
Jack spent a few hours cleaning up the debris left by the Black Kings. With some rudimentary tools he even repaired his door as best he could.
With his apartment taken care of, Jack headed to the morgue. He wasn’t scheduled to work that weekend, but he wanted to spend more time on his backlog of autopsies that had yet to be signed out. He also wanted to check on any infectious cases that might have come in during the night from the General. Knowing that there had been three reportedly fulminant cases of Rocky Mountain spotted fever in the emergency room the day before, he was afraid of what he might find.
Jack missed his bike and thought about getting another one. To get to work he took the subway, but it wasn’t convenient. He had to change trains twice. The New York subway system was fine for getting from north to south, but west to east was another story entirely. Even with the multiple train changing Jack still had to walk six blocks. With a light rain falling and no umbrella, he was wet by the time he got to the medical examiner’s office at noon.
Weekends were far different than weekdays at the morgue. There was much less commotion. Jack used the front entrance and had the receptionist buzz him into the ID area. A distraught family was in one of the identification rooms. Jack could hear sobbing as he passed by.
Jack found the schedule that listed the doctors on call for the weekend and was pleased to see that Laurie was among them. He also found the master list of cases that had come in the previous night. Scanning it, he was sickened to see a familiar name. Nancy Wiggens had been brought in at four A.M.! The provisional diagnosis was Rocky Mountain spotted fever.
Jack found two more cases with the same diagnosis: Valerie Schafer, aged thirty-three, and Carmen Chavez, aged forty-seven. Jack assumed they were the other two cases in the General’s emergency room the day before.
Jack went downstairs and peeked into the autopsy room. Two tables were in use. Jack couldn’t tell who the doctors were, but judging by height he guessed one of them was Laurie.
After changing into scrubs and donning protective gear, Jack entered through the washroom.
“What are you doing here?” Laurie asked when she caught sight of Jack. “You’re supposed to be off enjoying yourself.”
“Just can’t keep away,” Jack quipped. He leaned over to see the face ‘of the patient Laurie was working on and his heart sank. Staring up at him with lifeless eyes was Nancy Wiggens. In death she appeared even younger than she had in life. Jack quickly looked away.
“Did you know this individual?” Laurie asked. Her own emotional antennae had instantly picked up Jack’s reaction.
“Vaguely,” Jack admitted.
“It’s a terrible thing when health-care workers succumb to their patients’ illnesses,” Laurie remarked. “The patient I did before this one was a nurse who’d ministered to the patient you did yesterday.”