She went up to Dr. Wallace’s office. He was waiting for her.
“Well, I must say, your telephone call surprised me, Paige! Have you definitely made up your mind?”
“Yes.”
Benjamin Wallace sighed. “Very well. Before you go, Dr. Barker would like to see you.”
“I want to see him.” All of Paige’s pent-up anger boiled to the surface.
“He’s in the lab. Well…good luck.”
“Thanks.” Paige headed for the lab.
Dr. Barker was examining some slides under a microscope when Paige entered. He looked up. “I’m told you’ve decided to quit the hospital.”
“That’s right. You finally got your wish.”
“And what was that?” Barker asked.
“You’ve wanted me out of here from the first moment you saw me. Well, you’ve won. I can’t fight you anymore. When you told me I killed your patient. I…” Paige’s voice broke. “I…I think you’re a sadistic, cold-hearted son of a bitch, and I hate you.”
“Sit down,” Dr. Barker said.
“No. I have nothing more to say.”
“Well, I have. Who the hell do you think you…?”
He suddenly stopped and began to gasp.
As Paige watched in horror, he clutched his heart and toppled over in his chair, his face twisted to one side in a horrible rictus.
Paige was at his side instantly. “Dr. Barker!” She grabbed the telephone and shouted into it, “Code Red! Code Red!”
Dr. Peterson said, “He’s suffered a massive stroke. It’s too early to tell whether he’s going to come out of it.”
It’s my fault, Paige thought. I wanted him dead. She felt miserable.
She went back to see Ben Wallace. “I’m sorry about what happened,” Paige said. “He was a good doctor.”
“Yes. It’s regrettable. Very…” Wallace studied her a moment. “Paige, if Dr. Barker can’t practice here anymore, would you consider staying on?”
Paige hesitated. “Yes. Of course.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
His chart read, “John Cronin, white male, age 70. Diagnosis: Cardiac tumor.”
Paige had not yet met John Cronin. He was scheduled to have heart surgery. She walked into his room, a nurse and a staff doctor at her side. She smiled warmly and said, “Good morning, Mr. Cronin.”
They had just extubated him, and there were the marks of adhesive tape around his mouth. IV bottles hung overhead, and the tubing had been inserted in his left arm.
Cronin looked over at Paige. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Dr. Taylor. I’m going to examine you and—”
“Like hell you are! Keep your fucking hands off me. Why didn’t they send in a real doctor?”
Paige’s smile died. “I’m a cardiovascular surgeon. I’m going to do everything I can to get you well again.”
“You’re going to operate on my heart?”
“That’s right. I…”
John Cronin looked at the resident and said, “For Christ’s sake, is this the best this hospital can do?”
“I assure you, Dr. Taylor is thoroughly qualified,” the staff doctor said.
“So is my ass.”
Paige said stiffly, “Would you rather bring in your own surgeon?”
“I don’t have one. I can’t afford those high-priced quacks. You doctors are all alike. All you’re interested in is money. You don’t give a damn about people. We’re just pieces of meat to you, aren’t we?”
Paige was fighting to control her temper. “I know you’re upset right now, but—”
“Upset? Just because you’re going to cut my heart out?” He was screaming. “I know I’ll die on the operating table. You’re going to kill me, and I hope they get you for murder!”
“That’s enough!” Paige said.
He was grinning at her maliciously. “It wouldn’t look good on your record if I died, would it, doctor? Maybe I will let you operate on me.”
Paige found that she was hyperventilating. She turned to the nurse. “I want an EKG and a chemistry panel.” She took one last look at John Cronin, then turned and left the room.
When Paige returned an hour later with the reports on the tests, John Cronin looked up. “Oh, the bitch is back.”
Paige operated on John Cronin at six o’clock the following morning.
The moment she opened him up, she knew that there was no hope. The major problem was not the heart. Cronin’s organs showed signs of melanoma.