Godplayer

Fourteen

Cassi awoke with the same violent headache she’d had in the intensive care unit. The difference now was that her mind was clear. She remembered everything that had happened the previous night. After checking out of Essex General she headed into Boston thinking she should call Dr. McInery, but when she reached the hospital she no longer felt she needed emergency care. But before she could face her fears about what had happened, she knew she needed sleep. She’d gone to the empty on-call room on Clarkson Two and stretched out on the cot.

As she fell asleep she knew she’d have to find someone to talk to about Thomas. Had he been involved in her second insulin overdose? She didn’t see how since she had taken her regular medicine herself. But the fact that all the phones except Patricia’s were out seemed too much of a coincidence to be an accident, and her car had never in the past failed to start. What if her fears about Thomas’s connection to the SSD cases were true? What if she hadn’t been hallucinating and he was responsible for Robert’s death?

If it were true, he had to be ill, mentally ill. He needed help. Dr. Ballantine had said he would do anything he could if Thomas needed counseling. Cassi decided to see him in the morning. For the moment she was safe.

Checking her urine a final time, she decided she might as well fall asleep. Hopefully Patricia couldn’t alarm Thomas until morning.

When she awoke well before dawn, the psychiatry ward was still deserted. Cassi washed up as best she could and ran down to the lab where she persuaded a sleepy technician to draw some blood for a sugar level, only to have the night lab supervisor refuse to run it because Cassi didn’t have her hospital card with her. Not up to arguing, Cassi left the sample and told the man to do whatever his conscience dictated. She said she’d stop back later. Then she went up to Ballantine’s office and parked herself in the hall opposite his door.

An hour and a half passed before he appeared. He saw Cassi as he came down the hall.

“If you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you,” she said.

“Of course,” said Dr. Ballantine, turning to unlock his door. “Come in.” He acted as if he’d expected her.

Cassi walked into the office, looking out the window to avoid meeting Dr. Ballantine’s gaze. She could see over the Charles River to the MIT building directly opposite. Although she wasn’t sure why, Cassi thought that Dr. Ballantine seemed somewhat annoyed to see her.

“Well, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I need help,” said Cassi. Dr. Ballantine was standing before his desk. He was not making her feel comfortable, but she didn’t know who else to turn to.

“And what kind of help do you need?” asked Dr. Ballantine. He made no gesture for Cassi to sit down.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Cassi slowly. “But before dealing with anything else I must get Thomas into therapy. I know he’s abusing drugs.”

“Cassi,” said Dr. Ballantine with patience. “Since we last talked, I’ve checked Thomas’s prescribing habits. If he errs, he errs on the side of caution as far as narcotics are concerned.”

“He doesn’t get pills under his own name,” said Cassi. “But drugs are only part of the story. I think Thomas is ill. Mentally ill. I know that I haven’t been on psychiatry long, but Thomas is definitely sick. I’m afraid he considers me a threat.”

Ballantine didn’t respond immediately. He looked at Cassi with surprise and, for the first time since he’d seen her, concern. His expression softened and he put an arm around her shoulders. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress. And I think the problem has gone beyond my capabilities. What I’d like you to do is sit down and rest for a few minutes. There is someone else I think you should talk to.”

“Who?” asked Cassi.

“Please sit down,” said Dr. Ballantine softly. He moved his wing chair from the corner and placed it in front of the desk, facing the window. “Please.” He took Cassi’s hand and gently encouraged her to sit down. “I want you to be comfortable.”

This was the Dr. Ballantine Cassi had remembered. He would take care of her. He would take care of Thomas. Gratefully she sank into the soft leather cushions.

“Let me get something. Coffee? Something to eat?”

“I could use something to eat,” said Cassi. She felt hungry and guessed her blood sugar was still low.

“All right, you wait here. I’m sure everything is going to work out fine.”

Dr. Ballantine left the room, closing the door quietly.

Cassi wondered whom Dr. Ballantine was calling. It had to be someone in a position of authority who would have some influence over Thomas. Otherwise he wouldn’t listen. Cassi began to rehearse her story in her mind. She heard the door open behind her and glanced around expecting to see Dr. Ballantine. But it was Thomas.

Cassi was stunned. Thomas pushed the door shut with his hip. In his hands he had a plate of scrambled eggs and a carton of milk. He came over and handed her the food. He was unshaven and his face looked haggard and sad. “Dr. Ballantine said you needed something to eat,” he said softly. Cassi took the plate automatically. She was hungry but too shocked to eat. “Where is Dr. Ballantine?” she asked hesitantly.

“Cassi, do you love me?” asked Thomas in a pleading voice.

Cassi was nonplussed. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. “Of course I love you, Thomas, but…”

Thomas reached out and touched her lips, interrupting her.

“If you do, then you should understand that I’m in trouble; I need help, but with your love I know I can get better.”

Cassi’s heart turned over. What had she been thinking? Of course Thomas had nothing to do with the terrible events of the previous night. His sickness was making her equally crazy.

“I know you can,” said Cassi with encouragement. She’d not thought Thomas was capable of having such insight into his own problems.

“I have been taking drugs,” said Thomas, “just as you suspected. I’ve been better this last week, but it’s still a problem, a major problem. I’ve been fooling myself, trying to deny it.”

“Do you really want to do something about it?” asked Cassi.

Thomas’s head shot up. Tears streaked his cheeks.

“Desperately, but I can’t do it alone. Cassi, I need you with me, not against me.”

All at once Thomas appeared like a helpless child. Cassi put the plate down and took his hands in hers.

“I’ve never asked for help before,” said Thomas. “I’ve always been too proud. But I know I’ve done some awful things. One thing has led to another. Cassi, you must help me.”

“You need psychiatric attention,” said Cassi, watching Thomas’s response.

“I know,” said Thomas. “I just never wanted to admit it. I’ve been so afraid. And instead of admitting it, I just took more drugs.”

Cassi stared at her husband. It was as if she’d never known him. She struggled with the desire to ask if he’d been responsible for her insulin overdose, or if he had anything to do with Robert’s death, or with any of the cases in the SSD series. But she couldn’t. Not then. Thomas was too broken.

“Please,” he begged. “Stand beside me. It’s been so difficult to admit all this.”

“You’ll have to be hospitalized,” said Cassi.

“I understand that,” said Thomas. “It just cannot be here at the Memorial.”

Cassi stood up and put her hands on his shoulders.

“I agree, the Memorial would not be a good idea. Confidentiality is important. Thomas, as long as you agree to professional care. I’ll stand beside you for as long as it takes. I’m your wife.”

Thomas clasped Cassi in his arms, pressing his wet face against her neck.

Cassi hugged him reassuringly. “There’s a small, private hospital in Weston called the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. I think we should go there.”

Thomas nodded in silent agreement.

“In fact I think we should go immediately. This morning.” Cassi pushed Thomas away so she could see his face.

Thomas looked directly at her. His turquoise eyes seemed clouded with pain. “I’ll do anything you think I should, anything to relieve the anxiety I feel. I can’t bear it any longer.”

The doctor in Cassi conquered all other reservations. “Thomas, you’ve driven yourself so hard. You wanted to succeed so much that the process of winning became more important than the goal. I think it’s a common problem with doctors, particularly surgeons. You mustn’t think you are alone.”

Thomas tried to smile. “I’m not sure I understand, but as long as you do and you won’t leave me, it doesn’t matter.”

“I wish I’d understood sooner.”

Cassi pulled Thomas back into her arms. Despite everything, she felt she had her husband back. Of course she’d stand by him. She of all people knew what it was like to be ill.

“Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “We’ll get the best doctors, the best psychiatrists. I’ve done some reading about impaired physicians. The rate of rehabilitation is almost one hundred percent. All it takes it commitment and desire.”

“I’m ready,” said Thomas.

“Let’s go,” said Cassi, taking his hand.

Like lovers, Thomas and Cassi ignored the morning crowds pouring into the Boston Memorial. Walking arm in arm to the garage in the early morning light, Cassandra kept up a steady stream of enthusiastic conversation about the Vickers Psychiatric Institute. She even told Thomas she had a specific psychiatrist in mind who’d had lots of experience treating other doctors.

After they’d climbed into the Porsche, Cassi asked Thomas if he felt well enough to drive. Thomas assured her that he was fine. Cassi reached up and pulled down her seat belt. As usual she had the urge to tell Thomas to do the same, but she thought better of it. She had the feeling that his emotions were so volatile, he would explode at the slightest frustration.

Thomas started the car and carefully backed out of the parking lot. After they’d passed through the automatic gate, Cassi asked how Dr. Ballantine had found Thomas so quickly.

“I called him during the night when I couldn’t find you,” said Thomas, stopping for a red light. “I had a feeling you might go to see him. I asked him to call me in my office if he heard from you.”

“Didn’t he think it was a little odd? What exactly did you say?”

The light changed and Thomas accelerated toward Storrow Drive. “I just told him you had another insulin reaction.”

Cassi considered her own behavior. She recognized that her actions would appear irrational, especially signing out of a hospital against medical advice when she had barely been stabilized. Then hiding from everyone.

As usual Thomas drove recklessly, and when they reached Storrow Drive Cassi braced herself against the door for the sharp left turn that would take them toward Weston. Instead Thomas swung the wheel to the right, and Cassi had to grab the dash to keep from falling against him. He must have turned out of habit, thought Cassi.

“Thomas,” she said. “We’re heading home rather than to Vickers.”

Thomas didn’t answer.

Cassi turned to look at him. He seemed to be holding the wheel in a death grip as the speedometer gradually inched upward. Cassi reached over and put her hand on his neck, massaging the tight muscles. She wanted to get him to calm down. She could sense that he was becoming enraged.

“Thomas, what is the matter?” asked Cassi, trying to keep her fear in check.

Thomas did not respond, driving the car as if he were an automaton. They rose up the ramp, banked, and merged into the multiple lanes of Interstate 93. At that time of the morning there was no outbound traffic, and Thomas let the car go.

Cassi turned toward him as much as her seat belt would allow. She let her hand trail down Thomas’s side, at a loss as to what to do. Her fingers hit something sharp in Thomas’s jacket pocket. Before he could react, Cassi reached in and pulled out an opened package of U500 insulin.

Thomas snatched the package away, returning it to his pocket.

Cassi turned and watched the road rush toward her in a bewildering blur. Her mind was racing as she began to understand the cause of her last insulin reaction. There could only be one reason for Thomas to have U500 insulin. It was a rarely used drug. He must have replaced her U100 insulin with the more concentrated drug, forcing her to give herself five times her normal dosage. It would have been easy enough to do, forcing a syringe through the sealed cap in the same way that she drew out her regular dosage. If it had not been for her glucose solution, she’d have been in a coma now, or maybe worse. And the hospital episode? She hadn’t been dreaming when she smelled the Yves St. Laurent cologne. But why? Because she, like Robert, was analyzing the sudden death data. Suddenly it was clear that Thomas’s performance before they left the hospital had been a trick. With horror she realized that Ballantine must have thought she was the mentally troubled person, not Thomas.

Cassi felt the emergence of a new emotion: anger. For a moment it was directed almost as much at herself as at Thomas. How could she have been so blind?

Turning, she studied Thomas’s sharp profile, seeing it in a different light. His lips looked cruel and his unblinking eyes appeared deranged. It was as if she were with a stranger… a man whom she intuitively despised.

“You tried to kill me,” hissed Cassi, tightening her hands into fists.

Thomas laughed with such harshness that Cassi jumped.

“Such clairvoyance! I’m impressed. Did you really think the broken phones and your car not starting were coincidences?”

Cassi looked out at the blur of scenery. Desperately she tried to control her anger. She had to do something. The city was falling behind them.

“Of course I tried to kill you,” snapped Thomas. “Just like I got rid of Robert Seibert. Jesus Christ! What did you think I was going to do, sit and let you two destroy my life?”

Cassi’s head shot around.

“Look,” shouted Thomas, “all I want to do is surgery on people who deserve to live, not a bunch of mental defectives or people who are going to die of other illnesses. Medicine has to understand that our resources are limited. We can’t let worthy candidates wait while people with multiple sclerosis or gays with autoimmunal deficiencies take valuable beds and OR time.”

“Thomas,” said Cassi, trying to control her fury, “I want you to turn this car around immediately. Do you understand?”

Thomas stared at Cassi with unconcealed hatred. He smiled cruelly, “Did you really think I would go to some quack hospital?”

“It’s your only hope,” said Cassi, while she tried to tell herself that he was sick crazy. But all she felt was an overwhelming loathing.

“Shut up!” screamed Thomas, his eyes bulging, his skin flushed with anger. “Psychiatrists are full of shit, and no one is going to sit in judgment of me. I’m the best goddamn cardiac surgeon in the country.”

Cassi could feel the irrational power of Thomas’s narcissistic rage. She had little doubt as to what was in store for her, especially since everyone thought she’d already given herself two overdoses of insulin.

Ahead, Cassi could see the Somerville exit rapidly approaching. She knew she had to do something. Despite the speed at which they were traveling, she reached across and grabbed the steering wheel, pulling the car sharply to the right, hoping to force them off the interstate.

Thomas struck out and slapped the side of Cassi’s head, throwing her forward with the force of his blow. She released her hold on the steering wheel to protect herself. Thomas, thinking she still had hold of the wheel, jerked it back with all his strength, and the car, which was already out of control, careened wildly to the left. Thomas desperately swung the wheel to the right and the Porsche skidded sideways, then rammed into the concrete abutment in a crescendo of broken glass, twisted metal, and blood.