Marker

ten

"HOW'S THAT?" JACK ASKED.

He backed up a step to survey his handiwork.

"Okay, I suppose," Lou answered.

Jack had helped Lou into a moon suit and connected his battery pack. Jack could hear the hum of the ventilation fan pulling air through the HEPA filter. "Can you feel the breeze?"

"Some breeze," Lou commented derisively. "I don't understand how you can work in this contraption every day. For me once a month is too much."

"It's not my idea of a good time," Jack admitted as he began climbing into his own suit. "When I'm on call on weekends, I sometimes surreptitiously revert to the old mask and gown, but every time Calvin finds out, I get read the riot act."

They gloved in the anteroom, then pushed into the autopsy room proper. Five of the eight tables were in operation. On the fifth lay the naked remains of Susan Chapman. Vinnie was busy arranging the specimen bottles.

"You remember Detective Soldano, don't you, Vinnie?"

"Yeah, sure. Welcome again, Lieutenant."

"Thanks, Vinnie," Lou said as he stopped some six feet from the table.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked. Lou was a relatively frequent autopsy observer, so Jack was not worried that he'd pass out and fall over backward, as some visitors did. Jack had no idea why he'd stopped, although he did notice the detective's facemask had fogged, suggesting he was overbreathing.

"I'm okay," Lou murmured. "It's a little hard seeing someone you know rudely stretched out like this, waiting to be gutted like a fish."

"You didn't say you knew her," Jack responded.

"I suppose I'm exaggerating. I didn't actually know her. I'd met her a few times at Captain O'Rourke's house."

"Well, move on in here! You're not going to see anything from left field."

Lou took a couple of tentative steps forward.

"Looks like she had a thing for Krispy Kremes," Jack said, surveying the body. "What did she weigh out as, Vinnie, old boy?"

"A hundred and eighty-three."

Jack whistled, which sounded muffled behind his plastic mask. "That's a bit much for what I'd say is about a five-foot-three-frame."

"Five-four," Vinnie said. He went back to the cabinet for syringes.

"I stand corrected," Jack said. "Okay, Lou, fill me in! You railroaded me in here so fast, I haven't read the investigator's report. Where was she found?"

"She was sitting upright in the driver's seat of her SUV like she was taking a nap. Her head was resting down on her chest. That was why she wasn't discovered right away. A few people had seen her but thought she was sleeping."

"What else can you tell me?"

"Not much. She was apparently shot in the right chest."

"And your impression was that of a robbery?"

"Certainly looked like it. Her cash was gone, her wallet and credit cards were thrown on the floor, and her clothes were intact."

"Where were her arms?"

"Poked through the steering wheel."

"Really? That's odd."

"How so?"

"Sounds to me like she was positioned."

Lou shrugged. "Could be. If so, what do you read into it?"

"It's just not common with a garden-variety mugging." Jack picked up the woman's right hand. A section of the thenar eminence below the thumb was gone, causing a grooved defect. The rest of the ball of the thumb and most of the palm was heavily stippled with tiny penetrations. Part of the first metacarpal bone was visible in the defect. "My guess, this is a defensive wound."

Lou nodded. He was still a full step away from the table.

Jack lifted the right arm away from the body. Within the armpit were two small dark red circles with some adherent fabric fibers. The surface within the circles looked like dried chopped meat with a bit of yellow adipose tissue peeking out.

Vinnie came back with the syringes and after dumping them alongside the corpse, pointed to the view box on the wall. "I forgot to tell you I put up the X-rays. There are two slugs in the chest to match the two entrance wounds."

"How right you are!" Jack said. He stepped over to the view box and peered at the films. Lou came up behind him and looked over his shoulder. The two bullets stood out dramatically as two pure white defects in the mottled, varying gray field. "My guess is that one is in the left lung and the other's in the heart."

"That confirms the two nine-millimeter shell casings found in the vehicle," Lou said.

"Let's see what else we can find," Jack said as he returned to the table and recommenced his external exam. He was meticulous, literally going from the top of the head to the bottom of the feet. In the process, he pointed out the fine stippling around the entrance wounds.

"What's that mean?" Lou asked. He'd finally moved close enough to see.

"Since this area was clothed, it tells me the muzzle of the gun was close, maybe only a foot away, but not as close as it was to the hand."

"Is that significant?"

"You tell me. It raises the question whether the attacker was sitting in the car when the gun was fired rather than just reaching in."

"Yeah, so?"

Jack shrugged. "If the attacker was sitting in the car, you may want to question if the victim knew the attacker."

Lou nodded. "Good point."

For the internal portion of the autopsy, Jack stood on the victim's right, with Vinnie on the left. Lou stood at the head and bent over when Jack pointed out a particular finding.

The autopsy was routine, except when Jack traced the bullets' trajectories. Both had penetrated ribs, which Jack thought probably accounted for the lack of exit wounds. One bullet had gone through the aortic arch to lodge in the left lung. The other had passed through the right side of the heart to embed itself in the wall of the left ventricle. Jack retrieved both slugs, handling them with extreme care so as not to alter their external markings. He dropped them into evidence pouches with custody tags that Vinnie had prepared.

"I'm afraid this is all I'm going to be able to give you," Jack said, handing the sealed pouches to Lou. "Maybe your ballistics people can help out."

"I hope so," Lou said. "We got no prints from the scene, even from the passenger-side door handle. There weren't even any latents on the wallet other than the victim's, so we got zilch from the scene. On top of that, the nighttime attendants didn't see anybody suspicious coming in or hanging around."

"It sounds like it's going to be a tough case."

"You got that right."

Leaving Vinnie to clean up, Jack and Lou went into the storeroom to get out of the protective suits. From there, they walked into the locker room to change from scrubs to street clothes.

"Once a doctor, always a doctor, so I hope you don't mind my saying that it looks like you're getting a paunch there, Lieutenant."

Lou's eyes dropped to take in his expanded girth. "Sad, isn't it?"

"Sad and unhealthy," Jack said. "You're not doing yourself any favors with that extra weight, especially since you haven't stopped smoking."

"What do you mean?" Lou questioned as if offended. "I've stopped smoking a hundred times. Why, the last time was just two days ago."

"How long did that last?"

"Till I could bum one off my partner: about an hour." He laughed. "I know, I'm pathetic. But the reason I'm carrying around all this extra baggage is that I can't find the time to work out with all the homicides in this fair city." He pulled on his shirt and buttoned it over his protruding waist.

"You're going to have to be indicted for your own death if you don't change your ways."

Standing alongside Jack in front of the mirror Lou slipped the loop of his tie over his head. He hadn't untied the knot earlier. He cinched it up to his neck, thrusting out his chin in the process. "I had a conversation with Laurie before I came down here to find you."

"Oh?" Jack questioned. He paused, tying his knit tie, and stared at Lou in the mirror.

"She was upset about you guys and got all teary-eyed."

"That's curious, considering she's having a mad, passionate affair with some creep over at the Manhattan General."

"His name is Roger."

"Whatever. Actually, he's not a creep, and that's part of the problem. In fact, he sounds kind of perfect."

"Well, you can relax about that. I definitely didn't get the impression she's so wild about the guy. She even said she wants to talk to you about patching things up."

"Hal" Jack grunted in disbelief. He went back to tying his tie.

Knowing that he was putting words into Laurie's mouth and feeling a little guilty about it, Lou avoided eye contact with Jack while he got his jacket out of the locker and slipped it on. He justified his machinations as a friend helping friends. He used his fingers to comb back his closely cropped hair.

Jack's eyes followed Lou until Lou finally looked at him. Jack then said, "I find it hard to believe she wants to talk about patching things up when a couple of weeks ago, she wouldn't give me the time of day outside of talking about cases here at the morgue. I tried to get together with her a number of nights in a row. She blew me off each time, saying she was busy going to the symphony or to the museum or the ballet or some other disgustingly cultural event. I mean, she was booked up solid and never suggested an alternate date." Like Lou, Jack used his fingers to sweep his Caesar-style hair off his forehead with rapid, irritated strokes.

"Maybe you should try again," Lou suggested. He sensed that he should tread rather softly. "As I told her, you guys are meant for each other."

"I'll think about it," Jack said evasively. "I'm not big on self-humiliation these days."

"She also mentioned her confusion about a series of suspicious deaths over at the Manhattan General. It almost sounded like she was trying to talk herself into them being homicides. She said she'd talked to you about it. What's your take? She said you thought, in her words, she was 'off the wall.' "

"That's a bit strong. I just think she's gotten a little ahead of herself with those four cases."

"Six! She got two more today."

"No kidding?"

"That's what she said. She also admitted she might be using the serial-killer idea as a diversion."

"She said that specifically? I mean, she actually used the word 'diversion'?"

"Scout's honor!"

Jack shook his head with surprise. "I'd say that was a reasonable assessment, considering toxicology has drawn a complete blank. I'd also have to say it was impressively self-aware."

With the March sun still making its diurnal transit in the southern sky, a shaft of midday sunlight that had suddenly knifed through the rapidly moving cloudcover penetrated into the Manhattan General's southerly oriented cafeteria window. It was like a laser beam, and Laurie had to lift her hand to shield her eyes from its sudden intensity. Dr. Susan Passero, who was sitting across from her with her back to the window, became a featureless silhouette against the glare.

Keeping her hand over her forehead, Laurie dropped her eyes to her tray in front of her. She had hardly touched her food. Although her selections sounded appetizing when she got them, once she sat down, she realized she wasn't hungry at all. Having no appetite was not usual for Laurie. She attributed it to the stress she felt about her upcoming meeting with the social worker and the inevitable news she was about to get. In some ways, she felt humiliated about being forced to see a mental-health professional.

When Laurie had arrived at the hospital forty minutes earlier, she'd first gone to Roger's office, but he still wasn't available. One of the secretaries had told her he was closeted with the hospital president. Laurie had then gone to seek out Sue, who was graciously willing to join her for lunch on short notice.

"Getting a call from one of the genetics lab social workers doesn't necessarily mean your test was positive," Sue said.

"Oh, come on," Laurie complained. "I just wish the woman would have told me."

"Actually, by law, they are not supposed to tell you over the phone," Sue said. "With the new Health Information Privacy Act, phone reporting is frowned upon. Laboratory personnel can never be sure exactly with whom they are speaking. They could inadvertently give the information to the wrong person, which is what the new HIPA is supposed to prevent."

"Why haven't they sent you my results?" Laurie asked. "You're my official primary-care physician."

"I wasn't, technically, when the test was ordered. But you're right. I should have heard. At the same time, I'm not surprised. The walk-in genetics lab is just getting their act together. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised they didn't require you to have a session with one of their specially trained social workers before they took your blood. That was my understanding of the proactive way they were going to handle things. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to know that genetic testing is going to be upsetting, no matter the outcome."

Tell me about it, Laurie thought to herself.

"What's wrong with your food?" Sue asked, leaning over to look at it. "You haven't touched a bite. Do I have to take this personally?"

Laurie laughed and gave Sue a dismissive wave of her hand. Laurie confessed to being not hungry with everything going on in her life.

"Listen," Sue said, assuming a more serious tone. "If the BRCA1 test turns out to be positive, which obviously you expect, I want you to come right over to the clinic so I can get you in to see one of our top oncologists. Do we have a deal?"

"We have a deal."

"Good! Meanwhile, what's the scoop with Laura Riley? Did you get set up with a gyno appointment for your routine check?"

"I did. I'm set."

Laurie glanced at her watch. "Oops! I've got to get a move on. I don't want to be late. The social worker might decide I'm being passive-aggressive."

The women parted ways in the hall. As Laurie climbed the stairs up to the second floor, the right lower quadrant discomfort came back, causing her to hesitate. She wondered why stairs tended to aggravate whatever the nuisance was that was bothering her. It was like what she used to call a "stitch" when she ran too much as a child. True to form, it faded after only a minute. Making a fist with her right hand, she tapped against her back. The idea had occurred to her that it might be kidney or ureteral pain, but the tapping did not re-evoke the discomfort. She pushed in on her abdomen but felt nothing abnormal. She shrugged and continued on her way.

The reception room of the genetics diagnostics lab was as serene as it had been on Laurie's previous visit. The same classical music floated out of wall speakers and certainly the same impressionist prints hung from the walls. What was different was Laurie's mind-set. On the first visit, there was more curiosity than trepidation. Now it was the reverse.

"Can I help you?" a pink-smocked receptionist asked.

"My name is Laurie Montgomery, and I have an appointment with Anne Dickson at one o'clock."

"I will let her know you are here."

Laurie sat down and picked up a magazine, flipping through the pages aggressively. She looked at her watch. It was exactly one. She wondered if Ms. Dickson was going to humiliate her further by making her wait.

Time crept forward. Laurie continued flipping through the magazine without concentration. She found herself getting progressively more anxious and more irritated at the same time. She closed the magazine and put it back on the table with the others. Instead of trying to read, she sat back and closed her eyes. By force of will, she calmed herself. She thought about lying on a beach in the hot sun. If she tried, she could almost hear the waves lapping against the shore.

"Ms. Montgomery?" a voice asked.

Laurie looked up into the smiling face of a woman half her age. She was dressed in a simple white sweater with a single strand of pearls around her neck. Over her sweater was a clean white coat. In her left hand was a clipboard tucked against her side. She had her right hand extended. "I'm Anne Dickson."

Laurie got to her feet and shook the woman's hand. She then followed the woman through a side door and down a short hall. She was directed into a small, windowless room with a couch, two club chairs, a coffee table, and a file cabinet. Centered on the coffee table was a box of tissues.

Anne motioned for Laurie to sit on the sofa. She closed the door and then sat down in one of the chairs, the box of tissues conveniently between them. Anne consulted her clipboard for a moment and then looked up. From Laurie's perspective, she was a pleasant-appearing woman who could have been a mere college student in a work-study program rather than a person with at least a master's degree and probably extra training in genetics. She wore her straight, medium-length, brown hair parted in the middle, requiring her to frequently sweep it off her face and tuck it behind her ears. Her lipstick and nail polish were a dusky red-brown color.

"I appreciate you coming in on such short notice," Anne said. Her voice was soft with a slight nasal twang. "And I apologize again for having misplaced your folder."

Laurie smiled, but she could feel herself getting progressively impatient.

"I wanted to give you some background concerning what we do here in the genetic diagnostics lab," Anne continued. She crossed her legs and settled the clipboard between them. Laurie could see a small tattoo of a snake on the inside of her leg just above the ankle. "I also wanted to explain why you are talking with me rather than with one of our staff doctors. It's purely a matter of time: I have a lot, and they have a little. What that means is that I can be with you here for as long as you would like and answer all your questions. And if I can't answer them, I have immediate access to people who surely can."

Laurie didn't comment or change her expression while she silently ordered Anne to cut the fluff and just give her the damn results of the test. She leaned back abruptly, crossed her arms, and tried to remind herself that she shouldn't blame the messenger. Unfortunately, Anne and the situation was irking her to no end. She particularly found the convenient box of tissues patronizing, as if Anne expected her to break down emotionally, even though, knowing herself, Laurie knew it was a possibility.

"Now," Anne said after consulting her clipboard again and making Laurie feel as though she was getting a canned presentation. "It is important for you to know something about the science of genetics and how the field has all changed with the decoding of the human genome, meaning the sequence of all three-point-two billion nucleotide base pairs. But first let me say that you can interrupt at any moment if you don't understand something."

Laurie nodded impatiently. She couldn't help but wonder how much Anne knew about nucleotide base pairs, despite how flippantly she mentioned them. Nucleotide base pairs are the portions of the DNA molecule that form the ladder part of the molecule, and their linear order is responsible for conveying genetic information.

Anne went on to discuss Gregor Mendel's laws of genetics concerning dominant and recessive traits discovered by the monk's work with garden peas in the nineteenth century. Laurie couldn't believe what she was being subjected to, yet she didn't interrupt nor remind Anne that she was dealing with a physician who obviously would have come across Gregor Mendel's work in the course of her biological study. Laurie let the woman drone on about genes and how certain traits could be linked with other traits to form specific haplotypes that were inherited over generations.

At one point, Laurie even tuned the social worker out and concentrated on the woman's tics, which included, in addition to the almost constant sweeping of her hair behind her ear, a sustained blepharospasm when she was making a point. But Laurie's attention was drawn back to the woman when she started talking about single nucleotide polymorphisms, which she quickly began to refer to by using the acronym SNP. This was an arena of genetics that Laurie was not quite as knowledgeable about and had been learning about only recently.

"SNPs have become extremely important," Anne said. "They are specific sites in the human genome where a single nucleotide base pair has changed by mutation or deletion or even more rarely by insertion. Between any two people, there is an average of one SNP for every thousand or so nucleotide bases."

"Why have they become so important?" Laurie found herself asking.

"Because there are now millions of them mapped across the whole human genome. They now stand as convenient markers that are linked hereditarily to specific abnormal genes. It is much easier to test for the marker than to isolate and sequence the affected gene, although we generally do both just to be one hundred percent sure. We want to be confident we are giving our patients the correct information."

"Right," Laurie said irritably. Anne's comment about abnormal genes had rudely yanked Laurie back to the reality of why she was having this conversation. It was not an intellectual exercise.

Seemingly oblivious to Laurie's mind-set and after consulting her clipboard, Anne continued her monologue in her nasal twang. All at once, Laurie had had enough. Her patience came to an abrupt end. She uncrossed her arms and raised her right hand for Anne to stop speaking. Anne caught the cue, stopped in mid-sentence, and looked at Laurie questioningly.

"With all due respect," Laurie said, trying to modulate her voice to sound calm, "there is one significant piece of information, which you either don't have or have forgotten. I happen to be a physician myself. I appreciate this background material, but I assume that the real reason I am here is because you have the results of my test. I want to know what they are. So, if you could be so kind, I would like you to tell me."

Flustered to a degree, Anne again consulted her clipboard. When she looked up, her blepharospasm was significantly more pronounced. "I didn't know you were a physician. I saw the doctor title, but I assumed it was some other kind of doctor. It wasn't down as an MD."

"It's quite all right. Am I positive for the marker for the BRCA1 gene?"

"But we haven't talked about implications."

"I am aware of the implications, and any other questions that I might have, I will direct to my oncologist."

"I see," Anne said. She looked down at her clipboard as if it might provide some help in what she was obviously finding as an uncomfortable situation.

"I don't mean to sound unappreciative of your efforts," Laurie added, "but I need to know."

"Of course," Anne said. She straightened up in her chair and looked Laurie in the eye. There was no blepharospasm. "You are indeed positive for the marker for BRCA1, which has been confirmed by sequencing the gene. I'm sorry."

Laurie looked away with unseeing eyes while she bit her lower lip. Although she fully expected the news, she could feel tears amassing on the emotional horizon. She fought against it as a matter of principle. She was determined not to use the tissues on the table in front of her. "Okay," Laurie heard herself say. She also heard Anne start to speak, but Laurie did not listen. Although Laurie was generally acutely aware of others' feelings, under the circumstances, she didn't care. She knew she was blaming the messenger to some degree.

Laurie stood up, gave Anne what amounted to a crooked smile, and headed for the door. With her palms as wet as they were, she had no intention of shaking the woman's hand. She could hear Anne following her and calling her name, but she didn't even look back. She crossed the reception area of the clinic with a determined step and walked out into the hospital corridor.

On the first floor, Laurie appreciated being surrounded by the surging crowds coming and going in the busy hospital. The anonymity provided an unexpected solace from her mental turmoil. There was a bench opposite the information booth, and Laurie took a moment to sit down. She took a deep breath. She was calming down. What she needed to do was decide what to do next. She'd promised Sue she'd come over to the clinic ASAP to set up an appointment with the oncologist, but as Laurie sat there, she felt the need for a more personal interaction. She thought of Roger and wondered if he'd be available.

The administrative area was close, and as the connecting door closed behind her, Laurie realized that she now preferred the calmness to the hospital lobby's chaos. Her shoes didn't make a sound on the carpet. Trying not to think about the reality of a genetic time bomb ticking away in every one of her cells, she walked down to the area of Roger's office. One of the secretaries recognized her from earlier.

"Dr. Rousseau is in his office now," the secretary said, looking at Laurie from behind her monitor.

Laurie nodded an acknowledgment and walked to Roger's doorway. His door was ajar. He was sitting at his desk, going over paperwork. Laurie knocked on the jamb, and Roger looked up. He was dressed as he usually was at the hospital, in a freshly laundered, crisp white shirt. He had on a golden silk tie, the texture and color of which contrasted nicely with his craggy, permanently tanned face.

"My word!" he said, catching sight of Laurie and leaping to his feet. "I just left a message on your voicemail two seconds ago. What a coincidence." He came around from behind his desk, and closed his door. Turning back to her, he gave her a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. He didn't notice that her arms stayed limp at her sides. "I'm so glad you are here. I have so much to talk with you about." He turned his two straight-backed chairs around to face each other. He motioned for Laurie to sit, and he did the same.

"You can't believe the morning I've had," Roger gushed. "There were two more postoperative deaths last night, just like the previous four: both of them young and healthy."

"I know," Laurie said in a subdued voice. "I've already autopsied both of them. It was what I was called you about earlier."

"And what did you find?"

"There was nothing: no pathology," Laurie said in the same quiet manner. "They were like the previous four."

"I knew it! I knew it!" Roger said, punching the air with a fist. He stood up and paced back and forth in his tiny office. "I called an emergency meeting of the morbidity/mortality committee this morning, despite our having just met two days ago. I presented the two cases as evidence that these past five weeks have been no more than a pause. I argued vainly that we have to do something. But, oh, no, we're not to rock the boat, since the media might get wind of it. I have half the mind to make an anonymous call to the media so it wouldn't be an issue, but of course I won't. I even went into the president's office after the meeting to try to convince him to change his stance, but it was like talking to the wall. I even managed to get him angry at me by what he called my 'damned dogged determination.' "

Laurie watched Roger pace but couldn't make eye contact. At the moment, the series of suspicious deaths at the Manhattan General was not what was on her mind, but she didn't have the emotional strength to counter Roger's current vehemence about them.

"And then, to make matters worse," Roger added, "we had a homicidal mugging in our parking garage this morning. I mean, I'm starting to get a complex about all this. None of this happened before I came on board."

Roger finally stopped moving and made eye contact with Laurie. His expression suggested that he was looking for sympathy, but it changed when he noticed hers. "Why the long face?" he asked. He bent over to look more closely, then quickly sat down. "I'm sorry. Here I've been ranting and raging and ignoring you, and you're upset. What's wrong?"

Laurie shut her eyes tightly and looked away. Roger's sudden solicitousness reawakened the emotions she'd felt the moment Anne Dickson had given her the definitive news. She felt Roger's hand on her shoulder.

"What is it, Laurie? What's wrong?"

At first, Laurie could only shake her head, for fear that talking would release a flood of tears. She hated her emotionalism. It was such a damn handicap. She straightened up and took a deep breath, letting it out in a sustained huff. "I'm sorry," she managed.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about. I was the one carrying on like a selfish, insensitive brute. What's happened?"

Laurie cleared her throat and began her BRCA1 saga, and once she started talking, she ironically got progressively less emotional, as if her professional persona was able to take over. She talked about her mother and her recent surgery and the fact that she was also positive for the mutated gene. She also mentioned her father's advice to get the test. Leaving out Jack's role, she described how she'd come over to the Manhattan General and had the blood drawn the day she and Roger had met. She then explained how she had successfully forgotten all about it until the call she had gotten that morning from Anne Dickson. She concluded by saying that she'd just come from an interview where she'd been told that she was positive for the BRCA1 marker and for the mutated gene itself, so there was no chance for laboratory error. She admitted she'd blamed the messenger, despite trying to avoid not doing so, and joked that she'd denied the poor woman the opportunity to ask her the quintessential therapist's question: how Laurie felt about the news. Laurie ended by chuckling.

"I'm amazed you can find humor in this," Roger said.

"I feel better after talking to you."

"I'm so sorry about all this," Roger said with a voice that suggested utter sincerity. "What are you going to do? What's the next step?"

"As soon as I leave here, I'm supposed to head over to the clinic to see Sue Passero. She's offered to help arrange an appointment in the near future with an oncologist."

She gave Roger a pat on the thigh and started to stand up.

"Hold on," Roger said, reaching out and pressing down on her shoulder to keep her in her seat. "Not so fast! Since the social worker didn't have a chance, let me ask you how you feel. I imagine it's something like finding out your best friend is your mortal enemy."

Laurie peered into the depths of Roger's dark brown eyes. She found herself wondering if he was asking the question as a close friend or as a doctor. If it was the former, was his interest truly sincere? He seemed to have a knack for saying the right thing, but what was his motivation? Then she chided herself for questioning, but after the marriage and children flap, she wasn't sure of anything.

"I guess I haven't had time to feel much of anything," Laurie said after a pause. She was tempted to say something about her newly recognized ability to compartmentalize her thoughts to the point of just not thinking about anything she didn't want to. But then she decided it was too long a story, since she wanted to get over to the Kaufman Clinic building to see Sue. In the long run, it was the oncologist who was going to be key, and the sooner the appointment was scheduled, the better she would feel.

"There must be something you can share with me," Roger persisted. He still had his hand resting on her shoulder. "You can't learn something as disturbing as this without having some specific fears."

"I suppose you are right," Laurie admitted reluctantly. "For me, some of the suggested prophylactic measures and their side effects are the scariest. For instance, the idea of electively losing my fertility by having my ovaries removed is…"

Laurie stopped in mid-sentence. For her, the thought that suddenly raced through her mind like a tornado was the equivalent of being rudely slapped in the face. It brought an instantaneous adrenaline rush that caused her pulse to race and the ends of her fingers to tingle. For a moment, she even felt dizzy, such that she had to grasp the edge of her chair to keep from toppling over.

Luckily, the dizziness passed as quickly as it had appeared. She could tell Roger was talking, but for the moment, she couldn't hear him, as the idea that had occurred to her kept reverberating in her mind with an effect akin to claps of thunder. The old adage "Be careful what you wish for because it might come to pass" again flashed into her consciousness.

Laurie stood up abruptly, effectively pulling Roger to his feet as well, since he still had his hand on her shoulder. All at once, she wanted to be by herself.

"Laurie!" Roger demanded. Using his two hands, he gave her shoulders a shake. "What's wrong? You didn't finish your sentence."

"I'm sorry," Laurie said in a voice that was calmer than she felt. She peeled Roger's reluctant hands from her shoulders. "I have to go."

"I can't let you go like this. What are you thinking about? Are you depressed?"

"No, I'm not depressed. Not yet, anyway. I have to go, Roger. I'll call you later."

Laurie turned to leave, but Roger grabbed her arm. "I have to be sure you won't hurt yourself in any way."

Catching Roger's drift, Laurie shook her head. "Rest assured, I'm not going to hurt myself. I just need to be alone for a while." She extracted her arm from Roger's grasp.

"You'll call me."

"Yes, I'll call you," Laurie said as she opened the door.

"Am I going to see you tonight?"

Laurie hesitated in the doorway and then turned around. "Tonight's not going to work. But I'll be in touch."

Laurie left Roger's office, rounded the nearest secretary's desk, and walked deliberately down the hallway, resisting the inclination to run. She could feel Roger's eyes on her back, but she didn't turn around. Passing through the doorway that separated the administrative area from the rest of the hospital, she slipped into the crowd. Once again, the anonymity was comforting. Instead of dashing out of the building, which was her initial intention, she regained her seat opposite the information booth and spent the next quarter of an hour thinking of the consequences of her disturbing notion.