Trauma

CHAPTER 52

The next morning, Carrie was back in her mom’s Volvo, making what had become a routine drive from Hopkinton to the VA. Adam had stormed out after his terrifying tirade and never returned. Where he’d gone, Carrie could not say. Part of her worried he’d never come back home, another part worried that he would. Carrie’s distraught parents had left the house before she did, to continue to look for their son.

However, Adam was not Howard and Irene’s only concern. Her parents had thought her return to work was too much, too soon, but Carrie had insisted. After all, the man the police believed to be an emotionally unstable, well-armed stalker was dead.

While Carrie sounded convincing, the reality was a far cry from her assurances. The drive to the VA proved tense, as Carrie remained on high alert. Until Goodwin and Trent were decommissioned, she remained a target, and certainly DARPA had more deadly resources to throw at her. So long as she kept with the crowds, on the roads, or in the halls of the VA, however, Carrie felt moderately safe.

What she would not do, misguided or not, was cower, go into hiding, or hire an armed detail to guard her 24/7. She had to live her life, terror be damned.

Bottom line: she was on a mission.

Her voice mail and e-mail were flooded with messages from concerned friends and former colleagues, many of whom had heard about Carrie’s ordeal on the local news. Dr. Finley had called, but she let it go to voice mail too. He’d side with her mother and insist Carrie rest at home for the day. Among those checking in was Carrie’s old pal Valerie from BCH, who called during the morning commute. Their conversation was brief, but Val’s worry touched Carrie’s heart. The former colleagues made plans to get together for drinks and dinner in the coming weeks.

“You have no idea who that man was?” Val asked.

“Police are still looking. They think they’ll get an ID soon enough.”

“Well, I’m just grateful you’re all right. And I want you to know, Carrie, that you’re deeply missed around here. I mean that.”

Carrie’s eyes welled, but she did not cry. No need to make Val feel worse. “I’m doing okay,” she said. “I mean it.”

Val, being Val, said, “You got somebody to talk to?”

“Like a therapist?” Carrie asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Val said.

“Oh, that,” Carrie said.

“Just saying, it would help.”

Carrie laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got someone to talk to.”

“Well, I want to hear all about him.”

“Who said it’s a he?”

Val scoffed. “It could be a woman. Don’t matter to me. But I am pretty sure we’re not talking about a stuffed animal here, darling. You can give me all the four-one-one when I see you. And take care of yourself, Carrie. I mean it.”

“I will.”

As she hung up with Val, the car in front, no signal given, abruptly changed lanes. Carrie had to hit the brakes hard to avoid a collision. She hit her horn, and muttered a string of expletives that would have made her mother blush first and cringe second.

The other driver’s maneuver was not unusual during rush hour, and Carrie’s outburst surprised her. Stress-induced, she figured, and in that moment she forgave Adam for everything. Her brother’s anger, directed toward her and at David, was triggered by constant duress. In the aftermath of her own extreme stress, Carrie could better relate to Adam’s persistent volatility. She called her parents to check on the search and was told they had been unable to locate Adam. They would resume the effort later, after they returned home from work. Carrie had her doubts they would have any success. Something about Adam’s last tirade made Carrie believe she would never see her brother again.

Carrie remained extra vigilant as she navigated through the crush of morning traffic. At one point, she glanced in her rearview mirror and noticed a red Camaro a few cars back that looked a lot like Adam’s. Of course that was impossible. If Adam had gotten that car fired up, they’d have seen a celebration worthy of Mardi Gras on his side of the garage. Curious, though, Carrie tried to get a look at the driver, but the car was too far back for her to see much of anything.

Frustrated with the pace of her commute, Carrie took the next exit, not her usual. A short time later the Camaro reappeared in her rearview. Carrie relived the sinking feeling she’d had in the park, when her future would-be murderer became something to fear. A block later, though, the Camaro turned down a side street; just like that, it was gone.

The uneasy feelings — the fear and paranoia, a sense that something horrible could happen any minute, a terror that pawed at the back of her neck — those feelings lasted all the way to the VA and followed her into the building.

Carrie braced herself for an onslaught of attention that did not come. Even in the busy main foyer, nobody took notice of her. In a way, the silence was a stark reminder of her low profile at the hospital. While her face had been splashed all over the TV, she was not a well-known figure here. Her role fit in that netherworld between employee and contractor. At the main entrance, Carrie flashed her ID to the security guard and walked in without fanfare.

Welcome back to the jungle; nice of you to come.

The morning hustle and bustle seemed so perfectly ordinary, which paradoxically made it all feel a little eerie. Although there was a heavier-than-usual VA Police presence, Carrie saw no crime scene tape, nothing cordoned off. The evidence, as Detective Kowalski indicated, had been gathered, documented, and photographed in the intervening hours. Life at the VA, for all intents and purposes, had returned to normal.

Carrie’s plan for the day was a simple one. With no surgery on the docket, she would spend time examining Dr. Finley’s case files, and start to gather evidence. David had the right instincts. Had other vets gone MIA like Abington or Fasciani? If Goodwin wanted to conceal a side effect such as palinacousis, the first step would be to get those patients off the neuro recovery floor, where residents were trained to look for cognitive issues.

Carrie showed up at Dr. Finley’s office with two cups of coffee, but when she opened the closed door, she found three people inside. Sandra Goodwin and Evan Navarro sat on those uncomfortable metal chairs facing Dr. Finley.

Carrie’s eyes turned to slits as she focused her attention on Goodwin. She fought back the urge to scream, Did you try to have me killed? The outburst might have been satisfying, but Carrie knew it would serve no purpose. All that mattered was obtaining proof of Goodwin’s wrongdoing. That required tact, not brute force.

Goodwin and Navarro both acted irritated by Carrie’s intrusion; no outward signs of empathy there. Dr. Finley’s face, by contrast, revealed his deep concern, and it put a walnut-sized lump in Carrie’s throat. He was effusive in expressing his utter relief.

Carrie presented Dr. Finley with the coffee she’d bought him. “I know it’s not Starbucks, but it’s the best we’ve got here,” she said.

“The fact that you could think about me at all is incredible,” Dr. Finley said. He took the beverage with a grateful smile. He remained standing beside Carrie, his hire.

Carrie looked over at Goodwin and Navarro. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she said.

“Coincidentally enough,” Goodwin said, “you were the subject of our conversation.” The tone of her voice cooled the room a few degrees.

“Oh?”

“We’re discussing the DBS program,” Navarro said.

Carrie could not help feeling amazed at the lack of empathy. “Well, in case you or Sandra were curious, I’m doing just fine,” she said. “Thank you very much for asking.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Goodwin said, not sounding glad at all. “But my chief concern, as I was just explaining to Alistair, is the continuation of DBS surgeries in light of your incident.”

“By ‘incident,’ I assume you mean my attempted murder.” Carrie felt her whole body heat up. It took great restraint not to go at Goodwin the way Adam had threatened David.

“It’s my opinion that a trauma such as what you experienced makes you a danger to the patients and to the program.”

“Last I checked, I wasn’t actually shot,” Carrie countered. She saw where this conversation was headed, and she did not like it one bit.

“While you aren’t physically injured,” Goodwin said, “your mental status is questionable at best. Evan has been studying up on the DBS procedure, and I think he’ll be fine to take over for you until a mental health professional clears you to operate.”

“Evan?” Carrie could not hide her incredulity. “Is that why he came to the OR? To watch me work? Nice bit of subterfuge there, Sandra. Well played.”

“I don’t appreciate your innuendos, Carrie,” Navarro said.

“I don’t appreciate you poaching my job,” Carrie snapped back.

“It would only be temporary,” Dr. Finley said in a conciliatory tone.

Carrie frowned. “You’re not on their side here, are you, Alistair?”

“No,” Dr. Finley said. “I’m not. But we have another problem.”

Sandra flashed a frigid smile. “I told Alistair that if we don’t replace you with Evan, I’ll go to the board with a formal complaint about your violating my procedures by interfering with patient care. Given all the scrutiny the VA is under these days, I’m sure you can imagine how poorly that will be received.”

“They’ll force me to let you go, Carrie,” Dr. Finley said in a defeated voice.

“And Evan will continue in your place regardless. So really, Carrie, you have no choice in the matter.”

“When is the next surgery?” Carrie asked.

“The day after tomorrow,” Navarro said.

Carrie shot Dr. Finley a panicked look. “Is it a PTSD case?” she asked.

“Yes, it is,” Navarro answered. “But don’t worry, I’m ready, and it’ll go just fine.”

Dr. Finley cleared his throat, and Carrie noticed how uncomfortable he seemed. “Carrie, Dr. Goodwin has requested that you take a leave of absence until you’re medically cleared to operate.”

“I’ve seen how you like to interfere with my processes and procedures. I’m not one to give second chances, and I don’t want to risk you inserting yourself where your services are not required.”

“Alistair, I can’t believe you’re letting this happen,” Carrie said. “Navarro doesn’t know anything about DBS.”

“Look at it this way, Carrie,” Dr. Finley said. “I have no choice. That’s the way it is in the VA. It’s the military, and everyone has to take orders, including me. Navarro has a licensed M.D. after his name, and as far as the VA is concerned, that means he can do everything from heart surgery to delivering a baby if the VA says so.”

“I strongly disagree with this,” Carrie said. “How can you feel comfortable with someone who may be completely incompetent?”

“As I recall, Carrie,” Navarro said, “you had no experience when you came on board.”

“If you take some time away, I can get you back on the team,” Dr. Finley said. “On a permanent basis, if you like. If you don’t, Sandra will go to the board, and if she does that, your status here will be entirely out of my hands.”

Carrie’s arms fell to her sides. “What choice do I have?” she asked.

Goodwin stood. “None,” she said.