2

Chapter 2

12:15 AM, October, General Hospital, Port Charles, NY

            Those few minutes it took to bring her back were some of the longest of my career and again…my life.  When it came to her livelihood, I got tunnel vision – everything disappeared but her.  In rapid fire as if on a film projector, memories of her sped through my brain as I did everything I could to save her.  Like I couldn’t do years before or with us.  The memories- her smile first thing in the morning, lazy and sweet, how excitedly her dark chocolate eyes would dance when I would surprise her with pizza from her favorite pizzeria, or how she’d breathily moan in my neck and arch her back underneath me- are still raging war inside me as I watch her get wheeled down to radiology for a CT scan.  Dr. Drake will need to be called in.  He would want to be for her case.

            Leaning against the nurse’s station, I take a few seconds to gather myself.  I hear footsteps approaching and I know it’s Elizabeth once she addresses me as, “Dr. Clay.”  Looking up, I see her face trying to be professional but worry weighs heavy in her eyes.

            “Yes, Nurse Webber, what is it?”  I ask as I try to clear my throat.

            “Samantha Morgan’s mother, Alexis Davis, is here as is Detective Falconeri.  Both would like to speak with you,” she says.

            I nod and say, “Thank you for telling me.  I’ll be with them in a minute.  One more thing, is that boy who brought Ms. Morgan in still here?”

            “I think so.  Last I saw he was sitting watching the TV in the waiting room.”

            I give her thanks once more before I head off to meet with the mother and detective.  Her mother.  She didn’t know who her mother was back then.  I recall days and nights she’d stay up scouring for information.  Her mother’s a nice enough lady the few times I spoke with her when I consulted on her grandson’s leukemia case.  For a brief time I thought about taking over his case but in the end I couldn’t.  He had had a good doctor and eventually was cured.  It hurt too much on too many aspects for me to be his doctor- to have to look at her and she look at me, not remembering who I was.  It would have gutted me.  Now, on the cusp of losing her once again, it hurts almost, if not, worse than it did the first time.

            But dwelling in self pity was of no use right now.  Her mother and the detective are waiting on me.  They stand by the entrance to the exam rooms- both huddle together, talking closely.  I take one last second to put myself in check.  Ms. Davis knew nothing of me, and definitely wouldn’t know of the past I share with her daughter.  I push the door open, immediately greeted with a mother’s look of worry and the detective’s look of business mixed with tense concern.  Det. Falconeri speaks first.

            “Dr. Clay, I’m Detective Dante Falconeri.  Nice to make your acquaintance,” he says with an offered hand.

            I meet his with mine and then another hand, smaller, was put forth in front of me.

            “I’m Alexis Davis, Samantha Morgan’s mother.  Can you tell us what happened?”

            “There should be a young man in the waiting room wearing a gray hoodie, baggy jeans with brown, buzzed hair who brought Ms. Morgan in.  We didn’t get his name but Nurse Webber said she saw him a short while ago.  He would be best to answer the question but I can tell you what happened from when he brought her in and onwards,” I answer, suddenly feeling the heavy weight of stress and my emotions dragging me down.

            “What condition was she in when he brought her in?” the detective asks as one of his police officers arrive with report paper in hand.

            I tell them of the swelling of her eyes, her bloodied split lip, and the gash in her hairline.  Dante asks if she was conscious or not.  I say not.  When I explain the sluggish vitals she had, her mother gasps and begins to panic after I tell them she crashed.  Ms. Davis was relieved somewhat when I explained how we revived her.

            “Where is she now?”  Alexis asks as I watch her eyes blink back welling tears.

            “She’s gone to CT.  We need to see if there’s any extensive trauma,” I answer, looking between her and the detective.

            “Dr. Clay, thanks for your answers.  I will check back later to see how she’s doing.  Alexis, I’m going to go question that kid,” Detective Falconeri announces before leaving with the officer.

            We watch them leave.  Exhaustion wants to take me and I still have six hours left in my shift.  The silence begins to feel strained as Alexis and I are in our own personal hells.  Her hand clutches her brown purse as she texts with the other.  I slump against the wall, lean my head back, close my eyes, and silently send words of love and concern into the universe, hoping they are heard.  Several seconds of silence go by before it is broken with words from a worried mother.

            “Dr. Clay, you consulted a few times on my grandson’s cancer case, didn’t you?”

            I open my eyes to look at her.  She is now leaning against a wall, looking away.  She’s wearing black slacks with a royal purple blouse, basic black heels.  Hair is wild from her hands gripping and raking it.

            “Yes, Ms. Davis, I did.  How is the little boy doing?”  I inquire, although I knew of his outcome.

            Alexis runs her tongue across her bottom lip, still clutching her purse.  She turns her head towards me.

            “He’s great.  In fact, Sam and I were supposed to go tomorrow to look for Halloween costumes for him.  Now, that looks unlikely.  Do you think she’ll be out by Halloween?”

            False hope is an enemy of mine.  It never serves any purpose.  So it would not be given here.

            “Ms. Davis, right now we don’t know.  I’m having Dr. Drake called in.  Everything is depending on the CT scan results and from there it will be up to him.”  A strained smile appears as she says, “Thank you, Dr. Clay for your honesty.”

            I give a nod in acknowledgement and say a simple, “You’re welcome” before walking off to grab a cup of coffee and maybe something unhealthy out of the vending machine in the doctor’s on-call room.  Coffee and junk food- a vast plain of nothing, just like my life.  Although, I shouldn’t say my life is nothing.  I do have the kid, Rafe, who is a well-mannered young man.  He makes coming home not so horrible.

            The on-call room is vacant.  Coffee pot is half full but cold.  The only item left in the vending machine is fake fried onions.  Wonderful.  The staff, patients, and their families would find me charming if I came back with coffee and onion breath.  Nonetheless, I need caffeine and something in my stomach.

            The coffee tastes burnt and the Funyuns are stale.  I roll my eyes at the realistic comparison.  Work, sleep, eat, piss and shit, try to father Rafe, and hit repeat.  No, add in missing her for the last ten years of my life on a daily basis, then hit repeat.  In the midst of self-deprecation, “Brown Eyed Girl” meat–cleavers my thoughts and the surrounding silent abyss.

            Funyun bag is crumpled underneath cross fingers, resting against my chin.  Eyes are closed, throat tightens, and I take deep, even breaths.  I feel a single drop roll down my face.  That early spring morning ten years before rushes to me.  It was one of the last moments of happiness we would have.