“Sometimes Virginia gets pelvic cramps that radiate to her thighs. I’ll do a pelvic.”
Casey hated him, right there on the spot, for controlling Mrs. Elliott, for controlling her.
“Why are you thinking of doing it?” she asked, knowing damn well she was going to get into trouble again for the loose hold she kept on her opinions. “To get back at her for something, or to get back at me?”
The light went out in his eyes. “It seems to me that I told you once, I. do pelvics on all my patients.”
“No matter what’s wrong with them?”
He seemed to grow somehow, to harden. “I’m a gynecologist,” he answered as if he shouldn’t have to answer at all. “I do pelvics.”
And what else? she wanted to say. Casey held her tongue just in time. Still, she didn’t move. “I don’t see any reason for a pelvic,” she countered’ as calmly as she could, fists balled at her sides, back as ramrod stiff as Hunsacker’s.
And just that fast, the dark emptiness in his eyes flooded with animosity. A hate so virulent that it left Casey shaking. The handsome man who was so good at flattery and affection suddenly became unrecognizable.
Casey looked around for witnesses, for verification, but for once the hall was empty. Everybody was in with patients, leaving only Casey to see the livid emotion in Hunsacker’s eyes.
“I don’t think you understand,” he warned, bent so that his face was within inches of Casey’s, his voice low and cold. “You really shouldn’t challenge me on this. You don’t have any idea how difficult I can make things for you.”
If he’d screamed and ranted, Casey couldn’t have been more shaken. Just the control in that soft voice of his was enough to make good his promise. But then, Casey had never been known for discretion. Her own temper got the best of her. After all, this was a public place, not an alley. This was the twentieth century.
“I know how difficult other doctors have tried to make it for me when I disagreed with them,” she countered just as coldly, shaking with the effort to maintain her composure. “And I’m still here.”
His smile was chilling. Cold and flat and frightening. “You still don’t understand,” he promised in a breath that fanned her cheek like a fetid wind. “You really don’t. You don’t want me mad at you. Now, go get the pelvic equipment, or believe me when I say I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
Casey was left standing alone in the hall, trembling and flushed. Afraid. She’d walked the halls for twelve years, been shot at, beaten by a drunk, threatened by innumerable addicts, prisoners, and belligerent relatives, gone one on one with manic depressives in full cry. But she’d never really been gut-deep afraid. No matter what, she’d managed to maintain a, certain control. She was the one, after all, with the restraints, with the sedatives and the security guards.
Something about Hunsacker’s warning, though, scared her. Really scared her. Something illogical gripped her, a cold snake of dread born of Hunsacker’s words. More, of his voice, his eyes. Casey had seen deadly earnest before. She’d faced killers who promised to do it again. She’d talked down delusional psychotics who vowed revenge. Something in Hunsacker’s expression reminded her of them. It wasn’t the usual threat she heard from an insulted doctor—her job, her future, her salary. He’d struck something primal.
For the first time in a week, Casey thought of Wild Woman Wanda. She wondered if this had been what Hunsacker had looked like during that famous white trash fight. Had he leaned in really close and threatened her so that only she was afraid? Had Wanda, who wasn’t afraid of anything, felt fear? Had she walked into the fight with her blithe, assurance, her voice as sharp as his scalpel, and walked away trembling and uncertain, unnerved by his sudden silence, by the frozen wasteland behind Hunsacker’s threats and promises?
What did Casey do
Casey hated him, right there on the spot, for controlling Mrs. Elliott, for controlling her.
“Why are you thinking of doing it?” she asked, knowing damn well she was going to get into trouble again for the loose hold she kept on her opinions. “To get back at her for something, or to get back at me?”
The light went out in his eyes. “It seems to me that I told you once, I. do pelvics on all my patients.”
“No matter what’s wrong with them?”
He seemed to grow somehow, to harden. “I’m a gynecologist,” he answered as if he shouldn’t have to answer at all. “I do pelvics.”
And what else? she wanted to say. Casey held her tongue just in time. Still, she didn’t move. “I don’t see any reason for a pelvic,” she countered’ as calmly as she could, fists balled at her sides, back as ramrod stiff as Hunsacker’s.
And just that fast, the dark emptiness in his eyes flooded with animosity. A hate so virulent that it left Casey shaking. The handsome man who was so good at flattery and affection suddenly became unrecognizable.
Casey looked around for witnesses, for verification, but for once the hall was empty. Everybody was in with patients, leaving only Casey to see the livid emotion in Hunsacker’s eyes.
“I don’t think you understand,” he warned, bent so that his face was within inches of Casey’s, his voice low and cold. “You really shouldn’t challenge me on this. You don’t have any idea how difficult I can make things for you.”
If he’d screamed and ranted, Casey couldn’t have been more shaken. Just the control in that soft voice of his was enough to make good his promise. But then, Casey had never been known for discretion. Her own temper got the best of her. After all, this was a public place, not an alley. This was the twentieth century.
“I know how difficult other doctors have tried to make it for me when I disagreed with them,” she countered just as coldly, shaking with the effort to maintain her composure. “And I’m still here.”
His smile was chilling. Cold and flat and frightening. “You still don’t understand,” he promised in a breath that fanned her cheek like a fetid wind. “You really don’t. You don’t want me mad at you. Now, go get the pelvic equipment, or believe me when I say I’ll take matters into my own hands.”
Casey was left standing alone in the hall, trembling and flushed. Afraid. She’d walked the halls for twelve years, been shot at, beaten by a drunk, threatened by innumerable addicts, prisoners, and belligerent relatives, gone one on one with manic depressives in full cry. But she’d never really been gut-deep afraid. No matter what, she’d managed to maintain a, certain control. She was the one, after all, with the restraints, with the sedatives and the security guards.
Something about Hunsacker’s warning, though, scared her. Really scared her. Something illogical gripped her, a cold snake of dread born of Hunsacker’s words. More, of his voice, his eyes. Casey had seen deadly earnest before. She’d faced killers who promised to do it again. She’d talked down delusional psychotics who vowed revenge. Something in Hunsacker’s expression reminded her of them. It wasn’t the usual threat she heard from an insulted doctor—her job, her future, her salary. He’d struck something primal.
For the first time in a week, Casey thought of Wild Woman Wanda. She wondered if this had been what Hunsacker had looked like during that famous white trash fight. Had he leaned in really close and threatened her so that only she was afraid? Had Wanda, who wasn’t afraid of anything, felt fear? Had she walked into the fight with her blithe, assurance, her voice as sharp as his scalpel, and walked away trembling and uncertain, unnerved by his sudden silence, by the frozen wasteland behind Hunsacker’s threats and promises?
What did Casey do
Similar Books
