Deadly Medicine by Jaime Maddox

finally gave out, and no one could revive him. No amount of electricity could save a dead heart, and Edward had been thrilled that the man had died in his ER instead of in the ambulance on the way to see a cardiologist. He even kept a copy of the rhythm strip showing his fibrillating heart, just a quivering line really, the last vestiges of life, but one of the most exciting things he’d ever seen.
    Now, he was about to have another thrill, a sort of two-for-one special. One drug—withheld from a patient who was clotting and given to another who was bleeding—could kill them both. A two-for-one special always delighted him, and this young woman was the perfect victim. Many people would cry for her, and he would be able to watch their mournful reactions when he gave them the news that she had died.
    He reached for the phone and looked at the CT tech, who was busy copying the images to a disk. “What’s the extension for the ER?”
    She told him, and he dialed it and spoke to the clerk when she picked up. “I need whatever hospital takes care of brain aneurysms. This patient needs a coiling. And send a helicopter. We can’t waste any time. She’s critical.”
    “I just need a minute, Doc,” the tech informed Edward. “Then we can get her back to the ER.”
    Edward smiled. “Thanks.” The tech was a cute young thing and had done everything to indicate her interest, but it was too soon. This was the twelfth of April, and a bad time with her could mean a miserable eighteen days in the ER here. He’d wait until the twenty-fifth or so, and then he’d have some fun with her. He’d have only five days of hell to pay afterward.
    “I’ll talk to her,” he said, referring to his patient.
    He opened the door and entered the scanning room, where his patient quietly lay on the CT table, awaiting further news about her awful headache.
    “Hi,” he said, and she opened her eyes, winced from the bright lights, and immediately closed them. She was pale, and she looked to be in tremendous pain. Even though the nurse had removed her soiled clothing, Edward could still smell her vomit. It was sickening, and he had to force himself to stay close to her. He took her hand in his and, after checking to make sure the tech was still occupied, slipped the syringe from his pocket. He was able to conceal it in his closed fist, and after he quickly connected it to the IV port in the patient’s hand, it appeared that he was simply holding her hand to comfort her. Since she wouldn’t open her eyes, he leaned closer. “I have some bad news for you,” he said, and then in spite of the pain they flew open wide and she stared at him in horror.
    He loved the fear there, and he wished he saw some sign as he depressed the plunger and injected the clot-buster. Maybe a scream of anguish as the bleeding worsened, or a seizure as it irritated the sensitive tissue of the brain—anything to indicate the medication was working. But he saw nothing.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    He leaned forward and whispered, so the microphone in the scanning room wouldn’t broadcast his words to the tech in her insulated booth. “You have a hemorrhage in your brain. You’re going to die.” He pulled back so she could see his face and smiled at her. As he watched, the light of comprehension faded and she simply closed her eyes. It was one of the most anticlimactic murders ever, and he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed.
    “We better get moving,” he said as the tech emerged with the disk containing the patient’s CT scan. She handed it to Edward, and he placed it in his pocket, next to the syringe. He had no worries about the syringe falling out when he removed the disk, because he knew the disk wasn’t going anywhere. The patient would be dead soon, so the helicopter ride would be canceled, and there would be no need to send images to another physician.
    When they arrived back in the ER, Edward shook his patient gently but had no response. The