Patient One by Leonard Goldberg Page A

“What … what’s going on?”
    Carolyn walked over and took Marci’s hand, then squeezed it gently. “Listen carefully to me, Marci. Some men with guns have taken over the floor and we’re all now their prisoners. We have to follow their instructions. Do you understand?”
    Marci nodded rapidly. She wanted to ask another question, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out, so she just kept nodding.
    Aliev asked, “What is wrong with her?”
    “She has a disease called lupus,” Carolyn answered.
    Aliev looked over to Warren. “What is this lupus?”
    “It’s an inflammatory disease of the skin, muscles, and joints.”
    “And in her case it also involves the heart,” Carolyn added.
    Aliev studied the girl with the red rash on her face and asked, “Can you walk?”
    “Only to the bathroom,” Marci muttered in a weak voice. “And then I become really short of breath.”
    Carolyn said quickly, “I thought that was getting a lot better.”
    Marci shook her head. “It’s coming back, just as bad as before.”
    “When did this start?”
    “A little while ago.”
    Carolyn groaned silently. The Beaumont Pavilion was totally unprepared to deal with a rapidly developing pericardial effusion. She turned to Aliev and said, “If Marci gets worse, we’ll have to send her down to a special ward.”
    Aliev waved away the idea with his weapon. “Nobody leaves or comes to this floor.”
    “But she—”
    “Nobody!” Aliev said resolutely, and jerked Carolyn away from the bedside. “Let us go to the next patient.”
    As they were leaving, Aliev glanced back at Marci and warned, “You keep this door closed, and under no circumstances open it. If you try to leave, you will be shot.”
    Marci looked away and started sobbing.
    In the corridor, Carolyn stepped in front of Aliev and said urgently, “You don’t seem to understand how sick that girl is. If she develops more fluid around her heart she will die. The only way to save—”
    “You are the one who doesn’t understand,” Aliev interrupted. “I don’t care whether she lives or dies. She is irrelevant. Now let us proceed to the next patient.”
    Carolyn glared at the man, incredulous at his lack of humanity. But then she remembered he was a cold-blooded killer. One more death wasn’t going to bother him.
    Aliev shoved her across the hall and into the room of Diana Dunn. The first thing that struck them was a strong, pungent odor. It had a sour and metallic quality.
    “What is that smell?” Aliev asked, wrinkling his nose.
    “It’s the odor given off by patients in liver failure,” Carolyn told him. “It’s called fetor hepaticus. I don’t know what causes it.”
    Warren explained, “It’s the result of backup of sulfur-containing compounds that the failing liver can no longer metabolize.”
    “Oh,” Aliev said, as if he understood.
    To Carolyn the question-and-answer drill now seemed similar to the teaching rounds that the house staff made every day. Except this isn’t an academic exercise , she thought darkly. The leader of the terrorists was making certain that none of the patients posed a threat to him or his men.
    Aliev was bending over the bed, studying the patient’s face carefully.
    “I have the feeling I have seen her before.”
    “She’s Diana Dunn, the movie actress,” Carolyn said.
    Aliev was taken aback. He leaned closer and examined her face once more. “But she was beautiful. This is an old hag.”
    “Liver failure does that to a person,” Carolyn said.
    “Is she conscious?”
    “Sometimes.”
    Aliev poked the actress’s ribs with his weapon.
    “Ohhh!” Diana moaned softly.
    He poked her again. Harder this time.
    Diana Dunn slowly opened her eyes and stared out into space.
    “Ah!” Aliev said, pleased with himself. “So you are awake.”
    With effort Diana sat up and turned her eyes to Aliev. Her face took on a pained expression. Then she waved a hand theatrically and began acting. “I can’t do