Toxin by Robin Cook Page B

EMT’s rushed in with the shooting victim on a gurney. The patient had an oxygen mask strapped over his face and an IV running. His color was ashen.
    â€œWell?” Tracy asked as Kim reclaimed his seat.
    â€œThey said they’d see her as soon as they could,” Kim said. He was embarrassed to relate the rest of the conversation. He noticed that Becky had curled up in her seat as best she could and had her eyes closed.
    â€œThat’s pretty vague,” Tracy said. “What does it mean? Fifteen minutes, an hour, tomorrow morning?”
    â€œIt means exactly as soon as they can,” Kim snapped. “A shooting victim just came in and victims from an auto accident came in a few minutes ago. It’s a busy night.”
    Tracy sighed and shook her head in frustration.
    â€œHow’s Becky doing?” Kim asked.
    â€œShe just had another bout of cramps,” Tracy said. “So you guess. You’re the doctor.”
    Kim looked away, gritting his teeth. It was hard not to lose his temper. And on top of everything else, he was hungry.
    For the next hour Kim was sullenly silent. He was busy brooding over this ridiculous ER experience and eager to complain to his colleagues about it. They would understand. Tracy and Becky seemed more resigned to the wait.
    Every time one of the nurses or residents came to the waiting-room threshold to call out a name, Kim expected it to be Rebecca Reggis. But it never was. Finally Kim looked at his watch.
    â€œIt’s been two and a half freaking hours.” He stood up. “I truly can’t believe this. If I were the slightest bit paranoid, I’d think it was some kind of screwy conspiracy. This time I’m going to make something happen. I’ll be right back.”
    Tracy glanced up at her former husband. Under more normal circumstances, she’d be concerned about Kim’s temper, but after having been kept waiting so long, she didn’t care. She wanted Becky seen. She didn’t comment as Kim stalked off.
    Kim marched directly back to the nurses’ desk. A number of the ER staff was scattered about the station, engaged in desultory conversation punctuated by laughter.
    Upon reaching the counter, Kim scanned the group for a recognizable face. No one looked familiar and none seemed to recognize him. In fact, the only person to notice his presence was the clerk, a young college-aged boy who was most likely a student at the university.
    â€œI’m Doctor Reggis,” Kim said. “What’s happening?” He motioned to all the people.
    â€œThey’re just taking a breather,” the clerk said. “The shooting victim and the last car-accident patients just went up to surgery.”
    â€œWho’s the acting head of the emergency department for the evening shift?” Kim asked.
    â€œThat would be Dr. David Washington,” the clerk said.
    â€œIs he here at the moment?” Kim asked.
    The clerk glanced around the area to be sure. “No,” he said. “I believe he’s back with an orthopedic case.”
    â€œHow about a head nurse or nurse supervisor?” Kim asked.
    â€œThat would be Nora Labat,” the clerk said. “She’s with a psych patient.”
    â€œI see,” Kim said. “Thanks.”
    Kim proceeded down the counter until he was at the very center. Raising his hand, he called out: “Excuse me, everybody! Hello!”
    No one acknowledged Kim’s voice or gesture.
    For another moment he glanced around, trying to make eye contact with anyone. It was impossible. Instead he reached across the counter and lifted a metallic in-and-out basket from the desk top. Holding it above his head for a moment, he thought someone might notice. They didn’t.
    Kim brought the metal basket down to crash onto the Formica counter. He smashed it down twice again, each time with more force until the basket became distorted to the shape of a three-dimensional