Angel of Death: (Reaper Series Book 1), Page 5

  ACCUSATIONS

  Peyton sat in the hall of the hospital with her elbows resting on her knees and her face buried in her hands. Her shining blonde hair hung in a ponytail over her shoulder, dangling down, almost reaching her knees as she hunched over in the small, plastic, blue seat.

  She had returned to the hospital earlier than she was supposed to, after only three hours of sleep, because she couldn't stop worrying about the man to whom Doctor Voss had given the propofol. The man who, until half an hour ago, was still alive. Peyton had immediately suspected something was wrong when she walked into the ward earlier that night. As she drew closer to the hospital bed, she could see the man's eyes were open and glassy and empty of life. That was when she raised the alarm and attempted to revive him, but with no success.

  No one even knew his name. He had no identification on him. It would be left to the police to determine who he is.

  Was, Peyton silently corrected herself without lifting her head.

  She sensed someone sit down in the chair beside her. She looked up and saw her fellow nurse and friend, Tina, looking at her with concern. Tina was a petite, mocha-skinned, girl who had taken Peyton under her wing, adopting the position of what they both jokingly referred to as "Peyton's work mother." Peyton sighed and sat up straight, looking despondent.

  "How're you doing?" Tina asked her.

  Peyton shrugged slightly. "I guess I'm okay. Just... I've never seen someone die before now. Well, not that I saw him die, but I was one of the last people to see him alive. I just wonder if... I don't know. If I didn't go home, would he still be alive?"

  "Don't start that kind of thinking," Tina told her. "You'll only hurt yourself. That guy was most likely going to die if you were here or not. It wasn't your fault."

  "Yeah," Peyton said quietly, nodding. "Maybe."

  Tina placed a reassuring hand on Peyton's shoulder. "It's okay. These things happen. You'll get used to it. I'm not gonna say that it gets easier, because it doesn't. But you'll learn to not place blame. Death isn't always someone's fault."

  There was silence between the two for a few moments while Tina's words hung in the air. Then Tina shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  "Look, I wanted to talk to you about this whole... thing. I was talking to the coroner, and he said his early report would be that the cause of death was a bad reaction to the anesthetic."

  "Damn, I knew it," Peyton said, shaking her head. "I tried to warn Voss... Has anyone told him?"

  "Voss?" Tina asked. "Well, yeah, they have. And that's the other thing I wanted to talk to you about."

  Peyton turned her head to look at Tina. "Why? What's wrong?"

  "Well..." Tina hesitated, shifting in her seat again. She looked incredibly uncomfortable.

  "Tina," Peyton urged her. "Come on, just tell me. It can't be that bad, can it?"

  "Well..." Tina said again. "It depends on your perspective."

  Peyton was confused now. "Tina, what's going on?"

  "It's Voss," Tina blurted out. "I'm really sorry, but... You won't believe what he's been saying."

  Only minutes later, Peyton was storming down the hall, her blonde ponytail bobbing with each step, a look of furious determination on her face. She reached an office door and burst in without knocking, slamming the door against a filing cabinet with a loud crash as she swung it all the way open. She barged into the room and, spotting Voss seated at his desk with his eyes widened in surprise, she marched up to his desk and slammed her hands down on the hard-polished surface, and fixed him with a contemptuous stare.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she snarled at him. "You're telling people it was my fault that man died? That I gave him the propofol? You've got a lot of nerve you son of a-"

  She stopped suddenly as she heard someone out of sight clear their throat. Spinning around, she saw three people she had failed to notice originally, being blinded by her rage. Her surprise was immediately replaced by embarrassment, because one of the people seated in front of Voss' desk, the one who had cleared his throat, was the Chief of Medicine, Doctor Nolan Spencer. Peyton felt her face go bright red as she met Spencer's eyes. She then stood up straight and tried to maintain what little dignity she could muster.

  "Doctor Spencer," she flustered. "Sir, I didn't see you there."

  "Clearly," he said, not without amusement. "But as it stands, it's actually good that you're here. Please, take a seat."

  Spencer stood up and gestured towards his vacated chair for her to sit down. Hesitantly, fully aware of all the eyes that were now on her, Peyton cautiously sat down and looked around at the other occupants of the office.

  Standing at her right shoulder was the kind-faced Doctor Spencer, who, despite always being very nice and friendly with every staff member and patient within the hospital, Peyton still found to be rather intimidating. Not because he was a scary looking man. In actuality, he looked more like the Monopoly Man, having replaced the top hat, mustache and monocle with a white doctor's coat. Peyton was only intimidated by him because he was pretty much the smartest man she had ever met and every word she spoke when he was around made her feel like she was a blithering idiot.

  Behind Spencer, standing silently by the wall, looking like an angry hawk, was a man Peyton had never met, but knew by sight. The hospital's attorney, Byron Anscomb, lurking in the back-corner of the room in his brown suit and orange power-tie, staring at Peyton with his dark, narrow eyes and his even more narrow, pointed nose. The hairline of his short, black hair forming a prominent widow's peak, and his thick black eyebrows shaped into a permanent V, further accentuating his hawk-like appearance.

  Finally, seated beside Peyton in the second chair facing Voss' desk, was a woman looking at Peyton with no discernible facial expression. She had short, auburn colored hair and eyes that were the darkest shade of hazel Peyton could recall seeing. The woman was dressed in a basic, no-name-brand, dark pants-suit with a red shirt that either clashed horribly with her hair or somehow managed to compliment it, depending on your perspective.

  "Nurse Paradisa," Spencer began, "this is Detective Valerie King. She's here regarding the young man who died earlier this morning."

  For one wild moment, Peyton was on the verge of panic, thinking that Voss had gone so far as to call the police and tell them, as well as half the hospital staff, that it was her who had decided to give the deceased the dose of propofol that had most likely killed him. She dismissed it, though (almost entirely) when King extended her hand and smiled politely, saying, "Nice to meet you, Nurse. Paradisa, was it?"

  Peyton nodded, shaking King's hand. The skin on the detective’s palm felt rough and calloused. "Call me Peyton."

  Detective King nodded and then sat back and rested her elbows on the arms of her chair, her hands folded in her lap.

  "I came here to speak with the young man Doctor Voss was treating before his death," King explained to Peyton. "I was just explaining to your colleagues that when he was found in the park, screaming and crying under a lamp, the body of a young girl was also found nearby. I was hoping to question him, but I guess that ship has sailed, hasn't it?"

  Voss leaned forward behind his desk and fixed Peyton with a dagger-sharp stare. "I informed the detective that your oversight with the propofol is what most likely caused the negative reaction, resulting in his death, Nurse."

  Voss spoke with careful enunciation, silently implying that if Peyton wanted to keep her job, she had better play along. Peyton, however, returned his stare and said, "Excuse me? I warned you not to use propofol, but you insisted and ignored everything I said. I suggested morphine, Doctor."

  Voss looked livid, his face quickly turning a dangerous shade of purple. Spencer, however, looked shocked by the news.

  "Voss, you told me it was Nurse Paradisa who gave the propofol!" he admonished. "Which is it, then?"

  Voss bristled at Spencer for a moment, fumbling to find words, but he simply tapped a pen nervously against his desk and said, "I
s that important right now? A man is dead and Detective King here is trying to figure out why there was a dead body left in the park."

  "Actually, Doctor Voss," Anscomb spoke up. His voice was quiet and solemn, much like you'd expect the staff of a funeral home to speak when arranging burials. "If the young man's death was a result of negligence, that is quite a pressing matter for the hospital. We will assist Detective King however we can right now, but I think Doctor Spencer would agree with me in saying that disciplinary action will have to follow, once we determine exactly who is responsible for giving the propofol. Wouldn't you agree, sir?"

  Anscomb directed the last of his statement to Doctor Spencer, who looked gravely between Peyton and Voss, before setting his disappointed gaze on Voss and nodding slowly. "Yes, I would say exactly that."

  Voss' purple face quickly began to turn white. King cleared her throat, calling attention back to her.

  "Now, as I understand it," she began, "Doctor Voss and Nurse Paradisa were the last to see the patient alive, correct?" No one contradicted her, so she continued. "What can you tell me about him from the time he arrived in the ER? How was he behaving?"

  "He was behaving like a lunatic," Voss snapped. "Screaming and thrashing about, he even attempted to strangle the nurse." He gestured indifferently towards Peyton. "He had lost his mind. Kept screaming about ashes."

  "Ashes?" King repeated. She had taken a small notepad out of her jacket pocket and was writing in it. "Did he say anything else?"

  Voss shook his head, but Peyton said, "Yes, Detective, he whispered something to me when he grabbed my neck. He… He was in a clear state of shock, though, I'm not sure he knew what he was saying, because it's just… Just weird."

  King nodded. "What did he say?"

  Peyton nervously glanced at Spencer and Anscomb before answering. "He said... I don't know, he said something about a monster."

  "A monster?" King repeated.

  Peyton nodded. "Yeah. And then he said, 'it ate her.'"

  At this, King frowned as she wrote Peyton's statement in her notepad. She looked up at Peyton, still frowning, and rapidly tapped her pen on the paper.

  "Are you sure he said, 'ate her,' Miss Paradisa?" she asked.

  Peyton nodded. "Definitely. But he was just talking crazy, right?"

  King looked down at her notes and carefully set her pen down, sighing audibly as she did so.

  "The body of the young woman that was found in the park, where the man you treated was also found, is causing a great deal of confusion for everyone. Because, as far as anyone can tell, the woman's body doesn't have a scratch on it. No evidence of foul play. No cuts, no bruises, no marks of any kind. It's like she just... died. For no reason. So I don't understand what our mystery man could possibly have meant by something eating her. Did he say anything else? Anything at all?"

  Peyton shook her head. "No, nothing. I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

  King waved her hand in the air, as though shooing away a fly. "Forget it. You've done enough. But if you do think of anything else, here's my card." She held out a business card for Peyton to take, who took it and looked down at the name 'Detective Valerie King: Homicide' and her phone number and precinct address.

  "But don't worry if you can't think of more." King glanced at Voss, then back at Peyton. "I get the feeling you've got your own problems to deal with." King stood up, returning her notepad and pen to her jacket pocket. "Thank you for your time, everybody. If I need anything else from you, I'll be in touch."

  Anscomb stepped forward, still looking like a hawk despite his polite smile. "Detective, I do hope this unpleasantness won't reflect badly on the hospital. When you speak to your superiors, please offer our-"

  King held up her hand to silence him. "Mr Anscomb, as I told you before, if legal action is to be held against the hospital because of the suspect's death, it won't be because of me or my precinct. You'll have to answer to the young man's family for that, once they have been notified. Have a nice day, Mr. Anscomb." Then Detective King left swiftly, closing the office door on her way out.

  Spencer moved toward Voss' desk and said over his shoulder to Anscomb, "I'd like you to stick around a moment longer, Byron, if you don't mind." Anscomb nodded his concurrence and resumed his position at the wall. Spencer ignored the vacant seat and stood over Voss' desk, beside the still-seated Peyton, staring down at the middle-aged doctor before him.

  "Now, about this patient of yours," Spencer said, his eyes flashing menace from behind his wire-frame glasses. "I was informed - by you - that young Nurse Paradisa here was responsible for administering the propofol. But she now claims that it was you and that she advised you against it. Logically, only one of you is telling the truth. I want to know which one. But know this, Doctor. It may be common practice at other hospitals to blame the nursing staff for mistakes made by doctors, but I will not have it. Now, do you want to tell me anything?"

  There were a few seconds of heavy tension in the air as Voss and Spencer attempted to stare the other down. Finally, Voss said coldly to Spencer, "I told you the truth."

  "The hell you did," Peyton snapped. "You asked me for propofol, I said morphine would be better, and you damn near bit my head off, screaming at me to get the damned propofol. And for you to go and try blaming me-"

  Voss banged a fist down on his desk, knocking over a picture of his wife. "Look, you little bitch-" he began.

  "Voss!" Spencer shouted. "I will have none of that kind of disrespectful language used with staff!"

  "Sir, she's lying to you," Voss told Spencer. "She's new to nursing, these things happen, but she just won't own up to her mistake."

  Spencer held up his hand to silence Voss. "Enough. This is your word against Paradisa's and I honestly can't deal with this a second longer. A man is dead because of someone's mistake. I expected better honesty from my staff. I'm going to have Byron begin an investigation. Considering the other nurses that were on staff at the time of the incident, I expect it will be a short investigation in terms of witnesses. But I would expect that the dishonest person here will come clean to me before Byron is finished. I'll be in my office, for anyone who may want to speak privately with me. That's all."

  And without another word, Spencer turned around and marched from the office, Anscomb loyally following in his trail.

  Peyton stood up to leave as well, but stopped when she heard Voss call her name, push his chair back and stand up. Turning to face him, he was leaning over his desk and glaring at her, his palms pressed into the surface of the mahogany.

  "I hope you understand what needs to happen here, Paradisa," he said quietly. "You've only been nursing for a few months. Accidents happen and it is entirely understandable for freshman to make mistakes, and those mistakes can be forgiven, even if someone dies as a result. For someone like me, though... I've been a doctor for 20 years. Mistakes for someone in my position aren't so tolerable. It would be much easier for everyone involved if you just confessed to Spencer for your mistake. I'm sure he would be lenient."

  Voss spoke slowly and clearly, making sure that Peyton understood exactly what he meant for her to do. Peyton understood perfectly what he wanted from her. He wanted her to take the fall for his mistake. To go and tell Spencer that she gave the deadly dose of propofol, knowing full well that it was Voss. Voss was probably right. She would have it far easier than if Voss caught the blame. Spencer would still have to discipline her in some way. She might be suspended, possibly without pay. Although, there was always the chance that she would be fired. She would be able to find work in another hospital, of course, based on her exceptional results from nursing school and excellent letters of recommendation from her professors and summer internships. Then again, if the family of the deceased decided to press charges, then she would be the one to end up with a criminal record, but that wasn't the point. Voss couldn't be allowed to get away with blaming other people for his own negligence.

  Peyton turned her full body towards Voss and fa
ced him square-on. With her face set, stern and dead serious, she said to Voss, "This was your mistake. You can deal with it." Then she turned and calmly left the room, satisfied that she had not let Voss bully her into potentially ruining her career and confident that the situation would not harm her in any way.

  Although, she didn't see the look on Voss' face as he watched her leave. The narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, the white knuckles pressing into the surface of his mahogany desk; these all spelled out one thing:

  Danger.