"Oh, heavens no," Angela said. "Does Nikki know?"

"I told her this evening," David said.

"Does she have something contagious?" Angela asked. "She and Nikki were together yesterday."

"I don't know yet," David said. "I told Nikki she can't visit until we know."

"Poor Caroline," Angela said. "She seemed fine yesterday. God, I hope Nikki doesn't come down with the same thing."

"So do I," David said. "Angela, we've got more important things to think about than this nonsense involving Hodges' body. Please, let's let it go, for Nikki's sake if not our own."

"All right," Angela said reluctantly. "I'll try."

"Thank goodness," David said. Then he looked up at the broken window. "Now what am I going to do with this mess?"

"How about tape and a plastic bag?" Angela suggested.

David stared at her. "Why didn't I think of that?" he questioned.

19

Neither David nor Angela slept well. Both were overwrought, but they responded differently. While Angela had trouble falling asleep, David woke well before dawn. He was appalled to see the time: four A.M. Sensing he would not fall back asleep, David got up and tiptoed out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Angela.

On his way to the family room, he paused at the head of the stairs. He'd heard a noise from Nikki's room and was surprised to see his daughter appear.

"What are you doing awake?" David whispered.

"I just woke up," Nikki said. "I've been thinking about Caroline."

David went into his daughter's room to talk with her about her friend. David told her that he thought Caroline would be a lot better by now. He promised to check on her as soon as he got to the hospital. He said he'd call Nikki and let her know.

When Nikki coughed a deep, productive cough, David suggested they do her postural drainage. It took them almost half an hour. When it was over, Nikki said she felt better.

Together they went down into the kitchen and made breakfast. David cooked bacon and eggs while Nikki prepared a batch of drop biscuits. With a fire in the fireplace the meal had a festive quality that felt like a good antidote for their troubled spirits.

David was on his bike by five-thirty and at the hospital before six. En route, he made a mental note to arrange for someone to fix the bay window.

Several of David's patients were still asleep and David didn't disturb them. He went over their charts, planning to see them later. When he peeked into Donald's room he found the man was wide awake.

"I feel terrible," Donald said. "I haven't slept all night."

"What's the problem?" David asked, feeling his pulse quicken.

To David's dismay, the complaints were disturbingly familiar: crampy abdominal pain along with nausea and diarrhea. In addition, just like Jonathan, he complained of having to swallow continually.

David tried to remain calm. He spoke with Donald for almost half an hour, asking detailed questions about each complaint and ascertaining the sequence in which the complaints had appeared.

Although Donald's complaints certainly reminded him of his other deceased patients, there was an aspect of Donald's history that was different: Donald had never had chemotherapy.

Donald had been initially diagnosed as having pancreatic cancer, but surgery had proved this not to be the case. He'd undergone a massive operation called a Whipple procedure which included the removal of his pancreas, parts of his stomach and intestines, and a good deal of lymphatic tissue. When pathology examined the tumor it had been determined to be benign.

Since he had had such extensive surgery on his digestive system, but had not had chemotherapy to compromise his immune system, David was hopeful that Donald's complaints were purely functional and not harbingers of whatever afflicted David's other unlucky patients.

After finishing his rounds, David called admitting to find out Caroline's room number. On his way he had to pass the ICU. Steeling himself against what he might learn, he went in to check on Jonathan Eakins.

"Jonathan Eakins died about three this morning," the busy head nurse said. "It was a very quick downhill course. Nothing we did seemed to help. It was a shame. A young man like that. It proves you never know when you're going to have to go."

David swallowed hard. He nodded, turned, and left the unit. Even though he'd known in his heart that Jonathan would die, the reality of it was hard to take. David still had a hard time absorbing the staggering fact: he had now lost four patients in a little over a week.

On a brighter note, David discovered that Caroline had responded well to her treatment of IV antibiotics and intensive respiratory therapy. Her fever was gone, her color was pink, and her blue eyes sparkled. She smiled broadly the instant David appeared.

"Nikki wants to come to visit you," David said.

"Cool," Caroline said. "When?"

"Probably this afternoon," David said.

"Could you please ask her to bring me my reading book and my spelling book," Caroline said.

David promised he would.

The first thing David did when he got to his office was call home. Nikki answered. David told her that Caroline was much better and that Nikki could visit her that day. He also relayed Caroline's request for her books. Then David asked Nikki to put her mother on the line.

"She's in the shower," Nikki said. "Should she call you back?"

"No, it's not necessary," David said. "But I want you to remind her of something. She brought a gun home yesterday. It's a shotgun, and it is leaning against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. She's supposed to show it to you and warn you not to touch it. Will you remind her to do all that?"

"Yes, Dad," Nikki said.

David could picture his daughter rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious," he said. "Don't forget."

Hanging up the phone, David wondered about the gun. He didn't like it. Yet he wasn't about to force the issue at the moment. More than anything, he wanted Angela to give up her obsession with Hodges' murder. A brick through the front window was all the warning David needed.

David decided to take this early-morning opportunity to get through some of the never-ending reams of paperwork he was forced to process in connection with his practice. As he laid the first form on his desk, the phone rang. The caller was a patient named Sandra Hascher. She was a young woman with a history of melanoma that had spread to regional lymph nodes.

"I didn't expect to get you directly," Sandra said.

"I'm the only one here just now," David explained.

Sandra told him she'd been having trouble with an abscessed tooth. The tooth had been pulled, but the infection was worse. "I'm sorry to bother you with this," she continued, "but my temperature is one hundred and three. I would have gone to the emergency room, but the last time I took my son there I had to pay for it myself. CMV refused."

"I've heard the story before," David said. "Why don't you come right over. I'll see you immediately."

"Thanks, I'll be right there," Sandra said.

The abscess was impressive. The whole side of Sandra's face was distorted by the swelling. In addition, the lymph nodes beneath her jaw were almost golf-ball size. David checked her temperature. It was indeed one hundred and three.

"You've got to come into the hospital," David said.

"I can't," Sandra said. "I've got so much to do. And my ten-year-old is home with the chicken pox."

"You'll just have to make arrangements," David said. "There's no way I'm going to let you walk around with this time bomb."

David carefully explained the anatomy of the region to Sandra, emphasizing how close the infection was to her brain. "If the infection gets into your nervous system, we're in deep trouble," David said. "You need continuous antibiotics. This is no joke."