The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [37]
“The Sisterhood of Life praises your deep concern and your professionalism,” the woman said solemnly. “Your proposal regarding Mrs. Charlotte Thomas has been approved.”
In the quiet kitchen, Christine began, ever so slightly, to tremble, as each word fell like a drop of water on hard, dry ground.
The woman continued. “The method selected will be intravenous morphine sulfate, administered at an appropriate time during your shift tomorrow evening. An ampule of morphine and the necessary syringe will be beneath the front seat of your car tomorrow morning. Please be certain the passenger side door is left open tonight. We shall lock it after the package has been delivered.
“We request that you administer the medication as a single rapid injection. There will be no need to wait in the room afterward. Please dispose of the vial and the syringe in a safe, secure manner. As is our policy, after your shift at the hospital is completed, you will please call the telephone recording machine and tape your case report. We all share the hope and the belief that the day will arrive when our work can become public knowledge. At that time reports such as yours—already nearly forty years’ worth from nurses throughout the country—can be properly honored and receive their due praise. In transmitting your report there will be no need to repeat the patient’s clinical history. Have you any questions?”
“No,” Christine said softly, her fingers blanched around the receiver. “No questions.”
“Very well, then,” the woman said. “Miss Beall, you can feel most proud of the dedication you show to your principles and your profession. Good night.”
“Thank you. Good night,” Christine replied. She was speaking to a dial tone.
With a glance at the closed door to the living room Christine pulled on a green cardigan of Lisa’s that had been draped over a chair. Quietly she slipped out of the back door of the apartment.
The night sky was endless. Christine shivered against the autumn chill and pulled the sweater tightly about her. On the next street a car roared around a corner. As the engine noise faded, a silence as deep as the night settled in around her. She looked at the stars—countless suns, each one a mother of worlds. She was a speck, less than a moment, yet the decision she had made seemed so enormous. Pressure through her chest and throat made it difficult to swallow. Panic, uncertainty, and a profound sense of isolation tightened the vise as she moved slowly to her car and unlocked the passenger side door.
Christine walked around the deserted block once, and then again. Hidden, she sat on a low rock wall across the street from her apartment and watched until the last of the partygoers finally left and the lights in the windows winked off. With a prolonged, parting gaze at the jeweled sky, she sighed and headed home. All that remained in the living room were a few half-filled glasses and a single, dim light, left for her by her roommates.
Christine flipped off the lamp. She was undressed even before reaching her room. Standing by the bureau, she unpinned her long, sandy hair, shook it free, and began slow passes with her brush, softly counting each one.
“Whenever you must really know …” Charlotte’s words dominated her thoughts as she stepped across to her bed.
It was not until she turned the covers that she saw the envelope resting on her pillow.
She read the note inside, stiffened, then crumpled it into a tiny ball and threw it on the floor.
It said, “Christine, I’ve left. Maybe for good. Feel free to call, but only when you have something significant to say. Jerry.”
CHAPTER VIII
David began his first day as Wallace Huttner’s replacement by identifying a Berlioz piece as Mendelssohn, but bounced back moments later by correctly sensing that outside his window a day of change was developing.
There was a dry chill in the air that kept him from working up the heavy sweat he liked during his run by the river. To the east an anemic sun was gradually