Chicago Med fic: Mercy (6/10)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
Honestly, he can’t do much of anything. He’s maintained his control and composure so carefully over the last six months, and he feels his discipline evaporating with every patient he sees. The doubts plague him now. The questions dog him relentlessly.
After a run of patients in the midday, he’s not taken a break and skipped his lunch entirely. Overworked and overwhelmed, he comes out of one trauma to head into another and turns sharply. It’s a move that disorients him, and he hears a code call out. He panics, chest seizing, before he realizes it’s not his patient.
It’s not his patient.
This life, this death, isn’t his responsibility.
The spike of adrenaline, though, is hard to parse. He’s suddenly lightheaded, and he leans himself against the wall, trying to get his bearings and pretend like he can still play doctor for the rest of the afternoon. He’s hoping that no one notices.
They do.
He’s not sure if he’s relieved or repulsed that it’s Emily.
One thing he’s not, though, is surprised.
It’s always Emily anymore.
“Hey, you okay?” she asks, and she sounds like she means it. He’s not sure why he suspects deception; there’s no quantifiable reason, but there’s still something about her.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, and he’s convincing exactly no one.
Emily smiles at him. Sweetly. “Dr. Halstead, you don’t have to pretend, not with me,” she says, and there’s an air of camaraderie he wishes could be comforting and not unsettling.
But it is unsettling. He still can’t fathom artifice or anything intentional, but her inability to function properly in the ED has to be the source of the problem. He’s asked her about her routines, but her answers are never specific. He’s tried training her on the processes -- to the point of insanity -- but something is getting lost in application. All his appeals up the chain have been denied, and he’s on thin ice as it is.
He just worries that she’ll crash him all together.
That’s the irony, then. She’s the one whose lack of attention to procedure will ruin him, and she’s the only one who seems to care that he’s teetering on the brink of oblivion. She’s the one causing him to struggle, and she’s the only one who is able to see it as a struggle at all.
It leaves her warm intentions cold.
Cold as the ice under Will’s fledging feet.
“It’s hard,” she says, continuing to soothe him. “Doing this, day after day. Most people like to turn away from death, but we’re the ones who have to turn to it.”
He focuses on his breathing, which is all he can do to keep himself together. “I became a doctor to save lives.”
He says it because it’s true. It’s always been true, even if he doesn’t always remember why or how these days.
She nods, her brow creased as she watches him. “But that means working with people on the brink,” she says. “And sometimes, you honestly don’t know if it’s best for them to come back or let go. It’s such a hard thing. And I see how well you do it.”
There’s something about her praise -- something that makes his stomach pang.
He doesn't understand it. He doesn’t understand her. There’s nothing to doubt in her sincerity, but there’s just something about her. Something that he can’t make sense of. Something that doesn’t sit right.
“Dr. Halstead, I can see how hard you work, and I can see how much you’re struggling,” she says, and she’s all out earnest now. “I’ve done everything I can to help you, but I can do more if you let me.”
He looks at her, frowning a little. “What do you mean?”
Her smile brightens sweetly. “I can listen. I can be your sounding board,” she offers. “I think you and I are a lot alike in how dedicated we are to patients. Take comfort in knowing that I see it in you. I know you’re a good doctor.”
He scoffs, and looks away again. “Apparently not,” he mutters. “All my patients are winding up dead.”
She touches him on the arm, and it’s like a bolt of electricity down his spine that leaves his stomach cold and unsettled. “That’s not the real measure of success, is it?”
He pulls away somewhat, looking at her somewhat cautiously. “It kind of is.”
This answer seems to concern her. A lot. “No, quality of life matters,” she says. “We aren’t just concerned with life. We’re concerned with living. And in that light, death isn’t always so bad. Sometimes it’s an escape. Once I realized that -- once I accepted it -- it made my job so much clearer.”
Everything about her exudes comfort, but Will is still struck by the subtle dissonance he feels. That’s not how care providers talk -- at least, not outside of hospice. He knows he struggles with DNRs. He is always prone to going too far rather than not far enough. He’ll save the life in front of him, or fight against all his instincts to obey the patient’s wishes.
It’s that fight that makes him the doctor that he is. That’s what grounds his compassion. He values life.
And that gives patients the choice to do what they will with living.
She squeezes his arm again, her smile more reassuring than ever. “Don’t worry, Dr. Halstead. Even when things are hard, I will be here for you. I promise.”
She moves away then, and he watches her go, perplexed. She doesn’t make sense, and what’s worse -- he has no idea why. She’s smart; she’s competent; she’s compassionate. She cares about people, she loves what she does. She wants to be there for Will -- even when no one else will.
But for some reason -- reasons he can’t explain -- her warm reassurances leave him colder than ever.
-o-
Sharon has a lot on her plate. Some very pressing matters. Staff retirements, maternity leaves, fundraiser events, updated pandemic protocols, meetings with drug reps: and that was just for her morning.
So why is she still stuck on this damn ED problem?
A run of bad luck.
And now, a potential police investigation.
Hank Voight has just given her the heads up that this little inquiry is turning into a bigger inquiry. It’s not going anywhere.
If this is Sharon’s problem, then it’s also going to be Dr. Choi’s problem. This is how she broaches the subject with him during their meeting that morning.
“Do you remember the caes? An Edwin Garside?” she asks.
Dr. Choi frowns a little. He shakes his head. “Refresh my memory.”
She does more than refresh it. She hands him the whole damn file.
He flips through, and then he nods. “I do remember,” he says. “Nail in the foot, complicated by a heart attack.”
“An unexpected heart attack,” Sharon points out.
Dr. Choi shrugs. “Many of them are. Just look at the case last night. But in Mr. Garside’s case, he did have a history, though.”
“But his condition was well maintained,” Sharon argues.
“Okay,” Dr. Choi says, a little slower now. He eyes her cautiously. “What’s your point?”
She sighs, sitting back with a huff. “My point is the daughter has complained to Chicago PD. She thinks there are some inconsistencies in her father’s case that don’t make sense.”
“Medical malpractice isn’t criminal--”
“I think she’s talking wrongful death. Or manslaughter, assault -- murder,” Sharon says, pursing her lips now.
Dr. Choi’s eyes widened. “Murder? It was a heart attack. It says so right here in the pathology report.”
“Along with several other unexplainable factors,” Sharon points out. “The dosages of the drugs in his system do not match up with the prescribed amounts.”
“Those measurements can be affected by a lot of things,” Dr. Choi says.
“One was missing altogether,” Sharon says.
“With the nursing shortage--”
Sharon is shaking her head because she doesn’t need the common sense explanations. “Each thing, by itself, yes. It can be explained. It happens. But the whole thing feels weird.”
Across from her, she sees her ED chief hedge. “A lot of it seems weird lately, and not just this case,” he says. “But I’ve been paying extra attention to things, and nothing’s off.”
“Except this,” Sharon says, gesturing at the file again. She shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure if PD is going to run with this or not, but I don’t want to behind the eight ball on this one.”
“It can’t hurt to give it a second look,” Dr. Choi agrees. “I know I’d fully cooperate.”
Sharon nods. “Good,” she says. “I am slated to meet with a few board members this afternoon. I’m going to get approval for an internal review, and I’d like you to be available to answer any questions they might have.”
“Of course,” he says. Then, he hesitates. “Will’s going to take this hard.”
Sharon can only incline her head knowingly. “Maybe it’s time he should.”
“I don’t think it’s his fault,” Dr. Choi says. “I know the investigation has to play out, but I trust Will.”
“I respect your loyalty to your team,” Sharon says. “But sometimes trust is misplaced. We have to be open to all the possibilities. Especially after another patient death last night.”
He bobs his head at her as he gets to his feet. “Understood,” he says. “Keep me posted.”
“Trust me,” she says as he makes his way out. “I will.”
-o-
Sharon approves the retirements, even one that requests an early retirement package. She puts in for a temporary hire to cover the doctor about to start maternity leave next month. She confirms several details with the fundraisers, and she clears the protocol changes for the pandemic with both HR and legal. The meeting with the drug reps is quite fortuitous, and she thinks they’re one step closer to starting a renewed relationship with Kender Pharma again after last year’s debacle.
She even manages to fit in two impromptu meetings to cover a staffing complaint and a curious donor who wanted to know why progress on the renovations of the sixth floor had stalled out. She explains, in polite, verbose terms, that the construction company is overextended, and supply chain delays have made things more expensive. The donor asks if more money would help, and Sharon assures them that it would. She jots down a note to have Peter call over to finance to approve the donation, and she makes a note to check in with the construction crew to see when work can start again.
Then, she swings by the office of one of the board members, makes polite small talk and then brings up the question of an internal review. After an hour of pleasantries, the board member agrees, and Sharon is given latitude to recruit a team of doctors and administrators to chair the committee.
All these questions.
And Sharon is one step closer to answers.
-o-
Will finds there that there’s always plenty to do, but he’s starting to come to the troubling reality that working more doesn’t help. In fact, the more he puts into this job, the less he gets out of it. All his effort, all his dedication, and his results are only getting worse.
And he has no idea why.
It’s moved well beyond frustration now. Will is pretty sure after a month of working his ass off with no results, he’s probably a little depressed. If he had any time to talk to Dr. Charles, he might bring it up. But, then, time is something he doesn’t have.
Along with any sense of who he is or what the hell he’s even doing these days.
In fact, it’s not that he’s tired. It’s that he’s emotionally spent. He could load up on caffeine and just keep going, but he’s starting to see it as a futile thing. Instead of working late that night, he accepts his brother’s invitation to meet at Molly’s for a drink.
Jay is his only semblance of a social life. He may be the last human on the planet who actually cares about him as a person, unless you count Emily.
For the record, Will is not counting Emily.
That’s not unkind. That’s just sanity at this point.
By the time Will arrives, Jay is already there and the place is hopping. Jay has saved a spot for him at the bar, and Will sits down, all too aware how weary he feels.
“Damn,” Jay comments, calling for the bartender to bring them a round of beers. “Bad day?”
Will accepts the beer with a small scoff. “Try a bad month,” he says, shaking his head. “Maybe a bad year? Or am I just looking at a bad decade by this point?”
Jay scoffs and reaches for his own beer. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“I’m sure it is,” Will mutters, and he stops to take a drink. “Did you run Emily’s name?”
“I did, but the first check didn’t ping anything,” Jay says.
Will feels visibly crestfallen.
Jay hastily follows up. “But that first one is a gimme. I’ll need another day or two for the longer form stuff. I want to run a few angles, that’s all.”
That’s more effort than Will probably warrants, and he knows it. He looks miserably back at his drink.
Next to him, Jay frowns. “You sure you’re okay, man?”
“I just said I was having a bad decade,” Will retorts. “What do you think?”
At that, Jay seems to hesitate. Will puts his beer down and looks at his brother. He has to tiptoe around the hospital. He has to play the party line when around Ethan and the rest of the staff. There’s no way he can maintain the pretense with his brother.
And Jay’s never been one to play the pretense game. “Actually, there’s a reason I wanted to meet.”
Will grunts and takes another drink. He’s pretty sure with a preface like that, he’s going to need it. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not ominous,” Jay says. He dips his head to the side. “Just not great.”
Will’s stomach does a little flip. He’s too far into this to make any kind of assumption that things can’t get worse. “What?”
“I want to give you a heads up, that’s all,” Jay says.
Will is starting to frown now. “A head’s up about what?”
“The case isn’t officially open, but they’re toying with it,” Jay says.
“The case for what?” Will presses.
“Edwin Garside,” Jay clarifies, a little reluctant. “The daughter is poking around all over the place trying to get someone to give it a second look.”
Will is expecting the worst, but he’s not expecting that. His mouth hangs open for a moment, and he slowly deposits his beer back on the bar while he attempts to collect his thoughts. “Edwin Garside?”
Jay nods. “You remember him?”
“Of course I do,” Will says. “He came in with a nail in his foot. Died of a heart attack before I could discharge him.”
“So,” Jay says, nodding his head to prompt Will on. “What do you think of the daughter’s complaint?”
Will’s eyebrows arch. “That her father’s death was suspicious?”
“Yeah,” Jay says.
Will can only shrug, a feeling of pervasive helplessness settling over him. “I mean, I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Because she was upset?” Jay ask.
“No, because it was weird,” Will says. “But, I mean, I’ve been over his file a dozen times. I can’t find anything there that’s negligent, much less criminal. It was just...weird.”
His answer is the best he has, but Jay’s brow only darkens. “Tell me what happened.”
That’s a brotherly request.
It’s also one made by the detective his brother is. They’ve blurred the lines between official business and personal matters before, and it’s easy to see it happening now. The thing is, Will doesn’t care. The thing is, maybe Will wants this to be investigated. Maybe Will wants someone else to look at this with the same uncertainty and skepticism he is.
“That’s the thing: I don’t know,” Will says because honesty isn’t the best policy, it’s literally the only policy. “Ed Garside was fine. He was stable, lucid. We had his pain under control, and his vitals were stable. He had some history of heart disease, but it had been well maintained for years, and there was nothing -- literally not a single thing -- to indicate heart trouble in his presentation or during any time I checked on him. I was prepping his release papers for an uncomplicated recovery with aftercare at his primary care provider.”
Jay shakes his head, clearly expecting more. “And then?”
“Then, he was dead,” Will says. “I came in the room, and the code was already running. I did everything I could, but he was gone before I got inside.”
Jay is the one frowning now. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Will says, plain and simple. He’s telling the facts, as best he can. The facts he’s gone over countless times in his head while reviewing this case, while reviewing all the cases. There’s nothing more to draw from it. It is all he has.
He knows it’s not enough.
He’s pretty sure Jay does, too.
Next to him, Will sees his brother hesitate. He looks down, focusing on his glass for a second before he takes a slow drink. After he swallows, he finally looks back and meets Will’s gaze.
“They’re looking at you, you know,” he blurts.
Will wants to be surprised. He wants to feel a pang of panic, but for some reason, it’s the comment he expects.
“Yeah, I figured,” he says. He pauses to take a drink and shake his head. “I mean, I was the doctor on the case. It’s the natural place to start looking.”
For Will, that seems to be that.
But Jay is watching him, even more intent than before. “So?”
Will shrugs in the face of his brother’s insistent look. “So what?”
“What’s your explanation? What’s the defense?” Jay asks. “Since we can’t pinpoint a precise crime, we can’t narrow down a window yet, so there’s no purpose for an alibi.”
Will blinks at his brother, his mind going strangely blank for a moment. “Wait. I need a defense? An alibi? You think I did this?”
“Of course I don’t,” Jay says. “But if this thing goes live, I’m not going to be on this case -- you and I both know that. And if this thing turns out to be medical interference or whatever, then yeah, you’re the first and most natural suspects. But we still have time to head this off. If you can give me something else to go with, then maybe we can clear your ass before you get named as a suspect.”
Will sits back, staring dumbly at his drink. He’s reeling somewhat now, and he shakes his head. “I told you what happened. Everything I know.”
That’s all he has, really.
And it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
That’s just how Will’s life works. All his effort. All his good intentions. And he’s always coming up short. Middling.
At this point, it shouldn’t surprise him. He’s just not quite smart enough. He’s just not quite talented enough. He doesn’t have quite enough focus, and he never works quite hard enough. He’s always just a few steps off greatness, and Will can rage against fate, but he knows it’s all his fault.
He knows he didn’t kill this patient -- any of the patients -- but this is still his fault.
Will’s reached that point of resignation. He’s held out as long as he could, but there’s just not enough in him to keep pretending like he can redeem himself any longer.
Jay, however, doesn’t seem to have reached the same point. Next to Will at the bar, he leans closer to him with some energy. “Sure, but let’s speculate a little here. You said yourself, your record’s been bad lately. And if it’s not you tying these cases together, then what? If Goodwin’s looking, she may not care enough to go past you, but I do care. So give me something. Tell me what could explain your crappy case record.”
Jay is making a conscious effort here, and somehow that just makes Will feel all the more useless. He shrugs, increasingly miserable. “I don’t know. I thought it was just bad luck or whatever. Doctors go through slumps, sometimes.”
But Jay is shaking his head. “We’re past the point where we can fall back on coincidence.”
“I know,” Will says, and he sighs, flitting his hand through the air. “I just -- I can’t explain it. I keep working my ass off, and it keeps getting worse.”
Jay pulls back a little, as if sensing Will’s emotions on the cusp. “Then think analytically. Like you would a diagnosis,” he suggests. “Go through your differential or whatever. What similarities can you find? What can you rule out?”
This isn’t bad advice, and Will knows it. He just feels like there’s no point in trying to salvage his career -- much less himself. “All the cases happened at Med.”
Jay shakes his head again. “Go deeper. Similarities between the patients?”
It’s Will’s turn to shake his head. “Different genders, different ages, different conditions,” he says. “Some were young and relatively healthy. Others were sick with chronic conditions. Heart problems, infections, even a skin rash. I was going to admit them all to different units.”
“Going to,” Jay says. He frowns a bit. “You never admitted them?”
Will pauses, considering this. “No, they all died before I could finish the paperwork,” he says. “That’s why my name is on all the case files.”
“So we’re looking at something in the ED,” Jay says. “I assume this isn’t like some superbug situation.”
“No,” Will says. “We’d find evidence of a fungus or some antibiotic resistance.”
“So people,” Jay posits next. “You’re the doctor on these cases, but there’s a whole bunch of people on that ED. Every patient is seen by techs, nurses--”
Will gathers a breath and considers this. Then, he shrugs. “I mean, there’s Emily. I’d have to go back and check for sure, but a lot of them had the same nurse.”
This seems to get Jay’s attention, and honestly, the moment Will says it, it gets his own as well. It’s almost like a paradigm shift, like a filter that puts everything in focus.
He’s had ongoing suspicions about Emily’s performance, but he’d never linked it to patient outcomes. But she’d been there. More times than he could remember. She’d been the one to start calling the code.
The strange interactions.
Her inconsistent answers.
It’s impossible, really.
Except it’s not.
Jay is next to him still, brow furrowed. “Emily? You really think she’s the problem?”
“Yeah,” he says, and he shakes his head. He still feels cold every time he thinks about her, and her name makes him suppress a shudder. “I have nowhere else to go with it. She’s around me constantly. Why else would I ask you to run her name? I’m desperate, Jay.”
“Okay, so Emily,” Jay says, and he seems to be taking this a little more seriously now. “What do you know about her?”
Will scoffs. He wishes he had a better answer. “Not much,” he says. “She’s the new nurse. Just transferred to Med last month after working in home health care for awhile. She graduated from Michigan State.”
This seems to interest Jay. He sits up a little, taking note. He’s back in cop-mode. “You’ve told me all that already, but there’s got to be more. What else do you know about her? I mean, two months together, that’s a lot. You have to know more.”
Jay’s perking interest, for some reason, has a deflating effect on Will. He has to admit the truth. “I don’t, though. I feel like every day I know less and less about her. And I can’t understand her at all. That’s why I need you to run the check just so I can figure out who she is.”
Jay doesn’t seem to realize yet that this is a dead end. Instead, he presses with the next question. “Is she a good nurse?”
Will shrugs, even more meagerly than before. “I guess,” he says. “She’s certainly good at what she does, and she’s extremely attentive to patients -- almost more than any other nurse on the staff. But -- I don’t know.”
He trails off, leaving it that.
Jay’s not about to leave it at that, however. “You do know. But what?”
Will sighs. Where Ethan and Ms. Goodwin are tired of hearing his complaints, Jay is a fresh audience. For some reason, he hasn’t ruined his credibility with Jay yet. “She’s just weird,” he says. “It’s really hard to explain, but I don’t get a normal vibe from her. She doesn’t fit in with the rest of the nurses, and the way she talks, acts -- it’s like she’s practicing her own little version of medicine sometimes.”
Jay makes a little face. He’s in cop-mode, which doesn’t always work well when Will goes doctor-mode. “Is it a bad version?” he asks.
Will shrugs, somewhat noncommittal. “Like I said, she’s very attentive to patients -- and that’s almost the problem. Sometimes I have to remind her to do the basics -- things I take for granted with every other nurse.”
This seems to interest Jay. Will’s thought about this in a professional capacity, but his brother is approaching this with a different intent -- one that Will has not fully allowed himself to realize. It hasn’t occurred to him, honestly. That this is something more than a string of terrible, misfortune accidents.
“Well, if she’s skipping steps or something -- I mean, that could cause problems, right?” Jay says.
Will shrugs. That’s been his working theory, but when he hears Jay say it, it sounds ridiculous. No wonder everyone dismisses him out of hand.
Jay presses on. “How serious are the lapses in the care she provides? I mean, could some of it cause this? Any of it? If we can rule out your involvement in at least some of the cases, then we basically destroy the pattern. We don’t have to explain every case, just enough of them.”
Will grimaces as he shakes his head with resignation. “I’ve reviewed each case,” he says. “And her charts aren’t quite right, but they’re also not total red flags. I can’t pinpoint anything specific. Sometimes she takes her time with things -- so the medication schedule is a little off, but I always catch it. And sometimes she does things out of order or something, but I correct it. Or she has the wrong documentation, which I have to fix. But there’s nothing on the record that shows anything that should be a problem. The problems should all be minor.”
“But if you’re catching some of her mistakes, what if you’re missing others?” Jay posits. He leans his head toward Will. “No one wants to assume the worst, but you’ve got to go with your gut a little bit on this. Do you think there’s more you’re missing with her?”
It makes Will frown even deeper. “Maybe,” he admits for his total lack of certainty. He fiddles with the bottle, but he can’t bring himself to drink anymore. “I don’t know how to even explain it sometimes. The way she comes across. But her stories never quite check out.”
“How?” Jay asks, and he’s so on point now that Will’s half surprised he’s not taking notes.
Will’s not sure what to think of that, but Jay’s the first one who actually wants to listen. He’s the only one who is giving him any semblance of credibility. He’s not sure he deserves it at this point, but he’s still grateful for it anyway. “Like, she went to Michigan State for nursing school.”
Jay makes a face. “So?”
“So,” Will says. “That program is iconic. It’s one of the biggest ones in the country. It’s got some of the biggest names on the faculty, and she doesn’t know anyone.”
Jay draws back, somewhat skeptical. His own drink is also long forgotten on the bar in front of them. “That’s hardly a crime.”
“I know, but it’s weird,” Will explains. “And if it was just that, then it’d be nothing. But it’s a thousand little things just like that, weird things you can’t quite explain. She doesn’t get along with the other nurses. She’s always in early and late to leave, but her work is literally never done. There’s something about her. I know it.”
Jay sits forward again, lips pursed. “Have you told anyone at the hospital about your concerns? Ethan? Goodwin?”
Will sighs, because he knows that sounds like good, reasonable advice. He wishes it were enough, but he has to shake his head. “I’ve tried,” he says, and he shrugs helplessly. “But they don’t see it. I mean, it’s subtle. And I don’t have concrete evidence. It’s not like going on my credibility is going to get me very far right now.”
It’s a bitter sarcasm, and it’s all he can do to not show just how much it hurts.
Nearly six months into his probation, and he feels like he’s still at the starting line. Like he’s gotten nowhere. He wonders, sometimes, why he hasn’t just quit altogether.
Jay seems to sense the downward turn in his attitude. He gives Will a nudge to the forearm. “Look, maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s not,” he says. “I’m a cop. Sometimes, you’ve got to follow your instincts even when they don’t go anywhere. So I’ll check her out. Run that angle for a little while anyway. I mean, it’s something, right?”
Jay’s trying to sound optimistic, but for some reason, that just seems to make things bleaker. Will shakes his head, feeling resigned. “Am I going to go to jail this time?”
“What?” Jay asks, as if incredulity is an appropriate response. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to jail.”
“You said it yourself,” Will says. “I’m the common link. I was the doctor in charge. They were my patients.”
“You’re not going to jail,” Jay says again, a little firmer this time. “You didn’t murder anyone. Maybe it’s the nurse. Maybe it’s all just crappy luck. We’ll figure this out.”
He wants to believe Jay. Hell, he wants to trust Jay to make everything better, but that’s an easy out. Will thinks he may have run out of those, used them up. Maybe this is karma, all his debts coming due at once. “But what if you can’t?” Will asks, and his chest feels tight. His stomach is in knots, and the tears that burn behind his eyes are barely, barely at bay. “What if this is it? What if I’m just a bad doctor? Maybe I should have left medicine all together when Goodwin fired me.”
He’s spiraling, and he knows it. Jay knows it, too, and he has sense enough to call Will on it. “Will, come on--”
“Jay, I’m serious,” he says, even as his voice threatens to hitch.
Jay reaches out, his hand next to Will’s on the bar in front of them. “I know, and so am I,” he says. “But you’ve got to relax, man. You keep doing what you’re doing, the best you can. And I’ll do some digging -- more digging. We’ll see what comes up, okay? And then we’ll deal with it together.”
Jay makes it sound so easy.
Easier than Will deserves.
He inhales shakily, and looks back at his drink. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, his voice small.
“Sure you do,” Jay says. “You’ve just got to get your confidence back, man.”
Will closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment before he trusts himself to look at his brother once more. “Quitting might be easier.”
Jay gets up, pulling out his wallet to leave enough to cover both their checks. “But that’s not how we do it. Not anymore.”
Will nods and watches his brother leave.
He nods and tries to believe.
He nods and hopes to hell that’s enough.
-o-
Sharon is working late. Really, Sharon feels like she’s always working. She’s never been a doctor, so she has no actual experience with the on-call lifestyle, but ever since she’s gone into administration, that’s what it feels like. It’s not patient-to-patient for her. It’s just the hospital, and the hospital is the kind of patient that is never discharged.
Most of the time, Sharon’s okay with that. She’s learned her share of coping mechanisms over time, and she’s figured out how to balance her personal life with a professional life that needs her constantly. It’s not easy, but you don’t do these kind of things because they are easy.
Three grown children, a once-contentious divorce, a controlled diabetic condition: Sharon knows what success looks like.
She also knows, for the moment, it’s all a pipe dream.
See, five minute before heading home that night -- a late night as it is -- she gets a call from the hospital’s internal review board. It’s about Edwin Garside, whose daughter has been actively requesting further investigation into her father’s death. CPD had given her the heads up to start the ball rolling, and Sharon convened the internal review board to see if there’s substance to the claims.
The results come back late, to be sure, but they come back clear.
Clearly, Sharon’s long day is going to get longer still.
She skims the report, going over the mundane formalities before her eyes settle on the concluding -- and daming -- paragraph.
Given the full range of circumstances, it is the opinion of this board that the death of Mr. Garside has enough irregularities to warrant additional scrutiny. The inconsistencies in the paperwork are perhaps the most questionable element of the case. While tragedy does happen regularly and unexpectedly in the ED, to see so many unanswered questions within the documentation causes more alarm. In order to determine if there are questions of negligence, incompetence or malfeasance, further investigation is required. Therefore, we recommend that this patient’s death be forwarded for further review in order to determine if further action should be taken.
Sharon sighs. She’d been hoping for a simple resolution -- a mere unfortunate coincidence in this case -- but clearly, there’s something to this.
The question is, what?
Obviously, she knows that’s the point of an investigation, and while she appreciate the need for hospital administration to walk a fine line of involvement and separation, she at least wants to approach it with her eyes wide open. Just how bad is this? Just how suspicious is the evidence?
Fortunately, the memo has been included with the full scope of evidence collected so far. It includes notations from every doctor who has treated Mr. Garside, and it also includes notes from the autopsy along with the full medical records that the board was able to obtain.
She’s not a doctor, and it’s been years since he was a practicing nurse, but she can make sense of the file well enough. Mr. Garside had been 45 years old at the time of his death. He had some history of early heart disease, but he’d treated it early and aggressively. With proper lifestyle changes and medications, he’d been living a healthy life. His cardiologist had been pleased with his progress and considered him a low risk for ongoing complications. By all accounts, his heart had been in good condition when he was brought into the ED several weeks ago.
There was some room for doubt, however, Mr. Garside had some in to have a nail removed from his foot. He had been doing work in the garage at his house, and there’d been an accident. The nail needed to be removed, and scans had been needed to see if it had hit anything that needed surgical repair. After a thorough exam, it had been determined the the wound was superficial, but it needed to be carefully irrigated, cleaned, and Mr. Garside had been given an updated tetanus shot and a preventative course of antibiotics given the overall risk of such an injury.
In this context, Sharon can understand why Dr. Halstead, the doctor on Mr. Garside’s case, had not measured his cardiac output. Mr. Garside had been entirely stable with no signs of cardiac distress. His heart had sounded normal, and his rhythm had been maintained normally. His blood pressure had been slightly elevated, but as Dr. Halstead’s notes indicated, this was normal given the nature of his injury.
The notes are actually quite thorough, and they are meticulously updated with all the relevant details. Sharon knows that record keeping is not always the forte among her ED staff, but Dr. Halstead’s efforts here show that he’s been taking it seriously.
And yet, the omissions are glaring.
Somehow, after what seems like an uncomplicated treatment for a foot wound, Mr. Garside ends up in cardiac arrest while Dr. Halstead readies his discharge paperwork.
There’s no indication in the paperwork to suggest how this result came to be. Dr. Halstead had followed impeccable protocol. He had cleaned and treated the wound before administering antibiotics. He had drawn up a prescription for follow up treatment at home and updated the man’s tetanus shot. All his vitals had been normal, and there had been no obvious indications of distress.
The tests were standards. The bloodwork was complete and without red flags. Dr. Halstead had even run a few cursory cardiac tests on account of his history. Nothing had showed up.
It is possible for an MI to come out of nowhere.
Possible, but not as likely.
This outcome suggests that something was missed. In the exam, in the tests -- somewhere.
There’s no indictment to be made.
But there is plenty of room to have questions.
A doctor of good standing would have nothing to worry about.
But Dr. Halstead? With his record?
Well, he has a lot to worry about.
-o-
So does Sharon, unfortunately.
See, any problem with the hospital is a problem with her. There’s truth to that in Sharon’s mind, but Gwen and the board like to take it quite literally.
It is, therefore, no surprise when Gwen shows up at her office the next morning, abjectly apoplectic. She’s known about the anomalies in the data for awhile now, but she’s caught wind of the internal investigation. Leave it to Gwen to assume that a series of unfortunate deaths is a personal attack on her.
Sharon tries to assure her that is not the case, but Gwen is in no mood to be placated.
“What are you going to do about it?” she demands.
“Escalate the investigation, mostly,” Sharon says. “We need to start actively interviewing people involved with the case. The nurses, the doctor--”
Gwen shakes her head. “Why bother with interviews?” she asks sharply. “It’s Dr. Halstead, right?”
“Yes, he’s the doctor on the case,” Sharon says.
“Then, save yourself the time and save the hospital the legal headache,” she says. “Fire him.”
It’s not that Sharon doesn’t understand the kneejerk reaction. She has, after all, fired Dr. Halstead before, and she’s thought about doing it more than once.
But there’s a process for this kind of thing.
And as suspicious as things look, Sharon knows that correlation is not causation. Where there’s smoke, there’s not always fire -- at least, not in the places you expect. She has a professional responsibility to do her job the right way.
Plus, firing him with incorrect presumptions is probably a legal risk in and of itself. She needs to be sure that he’s the problem.
“We have to let the investigation play out, at least a little bit longer,” Sharon coaches. “There’s no smoking gun yet. Just speculation and suspicion.”
Gwen does not appreciate being placated. “The risk of a wrongful termination suit is marginal compared to our legal liability if the police do open an active investigation,” she says. “If we fire him before any allegations are made public, then we’ll have a better legal case that allows us to distance ourselves from the situation in court.”
Sharon purses her lips, but she’s definitely not surprised. “That’s really not the priority here--”
Gwen scoffs. “Isn’t it?”
Sharon seeks to retain her composure. “Please--”
But Gwen doesn’t want to hear it. “Look, my patience with this situation is thin,” she says, taut and short. “If you want to twiddle your thumbs and interview this idiot doctor, then that’s on you. Any further mishaps in the ED, and you’re both gone.”
The threat is clear, and Sharon doesn’t need it reiterated. Dr. Halstead has spent a lot of his chances, and there’s nothing left to save him if he is indeed negligent in any way. His best bet is to come clean -- and right now -- and if they can identify his shortcoming, then maybe a disciplinary action will be sufficient to both mitigate the family’s loss and the police’s interest.
Sharon needs to resolve this situation quickly and without any complications. That’s the only thing that will satisfy the authorities, and it’s the only way for any of them to salvage their careers.
Sharon can see this.
She just hopes Dr. Halstead realizes it as well.
Because there’s no doubt that this is going to go poorly.
But it’s up to Dr. Halstead to determine just how bad things will get.
-o-
Will doesn’t think he’s some eternal optimist, but he generally believes in the law of averages. Surely, with enough time, things will even out. The worst will become acceptable once more. That’s just how it is.
That’s how Will’s gotten through the hard stuff in Chicago. The bad is balanced by the good. He’s believed that if he can keep his head screwed on straight and start acting rationally, then eventually he’ll earn his due reward. And, to be clear, there are no delusions of grandeur. Will’s long since given up on the dream of being chief. He doesn’t pretend that he’s going to be some prestigious doctor living in luxury. But he’d settle for being a normal, respected member of the staff. A guy who puts in a good day’s work and earns a good day’s wage.
That’s all.
He’s tried for flashy. He’s run around looking for the next big thing. He’s fallen in love. He’s gone big. Now, all he wants -- all he needs -- is simple.
You don’t have to be an optimist for that. Will’s not aiming high here.
It figures, then, that he falls so incredibly, invariably, painfully short.
See, when he arrives at work the next morning, exhausted but determined, Maggie tells him that Goodwin wants to see him.
ASAP.
When she tells him, she doesn’t soften it with a joke. She doesn’t even smile.
Will’s never been the eternal optimist, but maybe it’s time to start abiding by some sobering pessimism.
At least that way, he’s braced for the worst.
-o-
There’s no pretense for his meeting with Goodwin, and given Will’s antics in her ED over the last few years, there’s no shortage of things for them to discuss. He’s been hoping for the last few months that the next trip to her office will be the one that finally gets him off of probation.
He knows the second he gets inside, however, that this is not the case today.
Given the look on her face, that might not be the case ever.
He hasn’t seen Ms. Goodwin look quite like that since the last time she fired him, and Will’s stomach churns in trepidation -- and anticipation.
Last time he’d been here, she’d dismissed his concerns out of hand.
Now, the concerns are real.
And he’s pretty sure it’s more than his concerns that are about to be dismissed.
“I know we talked several days ago,” Ms. Goodwin says without any attempt to make small talk. “And you voiced your concerns.”
Will nods slowly. He’s got no reason to actually disagree, but he senses that this is uncertain territory. “Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ve continued to be vigilant, trying to figure this out.”
“I’m afraid that’s not sufficient,” she says. “The police are investigating the death of Edwin Garside.”
Will has to nod again. “I’m aware.”
Her lips purse. “The police have made no official determination yet,” she says. “But the board has. The circumstances of the case are such that the board has decided to do a full internal review. To be clear, this is not a casual investigation. It’s not intended to be educational.”
Will has to swallow in an attempt to calm his rapidly fraying nerves. “You think I might be responsible.”
“Franky, yes,” Ms. Goodwin says. “I’ve known you a long time, Dr. Halstead, and I’ve never known you to be a bad diagnostician. I know you care about your patients. But you do have an established history of questionable decision-making. And there are too many question marks here to ignore the possibility of some oversight.”
Will feels himself redden, but does his best not to give into the embarrassment as it threatens to overcome him. “I know better than anyone else that something weird is going on,” he explains, his voice shaking just so. “These are my patients who are dying, after all. That’s why I’ve been looking over my own work.”
“And?” she prompts. “Have you come up with anything that would explain this? Any of it?”
“Honestly, not really,” he says. “I know I’m not perfect; I make plenty of mistakes. But the lapses just aren’t there. I’m following all the procedures. I’m documenting all my decisions.”
Her face darkes with skepticism. “Nothing?”
“I submit all my work for review, you know that,” he says. “I can account for everything except for--”
He pauses, hesitating.
She arches her brows.
He sighs. “Except for Emily,” he says.
She is already rolling her eyes, and Will sits forward.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I don’t have anything else,” he says, rushing to fill the void before her anger can break. “I can account for all my time with patients, but the nurses are there far more often. The only unaccounted part of the patient experience is with the nurses, and I’ve worked almost exclusively with Emily.”
He knows he’s right -- he knows it -- but Ms. Goodwin’s face hardens completely. “That’s the best answer you have?”
Will sits back, folding his fingers in his lap uncomfortably.
She scoffs. “I tell you that you’re under investigation, and pointing your finger at a nurse is the best you can offer.”
“Ms. Goodwin--”
But she doesn’t want it. She won’t tolerate it.
“How many times do we have to have the same conversation, Dr. Halstead?” she says, her brow darkening ominously. “I swear, every time I give you a second chance, you just end up in the exact same place. I’m starting to wonder if giving you a second chance -- a third chance -- a fourth chance -- was a mistake.”
Will knows the ground he’s on is shaky, but he shakes his head. He wants her to understand that he’s changed. He wants her to understand that this is different. He wants her to understand that something is wrong. “I understand the frustration, I do, but this is different--”
“Different than what? Ignoring a DNR? Operating at a safe injection site? Destroying a medical trial because of your personal conflicts?” she asks sharply.
He draws back, hemming himself in as he feels his cheeks flush. “Ms. Goodwin, if I could just explain--”
But she is shaking her head, lips pursed at him in annoyance. “You know, you better not, Dr. Halstead, because if you speak one more word, I’m likely to fire you on principle alone,” she snaps. “No, it’s best right now that you go home and let me cool off before I deal with your constant inability to grow the hell up.”
“But Ms. Goodwin--”
She holds up her hand. “Go home, Dr. Halstead,” she all but growls at him. “Now.”
There’s more to say. The need to speak almost twists in his gut painfully, and he feels the words ready to burst from his chest. But Ms. Goodwin is not a woman to be trifled with. Will’s taken advantage of her grace for too long, and he’s the little boy who cried wolf. He’s all out of credibility, even with the biggest, baddest beast bearing its teeth at him now.
He’s done this to himself, then.
He’s done this to himself.
Finally, he nods, stiffly and reluctantly. There is no word of consolation. There is no attempt to assuage this. She stares him down, hard and unrelenting, until he turns and leaves the room.
There’s a part of him that suspects -- a part of him that knows -- he’s never coming back here again.
-o-
He’s shaking by the time he gets back downstairs, and he can’t even be sure how he’s moving. It’s a little bit like he’s floating, moving on autopilot, and he brushes past a few people as they give him curious looks. He tries to tell himself he hasn’t been fired, but for some reason, the distinction doesn’t mean much.
He’s not sure what any of it means.
Maybe Ms. Goodwin is right. Maybe it doesn’t matter how. Maybe it doesn’t matter why. His patients are dying, so he can fix that problem. No more patients; no more deaths. Sure, that means he can’t save anyone, either, but it doesn’t feel like he’s done much of that lately.
And saving himself?
Well, he probably should have recognized how that’s been off the table for months, now Probably years.
This is the ending he averted all those months ago. He should have walked out for good that time. Maybe he’d been right, then. Maybe he did need a fresh start.
Or maybe he just needs an ending.
This ending.
The sense of deja vu is nearly overwhelming as he finally makes it to the doctor’s lounge. He is numb as he shoves his doctor’s coat in his cubby, and he turns blindly back to the door. This time, when he leaves, maybe that’s it. Maybe he’ll follow through this time.
But when he turns toward the door, he’s surprised to see someone in his way.
Emily.
He has to blink and stare before he recognizes her.
It’s Emily.
“Dr. Halstead,” she says, a little breathless as she looks at him. “You don’t look very good.”
“I’m not feeling the best, Emily,” he says, and that much is true. “I need to go home.”
She nods, as if this is something she understands. “I need you first.”
He sighs, too tired for any of it. “Emily--”
She steps closer to him, looking up at him imploringly. “Please, Dr. Halstead,” she says. “It’s an emergency.”
He’s emotional; hell, he’s borderline distraught. But he’s still a doctor. “An emergency?” he asks.
She nods, almost eagerly, as she steps closer again. “You’re needed right away.”
Will frowns, brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of what she’s saying. “The net doctor on call will get it--”
“No,” she says, crossing the last of the distance toward him now. She’s right in front of him, eyes trained on him earnestly. “They asked for you.”
Will wants to step back, but he finds himself frozen in the spot. Confused, he looks at her. “But -- I don’t understand.”
She reaches out, taking him gently by the arm. “It’s not in the ED,” she explains, softer now. “It’s upstairs. Some emergency. We got the call to come.”
And he’s still a doctor, see. All he’s ever wanted to do is save lives.
He looks at her, and he knows that much she understands.
She smiles, and Will suppresses a shudder as he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Let me get my things.”
Her fingers tighten just slightly before she lets go, beaming at him. “I knew I could count on you, Dr. Halstead.”
-o-
Will senses an urgency to the situation, so he just takes his medical bag full of standard equipment and follows. Emily is moving quickly, and he has to increase his speed to keep up. Within seconds, they’re out of the ED, and he doesn’t think to ask anything until he realizes they’re in the stairwell going up.
“It’s in the hospital?” he asks, heart pounding as she scales the stairs with determination. “But codes are run on each floor--”
“No, it’s in the construction zone,” she says, briefly glancing over her shoulder.
He moves to catch up with her, and now they’re side by side. “But I thought work had been suspended.”
She looks at him, lips pulled up almost fondly. “Just trust me. It’s important.”
He finds himself grunting. “Then maybe they should ask someone else,” he says. “I don’t exactly have the best record these days.”
“No,” she says, looking at him almost insistent now. “It has to be you.”
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
Honestly, he can’t do much of anything. He’s maintained his control and composure so carefully over the last six months, and he feels his discipline evaporating with every patient he sees. The doubts plague him now. The questions dog him relentlessly.
After a run of patients in the midday, he’s not taken a break and skipped his lunch entirely. Overworked and overwhelmed, he comes out of one trauma to head into another and turns sharply. It’s a move that disorients him, and he hears a code call out. He panics, chest seizing, before he realizes it’s not his patient.
It’s not his patient.
This life, this death, isn’t his responsibility.
The spike of adrenaline, though, is hard to parse. He’s suddenly lightheaded, and he leans himself against the wall, trying to get his bearings and pretend like he can still play doctor for the rest of the afternoon. He’s hoping that no one notices.
They do.
He’s not sure if he’s relieved or repulsed that it’s Emily.
One thing he’s not, though, is surprised.
It’s always Emily anymore.
“Hey, you okay?” she asks, and she sounds like she means it. He’s not sure why he suspects deception; there’s no quantifiable reason, but there’s still something about her.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, and he’s convincing exactly no one.
Emily smiles at him. Sweetly. “Dr. Halstead, you don’t have to pretend, not with me,” she says, and there’s an air of camaraderie he wishes could be comforting and not unsettling.
But it is unsettling. He still can’t fathom artifice or anything intentional, but her inability to function properly in the ED has to be the source of the problem. He’s asked her about her routines, but her answers are never specific. He’s tried training her on the processes -- to the point of insanity -- but something is getting lost in application. All his appeals up the chain have been denied, and he’s on thin ice as it is.
He just worries that she’ll crash him all together.
That’s the irony, then. She’s the one whose lack of attention to procedure will ruin him, and she’s the only one who seems to care that he’s teetering on the brink of oblivion. She’s the one causing him to struggle, and she’s the only one who is able to see it as a struggle at all.
It leaves her warm intentions cold.
Cold as the ice under Will’s fledging feet.
“It’s hard,” she says, continuing to soothe him. “Doing this, day after day. Most people like to turn away from death, but we’re the ones who have to turn to it.”
He focuses on his breathing, which is all he can do to keep himself together. “I became a doctor to save lives.”
He says it because it’s true. It’s always been true, even if he doesn’t always remember why or how these days.
She nods, her brow creased as she watches him. “But that means working with people on the brink,” she says. “And sometimes, you honestly don’t know if it’s best for them to come back or let go. It’s such a hard thing. And I see how well you do it.”
There’s something about her praise -- something that makes his stomach pang.
He doesn't understand it. He doesn’t understand her. There’s nothing to doubt in her sincerity, but there’s just something about her. Something that he can’t make sense of. Something that doesn’t sit right.
“Dr. Halstead, I can see how hard you work, and I can see how much you’re struggling,” she says, and she’s all out earnest now. “I’ve done everything I can to help you, but I can do more if you let me.”
He looks at her, frowning a little. “What do you mean?”
Her smile brightens sweetly. “I can listen. I can be your sounding board,” she offers. “I think you and I are a lot alike in how dedicated we are to patients. Take comfort in knowing that I see it in you. I know you’re a good doctor.”
He scoffs, and looks away again. “Apparently not,” he mutters. “All my patients are winding up dead.”
She touches him on the arm, and it’s like a bolt of electricity down his spine that leaves his stomach cold and unsettled. “That’s not the real measure of success, is it?”
He pulls away somewhat, looking at her somewhat cautiously. “It kind of is.”
This answer seems to concern her. A lot. “No, quality of life matters,” she says. “We aren’t just concerned with life. We’re concerned with living. And in that light, death isn’t always so bad. Sometimes it’s an escape. Once I realized that -- once I accepted it -- it made my job so much clearer.”
Everything about her exudes comfort, but Will is still struck by the subtle dissonance he feels. That’s not how care providers talk -- at least, not outside of hospice. He knows he struggles with DNRs. He is always prone to going too far rather than not far enough. He’ll save the life in front of him, or fight against all his instincts to obey the patient’s wishes.
It’s that fight that makes him the doctor that he is. That’s what grounds his compassion. He values life.
And that gives patients the choice to do what they will with living.
She squeezes his arm again, her smile more reassuring than ever. “Don’t worry, Dr. Halstead. Even when things are hard, I will be here for you. I promise.”
She moves away then, and he watches her go, perplexed. She doesn’t make sense, and what’s worse -- he has no idea why. She’s smart; she’s competent; she’s compassionate. She cares about people, she loves what she does. She wants to be there for Will -- even when no one else will.
But for some reason -- reasons he can’t explain -- her warm reassurances leave him colder than ever.
-o-
Sharon has a lot on her plate. Some very pressing matters. Staff retirements, maternity leaves, fundraiser events, updated pandemic protocols, meetings with drug reps: and that was just for her morning.
So why is she still stuck on this damn ED problem?
A run of bad luck.
And now, a potential police investigation.
Hank Voight has just given her the heads up that this little inquiry is turning into a bigger inquiry. It’s not going anywhere.
If this is Sharon’s problem, then it’s also going to be Dr. Choi’s problem. This is how she broaches the subject with him during their meeting that morning.
“Do you remember the caes? An Edwin Garside?” she asks.
Dr. Choi frowns a little. He shakes his head. “Refresh my memory.”
She does more than refresh it. She hands him the whole damn file.
He flips through, and then he nods. “I do remember,” he says. “Nail in the foot, complicated by a heart attack.”
“An unexpected heart attack,” Sharon points out.
Dr. Choi shrugs. “Many of them are. Just look at the case last night. But in Mr. Garside’s case, he did have a history, though.”
“But his condition was well maintained,” Sharon argues.
“Okay,” Dr. Choi says, a little slower now. He eyes her cautiously. “What’s your point?”
She sighs, sitting back with a huff. “My point is the daughter has complained to Chicago PD. She thinks there are some inconsistencies in her father’s case that don’t make sense.”
“Medical malpractice isn’t criminal--”
“I think she’s talking wrongful death. Or manslaughter, assault -- murder,” Sharon says, pursing her lips now.
Dr. Choi’s eyes widened. “Murder? It was a heart attack. It says so right here in the pathology report.”
“Along with several other unexplainable factors,” Sharon points out. “The dosages of the drugs in his system do not match up with the prescribed amounts.”
“Those measurements can be affected by a lot of things,” Dr. Choi says.
“One was missing altogether,” Sharon says.
“With the nursing shortage--”
Sharon is shaking her head because she doesn’t need the common sense explanations. “Each thing, by itself, yes. It can be explained. It happens. But the whole thing feels weird.”
Across from her, she sees her ED chief hedge. “A lot of it seems weird lately, and not just this case,” he says. “But I’ve been paying extra attention to things, and nothing’s off.”
“Except this,” Sharon says, gesturing at the file again. She shakes her head. “I can’t say for sure if PD is going to run with this or not, but I don’t want to behind the eight ball on this one.”
“It can’t hurt to give it a second look,” Dr. Choi agrees. “I know I’d fully cooperate.”
Sharon nods. “Good,” she says. “I am slated to meet with a few board members this afternoon. I’m going to get approval for an internal review, and I’d like you to be available to answer any questions they might have.”
“Of course,” he says. Then, he hesitates. “Will’s going to take this hard.”
Sharon can only incline her head knowingly. “Maybe it’s time he should.”
“I don’t think it’s his fault,” Dr. Choi says. “I know the investigation has to play out, but I trust Will.”
“I respect your loyalty to your team,” Sharon says. “But sometimes trust is misplaced. We have to be open to all the possibilities. Especially after another patient death last night.”
He bobs his head at her as he gets to his feet. “Understood,” he says. “Keep me posted.”
“Trust me,” she says as he makes his way out. “I will.”
-o-
Sharon approves the retirements, even one that requests an early retirement package. She puts in for a temporary hire to cover the doctor about to start maternity leave next month. She confirms several details with the fundraisers, and she clears the protocol changes for the pandemic with both HR and legal. The meeting with the drug reps is quite fortuitous, and she thinks they’re one step closer to starting a renewed relationship with Kender Pharma again after last year’s debacle.
She even manages to fit in two impromptu meetings to cover a staffing complaint and a curious donor who wanted to know why progress on the renovations of the sixth floor had stalled out. She explains, in polite, verbose terms, that the construction company is overextended, and supply chain delays have made things more expensive. The donor asks if more money would help, and Sharon assures them that it would. She jots down a note to have Peter call over to finance to approve the donation, and she makes a note to check in with the construction crew to see when work can start again.
Then, she swings by the office of one of the board members, makes polite small talk and then brings up the question of an internal review. After an hour of pleasantries, the board member agrees, and Sharon is given latitude to recruit a team of doctors and administrators to chair the committee.
All these questions.
And Sharon is one step closer to answers.
-o-
Will finds there that there’s always plenty to do, but he’s starting to come to the troubling reality that working more doesn’t help. In fact, the more he puts into this job, the less he gets out of it. All his effort, all his dedication, and his results are only getting worse.
And he has no idea why.
It’s moved well beyond frustration now. Will is pretty sure after a month of working his ass off with no results, he’s probably a little depressed. If he had any time to talk to Dr. Charles, he might bring it up. But, then, time is something he doesn’t have.
Along with any sense of who he is or what the hell he’s even doing these days.
In fact, it’s not that he’s tired. It’s that he’s emotionally spent. He could load up on caffeine and just keep going, but he’s starting to see it as a futile thing. Instead of working late that night, he accepts his brother’s invitation to meet at Molly’s for a drink.
Jay is his only semblance of a social life. He may be the last human on the planet who actually cares about him as a person, unless you count Emily.
For the record, Will is not counting Emily.
That’s not unkind. That’s just sanity at this point.
By the time Will arrives, Jay is already there and the place is hopping. Jay has saved a spot for him at the bar, and Will sits down, all too aware how weary he feels.
“Damn,” Jay comments, calling for the bartender to bring them a round of beers. “Bad day?”
Will accepts the beer with a small scoff. “Try a bad month,” he says, shaking his head. “Maybe a bad year? Or am I just looking at a bad decade by this point?”
Jay scoffs and reaches for his own beer. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“I’m sure it is,” Will mutters, and he stops to take a drink. “Did you run Emily’s name?”
“I did, but the first check didn’t ping anything,” Jay says.
Will feels visibly crestfallen.
Jay hastily follows up. “But that first one is a gimme. I’ll need another day or two for the longer form stuff. I want to run a few angles, that’s all.”
That’s more effort than Will probably warrants, and he knows it. He looks miserably back at his drink.
Next to him, Jay frowns. “You sure you’re okay, man?”
“I just said I was having a bad decade,” Will retorts. “What do you think?”
At that, Jay seems to hesitate. Will puts his beer down and looks at his brother. He has to tiptoe around the hospital. He has to play the party line when around Ethan and the rest of the staff. There’s no way he can maintain the pretense with his brother.
And Jay’s never been one to play the pretense game. “Actually, there’s a reason I wanted to meet.”
Will grunts and takes another drink. He’s pretty sure with a preface like that, he’s going to need it. “That sounds ominous.”
“Not ominous,” Jay says. He dips his head to the side. “Just not great.”
Will’s stomach does a little flip. He’s too far into this to make any kind of assumption that things can’t get worse. “What?”
“I want to give you a heads up, that’s all,” Jay says.
Will is starting to frown now. “A head’s up about what?”
“The case isn’t officially open, but they’re toying with it,” Jay says.
“The case for what?” Will presses.
“Edwin Garside,” Jay clarifies, a little reluctant. “The daughter is poking around all over the place trying to get someone to give it a second look.”
Will is expecting the worst, but he’s not expecting that. His mouth hangs open for a moment, and he slowly deposits his beer back on the bar while he attempts to collect his thoughts. “Edwin Garside?”
Jay nods. “You remember him?”
“Of course I do,” Will says. “He came in with a nail in his foot. Died of a heart attack before I could discharge him.”
“So,” Jay says, nodding his head to prompt Will on. “What do you think of the daughter’s complaint?”
Will’s eyebrows arch. “That her father’s death was suspicious?”
“Yeah,” Jay says.
Will can only shrug, a feeling of pervasive helplessness settling over him. “I mean, I guess I’m not surprised.”
“Because she was upset?” Jay ask.
“No, because it was weird,” Will says. “But, I mean, I’ve been over his file a dozen times. I can’t find anything there that’s negligent, much less criminal. It was just...weird.”
His answer is the best he has, but Jay’s brow only darkens. “Tell me what happened.”
That’s a brotherly request.
It’s also one made by the detective his brother is. They’ve blurred the lines between official business and personal matters before, and it’s easy to see it happening now. The thing is, Will doesn’t care. The thing is, maybe Will wants this to be investigated. Maybe Will wants someone else to look at this with the same uncertainty and skepticism he is.
“That’s the thing: I don’t know,” Will says because honesty isn’t the best policy, it’s literally the only policy. “Ed Garside was fine. He was stable, lucid. We had his pain under control, and his vitals were stable. He had some history of heart disease, but it had been well maintained for years, and there was nothing -- literally not a single thing -- to indicate heart trouble in his presentation or during any time I checked on him. I was prepping his release papers for an uncomplicated recovery with aftercare at his primary care provider.”
Jay shakes his head, clearly expecting more. “And then?”
“Then, he was dead,” Will says. “I came in the room, and the code was already running. I did everything I could, but he was gone before I got inside.”
Jay is the one frowning now. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” Will says, plain and simple. He’s telling the facts, as best he can. The facts he’s gone over countless times in his head while reviewing this case, while reviewing all the cases. There’s nothing more to draw from it. It is all he has.
He knows it’s not enough.
He’s pretty sure Jay does, too.
Next to him, Will sees his brother hesitate. He looks down, focusing on his glass for a second before he takes a slow drink. After he swallows, he finally looks back and meets Will’s gaze.
“They’re looking at you, you know,” he blurts.
Will wants to be surprised. He wants to feel a pang of panic, but for some reason, it’s the comment he expects.
“Yeah, I figured,” he says. He pauses to take a drink and shake his head. “I mean, I was the doctor on the case. It’s the natural place to start looking.”
For Will, that seems to be that.
But Jay is watching him, even more intent than before. “So?”
Will shrugs in the face of his brother’s insistent look. “So what?”
“What’s your explanation? What’s the defense?” Jay asks. “Since we can’t pinpoint a precise crime, we can’t narrow down a window yet, so there’s no purpose for an alibi.”
Will blinks at his brother, his mind going strangely blank for a moment. “Wait. I need a defense? An alibi? You think I did this?”
“Of course I don’t,” Jay says. “But if this thing goes live, I’m not going to be on this case -- you and I both know that. And if this thing turns out to be medical interference or whatever, then yeah, you’re the first and most natural suspects. But we still have time to head this off. If you can give me something else to go with, then maybe we can clear your ass before you get named as a suspect.”
Will sits back, staring dumbly at his drink. He’s reeling somewhat now, and he shakes his head. “I told you what happened. Everything I know.”
That’s all he has, really.
And it’s not enough.
It’s never enough.
That’s just how Will’s life works. All his effort. All his good intentions. And he’s always coming up short. Middling.
At this point, it shouldn’t surprise him. He’s just not quite smart enough. He’s just not quite talented enough. He doesn’t have quite enough focus, and he never works quite hard enough. He’s always just a few steps off greatness, and Will can rage against fate, but he knows it’s all his fault.
He knows he didn’t kill this patient -- any of the patients -- but this is still his fault.
Will’s reached that point of resignation. He’s held out as long as he could, but there’s just not enough in him to keep pretending like he can redeem himself any longer.
Jay, however, doesn’t seem to have reached the same point. Next to Will at the bar, he leans closer to him with some energy. “Sure, but let’s speculate a little here. You said yourself, your record’s been bad lately. And if it’s not you tying these cases together, then what? If Goodwin’s looking, she may not care enough to go past you, but I do care. So give me something. Tell me what could explain your crappy case record.”
Jay is making a conscious effort here, and somehow that just makes Will feel all the more useless. He shrugs, increasingly miserable. “I don’t know. I thought it was just bad luck or whatever. Doctors go through slumps, sometimes.”
But Jay is shaking his head. “We’re past the point where we can fall back on coincidence.”
“I know,” Will says, and he sighs, flitting his hand through the air. “I just -- I can’t explain it. I keep working my ass off, and it keeps getting worse.”
Jay pulls back a little, as if sensing Will’s emotions on the cusp. “Then think analytically. Like you would a diagnosis,” he suggests. “Go through your differential or whatever. What similarities can you find? What can you rule out?”
This isn’t bad advice, and Will knows it. He just feels like there’s no point in trying to salvage his career -- much less himself. “All the cases happened at Med.”
Jay shakes his head again. “Go deeper. Similarities between the patients?”
It’s Will’s turn to shake his head. “Different genders, different ages, different conditions,” he says. “Some were young and relatively healthy. Others were sick with chronic conditions. Heart problems, infections, even a skin rash. I was going to admit them all to different units.”
“Going to,” Jay says. He frowns a bit. “You never admitted them?”
Will pauses, considering this. “No, they all died before I could finish the paperwork,” he says. “That’s why my name is on all the case files.”
“So we’re looking at something in the ED,” Jay says. “I assume this isn’t like some superbug situation.”
“No,” Will says. “We’d find evidence of a fungus or some antibiotic resistance.”
“So people,” Jay posits next. “You’re the doctor on these cases, but there’s a whole bunch of people on that ED. Every patient is seen by techs, nurses--”
Will gathers a breath and considers this. Then, he shrugs. “I mean, there’s Emily. I’d have to go back and check for sure, but a lot of them had the same nurse.”
This seems to get Jay’s attention, and honestly, the moment Will says it, it gets his own as well. It’s almost like a paradigm shift, like a filter that puts everything in focus.
He’s had ongoing suspicions about Emily’s performance, but he’d never linked it to patient outcomes. But she’d been there. More times than he could remember. She’d been the one to start calling the code.
The strange interactions.
Her inconsistent answers.
It’s impossible, really.
Except it’s not.
Jay is next to him still, brow furrowed. “Emily? You really think she’s the problem?”
“Yeah,” he says, and he shakes his head. He still feels cold every time he thinks about her, and her name makes him suppress a shudder. “I have nowhere else to go with it. She’s around me constantly. Why else would I ask you to run her name? I’m desperate, Jay.”
“Okay, so Emily,” Jay says, and he seems to be taking this a little more seriously now. “What do you know about her?”
Will scoffs. He wishes he had a better answer. “Not much,” he says. “She’s the new nurse. Just transferred to Med last month after working in home health care for awhile. She graduated from Michigan State.”
This seems to interest Jay. He sits up a little, taking note. He’s back in cop-mode. “You’ve told me all that already, but there’s got to be more. What else do you know about her? I mean, two months together, that’s a lot. You have to know more.”
Jay’s perking interest, for some reason, has a deflating effect on Will. He has to admit the truth. “I don’t, though. I feel like every day I know less and less about her. And I can’t understand her at all. That’s why I need you to run the check just so I can figure out who she is.”
Jay doesn’t seem to realize yet that this is a dead end. Instead, he presses with the next question. “Is she a good nurse?”
Will shrugs, even more meagerly than before. “I guess,” he says. “She’s certainly good at what she does, and she’s extremely attentive to patients -- almost more than any other nurse on the staff. But -- I don’t know.”
He trails off, leaving it that.
Jay’s not about to leave it at that, however. “You do know. But what?”
Will sighs. Where Ethan and Ms. Goodwin are tired of hearing his complaints, Jay is a fresh audience. For some reason, he hasn’t ruined his credibility with Jay yet. “She’s just weird,” he says. “It’s really hard to explain, but I don’t get a normal vibe from her. She doesn’t fit in with the rest of the nurses, and the way she talks, acts -- it’s like she’s practicing her own little version of medicine sometimes.”
Jay makes a little face. He’s in cop-mode, which doesn’t always work well when Will goes doctor-mode. “Is it a bad version?” he asks.
Will shrugs, somewhat noncommittal. “Like I said, she’s very attentive to patients -- and that’s almost the problem. Sometimes I have to remind her to do the basics -- things I take for granted with every other nurse.”
This seems to interest Jay. Will’s thought about this in a professional capacity, but his brother is approaching this with a different intent -- one that Will has not fully allowed himself to realize. It hasn’t occurred to him, honestly. That this is something more than a string of terrible, misfortune accidents.
“Well, if she’s skipping steps or something -- I mean, that could cause problems, right?” Jay says.
Will shrugs. That’s been his working theory, but when he hears Jay say it, it sounds ridiculous. No wonder everyone dismisses him out of hand.
Jay presses on. “How serious are the lapses in the care she provides? I mean, could some of it cause this? Any of it? If we can rule out your involvement in at least some of the cases, then we basically destroy the pattern. We don’t have to explain every case, just enough of them.”
Will grimaces as he shakes his head with resignation. “I’ve reviewed each case,” he says. “And her charts aren’t quite right, but they’re also not total red flags. I can’t pinpoint anything specific. Sometimes she takes her time with things -- so the medication schedule is a little off, but I always catch it. And sometimes she does things out of order or something, but I correct it. Or she has the wrong documentation, which I have to fix. But there’s nothing on the record that shows anything that should be a problem. The problems should all be minor.”
“But if you’re catching some of her mistakes, what if you’re missing others?” Jay posits. He leans his head toward Will. “No one wants to assume the worst, but you’ve got to go with your gut a little bit on this. Do you think there’s more you’re missing with her?”
It makes Will frown even deeper. “Maybe,” he admits for his total lack of certainty. He fiddles with the bottle, but he can’t bring himself to drink anymore. “I don’t know how to even explain it sometimes. The way she comes across. But her stories never quite check out.”
“How?” Jay asks, and he’s so on point now that Will’s half surprised he’s not taking notes.
Will’s not sure what to think of that, but Jay’s the first one who actually wants to listen. He’s the only one who is giving him any semblance of credibility. He’s not sure he deserves it at this point, but he’s still grateful for it anyway. “Like, she went to Michigan State for nursing school.”
Jay makes a face. “So?”
“So,” Will says. “That program is iconic. It’s one of the biggest ones in the country. It’s got some of the biggest names on the faculty, and she doesn’t know anyone.”
Jay draws back, somewhat skeptical. His own drink is also long forgotten on the bar in front of them. “That’s hardly a crime.”
“I know, but it’s weird,” Will explains. “And if it was just that, then it’d be nothing. But it’s a thousand little things just like that, weird things you can’t quite explain. She doesn’t get along with the other nurses. She’s always in early and late to leave, but her work is literally never done. There’s something about her. I know it.”
Jay sits forward again, lips pursed. “Have you told anyone at the hospital about your concerns? Ethan? Goodwin?”
Will sighs, because he knows that sounds like good, reasonable advice. He wishes it were enough, but he has to shake his head. “I’ve tried,” he says, and he shrugs helplessly. “But they don’t see it. I mean, it’s subtle. And I don’t have concrete evidence. It’s not like going on my credibility is going to get me very far right now.”
It’s a bitter sarcasm, and it’s all he can do to not show just how much it hurts.
Nearly six months into his probation, and he feels like he’s still at the starting line. Like he’s gotten nowhere. He wonders, sometimes, why he hasn’t just quit altogether.
Jay seems to sense the downward turn in his attitude. He gives Will a nudge to the forearm. “Look, maybe it’s nothing, but maybe it’s not,” he says. “I’m a cop. Sometimes, you’ve got to follow your instincts even when they don’t go anywhere. So I’ll check her out. Run that angle for a little while anyway. I mean, it’s something, right?”
Jay’s trying to sound optimistic, but for some reason, that just seems to make things bleaker. Will shakes his head, feeling resigned. “Am I going to go to jail this time?”
“What?” Jay asks, as if incredulity is an appropriate response. “There’s no way in hell you’re going to jail.”
“You said it yourself,” Will says. “I’m the common link. I was the doctor in charge. They were my patients.”
“You’re not going to jail,” Jay says again, a little firmer this time. “You didn’t murder anyone. Maybe it’s the nurse. Maybe it’s all just crappy luck. We’ll figure this out.”
He wants to believe Jay. Hell, he wants to trust Jay to make everything better, but that’s an easy out. Will thinks he may have run out of those, used them up. Maybe this is karma, all his debts coming due at once. “But what if you can’t?” Will asks, and his chest feels tight. His stomach is in knots, and the tears that burn behind his eyes are barely, barely at bay. “What if this is it? What if I’m just a bad doctor? Maybe I should have left medicine all together when Goodwin fired me.”
He’s spiraling, and he knows it. Jay knows it, too, and he has sense enough to call Will on it. “Will, come on--”
“Jay, I’m serious,” he says, even as his voice threatens to hitch.
Jay reaches out, his hand next to Will’s on the bar in front of them. “I know, and so am I,” he says. “But you’ve got to relax, man. You keep doing what you’re doing, the best you can. And I’ll do some digging -- more digging. We’ll see what comes up, okay? And then we’ll deal with it together.”
Jay makes it sound so easy.
Easier than Will deserves.
He inhales shakily, and looks back at his drink. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admits, his voice small.
“Sure you do,” Jay says. “You’ve just got to get your confidence back, man.”
Will closes his eyes and breathes deeply for a moment before he trusts himself to look at his brother once more. “Quitting might be easier.”
Jay gets up, pulling out his wallet to leave enough to cover both their checks. “But that’s not how we do it. Not anymore.”
Will nods and watches his brother leave.
He nods and tries to believe.
He nods and hopes to hell that’s enough.
-o-
Sharon is working late. Really, Sharon feels like she’s always working. She’s never been a doctor, so she has no actual experience with the on-call lifestyle, but ever since she’s gone into administration, that’s what it feels like. It’s not patient-to-patient for her. It’s just the hospital, and the hospital is the kind of patient that is never discharged.
Most of the time, Sharon’s okay with that. She’s learned her share of coping mechanisms over time, and she’s figured out how to balance her personal life with a professional life that needs her constantly. It’s not easy, but you don’t do these kind of things because they are easy.
Three grown children, a once-contentious divorce, a controlled diabetic condition: Sharon knows what success looks like.
She also knows, for the moment, it’s all a pipe dream.
See, five minute before heading home that night -- a late night as it is -- she gets a call from the hospital’s internal review board. It’s about Edwin Garside, whose daughter has been actively requesting further investigation into her father’s death. CPD had given her the heads up to start the ball rolling, and Sharon convened the internal review board to see if there’s substance to the claims.
The results come back late, to be sure, but they come back clear.
Clearly, Sharon’s long day is going to get longer still.
She skims the report, going over the mundane formalities before her eyes settle on the concluding -- and daming -- paragraph.
Given the full range of circumstances, it is the opinion of this board that the death of Mr. Garside has enough irregularities to warrant additional scrutiny. The inconsistencies in the paperwork are perhaps the most questionable element of the case. While tragedy does happen regularly and unexpectedly in the ED, to see so many unanswered questions within the documentation causes more alarm. In order to determine if there are questions of negligence, incompetence or malfeasance, further investigation is required. Therefore, we recommend that this patient’s death be forwarded for further review in order to determine if further action should be taken.
Sharon sighs. She’d been hoping for a simple resolution -- a mere unfortunate coincidence in this case -- but clearly, there’s something to this.
The question is, what?
Obviously, she knows that’s the point of an investigation, and while she appreciate the need for hospital administration to walk a fine line of involvement and separation, she at least wants to approach it with her eyes wide open. Just how bad is this? Just how suspicious is the evidence?
Fortunately, the memo has been included with the full scope of evidence collected so far. It includes notations from every doctor who has treated Mr. Garside, and it also includes notes from the autopsy along with the full medical records that the board was able to obtain.
She’s not a doctor, and it’s been years since he was a practicing nurse, but she can make sense of the file well enough. Mr. Garside had been 45 years old at the time of his death. He had some history of early heart disease, but he’d treated it early and aggressively. With proper lifestyle changes and medications, he’d been living a healthy life. His cardiologist had been pleased with his progress and considered him a low risk for ongoing complications. By all accounts, his heart had been in good condition when he was brought into the ED several weeks ago.
There was some room for doubt, however, Mr. Garside had some in to have a nail removed from his foot. He had been doing work in the garage at his house, and there’d been an accident. The nail needed to be removed, and scans had been needed to see if it had hit anything that needed surgical repair. After a thorough exam, it had been determined the the wound was superficial, but it needed to be carefully irrigated, cleaned, and Mr. Garside had been given an updated tetanus shot and a preventative course of antibiotics given the overall risk of such an injury.
In this context, Sharon can understand why Dr. Halstead, the doctor on Mr. Garside’s case, had not measured his cardiac output. Mr. Garside had been entirely stable with no signs of cardiac distress. His heart had sounded normal, and his rhythm had been maintained normally. His blood pressure had been slightly elevated, but as Dr. Halstead’s notes indicated, this was normal given the nature of his injury.
The notes are actually quite thorough, and they are meticulously updated with all the relevant details. Sharon knows that record keeping is not always the forte among her ED staff, but Dr. Halstead’s efforts here show that he’s been taking it seriously.
And yet, the omissions are glaring.
Somehow, after what seems like an uncomplicated treatment for a foot wound, Mr. Garside ends up in cardiac arrest while Dr. Halstead readies his discharge paperwork.
There’s no indication in the paperwork to suggest how this result came to be. Dr. Halstead had followed impeccable protocol. He had cleaned and treated the wound before administering antibiotics. He had drawn up a prescription for follow up treatment at home and updated the man’s tetanus shot. All his vitals had been normal, and there had been no obvious indications of distress.
The tests were standards. The bloodwork was complete and without red flags. Dr. Halstead had even run a few cursory cardiac tests on account of his history. Nothing had showed up.
It is possible for an MI to come out of nowhere.
Possible, but not as likely.
This outcome suggests that something was missed. In the exam, in the tests -- somewhere.
There’s no indictment to be made.
But there is plenty of room to have questions.
A doctor of good standing would have nothing to worry about.
But Dr. Halstead? With his record?
Well, he has a lot to worry about.
-o-
So does Sharon, unfortunately.
See, any problem with the hospital is a problem with her. There’s truth to that in Sharon’s mind, but Gwen and the board like to take it quite literally.
It is, therefore, no surprise when Gwen shows up at her office the next morning, abjectly apoplectic. She’s known about the anomalies in the data for awhile now, but she’s caught wind of the internal investigation. Leave it to Gwen to assume that a series of unfortunate deaths is a personal attack on her.
Sharon tries to assure her that is not the case, but Gwen is in no mood to be placated.
“What are you going to do about it?” she demands.
“Escalate the investigation, mostly,” Sharon says. “We need to start actively interviewing people involved with the case. The nurses, the doctor--”
Gwen shakes her head. “Why bother with interviews?” she asks sharply. “It’s Dr. Halstead, right?”
“Yes, he’s the doctor on the case,” Sharon says.
“Then, save yourself the time and save the hospital the legal headache,” she says. “Fire him.”
It’s not that Sharon doesn’t understand the kneejerk reaction. She has, after all, fired Dr. Halstead before, and she’s thought about doing it more than once.
But there’s a process for this kind of thing.
And as suspicious as things look, Sharon knows that correlation is not causation. Where there’s smoke, there’s not always fire -- at least, not in the places you expect. She has a professional responsibility to do her job the right way.
Plus, firing him with incorrect presumptions is probably a legal risk in and of itself. She needs to be sure that he’s the problem.
“We have to let the investigation play out, at least a little bit longer,” Sharon coaches. “There’s no smoking gun yet. Just speculation and suspicion.”
Gwen does not appreciate being placated. “The risk of a wrongful termination suit is marginal compared to our legal liability if the police do open an active investigation,” she says. “If we fire him before any allegations are made public, then we’ll have a better legal case that allows us to distance ourselves from the situation in court.”
Sharon purses her lips, but she’s definitely not surprised. “That’s really not the priority here--”
Gwen scoffs. “Isn’t it?”
Sharon seeks to retain her composure. “Please--”
But Gwen doesn’t want to hear it. “Look, my patience with this situation is thin,” she says, taut and short. “If you want to twiddle your thumbs and interview this idiot doctor, then that’s on you. Any further mishaps in the ED, and you’re both gone.”
The threat is clear, and Sharon doesn’t need it reiterated. Dr. Halstead has spent a lot of his chances, and there’s nothing left to save him if he is indeed negligent in any way. His best bet is to come clean -- and right now -- and if they can identify his shortcoming, then maybe a disciplinary action will be sufficient to both mitigate the family’s loss and the police’s interest.
Sharon needs to resolve this situation quickly and without any complications. That’s the only thing that will satisfy the authorities, and it’s the only way for any of them to salvage their careers.
Sharon can see this.
She just hopes Dr. Halstead realizes it as well.
Because there’s no doubt that this is going to go poorly.
But it’s up to Dr. Halstead to determine just how bad things will get.
-o-
Will doesn’t think he’s some eternal optimist, but he generally believes in the law of averages. Surely, with enough time, things will even out. The worst will become acceptable once more. That’s just how it is.
That’s how Will’s gotten through the hard stuff in Chicago. The bad is balanced by the good. He’s believed that if he can keep his head screwed on straight and start acting rationally, then eventually he’ll earn his due reward. And, to be clear, there are no delusions of grandeur. Will’s long since given up on the dream of being chief. He doesn’t pretend that he’s going to be some prestigious doctor living in luxury. But he’d settle for being a normal, respected member of the staff. A guy who puts in a good day’s work and earns a good day’s wage.
That’s all.
He’s tried for flashy. He’s run around looking for the next big thing. He’s fallen in love. He’s gone big. Now, all he wants -- all he needs -- is simple.
You don’t have to be an optimist for that. Will’s not aiming high here.
It figures, then, that he falls so incredibly, invariably, painfully short.
See, when he arrives at work the next morning, exhausted but determined, Maggie tells him that Goodwin wants to see him.
ASAP.
When she tells him, she doesn’t soften it with a joke. She doesn’t even smile.
Will’s never been the eternal optimist, but maybe it’s time to start abiding by some sobering pessimism.
At least that way, he’s braced for the worst.
-o-
There’s no pretense for his meeting with Goodwin, and given Will’s antics in her ED over the last few years, there’s no shortage of things for them to discuss. He’s been hoping for the last few months that the next trip to her office will be the one that finally gets him off of probation.
He knows the second he gets inside, however, that this is not the case today.
Given the look on her face, that might not be the case ever.
He hasn’t seen Ms. Goodwin look quite like that since the last time she fired him, and Will’s stomach churns in trepidation -- and anticipation.
Last time he’d been here, she’d dismissed his concerns out of hand.
Now, the concerns are real.
And he’s pretty sure it’s more than his concerns that are about to be dismissed.
“I know we talked several days ago,” Ms. Goodwin says without any attempt to make small talk. “And you voiced your concerns.”
Will nods slowly. He’s got no reason to actually disagree, but he senses that this is uncertain territory. “Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ve continued to be vigilant, trying to figure this out.”
“I’m afraid that’s not sufficient,” she says. “The police are investigating the death of Edwin Garside.”
Will has to nod again. “I’m aware.”
Her lips purse. “The police have made no official determination yet,” she says. “But the board has. The circumstances of the case are such that the board has decided to do a full internal review. To be clear, this is not a casual investigation. It’s not intended to be educational.”
Will has to swallow in an attempt to calm his rapidly fraying nerves. “You think I might be responsible.”
“Franky, yes,” Ms. Goodwin says. “I’ve known you a long time, Dr. Halstead, and I’ve never known you to be a bad diagnostician. I know you care about your patients. But you do have an established history of questionable decision-making. And there are too many question marks here to ignore the possibility of some oversight.”
Will feels himself redden, but does his best not to give into the embarrassment as it threatens to overcome him. “I know better than anyone else that something weird is going on,” he explains, his voice shaking just so. “These are my patients who are dying, after all. That’s why I’ve been looking over my own work.”
“And?” she prompts. “Have you come up with anything that would explain this? Any of it?”
“Honestly, not really,” he says. “I know I’m not perfect; I make plenty of mistakes. But the lapses just aren’t there. I’m following all the procedures. I’m documenting all my decisions.”
Her face darkes with skepticism. “Nothing?”
“I submit all my work for review, you know that,” he says. “I can account for everything except for--”
He pauses, hesitating.
She arches her brows.
He sighs. “Except for Emily,” he says.
She is already rolling her eyes, and Will sits forward.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I don’t have anything else,” he says, rushing to fill the void before her anger can break. “I can account for all my time with patients, but the nurses are there far more often. The only unaccounted part of the patient experience is with the nurses, and I’ve worked almost exclusively with Emily.”
He knows he’s right -- he knows it -- but Ms. Goodwin’s face hardens completely. “That’s the best answer you have?”
Will sits back, folding his fingers in his lap uncomfortably.
She scoffs. “I tell you that you’re under investigation, and pointing your finger at a nurse is the best you can offer.”
“Ms. Goodwin--”
But she doesn’t want it. She won’t tolerate it.
“How many times do we have to have the same conversation, Dr. Halstead?” she says, her brow darkening ominously. “I swear, every time I give you a second chance, you just end up in the exact same place. I’m starting to wonder if giving you a second chance -- a third chance -- a fourth chance -- was a mistake.”
Will knows the ground he’s on is shaky, but he shakes his head. He wants her to understand that he’s changed. He wants her to understand that this is different. He wants her to understand that something is wrong. “I understand the frustration, I do, but this is different--”
“Different than what? Ignoring a DNR? Operating at a safe injection site? Destroying a medical trial because of your personal conflicts?” she asks sharply.
He draws back, hemming himself in as he feels his cheeks flush. “Ms. Goodwin, if I could just explain--”
But she is shaking her head, lips pursed at him in annoyance. “You know, you better not, Dr. Halstead, because if you speak one more word, I’m likely to fire you on principle alone,” she snaps. “No, it’s best right now that you go home and let me cool off before I deal with your constant inability to grow the hell up.”
“But Ms. Goodwin--”
She holds up her hand. “Go home, Dr. Halstead,” she all but growls at him. “Now.”
There’s more to say. The need to speak almost twists in his gut painfully, and he feels the words ready to burst from his chest. But Ms. Goodwin is not a woman to be trifled with. Will’s taken advantage of her grace for too long, and he’s the little boy who cried wolf. He’s all out of credibility, even with the biggest, baddest beast bearing its teeth at him now.
He’s done this to himself, then.
He’s done this to himself.
Finally, he nods, stiffly and reluctantly. There is no word of consolation. There is no attempt to assuage this. She stares him down, hard and unrelenting, until he turns and leaves the room.
There’s a part of him that suspects -- a part of him that knows -- he’s never coming back here again.
-o-
He’s shaking by the time he gets back downstairs, and he can’t even be sure how he’s moving. It’s a little bit like he’s floating, moving on autopilot, and he brushes past a few people as they give him curious looks. He tries to tell himself he hasn’t been fired, but for some reason, the distinction doesn’t mean much.
He’s not sure what any of it means.
Maybe Ms. Goodwin is right. Maybe it doesn’t matter how. Maybe it doesn’t matter why. His patients are dying, so he can fix that problem. No more patients; no more deaths. Sure, that means he can’t save anyone, either, but it doesn’t feel like he’s done much of that lately.
And saving himself?
Well, he probably should have recognized how that’s been off the table for months, now Probably years.
This is the ending he averted all those months ago. He should have walked out for good that time. Maybe he’d been right, then. Maybe he did need a fresh start.
Or maybe he just needs an ending.
This ending.
The sense of deja vu is nearly overwhelming as he finally makes it to the doctor’s lounge. He is numb as he shoves his doctor’s coat in his cubby, and he turns blindly back to the door. This time, when he leaves, maybe that’s it. Maybe he’ll follow through this time.
But when he turns toward the door, he’s surprised to see someone in his way.
Emily.
He has to blink and stare before he recognizes her.
It’s Emily.
“Dr. Halstead,” she says, a little breathless as she looks at him. “You don’t look very good.”
“I’m not feeling the best, Emily,” he says, and that much is true. “I need to go home.”
She nods, as if this is something she understands. “I need you first.”
He sighs, too tired for any of it. “Emily--”
She steps closer to him, looking up at him imploringly. “Please, Dr. Halstead,” she says. “It’s an emergency.”
He’s emotional; hell, he’s borderline distraught. But he’s still a doctor. “An emergency?” he asks.
She nods, almost eagerly, as she steps closer again. “You’re needed right away.”
Will frowns, brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of what she’s saying. “The net doctor on call will get it--”
“No,” she says, crossing the last of the distance toward him now. She’s right in front of him, eyes trained on him earnestly. “They asked for you.”
Will wants to step back, but he finds himself frozen in the spot. Confused, he looks at her. “But -- I don’t understand.”
She reaches out, taking him gently by the arm. “It’s not in the ED,” she explains, softer now. “It’s upstairs. Some emergency. We got the call to come.”
And he’s still a doctor, see. All he’s ever wanted to do is save lives.
He looks at her, and he knows that much she understands.
She smiles, and Will suppresses a shudder as he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Let me get my things.”
Her fingers tighten just slightly before she lets go, beaming at him. “I knew I could count on you, Dr. Halstead.”
-o-
Will senses an urgency to the situation, so he just takes his medical bag full of standard equipment and follows. Emily is moving quickly, and he has to increase his speed to keep up. Within seconds, they’re out of the ED, and he doesn’t think to ask anything until he realizes they’re in the stairwell going up.
“It’s in the hospital?” he asks, heart pounding as she scales the stairs with determination. “But codes are run on each floor--”
“No, it’s in the construction zone,” she says, briefly glancing over her shoulder.
He moves to catch up with her, and now they’re side by side. “But I thought work had been suspended.”
She looks at him, lips pulled up almost fondly. “Just trust me. It’s important.”
He finds himself grunting. “Then maybe they should ask someone else,” he says. “I don’t exactly have the best record these days.”
“No,” she says, looking at him almost insistent now. “It has to be you.”