Chicago Med fic: Mercy (9/10)
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
In hiring Emily, Sharon had not done her part. She’d taken the word of someone else, and she knows there’s no way to know if it would have made a difference.
But she’ll never know, and that’s the point.
You won’t know unless you do the work.
This time, Sharon does the work.
It’s not hard to get an address for the Trudeau family, but it’s a bit harder picking the right one. She makes a few calls -- Sharon has a few friends in high places, after all -- and she cashes in a few favors to get the current address of Eric Trudeau, Addison’s only son and the heir to his estate. Everyone she talks to says the same thing: Eric is young and impressionable. He’s not as smart as his father, but he may be persuaded to be just as benevolent.
Time will tell.
First things first, however. Sharon has to find out if this young man happens to know Emily is a murderer. Small details like that, as it turns out, matter significantly.
She’s quite insistent when she arrives at his home. There’s an assistant who tries to fend her off, but Sharon plays the official business card and gets herself inside. From there, she notices that there’s tension inside, and she plays on the clear indications of brewing chaos to get herself upstairs and in Eric’s private office.
It’s a mess of an office, with all the pretense of being official without any actual substance. From one look, he strikes her as someone who wants to be taken seriously but doesn’t have the life experience to pull it off. He’s not exactly a petulant child -- he strikes her as earnest and well intentioned. But he looks like a little boy showing up at his dad’s office for the day.
He’s out of his element.
It shows.
“I’m sorry,” he says, flustered and hurried as he gathers a few things off his desk. “I just -- I don’t really have time for this. You’re for the hospital, right? Med or something? If you make an appointment, we can talk about funds--”
“It’s not about funds,” Sharon says. “I’m here to talk to you about Emily Novak.”
At this, he stops. It’s not what he’s expecting her to say. Somehow, though, he’s also not surprised. “You’re here about Emily?” he asks, and there’s something about the way he says her name that gives Sharon a start. This isn’t exactly what she expected either.
Sharon nods, though. “I am.”
He puts his things down and approaches her a little. “I heard Emily was arrested,” he says, and he sounds at a total loss. “Which doesn’t even make sense. Do you know something about this?”
“I do,” Sharon says, keeping her tone matter of fact as she regards him carefully. She’s liked to think she’s a good judge of character, but recent events have made her question everything. “The question is -- do you?”
He stops, blinking at her. His surprise seems genuine. “I don’t understand,” he says.
She believes him, for what that’s worth. He doesn’t know what’s going on.
He shakes his head a little more, stepping closer to her with his brow furrowed. “But Emily’s a good nurse. The best nurse.”
Sharon believes he’s being sincere, which is what is making this strange. She steps back and assesses the situation again. “How did you know Emily was arrested?”
His face goes momentarily blank, and the sincerity fades for a second. He steps back, a little more composed now. “She called me,” he says. He wets his lips and tries to shrug, but now the indifference seems feigned. “We’ve kept in touch. We got close when she was working full time with my dad.”
Now, there’s something more false than true in what he’s saying. Sharon would normally play this more professionally, but she’s out of patience for it. And Dr. Halstead is out of time. “You’re dating her,” she surmises.
She’s guessing, but the look on his face confirms she’s right. He pales, mouth dropping open as he clearly searches for some kind of deflection.
He comes up with nothing.
Sharon is a bit gobsmacked herself. Her eyebrows go up as she assesses him even more. “You fell for your father’s nurse?”
He hems himself in, clearly defensive now. “She practically lived here,” he says, shaking his head with an air of acceptance. “Every day, every night. Every meal. And she was great with him. He would do anything for her, and it wasn’t hard to see why. We’d been through a dozen home health aides -- each worse than the last. But Emily changed everything. For him and for me.”
He’s back to the truth again, offering up a sincerity that is nearly vindictive in its passion. It’s perhaps a little morally questionable, falling for your father’s nurse. But it’s hardly a crime.
So why is he acting like it is?
Sharon bites her lip, considering her next question carefully. “Home health aides would have meticulous papers,” she says. “Do you still have your father’s file?”
This isn’t the question he expects, but he seems a little relieved by it. “Of course,” he says. “And Emily was great with the paperwork. Everything was always in order. She took care of everything.”
He’s telling her the truth, for what it is. She’s starting to suspect, however, there’s more he’s not letting on. “Can I see the file?”
He seems to consider the question, but only briefly. He nods, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling it out. He holds it out. “There,” he says. “This is everything.”
It’s not a small file, and when she looks inside, it’s not hard to see why. The man had a long documented history of health problems, and those problems had only escalated dramatically in the last five years. Cancer, diabetes, encephalophy -- and a host of ongoing, chronic infections. No doubt, the quality of his life had been on the downturn for at least a decade, but in the last two years, his suffering had been immense.
The list of home health aides all documented the same pattern. A sick, miserable old man.
Until Emily.
Under Emily, he’d been happier. His health hadn’t improved, but he seemed to be living his life more completely. She’d reduced his therapy sessions and focused on quality of life instead. On the whole, it probably wasn’t a terrible option.
But then, she sees it.
The list of medications in his system.
In many cases at the hospital, she’d obscured them.
But here, she’d recorded them plain as day.
Some of the drugs she recognizes from Will Halstead’s preliminary tox screen. But the additional items recorded are telling. Cardiac drugs; anxiety medications; blood pressure control. Some of them would be pretty hard to trace without knowing what to look for, no doubt. In the right doses, they could be incredibly therapeutic. However, when tailored properly, they had already proven deadly.
“Did she tweak his medication regimen?” she asks.
She glances up in a cursory fashion, but has to do a double take. His expression has gone nearly rigid now, and he blinks wide eyes. “What?”
Sharon puts the file down and looks at him more seriously. “His medication regimen,” she says, watching him even more carefully. “Did Emily play with it? Change it? Amend it?”
The questions are pretty straightforward. It’s not uncommon for drug regimens to be changed, especially in end of life care. Although they hadn’t pursued hospice, this was clearly what the mindset had been in the last months of his life. The changes would have been totally normal.
Sharon knows that.
The son should know it, too.
But the startled look on his face tells a different story. A more ominous story.
This is a son who spent a lot of time with his father. A son who was around enough to fall in love with his father’s nurse. He would have known about the drug regimen.
The only reason not to admit to it is if there’s something else.
Something about that drug regimen.
She comes to the conclusion easily now, but the shock of it is still palpable for her. She’s too tired for pretense. “You knew,” she says, laying the accusation out there.
He flinches -- and badly so. “Knew what?”
The attempt to deflect just makes his guilt more obvious. “Knew what?”
Any hesitations she might have had were dispelled now. She shakes her head, giving him a look of half disappointment. This man is nothing to her, but his shortcomings have profoundly influenced her and everyone in her care. That matters.
So does the fact that he’s a murderer.
“That she killed your father,” Sharon says flatly.
His eyes widen, but the effect is almost comical. “What?”
Sharon will not placate him. “You knew she killed your father. In fact, you probably signed off on it. What -- for the inheritance?”
She’s just spitballing at this point, but the shock on his face confirms her sheer speculation. He attempts to recover himself, but his balking is more show than substance. “I didn’t -- I wouldn’t!”
She feels almost exasperated with him now. While he wallows over the death of his father -- and the woman he thinks he loves -- he doesn’t have any idea of the truth. She almost feels sorry for him.
Almost.
But not quite.
“You knew she killed your father, but you didn’t have a clue it wasn’t her first time,” Sharon says.
That gets the response she’s expecting. His face goes blank for a moment before he seems to startle. There’s no ability for him to regain his composure. “Wait -- what?”
The shock is the most genuine thing yet. Eric doesn’t know. He hasn’t put the pieces together yet. He doesn’t know. “You didn’t know,” she says again, letting the revelation hit him as hard as it hit her. “That it wasn’t her first time.”
He blinks, and she sees his mind racing and failing to keep him. He’s pale now, the slightest tremble to his disposition. “I -- I mean--” he starts and stops, his mind trying to parse together this new information with the idea of how much he should confess. The shock wins out. He looks stricken. “What?”
Sympathy is a funny thing. It’s not always warranted, but when you run a hospital, you understand it better than most. She nods at him. “You were new to murder, I’m guessing, but she wasn’t.”
He’s on the verge of panicking now, his breathing short and stunted.. “What are you talking about?”
She inclines her head, because he may as well know. “Killing your father -- that wasn’t her first time,” she explains simply. “And it wasn’t the last.”
His eyes are wet now. He swallows almost convulsively. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
The thing is, for all that he’s complicit in his father’s murder, she knows he’s not the mastermind. She can see that now. He’s opportunistic, maybe, but this kid could have been coerced into it just as much as anything. It hadn’t been his idea, probably. And if Emily Novak’s as good as she seems to be, then a man like this wouldn’t stand a chance.
That’s not absolution, mind you. She’ll turn him in happily. But if she can guilt him into rolling over on Emily, then Sharon’s done something from every victim from Will Halstead back to the start.
“She has a history of victims, all around the country,” she explains. “How many? I have no idea, but I’m a little scared to find out. At Med -- in the job you got her hired for -- she worked on countless patients. I’ve already pulled at least 50 case files to go over them again. To see what part she may have played.”
In his shock, he’s starting to realize just how bad this is. There’s fear; there’s horror. “I swear, I didn’t know anything about any of that. I swear.”
She flattens her lips and gives him a skeptical look. “And you think it was a coincidence, then? That she just happened to know how to kill him? That she knew how to make it look like it was natural causes? You never questioned it?”
“She said it was basic anatomy, just nursing 101,” he says. He shakes his head earnestly. “And she told me she could put him out of his misery. I know how that sounds, but you weren’t with him. All these months, these years. He was wasting away -- his body -- and he knew it. He hated it, every second. You have to understand. He was old and tired and weak -- the sickness had taken away everything he loved. He was a shadow of himself, and he was just aware enough to know it. No one should have to suffer like that, especially not someone who has given so much back to others.”
There’s something to that, Sharon knows.
But it’s a little too ready on his lips.
Just slightly rehearsed.
He’s justified this in his mind a thousand times already. He’s tried to come to terms with it, and that’s the explanation he tells himself every night as he tries to fall asleep.
“And the sizeable inheritance he left you didn’t mean anything?” she asks.
It’s not exactly unkind. There’s no malice, no cruelty.
But the honesty is stinging.
The young man reddens, and he seems to fumble for his answer. “I just -- I thought she wanted to help -- me, my dad,” he says, the words in a bit of a rush now. “We were drowning, we didn’t know what to do. And she agreed to help my dad if I helped her.”
This revelation is particularly curious. Sharon tips her head to the side. “She offered to kill him if you got her a job?”
She’s speaking bluntly now, but the worst of the shock has run its course. Eric nods. “Yeah, I mean, maybe she didn’t say it like that,” he says. “But yeah. And I thought, she’s helped my dad. She’s helped me. She’s a good nurse. I thought everyone would win.”
It’s painfully naive, in some ways, but Eric isn’t a child talking about a misguided recess notion. He believed Emily’s compassion, and he capitulated to her. Whether he cared for his father or just wanted the money, he’d had no idea.
He’d made mistakes, and part of Sharon wants to hold him to it.
Except she’d also made mistakes.
She’d hired Emily Novak.
She’d kept her on staff for months.
Even when Will Halstead had objected, she’d overruled him. She, too, was complicit in these deaths, and she could no more hold Eric to that than excuse herself.
Sighing, she drew herself to together once more. The accusations taste bitter now, and she’s nothing but tired. “I am going to have to turn you in.”
He looks bereft, the weight of the shock roiling over him again. “Am I going to jail?”
She shrugs, almost feeling helpless. “I have no idea,” she says. “But you did help murder your father.”
He inhales raggedly, but he nods and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks haunted. “Did she really kill other people?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sharon tells him.
To his credit, he looks more crestfallen at the realization than all the rest. “I thought she was the best nurse,” he says quietly. “I swear. I thought she was the best.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to stay here, let the police come,” she says.
He nods. The things he’d been gathering sit vacantly now, and he looks about the room forlornly.
“For what it’s worth, she fooled a lot of people,” Sharon offers, this small modicum of sympathy. “And, as for jail time, I’m sure if you can provide strong corroborating evidence, the prosecution will be happy to work with you.
He hardly seems to hear her. “I didn’t know,” he says hollowly. “I promise. I didn’t know.”
She nods grimly. He’s an easy scapegoat, but Sharon can’t absolve herself any more than she can absolve him. “I know,” she says. “Though, I can’t say that has brought me any comfort yet.”
“I’ll make it right,” he vows, and Sharon believes him. “I promise.”
“That’s the best either of us can do,” she says. “Stay close.”
It’s easy to judge a man like that, someone who would willingly kill his own father and then recommend the murderous nurse to a local ED. But Sharon has to be careful. It’s easy to judge her, too. There, but for the grace of God, go any of them.
And Emily Novak, hopefully, will finally be brought to justice.
-o-
Eric stays.
Sharon goes.
Outside, she makes three phone calls.
First, she calls Ethan. She informs him of the drugs on Addison Trudeau’s private chart, which is far more robust than anything they’ve seen so far. It should give the lab something to test for, and it will hopefully get Ethan the treatment plan he needs to reverse Will’s condition.
Second, she calls Hank Voight. He’s still at the hospital, overseeing the investigation, but she tells him to come pick Eric up himself. He balks at leaving, but she promises him it’ll be worth his time and effort. Her word is good enough for him.
She’s not sure why, but she’ll take it for now.
The last call is to Gwen. Gwen has made her position marginally clear, and she has not been a difficulty so far. However, she knows that shock only last so long and grace only extends so far. Making it right sounds good when the moment is raw, but Sharon knows well enough the bottom line will matter.
She wants to make sure the priorities are in order. She might have taken that for granted before, but then, that’s who they hired a serial killer.
“I want to discuss how this is going to go,” Sharon says when Gwen takes the call.
Gwen sounds a little confused, though that’s part affectation, Sharon is sure. “What do you mean? Do you know something?”
“I know a lot of something, and I know a lot of it is our fault,” Sharon says. “And I’ll stick through this. I’ll see it through. I’ll be the face of this hospital. I’ll be its scapegoat, it’s focal point. I’ll take the hard interviews. I’ll be the one quoted on TV and in all the papers. I’ll do that for you, Gwen. For you and this hospital. But only under a certain set of conditions.”
This is a good offer Sharon is making, and Gwen isn’t stupid enough not to see it. “Okay,” she says, slow and cautious. “What are your terms?”
“The buck stops with us -- you and the board behind me,” Sharon says. “We do not throw Will Halstead or any other member of the ED under the bus for this incident.”
“But if there’s liability--”
“Then, it’s on us,” Sharon says flatly. “Will Halstead has told me for weeks now that there’s something off about Emily Novak. He thought it was her lack of attention to protocol, but I didn’t take him seriously. That’s a side of the story I can tell, if you like. Or you can give me what I want and I’ll spin this better.”
Gwen’s voice is tight when she speaks. “Okay.”
“We will compensate every victim’s family. It will be our team who reaches out to all of her patients first, whether or not they died or the manner of their deaths. We need to do that first, with some input from legal but not control, and we do it within the next day,” she says. “They hear it from us, not the cops.”
“Agreed,” Gwen says. “We can devote as many resources as necessary to make the calls, and I’ll see what we can do about creating a settlement. I think we should make offers even to those who weren’t negatively impacted.”
“Exactly,” Sharon says. “We will upset people if they think it’s possible they were touched by this, and it is best not to act surprised when it happens. We meet it, head on, and I will take input from legal -- and necessary budget constraints -- but I want control here.”
“I can do that,” Gwen says. “What else?”
“Will Halstead,” she says, her lips flattening once again. It’s a tired motion, one she feels in the weariness of her soul. “We are covering every cent of his care and recovery. And the offers we make the other victims? We make to him.”
“Of course,” Gwen says, and she actually manages not to sound like she’s gritting her teeth at the thought.
“Also, he’s no longer on probation,” Sharon says. “In fact, I’m thinking we might promote him to a senior attending.”
“That’s not a position that exists--”
“Well, it can be now,” Sharon says shortly. “We make the offer, and draw up the paperwork later.”
Gwen seems to go with this much better than Sharon expects. “That can be done.”
Sharon stops for this one, this last one, because she wants to make her position absolutely clear here. “And if he wants to sue, for any reason or any amount, I will be the first one to sign on to back up his case,” she says. “I’ll give him any testimony he needs.”
This time, Gwen seems taken aback. “Wait? You’d go against the hospital?”
She sounds concerned, but she’s missing the point.
Sharon scoffs to make it clearer still. “A hospital that hires serial killers?” she asks bitingly. “In a heartbeat.”
Gwen takes a breath audibly over the line, letting it out long and slow. “Part of me thinks you’re being unreasonable here, Sharon.”
Sharon arches a quizzical eyebrow. “Part of you?”
“Yes,” Gwen says. “But the other part of me knows you aren’t.”
“Well, as long as we understand each other,” Sharon says. “Then, I can get to work.”
“Then, by all means,” Gwen says. “I’d say don’t let me stop you, but somehow I doubt that would make any difference at all.”
Sharon smiles, a little grim, a little satisfied, as she hangs up the phone.
For once, Gwen does seem to understand her after all.
-o-
Then, Sharon goes to the police station. Usually, Voight and his Intelligence personnel make house calls to the hospital, but Sharon feels inclined to return the favor this time.
She makes a few pit stops first. One, to freshen up. Two, to cry to herself. Then, three, to freshen up again after crying. When she feels -- and looks -- moderately composed, she walks herself inside like she’s got all the business in the world being there. Trudy Platt is at the desk, greeting her with wide eyes. She engages in pleasantries, but Sharon roundly ignores the effort.
“Do you have Emily Novak here?” she asks instead.
Platt swallows a little bit, looking uncomfortable. “You know how it is with official business--”
Sharon doesn’t have enough patience for that, though. “Is Hank back yet?” she asks instead.
To this, Platt nods. “He just got back before you arrived. A witness in tow.”
“Well, I’d like to see him,” Sharon says.
“You know we’re awfully busy--”
“I’d like to see him,” Sharon says again with more finality. “Let him know I’m here.”
Platt gives her a slow, calculating look, but she makes the call. There’s a brief, hushed exchange, and Platt puts down the phone. She nods to the locked door, indicating that Sharon should go ahead. “You can go on up.”
-o-
Sharon climbs the stairs with the faintest sense of reticence. There’s part of her that knows she’s in over her head at the moment, but she’s the one who got herself in this position. She owes it to everyone -- including herself -- to work on a way of rectifying it all.
It’s controlled chaos upstairs, and it seems to be a case of all hands on deck. In all the activity, she’s surprised when Voight seeks her out and meets her at the door.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he comments. He doesn’t quite smile. The situation doesn’t warrant it.
Sharon doesn’t quite smile back. “Did you pick up Eric Trudeau?”
“I did,” Voight says. “I brought him in myself. I had to have a unit drive us because he was already talking.”
“Did he have lawyer?” she asks.
“No, and I offered several times,” Voight says. “Kid seems sincere.”
“Sincere, and naive, I’m afraid,” she says, shaking her head.
“He knows the role he played in this, and he wants to play a role in fixing it,” he says. “His testimony is going to be crucial in securing a conviction.”
Sharon nods along. “And what about Emily? Has she said anything?”
“Nothing useful,” Voight admits. “Her story is pretty consistent. I have the feeling she’s the type who buys into her own hype.”
“Well, we need more than Trudeau’s testimony,” Sharon explains. “I need a confession.”
“Okay,” Voight says, a small line appearing between his brows. “I mean, that is what we’re trying to do.”
“No, but I need it now,” Sharon clarifies. She glances around and lowers her voice. “Will Halstead is not doing well.”
“I’ve been told,” Voight says. “I’m not sure what you think we can do about it, though.”
“I think you can get her to confess,” Sharon says, matter of fact. “If she admits to trying to kill him -- along with all her other victims -- then she might be willing to tell us what she used to dose him. We’re doing what we can for him at Med, but without knowing the exact list of medications she used to put him in heart failure, we’re just making educated guesses.”
“I’m going to guess those are not nearly as useful in your line of work as they might be here,” Voight muses soberly.
“In this case, it’s not useful at all,” Sharon says. “I need to talk to her.”
She’s using invective, but Voight doesn’t look particularly swayed. “She’s sticking to her story. She’s not confessing to anything.”
Normally, Sharon likes to stay in her lane when dealing with other entities. She’s not about to tell Fire and PD how to run their affairs, but this is a gray area. With one of her own on the line, she’s sure that’s something Voight can at least appreciate. “That’s why we need pressure.”
Voight seems just somewhat bemused by her foray into his world. His lips twitch slightly despite the situation. “What did you have in mind exactly? Because we’ve played good cop/bad cop with her. She’s not cracking.”
“Psychologically speaking, she probably doesn’t even think she’s the bad guy here, at least not on a surface level,” Sharon says. “But she’s got too much confidence in her ability to cover her tracks. If she knows her story’s not impenetrable, then I think we might get her to cave.”
“I don’t disagree,” Voight says. “Your cop instincts aren’t bad here, but you still need the leverage.”
“And I just gave it to you,” Sharon points out. “The boyfriend rolled on her. You have uniforms bringing him in, don’t you?”
“I do,” he says. “But we haven’t processed him yet.”
“Then take my word for it. He’s going to cooperate, and he’s credible. Plus, he can put her away,” she says. “It’s a play she won’t see coming.”
“You think she’ll be heartbroken by betrayal?” Voight ventures.
“I think she’ll realize for the first time just how much we have on her,” Sharon says plainly. “I don’t think this girl loves this boy. He was far more invested in her then the other way around. She thought she had him all locked up, just like the rest of her victims.”
“You want to rattle her confidence,” Voight says as he nods.
“She’s been doing this too long. She’s got to feel invincible,” Sharon says. “Take that away, and we might see just how insecure she is.”
“And insecure people tend to panic,” Voight agrees. “It could work.”
“It has to work,” Sharon says. “And I want to be the one to do it.”
“Retribution?” Voight asks, and he’s not condemning the idea. He just sounds intrigued.
Sharon purses her lips. “More like redemption,” she says. “And I know what to ask to find the right information to save Dr. Halstead. I need to be in there because he doesn’t have a second to spare.”
Voight considers this, chewing his lower lip for a second. His eyes narrow momentarily, but he nods. “Okay,” he agrees. “You can go in with me. I’ll let you take the lead, but if something goes off the rails--”
She nods back, in full agreement. “Good,” she says. “Because I want this woman put away for good.”
“A lot of people have died because of her,” Voight says. “Let’s see if we can save at least one.”
-o-
Now, Sharon isn’t a stranger to the police department. She’s spent time here before, lending a hand with various investigations or city-wide safety initiatives. She’s given a few official statements for pending investigations, but it’s always been done with all due respect. Most of the time, she’s in Voight’s office or in a comfortable waiting room.
She’s observed a few interrogations, but this is the first time she’s been inside.
She’s not sure if that’s what makes her shudder.
Or if it’s the sight of her nurse, the one she hired, sitting across from her with her hands in cuffs. She doesn’t look scared. She doesn’t look guilty.
Instead, she tips her head to the side and appears to look genuinely curious. “Ms. Goodwin,” she says. “Have you explained to them just how crazy this is? They have to let me go. You know they have to let me go.”
Sharon feels like her limbs are turning to ice. Her stomach churns uncomfortable, and she forces herself to move across the room to sit across from her at the table. Voight lingers back by the door, visible but clearly giving her the lead. “Emily, I told you at the hospital. I know what you did. You deserve to be here.”
She looks crestfallen, her shoulders visibly fallen like Sharon has let her down. “But I’m a nurse. All I’ve ever done is care for patients.”
For a second, she feels a pang of pity for the cops who have had to interview her so far. It’s almost farcical until she recalls just how many people this woman could have killed. “Emily, why don’t we talk about that, then,” she suggests. She folds her hands primly in front of her and does her best not to flinch away. “We should discuss everything that’s happened.”
This diplomatic approach at least earns a nod. “I suppose,” she says. “But I’ve already told you everything I can. If you can’t see that I’m a loyal employee--”
Sharon holds up her hand to stop the impending diatribe of self importance. “Emily, please,” she says. “I’m just here so you understand the situation.”
“I understand it better than you think,” Emily says, and she looks just a little smug. “Ms. Goodwin, there’s no way I’m a murderer.”
“That’s not what your boyfriend says,” Sharon says.
This catches Emily momentarily off guard. “My boyfriend?”
“Eric Trudeau,” Sharon clarifies.
Her mouth opens for a moment, and she scoffs. “Is that what he told you? I’m not -- he was my patient’s son. We were close, sure--”
“He vouched for you,” Sharon reminds her. “He got you the job at Med.”
“Because he saw how much dedication I gave to his father,” Emily counters. “He just knows I’m a good nurse.”
“He knows you killed his father,” Sharon says, putting all her cards on the table. There’s no time to dither. She’ll call, right now.
Emily blinks, frozen for a moment. “What?”
“He’s in the next room,” Sharon says, nodding her head to the side. “He’s telling them everything, about how you offered to help his father end his misery. He’s turned over all the files.”
Emily is frowning now, her brows drawing together, She shakes her head. “I supported him and his father--”
“You killed him,” she says, simple and plain. “You saw that Eric was easy to manipulate, and you talked him into the plan. You killed him with the medications you changed until you had a fatal dose.”
“The man was suffering,” Emily objects, suddenly quite ardent. “When you pledge your life to the betterment of others, that kind of suffering is not acceptable. It’s intolerable.”
“And the massive inheritance involved didn’t have anything to do with it?” Sharon asks coyly.
“I didn’t take a cent,” Emily snaps. “All I asked for was a good job recommendation.”
“Murder for a recommendation?” Sharon presses.
Emily sits forward, eyes flashing. “Eric wouldn’t.”
“He is,” Sharon assures her. “And his testimony will get you convicted, whether you confess or not. The only suffering I’m here to talk about right now is your own.”
Emily face pales a little.
Sharon shrugs. “Serial killers rarely get anything except the worst convictions,” she says. “Illinois may not have the death penalty, but other states do. And you’ve lived a lot of places, Emily.”
She presses her lips together, her jaw tightening visibly.
“And even without the death penalty, that’s the rest of your life in prison,” Sharon says. “A small cell. For as long as you live. No hope of release. No ability to practice medicine. Suffering, Emily. The kind that haunts you.”
She inhales deeply through her nose. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re going away for this, one way or another,” she says. “But if you cooperate. If you help save one last life, it might help make your suffering a little less.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you offering me a deal?”
“I’m a hospital administrator, not a cop or a lawyer,” Sharon points out. “I’m here on my own, but trust me when I say, you don’t want Will Halstead to die. Not with his brother on this police unit. Imagine how that will go for your case.”
She seems to think about that, the indecision suddenly apparent. She looks at Sharon.
Sharon inclines her head. “All this time you’ve focused on the suffering of others,” she says. “I’d start thinking about your own.”
Finally, she nods. “You need to know the drugs?” she asks.
Sharon’s heart seizes, but she manages to keep her composure. Behind her, she can feel Voight tensing. “Names and doses.”
“And you’ll tell them I’m not a monster?” Emily asks.
Sharon’s gut twists. She has to swallow a swell of nausea. “I’ll tell them you saved Will Halstaed.”
“And that’ll be enough?” Emily asks, her voice small.
“No, not even close,” Sharon tells her honestly. “But it’s a place to start.”
-o-
Emily tells her.
The drugs.
The doses.
It’s a larger cocktail than Sharon expects, but when she writes it down, it’s apparent why they’re having such a hard time stabilizing Will. With these drugs in his system, it’s remarkable he’s even still alive.
She leaves Emily in the room, the notes in hand. She looks at Voight, who is waiting outside. “Is any of that admissible?” she asks.
“We’ll make it work,” Voight assures her. “Now, let me do my job. You do yours, and make sure Will doesn’t die.”
Sharon tips her head in stolid agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”
-o-
Sharon sees herself out, and it’s just as well. With Emily’s would-be confession, there’s a whole new level of activity in the room, and the cops have plenty of work to do.
It’s just as well.
So does Sharon.
Outside, she pulls out her phone. The first call she makes is to Ethan Choi.
“Dr. Choi,” she says. “How is he?”
“Not good,’ Dr. Choi reports. “I think we’re going to lose him. I got another hit or two from the lab, but--”
“But it’s not close to enough,” Sharon concludes for him. “The good news is that I have the full list of drugs and their dosages.”
“Wait -- what?” Dr. Choi asks, sounding shocked. “But how?”
“I can explain the how later,” she says. “I’m going to text you a picture of the list right now. Do you think we’ll be in time?”
“If we know the drugs and the dosages, then we should be able to reverse them more effectively,” he says. “I mean, I can’t guarantee anything, but it might be enough.”
Sharon’s smile is grim and determined. “Get it started,” she orders. “I’ll be back soon.”
Because this isn’t the last step.
Sharon knows better than most that it’s just the first.
-o-
In medicine, it’s always a tossup if the news will be good or bad. Sometimes you get lucky; other times, luck is nowhere to be found.
And in this line of work, luck is relative. After all, Will getting attacked by a serial killer nurse? That’s pretty unlucky.
However, Ms. Goodwin finding the exact list of drugs to test for?
Well, as far as Ethan’s concerned, that’s the best luck he’s had all day.
He calls the lab and has them run a fresh round of tests, targeting the list Ms. Goodwin has sent over. In the meantime, he rapidly draws up the necessary medications to counter those drugs. As soon as he gets confirmation from the lab, he’ll start Will on a full and aggressive new course of treatment.
It’s not a guarantee, of course. Will’s condition has been unstable long enough that there may not be a quick fix. And some of the drugs listed could have long-term complications in the wrong dosages, and the necessary drugs to counteract the cocktail he’d been given could prove toxic in and of itself if it’s not monitored properly. Ethan knows it’s still a little bit of a long shot.
But, it’s a shot.
Five minutes ago, Ethan had been losing hope for even that much.
He checks his phone, but there’s still no word from the lab. The nurses are still gathering up his extensive drug request, and Ethan chews the inside of his lip anxiously. He used to be good at waiting; he’s less good at it now.
It takes too much effort to show up each day.
Everything else on top of that wears him thin.
Restless, he goes back inside. Will is still on the bed, sedated and intubated. He’s been changed into a gown, and the blankets have been arranged to give the appearance of repose, but they all know better.
Ethan knows that comfort in these situations is for the family, not for the patient.
He looks at Jay.
Still poised by his brother’s side, Jay doesn’t look back. Ethan doesn’t blame him. In fact, he wants to validate that guilt. He takes a breath and breaks the silence. “We’ve had a break,” he says. “Ms. Goodwin found out a list of likely drugs. I’ve got the lab running a confirmation on them now, but once we start to get results, we can start treating him.”
Jay looks to him, eyes widening in surprise. “She got the list? But how?”
Ethan can only shrug. “I don’t know,” he says. “And frankly, it doesn’t matter. We need to start doing something or Will’s not going to survive. His vitals are incredibly erratic as it is.”
Jay lets his gaze linger back on Will. “It’s stupid,” he muses. “I told him that everything was going to be fine. With the case, with his job. I said it was all going to be fine. He just had to wait and see.”
It’s a telling admission, one that shows just how little Ethan has been paying attention. Will had needed reassurance, and Ethan hadn’t even seen it.
“None of us knew, Jay,” Ethan says, as if that is some kind of explanation. “I still don’t even understand what happened. They’re saying Emily’s a serial killer? Our ED nurse. And no one saw it coming.”
Jay’s lips twist ruefully. “Will did,” he says. “I’m not sure he knew what he saw, but he saw it. He couldn’t let the damn thing go.”
Ethan has to look down, remembering how to breathe. All these months of recovery, and he still has to force himself to stand on his own two feet. “How many people did she trick? How many hospitals has she fleeced?”
Jay huffs. “A lot,” he says. “And she skipped town each time, slipping away. Ten years. Maybe more.”
Ethan steps forward, putting a gentle hand on Will’s wrist. “Then he’s saved lives. More than we can count.”
Jay looks at Ethan again. “And you think you can still save his?”
Ethan nods, resolute. “I’m going to do everything I can.”
It’s a promise to Jay. It’s a promise to Will.
It’s a promise, though, mostly to himself.
-o-
Confirmation doesn’t come as fast as Ethan wants it, but it’s better late than never.
It still counts.
It still matters.
Ethan draws up the orders, clears the room and hopes that much is true.
The first drugs are loaded into Will’s IV. Ethan ups his fluids to compensate, and he increases the rate on the ventilator just to be prepared. He watch Will, who remains passive through the ministrations. It’ll be some time before the results are evident one way or another.
“You can do it,” Ethan murmurs softly as the second round of drugs is prepared. “I believe you.”
He breathes in and finds himself holding it as he watches Will breathe.
“I believe in you,” he adds, because he knows it’s what Will has been looking for.
And it’s the only way either of them will be able to stand on their own two feet again.
-o-
It can be dramatic, sometimes. You shock a patient back. You plug a severed artery. You cut someone open in the field to relieve the pressure and save the life.
But sometimes -- most of the time -- it’s the small measures of success. Recovery is usually step by step, not all at once.
As a doctor, Ethan’s always known this. Patients want miracles; all he can offer is medicine.
As a person, Ethan knows it even more pointedly now. You can’t skip the steps. You can’t will your way to the outcome without putting in the work. It takes time for the body to respond. It takes time for the body to recover. It just takes time.
In this case, time is inevitable. When a toxic combination of drugs has been used, it can be difficult to disentangle each substance to target the necessary changes in the body’s function. Plus, results from medication are rarely one-and-done. The effects can change as the body processes the chemicals, and they can have unexpected, cumulative effects. Will has only been dosed a few hours ago. For most medications, the full effect is still being realized.
This makes it harder to counteract things. And even once the active chemicals have been neutralized, the body still needs time to respond.
So you have to wait. You have to be patient.
You have to sit idly and hope like hell for the best.
That’s not easy for doctors. They are inherently people of action, just by the very nature of what they do. Ethan likes to be careful and measured in his decisions, but making the hard choices is one thing. Waiting to see if you’re right or not -- well, that’s entirely another.
Even after all the interventions, Will’s life hangs by a thread. His organs still hover on the verge of shutdown, and his blood pressure is dangerously high while his oxygenation levels continue to dip and stabilize. His cardiac function is even more erratic, and the cardiac resident on call eventually calls for her attending because the irregular function is something she hasn’t seen before.
Ethan lets her. He knows it’s nothing she’s doing; he knows there’s nothing different the attending can do. Either the treatment will stabilize Will’s heart function or it won’t.
He’ll live, or he’ll die, plain and simple.
Except it’s a life on the line. And not just any life. It’s Will’s life. Someone who he has known for years, someone he has worked with, hung out with. Someone he’s come to depend on, and Ethan has to sit back and shrug away his fate.
Not indifferent.
Impotent.
Somehow, he imagines that feels worse. For him, anyway.
Will, unconscious like he is and sedated so completely, probably doesn’t feel anything. That’s the only way to let his body hang on, and Ethan’s always thought of it as a kindness. It doesn’t feel that way now.
He’s ignored Will for months.
Now, he’s literally pumping his body full of drugs and taking away what little autonomy he has left. Ethan knows he has a good reason, but it doesn’t always feel good enough.
Watching Will is bad enough.
Watching Jay by Will’s side is worse.
Jay’s no doctor. He doesn’t understand all the nuances, the ins and outs. All he knows is that his brother is fighting for his life, and all he can do is sit there, hold his hand, and hope that he’s not the last Halstead standing. Ethan knows he’s part of the reason Jay’s in this situation, and he can’t absolve himself of his responsibility here. It’s hard to stand next to Jay, knowing he could have stopped this.
If he’d listened to Will. If he’d just listened.
Riddled with guilt, Ethan keeps his vigil in the hall, checking in on Will only when necessary. He doesn’t want to disturb Jay, but he can’t bring himself to leave Will alone. Not when things are this precarious.
He thinks walking away will make it worse.
He just wishes that staying would make it better.
But some things you can’t make better. Some things you can’t fix.
Those are the things, Ethan knows from experience, you just have to hope you survive.
-o-
Just when Ethan thinks waiting is the worst part, Will crashes.
It’s not the worst part, then.
Ethan springs into action, calling for the crash cart while the nurse administers the epi and Ethan starts compressions.
It’s not even close to the worst part.
-o-
They get Will back quickly enough, but the weight of what’s just happened is heavy on all of them. There’s a crowd outside the room, and a stillness settles over the ED. Jay Halstead, war vet and one of CPD’s finest, stands pale and shellshocked outside the room.
For a second, just for a split second, Ethan meets Jay’s gaze.
There’s no anger now. There’s no accusation.
There’s just fear and desperation.
Ethan looks back at Will, with his sallow complexion and the tube strapped down around his mouth.
He can’t look at Jay again. He can’t look at Will.
For the first time in Ethan’s life, he runs away.
-o-
He doesn’t go far; just outside. He’s not trying to get away in any real sense, but he needs to take a moment. He needs to breathe, collect himself. He’s got to think. He’s got to prepare himself.
That’s it, really.
He needs to prepare himself for the inevitable.
He’s fought against the impossible for long enough. He refused to accept anything less than a full recovery for himself, and here he is. Barely standing on his own two feet, struggling to breathe in the street outside of Med.
All this fighting and not a hint of self awareness. Some things you can’t fight. Some things can’t be overcome. Maybe Ethan got lucky.
And maybe Will didn’t.
What if Ethan saved himself just to sacrifice Will? He would never have framed it like that, but that’s what he’s been doing. He’s focused so much on his own well being that he never let himself care about Will’s. For awhile, that had just been long hours and poor working conditions.
But now?
Now that Will might be dying?
It’s not figurative. It’s not hyperbole.
Ethan chose himself.
And Will’s paying the price for that blind selfishness.
Life’s not fair, and suffering is not a contest you can win. Ethan can try to run. Ethan can try to hide. Ethan can try to pretend all day long, but reality will force him to confront himself sooner or later.
He’s not sure why he’s still standing and Will isn’t, but this is what it is.
Ethan has to accept it first.
Then, he’ll do everything he can to change it.
-o-
This time, he doesn’t stay away. He’s inclined to think Jay might want space, but he knows that’s not what he needs. A time like this, all that’s happened, Ethan goes inside Will’s room and smiles.
He apologizes. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this is.”
Jay snorts with a reflex of indignity, but it fades quickly. He looks down and shakes his head. “The meds aren’t working?” he asks, and his voice is small.
Ethan sighs, stepping forward and closer to the bed. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on anything pointless. Instead, he looks at the monitor. Then, he pulls up Will’s chart on his iPad.
“Well, his O2 levels have climbed since we got him back, and they’ve actually been relatively stable and high since then,” Ethan reports, trying not to sound surprised. He gives the heart readout a closer look. “And honestly, his heart rhythm has been really improved. We’re starting to see some improved output and stabilization across the board.”
Jay shakes his head. He’s not a medical guy, and Ethan knows how these situations strain even the most patient of people. “But he should be getting better. We know what she gave him, right?”
“We do,” Ethan says. “But it’s not a simple process to reverse. The damage she did could be irreversible.”
Jay looks crestfallen for a moment.
Ethan quickly continues. “But it’s just likely to take some time. His body is going through a lot right now, and when you mix so many medications at once, even if they’re meant to be therapeutic like they are now, it’s just no guarantee what will happen. Most drugs are studied in isolation or with limited interactions. And in real world practice, we don’t usually see them mixed on this scale or in these dosages,” he says, and then he provides the needed bottom line. “It’s just going to take time to see how he responds, but I really am impressed with his cardiac improvement.”
He pauses, scanning through the latest readouts.
“Huh,” he muses.
Jay sits up with renewed concern. “Huh?”
“Oh,” Ethan says, his frown deepening. “It’s just -- we’re seeing marked improvements now.”
“Improvements?” Jay presses, moving anxiously to the edge of his seat.
“Yeah,” Ethan says. He nods at the screen and then glances at Will. “Liver function is up. And he’s making urine again.”
“So?” Jay prompts.
Ethan lets his gaze linger on Will a moment longer. “So, maybe his body is bouncing back,” he says. “This is the first sign of real improvement we’ve had.”
“But he just crashed, like, 30 minutes ago,” Jay reminds him. “You just restarted his heart.”
“I know, but these scans -- these results,” Ethan says. He puts the iPad down and nods. He’s not sure if he dares to hope -- for himself or for Jay. “It’s just looking better.”
“So it’s working?” Jay asks, almost eager.
“I’m not making promises,” Ethan says. But he shrugs a little, self deprecating and hesitant. “But it looks like it might be working.”
He looks at Will again, not letting himself smile.
But hope is powerful, pervasive.
“Might be?” Jay asks, and his eyes are fixed on Ethan.
Ethan pulls up a chair and sits down on the other side of Wil’s bed. “Might be,” he says, and he settles down to wait. “We’ll find out together.”
Will has been his right hand man all this time.
Ethan can return the favor this time.
PART TWO
PART THREE
PART FOUR
PART FIVE
PART SIX
PART SEVEN
PART EIGHT
PART NINE
PART TEN
-o-
In hiring Emily, Sharon had not done her part. She’d taken the word of someone else, and she knows there’s no way to know if it would have made a difference.
But she’ll never know, and that’s the point.
You won’t know unless you do the work.
This time, Sharon does the work.
It’s not hard to get an address for the Trudeau family, but it’s a bit harder picking the right one. She makes a few calls -- Sharon has a few friends in high places, after all -- and she cashes in a few favors to get the current address of Eric Trudeau, Addison’s only son and the heir to his estate. Everyone she talks to says the same thing: Eric is young and impressionable. He’s not as smart as his father, but he may be persuaded to be just as benevolent.
Time will tell.
First things first, however. Sharon has to find out if this young man happens to know Emily is a murderer. Small details like that, as it turns out, matter significantly.
She’s quite insistent when she arrives at his home. There’s an assistant who tries to fend her off, but Sharon plays the official business card and gets herself inside. From there, she notices that there’s tension inside, and she plays on the clear indications of brewing chaos to get herself upstairs and in Eric’s private office.
It’s a mess of an office, with all the pretense of being official without any actual substance. From one look, he strikes her as someone who wants to be taken seriously but doesn’t have the life experience to pull it off. He’s not exactly a petulant child -- he strikes her as earnest and well intentioned. But he looks like a little boy showing up at his dad’s office for the day.
He’s out of his element.
It shows.
“I’m sorry,” he says, flustered and hurried as he gathers a few things off his desk. “I just -- I don’t really have time for this. You’re for the hospital, right? Med or something? If you make an appointment, we can talk about funds--”
“It’s not about funds,” Sharon says. “I’m here to talk to you about Emily Novak.”
At this, he stops. It’s not what he’s expecting her to say. Somehow, though, he’s also not surprised. “You’re here about Emily?” he asks, and there’s something about the way he says her name that gives Sharon a start. This isn’t exactly what she expected either.
Sharon nods, though. “I am.”
He puts his things down and approaches her a little. “I heard Emily was arrested,” he says, and he sounds at a total loss. “Which doesn’t even make sense. Do you know something about this?”
“I do,” Sharon says, keeping her tone matter of fact as she regards him carefully. She’s liked to think she’s a good judge of character, but recent events have made her question everything. “The question is -- do you?”
He stops, blinking at her. His surprise seems genuine. “I don’t understand,” he says.
She believes him, for what that’s worth. He doesn’t know what’s going on.
He shakes his head a little more, stepping closer to her with his brow furrowed. “But Emily’s a good nurse. The best nurse.”
Sharon believes he’s being sincere, which is what is making this strange. She steps back and assesses the situation again. “How did you know Emily was arrested?”
His face goes momentarily blank, and the sincerity fades for a second. He steps back, a little more composed now. “She called me,” he says. He wets his lips and tries to shrug, but now the indifference seems feigned. “We’ve kept in touch. We got close when she was working full time with my dad.”
Now, there’s something more false than true in what he’s saying. Sharon would normally play this more professionally, but she’s out of patience for it. And Dr. Halstead is out of time. “You’re dating her,” she surmises.
She’s guessing, but the look on his face confirms she’s right. He pales, mouth dropping open as he clearly searches for some kind of deflection.
He comes up with nothing.
Sharon is a bit gobsmacked herself. Her eyebrows go up as she assesses him even more. “You fell for your father’s nurse?”
He hems himself in, clearly defensive now. “She practically lived here,” he says, shaking his head with an air of acceptance. “Every day, every night. Every meal. And she was great with him. He would do anything for her, and it wasn’t hard to see why. We’d been through a dozen home health aides -- each worse than the last. But Emily changed everything. For him and for me.”
He’s back to the truth again, offering up a sincerity that is nearly vindictive in its passion. It’s perhaps a little morally questionable, falling for your father’s nurse. But it’s hardly a crime.
So why is he acting like it is?
Sharon bites her lip, considering her next question carefully. “Home health aides would have meticulous papers,” she says. “Do you still have your father’s file?”
This isn’t the question he expects, but he seems a little relieved by it. “Of course,” he says. “And Emily was great with the paperwork. Everything was always in order. She took care of everything.”
He’s telling her the truth, for what it is. She’s starting to suspect, however, there’s more he’s not letting on. “Can I see the file?”
He seems to consider the question, but only briefly. He nods, reaching into the desk drawer and pulling it out. He holds it out. “There,” he says. “This is everything.”
It’s not a small file, and when she looks inside, it’s not hard to see why. The man had a long documented history of health problems, and those problems had only escalated dramatically in the last five years. Cancer, diabetes, encephalophy -- and a host of ongoing, chronic infections. No doubt, the quality of his life had been on the downturn for at least a decade, but in the last two years, his suffering had been immense.
The list of home health aides all documented the same pattern. A sick, miserable old man.
Until Emily.
Under Emily, he’d been happier. His health hadn’t improved, but he seemed to be living his life more completely. She’d reduced his therapy sessions and focused on quality of life instead. On the whole, it probably wasn’t a terrible option.
But then, she sees it.
The list of medications in his system.
In many cases at the hospital, she’d obscured them.
But here, she’d recorded them plain as day.
Some of the drugs she recognizes from Will Halstead’s preliminary tox screen. But the additional items recorded are telling. Cardiac drugs; anxiety medications; blood pressure control. Some of them would be pretty hard to trace without knowing what to look for, no doubt. In the right doses, they could be incredibly therapeutic. However, when tailored properly, they had already proven deadly.
“Did she tweak his medication regimen?” she asks.
She glances up in a cursory fashion, but has to do a double take. His expression has gone nearly rigid now, and he blinks wide eyes. “What?”
Sharon puts the file down and looks at him more seriously. “His medication regimen,” she says, watching him even more carefully. “Did Emily play with it? Change it? Amend it?”
The questions are pretty straightforward. It’s not uncommon for drug regimens to be changed, especially in end of life care. Although they hadn’t pursued hospice, this was clearly what the mindset had been in the last months of his life. The changes would have been totally normal.
Sharon knows that.
The son should know it, too.
But the startled look on his face tells a different story. A more ominous story.
This is a son who spent a lot of time with his father. A son who was around enough to fall in love with his father’s nurse. He would have known about the drug regimen.
The only reason not to admit to it is if there’s something else.
Something about that drug regimen.
She comes to the conclusion easily now, but the shock of it is still palpable for her. She’s too tired for pretense. “You knew,” she says, laying the accusation out there.
He flinches -- and badly so. “Knew what?”
The attempt to deflect just makes his guilt more obvious. “Knew what?”
Any hesitations she might have had were dispelled now. She shakes her head, giving him a look of half disappointment. This man is nothing to her, but his shortcomings have profoundly influenced her and everyone in her care. That matters.
So does the fact that he’s a murderer.
“That she killed your father,” Sharon says flatly.
His eyes widen, but the effect is almost comical. “What?”
Sharon will not placate him. “You knew she killed your father. In fact, you probably signed off on it. What -- for the inheritance?”
She’s just spitballing at this point, but the shock on his face confirms her sheer speculation. He attempts to recover himself, but his balking is more show than substance. “I didn’t -- I wouldn’t!”
She feels almost exasperated with him now. While he wallows over the death of his father -- and the woman he thinks he loves -- he doesn’t have any idea of the truth. She almost feels sorry for him.
Almost.
But not quite.
“You knew she killed your father, but you didn’t have a clue it wasn’t her first time,” Sharon says.
That gets the response she’s expecting. His face goes blank for a moment before he seems to startle. There’s no ability for him to regain his composure. “Wait -- what?”
The shock is the most genuine thing yet. Eric doesn’t know. He hasn’t put the pieces together yet. He doesn’t know. “You didn’t know,” she says again, letting the revelation hit him as hard as it hit her. “That it wasn’t her first time.”
He blinks, and she sees his mind racing and failing to keep him. He’s pale now, the slightest tremble to his disposition. “I -- I mean--” he starts and stops, his mind trying to parse together this new information with the idea of how much he should confess. The shock wins out. He looks stricken. “What?”
Sympathy is a funny thing. It’s not always warranted, but when you run a hospital, you understand it better than most. She nods at him. “You were new to murder, I’m guessing, but she wasn’t.”
He’s on the verge of panicking now, his breathing short and stunted.. “What are you talking about?”
She inclines her head, because he may as well know. “Killing your father -- that wasn’t her first time,” she explains simply. “And it wasn’t the last.”
His eyes are wet now. He swallows almost convulsively. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
The thing is, for all that he’s complicit in his father’s murder, she knows he’s not the mastermind. She can see that now. He’s opportunistic, maybe, but this kid could have been coerced into it just as much as anything. It hadn’t been his idea, probably. And if Emily Novak’s as good as she seems to be, then a man like this wouldn’t stand a chance.
That’s not absolution, mind you. She’ll turn him in happily. But if she can guilt him into rolling over on Emily, then Sharon’s done something from every victim from Will Halstead back to the start.
“She has a history of victims, all around the country,” she explains. “How many? I have no idea, but I’m a little scared to find out. At Med -- in the job you got her hired for -- she worked on countless patients. I’ve already pulled at least 50 case files to go over them again. To see what part she may have played.”
In his shock, he’s starting to realize just how bad this is. There’s fear; there’s horror. “I swear, I didn’t know anything about any of that. I swear.”
She flattens her lips and gives him a skeptical look. “And you think it was a coincidence, then? That she just happened to know how to kill him? That she knew how to make it look like it was natural causes? You never questioned it?”
“She said it was basic anatomy, just nursing 101,” he says. He shakes his head earnestly. “And she told me she could put him out of his misery. I know how that sounds, but you weren’t with him. All these months, these years. He was wasting away -- his body -- and he knew it. He hated it, every second. You have to understand. He was old and tired and weak -- the sickness had taken away everything he loved. He was a shadow of himself, and he was just aware enough to know it. No one should have to suffer like that, especially not someone who has given so much back to others.”
There’s something to that, Sharon knows.
But it’s a little too ready on his lips.
Just slightly rehearsed.
He’s justified this in his mind a thousand times already. He’s tried to come to terms with it, and that’s the explanation he tells himself every night as he tries to fall asleep.
“And the sizeable inheritance he left you didn’t mean anything?” she asks.
It’s not exactly unkind. There’s no malice, no cruelty.
But the honesty is stinging.
The young man reddens, and he seems to fumble for his answer. “I just -- I thought she wanted to help -- me, my dad,” he says, the words in a bit of a rush now. “We were drowning, we didn’t know what to do. And she agreed to help my dad if I helped her.”
This revelation is particularly curious. Sharon tips her head to the side. “She offered to kill him if you got her a job?”
She’s speaking bluntly now, but the worst of the shock has run its course. Eric nods. “Yeah, I mean, maybe she didn’t say it like that,” he says. “But yeah. And I thought, she’s helped my dad. She’s helped me. She’s a good nurse. I thought everyone would win.”
It’s painfully naive, in some ways, but Eric isn’t a child talking about a misguided recess notion. He believed Emily’s compassion, and he capitulated to her. Whether he cared for his father or just wanted the money, he’d had no idea.
He’d made mistakes, and part of Sharon wants to hold him to it.
Except she’d also made mistakes.
She’d hired Emily Novak.
She’d kept her on staff for months.
Even when Will Halstead had objected, she’d overruled him. She, too, was complicit in these deaths, and she could no more hold Eric to that than excuse herself.
Sighing, she drew herself to together once more. The accusations taste bitter now, and she’s nothing but tired. “I am going to have to turn you in.”
He looks bereft, the weight of the shock roiling over him again. “Am I going to jail?”
She shrugs, almost feeling helpless. “I have no idea,” she says. “But you did help murder your father.”
He inhales raggedly, but he nods and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, he looks haunted. “Did she really kill other people?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sharon tells him.
To his credit, he looks more crestfallen at the realization than all the rest. “I thought she was the best nurse,” he says quietly. “I swear. I thought she was the best.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to stay here, let the police come,” she says.
He nods. The things he’d been gathering sit vacantly now, and he looks about the room forlornly.
“For what it’s worth, she fooled a lot of people,” Sharon offers, this small modicum of sympathy. “And, as for jail time, I’m sure if you can provide strong corroborating evidence, the prosecution will be happy to work with you.
He hardly seems to hear her. “I didn’t know,” he says hollowly. “I promise. I didn’t know.”
She nods grimly. He’s an easy scapegoat, but Sharon can’t absolve herself any more than she can absolve him. “I know,” she says. “Though, I can’t say that has brought me any comfort yet.”
“I’ll make it right,” he vows, and Sharon believes him. “I promise.”
“That’s the best either of us can do,” she says. “Stay close.”
It’s easy to judge a man like that, someone who would willingly kill his own father and then recommend the murderous nurse to a local ED. But Sharon has to be careful. It’s easy to judge her, too. There, but for the grace of God, go any of them.
And Emily Novak, hopefully, will finally be brought to justice.
-o-
Eric stays.
Sharon goes.
Outside, she makes three phone calls.
First, she calls Ethan. She informs him of the drugs on Addison Trudeau’s private chart, which is far more robust than anything they’ve seen so far. It should give the lab something to test for, and it will hopefully get Ethan the treatment plan he needs to reverse Will’s condition.
Second, she calls Hank Voight. He’s still at the hospital, overseeing the investigation, but she tells him to come pick Eric up himself. He balks at leaving, but she promises him it’ll be worth his time and effort. Her word is good enough for him.
She’s not sure why, but she’ll take it for now.
The last call is to Gwen. Gwen has made her position marginally clear, and she has not been a difficulty so far. However, she knows that shock only last so long and grace only extends so far. Making it right sounds good when the moment is raw, but Sharon knows well enough the bottom line will matter.
She wants to make sure the priorities are in order. She might have taken that for granted before, but then, that’s who they hired a serial killer.
“I want to discuss how this is going to go,” Sharon says when Gwen takes the call.
Gwen sounds a little confused, though that’s part affectation, Sharon is sure. “What do you mean? Do you know something?”
“I know a lot of something, and I know a lot of it is our fault,” Sharon says. “And I’ll stick through this. I’ll see it through. I’ll be the face of this hospital. I’ll be its scapegoat, it’s focal point. I’ll take the hard interviews. I’ll be the one quoted on TV and in all the papers. I’ll do that for you, Gwen. For you and this hospital. But only under a certain set of conditions.”
This is a good offer Sharon is making, and Gwen isn’t stupid enough not to see it. “Okay,” she says, slow and cautious. “What are your terms?”
“The buck stops with us -- you and the board behind me,” Sharon says. “We do not throw Will Halstead or any other member of the ED under the bus for this incident.”
“But if there’s liability--”
“Then, it’s on us,” Sharon says flatly. “Will Halstead has told me for weeks now that there’s something off about Emily Novak. He thought it was her lack of attention to protocol, but I didn’t take him seriously. That’s a side of the story I can tell, if you like. Or you can give me what I want and I’ll spin this better.”
Gwen’s voice is tight when she speaks. “Okay.”
“We will compensate every victim’s family. It will be our team who reaches out to all of her patients first, whether or not they died or the manner of their deaths. We need to do that first, with some input from legal but not control, and we do it within the next day,” she says. “They hear it from us, not the cops.”
“Agreed,” Gwen says. “We can devote as many resources as necessary to make the calls, and I’ll see what we can do about creating a settlement. I think we should make offers even to those who weren’t negatively impacted.”
“Exactly,” Sharon says. “We will upset people if they think it’s possible they were touched by this, and it is best not to act surprised when it happens. We meet it, head on, and I will take input from legal -- and necessary budget constraints -- but I want control here.”
“I can do that,” Gwen says. “What else?”
“Will Halstead,” she says, her lips flattening once again. It’s a tired motion, one she feels in the weariness of her soul. “We are covering every cent of his care and recovery. And the offers we make the other victims? We make to him.”
“Of course,” Gwen says, and she actually manages not to sound like she’s gritting her teeth at the thought.
“Also, he’s no longer on probation,” Sharon says. “In fact, I’m thinking we might promote him to a senior attending.”
“That’s not a position that exists--”
“Well, it can be now,” Sharon says shortly. “We make the offer, and draw up the paperwork later.”
Gwen seems to go with this much better than Sharon expects. “That can be done.”
Sharon stops for this one, this last one, because she wants to make her position absolutely clear here. “And if he wants to sue, for any reason or any amount, I will be the first one to sign on to back up his case,” she says. “I’ll give him any testimony he needs.”
This time, Gwen seems taken aback. “Wait? You’d go against the hospital?”
She sounds concerned, but she’s missing the point.
Sharon scoffs to make it clearer still. “A hospital that hires serial killers?” she asks bitingly. “In a heartbeat.”
Gwen takes a breath audibly over the line, letting it out long and slow. “Part of me thinks you’re being unreasonable here, Sharon.”
Sharon arches a quizzical eyebrow. “Part of you?”
“Yes,” Gwen says. “But the other part of me knows you aren’t.”
“Well, as long as we understand each other,” Sharon says. “Then, I can get to work.”
“Then, by all means,” Gwen says. “I’d say don’t let me stop you, but somehow I doubt that would make any difference at all.”
Sharon smiles, a little grim, a little satisfied, as she hangs up the phone.
For once, Gwen does seem to understand her after all.
-o-
Then, Sharon goes to the police station. Usually, Voight and his Intelligence personnel make house calls to the hospital, but Sharon feels inclined to return the favor this time.
She makes a few pit stops first. One, to freshen up. Two, to cry to herself. Then, three, to freshen up again after crying. When she feels -- and looks -- moderately composed, she walks herself inside like she’s got all the business in the world being there. Trudy Platt is at the desk, greeting her with wide eyes. She engages in pleasantries, but Sharon roundly ignores the effort.
“Do you have Emily Novak here?” she asks instead.
Platt swallows a little bit, looking uncomfortable. “You know how it is with official business--”
Sharon doesn’t have enough patience for that, though. “Is Hank back yet?” she asks instead.
To this, Platt nods. “He just got back before you arrived. A witness in tow.”
“Well, I’d like to see him,” Sharon says.
“You know we’re awfully busy--”
“I’d like to see him,” Sharon says again with more finality. “Let him know I’m here.”
Platt gives her a slow, calculating look, but she makes the call. There’s a brief, hushed exchange, and Platt puts down the phone. She nods to the locked door, indicating that Sharon should go ahead. “You can go on up.”
-o-
Sharon climbs the stairs with the faintest sense of reticence. There’s part of her that knows she’s in over her head at the moment, but she’s the one who got herself in this position. She owes it to everyone -- including herself -- to work on a way of rectifying it all.
It’s controlled chaos upstairs, and it seems to be a case of all hands on deck. In all the activity, she’s surprised when Voight seeks her out and meets her at the door.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he comments. He doesn’t quite smile. The situation doesn’t warrant it.
Sharon doesn’t quite smile back. “Did you pick up Eric Trudeau?”
“I did,” Voight says. “I brought him in myself. I had to have a unit drive us because he was already talking.”
“Did he have lawyer?” she asks.
“No, and I offered several times,” Voight says. “Kid seems sincere.”
“Sincere, and naive, I’m afraid,” she says, shaking her head.
“He knows the role he played in this, and he wants to play a role in fixing it,” he says. “His testimony is going to be crucial in securing a conviction.”
Sharon nods along. “And what about Emily? Has she said anything?”
“Nothing useful,” Voight admits. “Her story is pretty consistent. I have the feeling she’s the type who buys into her own hype.”
“Well, we need more than Trudeau’s testimony,” Sharon explains. “I need a confession.”
“Okay,” Voight says, a small line appearing between his brows. “I mean, that is what we’re trying to do.”
“No, but I need it now,” Sharon clarifies. She glances around and lowers her voice. “Will Halstead is not doing well.”
“I’ve been told,” Voight says. “I’m not sure what you think we can do about it, though.”
“I think you can get her to confess,” Sharon says, matter of fact. “If she admits to trying to kill him -- along with all her other victims -- then she might be willing to tell us what she used to dose him. We’re doing what we can for him at Med, but without knowing the exact list of medications she used to put him in heart failure, we’re just making educated guesses.”
“I’m going to guess those are not nearly as useful in your line of work as they might be here,” Voight muses soberly.
“In this case, it’s not useful at all,” Sharon says. “I need to talk to her.”
She’s using invective, but Voight doesn’t look particularly swayed. “She’s sticking to her story. She’s not confessing to anything.”
Normally, Sharon likes to stay in her lane when dealing with other entities. She’s not about to tell Fire and PD how to run their affairs, but this is a gray area. With one of her own on the line, she’s sure that’s something Voight can at least appreciate. “That’s why we need pressure.”
Voight seems just somewhat bemused by her foray into his world. His lips twitch slightly despite the situation. “What did you have in mind exactly? Because we’ve played good cop/bad cop with her. She’s not cracking.”
“Psychologically speaking, she probably doesn’t even think she’s the bad guy here, at least not on a surface level,” Sharon says. “But she’s got too much confidence in her ability to cover her tracks. If she knows her story’s not impenetrable, then I think we might get her to cave.”
“I don’t disagree,” Voight says. “Your cop instincts aren’t bad here, but you still need the leverage.”
“And I just gave it to you,” Sharon points out. “The boyfriend rolled on her. You have uniforms bringing him in, don’t you?”
“I do,” he says. “But we haven’t processed him yet.”
“Then take my word for it. He’s going to cooperate, and he’s credible. Plus, he can put her away,” she says. “It’s a play she won’t see coming.”
“You think she’ll be heartbroken by betrayal?” Voight ventures.
“I think she’ll realize for the first time just how much we have on her,” Sharon says plainly. “I don’t think this girl loves this boy. He was far more invested in her then the other way around. She thought she had him all locked up, just like the rest of her victims.”
“You want to rattle her confidence,” Voight says as he nods.
“She’s been doing this too long. She’s got to feel invincible,” Sharon says. “Take that away, and we might see just how insecure she is.”
“And insecure people tend to panic,” Voight agrees. “It could work.”
“It has to work,” Sharon says. “And I want to be the one to do it.”
“Retribution?” Voight asks, and he’s not condemning the idea. He just sounds intrigued.
Sharon purses her lips. “More like redemption,” she says. “And I know what to ask to find the right information to save Dr. Halstead. I need to be in there because he doesn’t have a second to spare.”
Voight considers this, chewing his lower lip for a second. His eyes narrow momentarily, but he nods. “Okay,” he agrees. “You can go in with me. I’ll let you take the lead, but if something goes off the rails--”
She nods back, in full agreement. “Good,” she says. “Because I want this woman put away for good.”
“A lot of people have died because of her,” Voight says. “Let’s see if we can save at least one.”
-o-
Now, Sharon isn’t a stranger to the police department. She’s spent time here before, lending a hand with various investigations or city-wide safety initiatives. She’s given a few official statements for pending investigations, but it’s always been done with all due respect. Most of the time, she’s in Voight’s office or in a comfortable waiting room.
She’s observed a few interrogations, but this is the first time she’s been inside.
She’s not sure if that’s what makes her shudder.
Or if it’s the sight of her nurse, the one she hired, sitting across from her with her hands in cuffs. She doesn’t look scared. She doesn’t look guilty.
Instead, she tips her head to the side and appears to look genuinely curious. “Ms. Goodwin,” she says. “Have you explained to them just how crazy this is? They have to let me go. You know they have to let me go.”
Sharon feels like her limbs are turning to ice. Her stomach churns uncomfortable, and she forces herself to move across the room to sit across from her at the table. Voight lingers back by the door, visible but clearly giving her the lead. “Emily, I told you at the hospital. I know what you did. You deserve to be here.”
She looks crestfallen, her shoulders visibly fallen like Sharon has let her down. “But I’m a nurse. All I’ve ever done is care for patients.”
For a second, she feels a pang of pity for the cops who have had to interview her so far. It’s almost farcical until she recalls just how many people this woman could have killed. “Emily, why don’t we talk about that, then,” she suggests. She folds her hands primly in front of her and does her best not to flinch away. “We should discuss everything that’s happened.”
This diplomatic approach at least earns a nod. “I suppose,” she says. “But I’ve already told you everything I can. If you can’t see that I’m a loyal employee--”
Sharon holds up her hand to stop the impending diatribe of self importance. “Emily, please,” she says. “I’m just here so you understand the situation.”
“I understand it better than you think,” Emily says, and she looks just a little smug. “Ms. Goodwin, there’s no way I’m a murderer.”
“That’s not what your boyfriend says,” Sharon says.
This catches Emily momentarily off guard. “My boyfriend?”
“Eric Trudeau,” Sharon clarifies.
Her mouth opens for a moment, and she scoffs. “Is that what he told you? I’m not -- he was my patient’s son. We were close, sure--”
“He vouched for you,” Sharon reminds her. “He got you the job at Med.”
“Because he saw how much dedication I gave to his father,” Emily counters. “He just knows I’m a good nurse.”
“He knows you killed his father,” Sharon says, putting all her cards on the table. There’s no time to dither. She’ll call, right now.
Emily blinks, frozen for a moment. “What?”
“He’s in the next room,” Sharon says, nodding her head to the side. “He’s telling them everything, about how you offered to help his father end his misery. He’s turned over all the files.”
Emily is frowning now, her brows drawing together, She shakes her head. “I supported him and his father--”
“You killed him,” she says, simple and plain. “You saw that Eric was easy to manipulate, and you talked him into the plan. You killed him with the medications you changed until you had a fatal dose.”
“The man was suffering,” Emily objects, suddenly quite ardent. “When you pledge your life to the betterment of others, that kind of suffering is not acceptable. It’s intolerable.”
“And the massive inheritance involved didn’t have anything to do with it?” Sharon asks coyly.
“I didn’t take a cent,” Emily snaps. “All I asked for was a good job recommendation.”
“Murder for a recommendation?” Sharon presses.
Emily sits forward, eyes flashing. “Eric wouldn’t.”
“He is,” Sharon assures her. “And his testimony will get you convicted, whether you confess or not. The only suffering I’m here to talk about right now is your own.”
Emily face pales a little.
Sharon shrugs. “Serial killers rarely get anything except the worst convictions,” she says. “Illinois may not have the death penalty, but other states do. And you’ve lived a lot of places, Emily.”
She presses her lips together, her jaw tightening visibly.
“And even without the death penalty, that’s the rest of your life in prison,” Sharon says. “A small cell. For as long as you live. No hope of release. No ability to practice medicine. Suffering, Emily. The kind that haunts you.”
She inhales deeply through her nose. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re going away for this, one way or another,” she says. “But if you cooperate. If you help save one last life, it might help make your suffering a little less.”
Her eyes narrow. “Are you offering me a deal?”
“I’m a hospital administrator, not a cop or a lawyer,” Sharon points out. “I’m here on my own, but trust me when I say, you don’t want Will Halstead to die. Not with his brother on this police unit. Imagine how that will go for your case.”
She seems to think about that, the indecision suddenly apparent. She looks at Sharon.
Sharon inclines her head. “All this time you’ve focused on the suffering of others,” she says. “I’d start thinking about your own.”
Finally, she nods. “You need to know the drugs?” she asks.
Sharon’s heart seizes, but she manages to keep her composure. Behind her, she can feel Voight tensing. “Names and doses.”
“And you’ll tell them I’m not a monster?” Emily asks.
Sharon’s gut twists. She has to swallow a swell of nausea. “I’ll tell them you saved Will Halstaed.”
“And that’ll be enough?” Emily asks, her voice small.
“No, not even close,” Sharon tells her honestly. “But it’s a place to start.”
-o-
Emily tells her.
The drugs.
The doses.
It’s a larger cocktail than Sharon expects, but when she writes it down, it’s apparent why they’re having such a hard time stabilizing Will. With these drugs in his system, it’s remarkable he’s even still alive.
She leaves Emily in the room, the notes in hand. She looks at Voight, who is waiting outside. “Is any of that admissible?” she asks.
“We’ll make it work,” Voight assures her. “Now, let me do my job. You do yours, and make sure Will doesn’t die.”
Sharon tips her head in stolid agreement. “Sounds like a plan.”
-o-
Sharon sees herself out, and it’s just as well. With Emily’s would-be confession, there’s a whole new level of activity in the room, and the cops have plenty of work to do.
It’s just as well.
So does Sharon.
Outside, she pulls out her phone. The first call she makes is to Ethan Choi.
“Dr. Choi,” she says. “How is he?”
“Not good,’ Dr. Choi reports. “I think we’re going to lose him. I got another hit or two from the lab, but--”
“But it’s not close to enough,” Sharon concludes for him. “The good news is that I have the full list of drugs and their dosages.”
“Wait -- what?” Dr. Choi asks, sounding shocked. “But how?”
“I can explain the how later,” she says. “I’m going to text you a picture of the list right now. Do you think we’ll be in time?”
“If we know the drugs and the dosages, then we should be able to reverse them more effectively,” he says. “I mean, I can’t guarantee anything, but it might be enough.”
Sharon’s smile is grim and determined. “Get it started,” she orders. “I’ll be back soon.”
Because this isn’t the last step.
Sharon knows better than most that it’s just the first.
-o-
In medicine, it’s always a tossup if the news will be good or bad. Sometimes you get lucky; other times, luck is nowhere to be found.
And in this line of work, luck is relative. After all, Will getting attacked by a serial killer nurse? That’s pretty unlucky.
However, Ms. Goodwin finding the exact list of drugs to test for?
Well, as far as Ethan’s concerned, that’s the best luck he’s had all day.
He calls the lab and has them run a fresh round of tests, targeting the list Ms. Goodwin has sent over. In the meantime, he rapidly draws up the necessary medications to counter those drugs. As soon as he gets confirmation from the lab, he’ll start Will on a full and aggressive new course of treatment.
It’s not a guarantee, of course. Will’s condition has been unstable long enough that there may not be a quick fix. And some of the drugs listed could have long-term complications in the wrong dosages, and the necessary drugs to counteract the cocktail he’d been given could prove toxic in and of itself if it’s not monitored properly. Ethan knows it’s still a little bit of a long shot.
But, it’s a shot.
Five minutes ago, Ethan had been losing hope for even that much.
He checks his phone, but there’s still no word from the lab. The nurses are still gathering up his extensive drug request, and Ethan chews the inside of his lip anxiously. He used to be good at waiting; he’s less good at it now.
It takes too much effort to show up each day.
Everything else on top of that wears him thin.
Restless, he goes back inside. Will is still on the bed, sedated and intubated. He’s been changed into a gown, and the blankets have been arranged to give the appearance of repose, but they all know better.
Ethan knows that comfort in these situations is for the family, not for the patient.
He looks at Jay.
Still poised by his brother’s side, Jay doesn’t look back. Ethan doesn’t blame him. In fact, he wants to validate that guilt. He takes a breath and breaks the silence. “We’ve had a break,” he says. “Ms. Goodwin found out a list of likely drugs. I’ve got the lab running a confirmation on them now, but once we start to get results, we can start treating him.”
Jay looks to him, eyes widening in surprise. “She got the list? But how?”
Ethan can only shrug. “I don’t know,” he says. “And frankly, it doesn’t matter. We need to start doing something or Will’s not going to survive. His vitals are incredibly erratic as it is.”
Jay lets his gaze linger back on Will. “It’s stupid,” he muses. “I told him that everything was going to be fine. With the case, with his job. I said it was all going to be fine. He just had to wait and see.”
It’s a telling admission, one that shows just how little Ethan has been paying attention. Will had needed reassurance, and Ethan hadn’t even seen it.
“None of us knew, Jay,” Ethan says, as if that is some kind of explanation. “I still don’t even understand what happened. They’re saying Emily’s a serial killer? Our ED nurse. And no one saw it coming.”
Jay’s lips twist ruefully. “Will did,” he says. “I’m not sure he knew what he saw, but he saw it. He couldn’t let the damn thing go.”
Ethan has to look down, remembering how to breathe. All these months of recovery, and he still has to force himself to stand on his own two feet. “How many people did she trick? How many hospitals has she fleeced?”
Jay huffs. “A lot,” he says. “And she skipped town each time, slipping away. Ten years. Maybe more.”
Ethan steps forward, putting a gentle hand on Will’s wrist. “Then he’s saved lives. More than we can count.”
Jay looks at Ethan again. “And you think you can still save his?”
Ethan nods, resolute. “I’m going to do everything I can.”
It’s a promise to Jay. It’s a promise to Will.
It’s a promise, though, mostly to himself.
-o-
Confirmation doesn’t come as fast as Ethan wants it, but it’s better late than never.
It still counts.
It still matters.
Ethan draws up the orders, clears the room and hopes that much is true.
The first drugs are loaded into Will’s IV. Ethan ups his fluids to compensate, and he increases the rate on the ventilator just to be prepared. He watch Will, who remains passive through the ministrations. It’ll be some time before the results are evident one way or another.
“You can do it,” Ethan murmurs softly as the second round of drugs is prepared. “I believe you.”
He breathes in and finds himself holding it as he watches Will breathe.
“I believe in you,” he adds, because he knows it’s what Will has been looking for.
And it’s the only way either of them will be able to stand on their own two feet again.
-o-
It can be dramatic, sometimes. You shock a patient back. You plug a severed artery. You cut someone open in the field to relieve the pressure and save the life.
But sometimes -- most of the time -- it’s the small measures of success. Recovery is usually step by step, not all at once.
As a doctor, Ethan’s always known this. Patients want miracles; all he can offer is medicine.
As a person, Ethan knows it even more pointedly now. You can’t skip the steps. You can’t will your way to the outcome without putting in the work. It takes time for the body to respond. It takes time for the body to recover. It just takes time.
In this case, time is inevitable. When a toxic combination of drugs has been used, it can be difficult to disentangle each substance to target the necessary changes in the body’s function. Plus, results from medication are rarely one-and-done. The effects can change as the body processes the chemicals, and they can have unexpected, cumulative effects. Will has only been dosed a few hours ago. For most medications, the full effect is still being realized.
This makes it harder to counteract things. And even once the active chemicals have been neutralized, the body still needs time to respond.
So you have to wait. You have to be patient.
You have to sit idly and hope like hell for the best.
That’s not easy for doctors. They are inherently people of action, just by the very nature of what they do. Ethan likes to be careful and measured in his decisions, but making the hard choices is one thing. Waiting to see if you’re right or not -- well, that’s entirely another.
Even after all the interventions, Will’s life hangs by a thread. His organs still hover on the verge of shutdown, and his blood pressure is dangerously high while his oxygenation levels continue to dip and stabilize. His cardiac function is even more erratic, and the cardiac resident on call eventually calls for her attending because the irregular function is something she hasn’t seen before.
Ethan lets her. He knows it’s nothing she’s doing; he knows there’s nothing different the attending can do. Either the treatment will stabilize Will’s heart function or it won’t.
He’ll live, or he’ll die, plain and simple.
Except it’s a life on the line. And not just any life. It’s Will’s life. Someone who he has known for years, someone he has worked with, hung out with. Someone he’s come to depend on, and Ethan has to sit back and shrug away his fate.
Not indifferent.
Impotent.
Somehow, he imagines that feels worse. For him, anyway.
Will, unconscious like he is and sedated so completely, probably doesn’t feel anything. That’s the only way to let his body hang on, and Ethan’s always thought of it as a kindness. It doesn’t feel that way now.
He’s ignored Will for months.
Now, he’s literally pumping his body full of drugs and taking away what little autonomy he has left. Ethan knows he has a good reason, but it doesn’t always feel good enough.
Watching Will is bad enough.
Watching Jay by Will’s side is worse.
Jay’s no doctor. He doesn’t understand all the nuances, the ins and outs. All he knows is that his brother is fighting for his life, and all he can do is sit there, hold his hand, and hope that he’s not the last Halstead standing. Ethan knows he’s part of the reason Jay’s in this situation, and he can’t absolve himself of his responsibility here. It’s hard to stand next to Jay, knowing he could have stopped this.
If he’d listened to Will. If he’d just listened.
Riddled with guilt, Ethan keeps his vigil in the hall, checking in on Will only when necessary. He doesn’t want to disturb Jay, but he can’t bring himself to leave Will alone. Not when things are this precarious.
He thinks walking away will make it worse.
He just wishes that staying would make it better.
But some things you can’t make better. Some things you can’t fix.
Those are the things, Ethan knows from experience, you just have to hope you survive.
-o-
Just when Ethan thinks waiting is the worst part, Will crashes.
It’s not the worst part, then.
Ethan springs into action, calling for the crash cart while the nurse administers the epi and Ethan starts compressions.
It’s not even close to the worst part.
-o-
They get Will back quickly enough, but the weight of what’s just happened is heavy on all of them. There’s a crowd outside the room, and a stillness settles over the ED. Jay Halstead, war vet and one of CPD’s finest, stands pale and shellshocked outside the room.
For a second, just for a split second, Ethan meets Jay’s gaze.
There’s no anger now. There’s no accusation.
There’s just fear and desperation.
Ethan looks back at Will, with his sallow complexion and the tube strapped down around his mouth.
He can’t look at Jay again. He can’t look at Will.
For the first time in Ethan’s life, he runs away.
-o-
He doesn’t go far; just outside. He’s not trying to get away in any real sense, but he needs to take a moment. He needs to breathe, collect himself. He’s got to think. He’s got to prepare himself.
That’s it, really.
He needs to prepare himself for the inevitable.
He’s fought against the impossible for long enough. He refused to accept anything less than a full recovery for himself, and here he is. Barely standing on his own two feet, struggling to breathe in the street outside of Med.
All this fighting and not a hint of self awareness. Some things you can’t fight. Some things can’t be overcome. Maybe Ethan got lucky.
And maybe Will didn’t.
What if Ethan saved himself just to sacrifice Will? He would never have framed it like that, but that’s what he’s been doing. He’s focused so much on his own well being that he never let himself care about Will’s. For awhile, that had just been long hours and poor working conditions.
But now?
Now that Will might be dying?
It’s not figurative. It’s not hyperbole.
Ethan chose himself.
And Will’s paying the price for that blind selfishness.
Life’s not fair, and suffering is not a contest you can win. Ethan can try to run. Ethan can try to hide. Ethan can try to pretend all day long, but reality will force him to confront himself sooner or later.
He’s not sure why he’s still standing and Will isn’t, but this is what it is.
Ethan has to accept it first.
Then, he’ll do everything he can to change it.
-o-
This time, he doesn’t stay away. He’s inclined to think Jay might want space, but he knows that’s not what he needs. A time like this, all that’s happened, Ethan goes inside Will’s room and smiles.
He apologizes. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this is.”
Jay snorts with a reflex of indignity, but it fades quickly. He looks down and shakes his head. “The meds aren’t working?” he asks, and his voice is small.
Ethan sighs, stepping forward and closer to the bed. He doesn’t allow himself to linger on anything pointless. Instead, he looks at the monitor. Then, he pulls up Will’s chart on his iPad.
“Well, his O2 levels have climbed since we got him back, and they’ve actually been relatively stable and high since then,” Ethan reports, trying not to sound surprised. He gives the heart readout a closer look. “And honestly, his heart rhythm has been really improved. We’re starting to see some improved output and stabilization across the board.”
Jay shakes his head. He’s not a medical guy, and Ethan knows how these situations strain even the most patient of people. “But he should be getting better. We know what she gave him, right?”
“We do,” Ethan says. “But it’s not a simple process to reverse. The damage she did could be irreversible.”
Jay looks crestfallen for a moment.
Ethan quickly continues. “But it’s just likely to take some time. His body is going through a lot right now, and when you mix so many medications at once, even if they’re meant to be therapeutic like they are now, it’s just no guarantee what will happen. Most drugs are studied in isolation or with limited interactions. And in real world practice, we don’t usually see them mixed on this scale or in these dosages,” he says, and then he provides the needed bottom line. “It’s just going to take time to see how he responds, but I really am impressed with his cardiac improvement.”
He pauses, scanning through the latest readouts.
“Huh,” he muses.
Jay sits up with renewed concern. “Huh?”
“Oh,” Ethan says, his frown deepening. “It’s just -- we’re seeing marked improvements now.”
“Improvements?” Jay presses, moving anxiously to the edge of his seat.
“Yeah,” Ethan says. He nods at the screen and then glances at Will. “Liver function is up. And he’s making urine again.”
“So?” Jay prompts.
Ethan lets his gaze linger on Will a moment longer. “So, maybe his body is bouncing back,” he says. “This is the first sign of real improvement we’ve had.”
“But he just crashed, like, 30 minutes ago,” Jay reminds him. “You just restarted his heart.”
“I know, but these scans -- these results,” Ethan says. He puts the iPad down and nods. He’s not sure if he dares to hope -- for himself or for Jay. “It’s just looking better.”
“So it’s working?” Jay asks, almost eager.
“I’m not making promises,” Ethan says. But he shrugs a little, self deprecating and hesitant. “But it looks like it might be working.”
He looks at Will again, not letting himself smile.
But hope is powerful, pervasive.
“Might be?” Jay asks, and his eyes are fixed on Ethan.
Ethan pulls up a chair and sits down on the other side of Wil’s bed. “Might be,” he says, and he settles down to wait. “We’ll find out together.”
Will has been his right hand man all this time.
Ethan can return the favor this time.