Maddy's Floor Read online

As she finished, she grinned down at him. "That's the professional version. Now for my version. I'm not sure what brought you to my floor or why; however I take my responsibilities and my residents' care seriously. I will do everything I can to maintain a loving and peaceful state among the residents and staff. As harmony is a prime goal, those that find 'being nice' on a regular basis too challenging will be moved to a different floor immediately. This floor is for those who are interested in improving their quality of life for however long they have one to enjoy."

  His glare, had it been lasered, would have left her in tiny pieces strewn across the floor. Maddy didn't care. For the first time, the reality sank in. So what if the high and mighty Dr. Lenning had made her life hell before? This man was dying. He was incapable of getting up off that bed and attacking her again. His words would never have the same impact they'd had before, and knowing this was his last stop before death's door put the control firmly in her hands.

  She relaxed. She didn't need to fear him. She could sympathize with his situation.

  She could do that.

  It was a long way from compassion and love but it was equally far from fear and hate.

  For her, life was all about balance.

  She smiled at the silent patient and continued. "Your doctor, Dr. Paul Cunningham, will be here this afternoon. You know the drill. He'll review your information then make his way here to go over your treatment options with you."

  Shock lit his eyes. "What?"

  "Oh, didn't you know? My caseload is full. Dr. Cunningham, however, who has been reducing his load for the last year, has agreed to take on your case. He's a specialist of repute, as you well know. So you are in good hands."

  She stepped back, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients I must see." With a final nod in his direction, she repeated her greeting, this time with real feeling. "Welcome to The Haven."

  THURSDAY

  Halfway to work the next morning, a light misting rain started, soaking Maddy. Typical coastal weather – although technically Portland wasn't on the coast. What a day to decide she needed fresh air. Just as she resigned herself to getting drenched, a car honked and pulled up beside her. Maddy turned and recognized Gerard driving his charcoal beamer. She smiled with relief.

  As she slid into the front seat, her suit jacket started to steam and her hair started to curl. She clipped in her seatbelt. "What a mess."

  He pulled back into traffic, his movements sure and confident like the CEO he was. "You will walk."

  "I know," she said ruefully. "Most of the time, it's fine. Then there're days like today."

  He shot her an admiring glance. "Even soaking wet and imitating a duck, you're damned gorgeous."

  Maddy laughed. Gerard had been making backhanded compliments to her for years. She refused to take them seriously. It went against her personnel policy. Dating coworkers was bad business. Messy. She didn't do messy. "Thanks, I think."

  "I'll be sorting applications today to fill that bed as soon as possible."

  She frowned, a knot forming inside. She had no empty beds "What bed?"

  He frowned at her. "Didn't Dr. Cunningham call you?"

  Alarm triggered her nervous stomach, making it want to empty on the spot. "No. What did I miss?" Maddy pulled out her cell phone. She checked but there were no messages and no missed calls.

  She frowned. Dr. Cunningham was usually good at staying in touch as a professional courtesy. If something had happened to one of her patients, he'd have called her.

  "Jansen Svaar passed away last night."

  Maddy stared at him, uncomprehendingly. That wasn't possible. "What?"

  Gerard kept an eye on the traffic before darting a quick glance at her. "Apparently he died in his sleep. He was found by the nurse around three this morning."

  That didn't feel right. In fact, it felt incredibly wrong. She chewed on the inside of her lip as she turned the information over in her head. Jansen had not been on death's door. She knew that. She'd have known if anything were going on. In fact, she'd scanned his system two days ago, after that weird visitation that had scared her so badly. Everything had been fine. Strong and healthy.

  She didn't have all the answers to life and death. In fact, the more she learned, it seemed the less she knew. Particularly with energy work. And people died all the time - except, the last death on her floor had been eight months ago. Eight months was a long time for terminally ill patients. And she wouldn't have taken Jansen Svaar for the next candidate; far from it.

  Jansen shouldn't have died.

  And Dr. Cunningham should have informed her.

  Gerard pulled the car into the underground parking lot. Disturbed, Maddy strode with him to the elevators.

  "I'll speak with Dr. Miko. See what she has to say about his death." The in-house pathologist hated mysteries and could usually be counted on to come up with the answers Maddy wanted.

  He nodded. "Remember Maddy, people die. Especially here."

  Maddy tilted her lips slightly. She knew Jansen's bed would be filled within hours.

  She understood, although she didn't particularly like it.

  An hour later she closed the door to her office, relieved. She needed a few moments of peace…to adjust. A few minutes to mourn the loss of someone who'd been a joy to have on her floor. She couldn't believe how personally devastating she found Jansen's death. He'd been doing so well.

  A knock sounded on her door.

  "Come in," she called out, trying to compartmentalize her feelings and lock them down until she had space and time to sort through them.

  A tall imposing man stood in her doorway. "I'm looking for Dr. Madeleine Wagner."

  Maddy's gaze widened at the dignified stranger in her doorway. "Yes, that's me. What can I do for you?"

  He smiled, walked forward, held out his hand. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm Dr. Chandler of Madison House. I'd like to speak with you, if you have a couple minutes to spare."

  She stood up, smiling at one of the most respected surgeons and researchers on this side of the country. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Chandler. Please, have a seat." She motioned toward the seating arrangement out on the covered deck. The earlier rain had stopped, letting the sun peek out. "May I offer you some coffee?"

  At his surprised nod, she fussed at her machine for a few minutes, then picked up the two cups and joined him outside.

  She sat across from him. "Now, what can I do for you, Dr. Chandler?"

  ***

  Several files sat open on Gerard's desk, applications under consideration. Another bed had just opened up on Maddy's floor. Perfect. Who had money and who would be willing to pay handsomely for a chance to move up in life?

  His office phone rang. Damn, now what?

  "Hello. Oh, hi, John." Gerard rolled his eyes and sank deeper into his high-backed wing chair. "How are you doing?"

  "Getting impatient. When is my transfer going through?"

  "Soon. I haven't gotten the forms from your doctor yet. Being in a different facility means there's a mess of paperwork to complete."

  "If that's the only thing holding you up, I'll take care of it." John's tone made it clear there'd be hell to pay if his doctor didn't move on the issue – and fast.

  Gerard smirked. Better to have John target someone else for a change. "Go easy on him. He's probably swamped with work. And it's likely to be his nurse taking care of the paperwork. You may want to check before you snap at him."

  John's snort blasted through the phone. "Like hell. It'll get done today."

  Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose and did something he rarely did – he excused himself. "John, I'm rushing to a meeting. I'm sorry but I have to run."

  "Right. No problem. I have someone else to chase now. Have a good one."

  Gerard stared at the phone as he replaced it. Given a new target, John sounded positively perky. That man must have made his department hell for any lollygaggers. Still, he was off Gerard's tai
l for a bit. Thank God.

  Sandra walked into Gerard's office, a large stack of opened letters in her arms. "How bad is it today?" he asked.

  "It's an interesting mix. The bulk of them are applications, requests for applications and questions about The Haven, all of which are good things." She dropped the stack in front of him. "And they give me confidence that I'll still have a job at the end of the year."

  "Yeah," he growled, "but you may have to take a pay cut."

  "Not going to happen, so don't go there." She turned to leave. Before she reached the door she turned back as if she'd forgotten something. "Although, speaking of pay cuts and the employment issues in today's world, I thought I saw Dr. Chandler walking the halls this morning, heading upstairs."

  Gerard glanced up at her, his mind already immersed in the morning's mail. "Who?"

  "Dr. Chandler. You know the physician with that leading-edge-technology-stuff from Madison House."

  Gerard's eyes widened. "What?"

  She looked over her glasses at him and frowned. "Is that a big deal?" The glint in her eyes said she knew it was.

  He pushed his chair back and stood. "Do you know why he was here or where he was going?"

  "Nope. Haven't a clue." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and walked toward the door again.

  Jesus, Sandra had been here since forever. Nothing much happened here she didn't know. Damn it. He sat back down and tried to refocus on the morning mail. He didn't see the words on the page. What the hell would the head of the most expensive, most prestigious hospital want with anyone upstairs?

  Upstairs? His head snapped up.

  Maddy.

  Oh, Christ.

  ***

  Drew pulled his scratchpad closer. He had several pages full of notes so far, but he was a long way from done. He hadn't been able to resist a closer look at the kids' cases – on his own time. Wilson had explained that wall was a reminder page, a memorial so to speak, rather than a current case.

  He remembered more the deeper he delved into the case. His uncle had spoken about the raging argument among the members of his department as to whether it was a criminal case – or a case at all. He couldn't resist trying to find out. The mystery behind it was addictive. He'd stayed late last night to catch up on the details.

  In all six cases, the cause of death had been listed as inconclusive. No evidence left behind and no links between the children – none that anyone had found, at least. He picked up the folder and flicked through old detectives' notes, results and timelines. The first victim, Sissy Colburn, had been sitting at her kitchen table doing homework when she'd fallen to the floor dead. The last victim, Stephen Hansen, was found in the backyard of his home, fully dressed, backpack hanging off one shoulder and a half a chocolate bar in his hand. Dead. As if his last breath had just left his body and he'd collapsed on the spot.

  Odd. For some unknown reason, all six healthy kids had just dropped dead, under what seemed ordinary circumstances.

  Even odder was the tiny bruise on the base of the spine on all six kids. The doctors had no explanation, the autopsy hadn't shown a cause for them, and none of the parents knew anything that would indicate how each bruise had occurred.

  The intriguing thing was that each victim had the same bruise. Six victims within a four-month span of time. No similar cases could be found before or after, according to Wilson's research.

  He studied the old photos. The bruises looked insignificant, like an everyday small bruise.

  The hairs on the back of his head rose. Spooky stuff.

  Could he contribute anything to the case? Was there anything, any evidence that could be processed again with today's technology?

  He set the boxes, four of them, off to one side and sorted through the swabs and clothing samples. It took the rest of the afternoon to determine that the detectives on the case had been thorough. Their notes spoke of their frustration with the lack of evidence.

  Many cops expressed their doubts that a crime had even occurred, suggesting these were medical deaths – sad, but not their problem.

  Then there was the evidence box full of diaries. Small, feminine diaries chronicled the years prior and the twenty years after the death of Darcy Durnham, the second victim of the six. According to Wilson, the father, Scott Durnham, had started dropping the diaries off a good ten years ago after the writer, Darcy's mother, passed away, in the hopes the police could find something helpful in them. Wilson had put them in order to find that there was no diary for the period covering Darcy's death. He'd expressed doubts that it had existed, but Drew figured it probably just hadn't shown up yet. Compulsive writing like Darcy's mother had demonstrated with her diaries rarely stopped one day to the next…and started again just as abruptly.

  Scott showed up once in a while through the years when he found another one in the house. As always, it was logged in and added to the pile. So far, Wilson hadn't found anything of value in them.

  Now it was Drew's turn.

  Not an easy job.

  ***

  Bed 232 smiled. No, not bed 232, she'd be Sissy today. She did feel so much better. She shifted slightly in bed. Mornings were always better. 'Good drugs,' the docs would say.

  The long-term care aide stepped up to her bedside. "How are you feeling, my dear?" Bending over, she searched Sissy's gaze for a long moment as if trying to see who she really was. Satisfied, she pulled back with a decisive nod. "My goodness, Sissy, your color is so much better today. You're positively blushing. Is this a special day for you?"

  Sissy eyed her slyly. "Maybe. One never can tell. I'd like to have breakfast out of bed this morning."

  "Well, you certainly do look nice today. That's great that you are feeling well enough to get dressed. Shall we choose something special to wear? And how about your makeup, would you like some lipstick on today?" The aide bounced around the room, chattering happily and pulling out various pieces of clothing. "Let's try the pink sweater, and if you're feeling up to it, how about slacks?"

  Sissy gave a graceful nod in thanks. "Pants and a sweater sound lovely, and maybe the Summer Blush lipstick to match."

  Collecting the clothing, the aide walked over and laid everything on the bed. "Here we go."

  With a fat smile, Sissy said, "Thanks." It had been awhile since she'd been in such good spirits. There was nothing like getting out of bed first thing in the morning to make life brighter and the day more positive. She could get used to this.

  Of course, the buzz of excitement helped.

  A new bed on Dr. Maddy's floor had opened. A flurry of excitement drifted through Sissy's ward. She sniffed. Like any of the old biddies in her ward had a chance at that rare lottery. She watched and listened as they all dreamed about moving up to that floor. As if that would change their lives. They weren't doing anything to help themselves. Hadn't they understood this whole concept? A bed had opened up because someone had died. Died. As in people died upstairs just as easily as downstairs. Stupid twits. Didn't they think at all?

  A transfer upstairs for them would be a waste.

  They weren't like her. She needed to do some serious thinking about the next step in her healing process. Sometimes, the days went by so fast, she had trouble keeping up. Probably her medication. Her old doctor had kept her so drugged out, no wonder she'd had trouble adjusting to the world around her.

  It was his fault, not hers.

  But he'd paid for that one.

  ***

  Adam Lenning lay still, frozen in his bed as the first morning light warmed his corner of the world. The nurses hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. He'd closed his eyes to appear asleep. It had fooled them but there was no fooling himself.

  He had seen something…wrong. Horribly wrong.

  Yet, he couldn't say exactly what he'd seen.

  The patient in the next bed had died last night. Adam knew the exact time. He'd been woken in the night by the cold. After growing up in Alaska, he understood cold. This part of Or
egon did get chilly, except it was late summer, not the dead of winter. Last night, well, he'd have sworn the temperature on the floor was below freezing. Surely the furnace had quit unexpectedly? Although, given the time of year, there shouldn't have been the need for it in the first place. This eluded logic.

  He'd tried to snag the blanket at the foot of his bed to spread it over himself, only the shivers that wracked his frame had made that virtually impossible. It's when he'd been lying there, shivering, that he'd noticed the shadows through the curtains surrounding Jansen's bed at the end of the open area.

  Unlike the rest of The Haven, where you could barely walk for the people, Maddy's floor wasn't crowded. This floor didn't have private rooms, but each person had privacy through partial walls and curtains, making the areas individual, homey, yet accessible in an emergency.