Chapter 24

            Broots hesitated outside Miss Parker’s door.  From numerous sources he’d heard that she’d come to work today, but he had not heard from her directly.  That was strange.  She usually called him several times a day either to order him to do something or to berate him for not doing something or for doing something wrong.  But today?  Nothing.

            When he’d heard this morning that she’d actually been seen arriving at the Centre, he’d been momentarily encouraged by the thought that his visit to her house yesterday might have motivated her to snap out of her depression.  But as the hours had gone by and he’d had no direct contact with her or heard any reports of her being seen even leaving her office, he’d reluctantly concluded that she’d just replaced one brooding ground with another.  She’d probably only come to work to prevent him from turning up on her doorstep again.

            Well, too bad.  Like it or not, he was going to keep showing up wherever and whenever he thought she needed him.  He’d been bogged down with a particularly stubborn computer virus all day or he would have checked on her sooner.  He looked around the deserted corridor.  Most of the Centre’s regular employees had already left for the weekend, but Broots knew he couldn’t go home until he’d made sure Miss Parker was alright.

            He eyed her door nervously.  He knew she wasn’t alright, of course she wasn’t alright, she hadn’t been alright since Jarod died.  If she was in there drinking, like he suspected, what was he going to do?  Walk her to her car in the parking garage?  Offer to drive her home if she was too drunk to get behind the wheel?

            He grimaced.  He didn’t relish the idea of trying to take her keys away from her.  Maybe he should go get a cup of coffee from the break room and take it to her.  Then he could stay with her while she sobered up.  His visit to her house yesterday hadn’t gone badly; there’d even been a moment or two when he’d thought she’d actually seemed grateful for his company. 

            So maybe he shouldn’t push his luck.  Maybe he should respect her obvious wish to be alone.  If she drank so much that she passed out on her couch, it might be best to just let her sleep it off.

            Broots started to walk away but stopped after he’d taken only a few steps.  What kind of friend was he?  He couldn’t just leave her alone in there with a bottle of Scotch as her only comfort, could he? 

            He wished he could ask Sydney for advice, but he was struggling with his own grief.  Even though Sydney had never admitted it, Broots knew that Jarod had been like a son to him.  It would take him a long time to work through the feelings of loss and guilt he was no doubt experiencing.

            Broots could not claim to have had any close relationship with Jarod, but he still felt the loss of the Pretender and also had his share of regret.  Yes, there had been times when the challenge of pitting his own intelligence against the intellect of a genius had been a thrill, but he’d never wanted to see Jarod hurt.  He’d never really believed that Jarod would be caught, had assumed he was invincible like… well, like a superhero.  Jarod was a legend at the Centre, but it was his selfless actions he’d taken in the outside world that had made him a true hero in Broots’ eyes.  Jarod had been the perfect Superman with Lyle as a convincing Lex Luthor, but Broots didn’t like to think of himself as one of the bad guy’s minions.  It was a role he’d been forced to play.  At least Sydney had managed to help Jarod on several occasions, in covert defiance of the Centre’s wishes, and even before recent events, Miss Parker had looked the other way more than once to allow Jarod to escape.  She’d often declared her belief that Jarod lived to torment her, but she also had a soft spot when it came to her old childhood friend. 

            And many unresolved feelings about the man that boy had become.  Broots didn’t need Sydney’s observational skills to know that Miss Parker had cared more deeply about Jarod than she’d ever let on, maybe even to herself.  Her current state of despair was proof of just how much he’d meant to her.

            As usual, Broots shied away from the thought of Miss Parker and Jarod in a relationship then instantly felt ashamed.  Was he actually jealous of a dead man?   

            Well…yes.  Yes, he was.  Miss Parker had told him once in no uncertain terms that the two of them would never be more than friends, but Broots couldn’t make himself stop wishing that one day she’d feel something more for him.  He’d known that dream was impossible with a man like Jarod as competition, but now with him gone for good…

            Broots realized he was pacing in front of Miss Parker’s door.  If she came out now and found him loitering outside her office, something she hated…

            He should just go home.

            No.  No, he was her friend, and right now she needed him.  He couldn’t leave her alone.

            Broots squared his shoulders, pushed open her office door, and poked his head inside.  “Miss Parker?”

            She wasn’t at her desk.

            She also wasn’t alone.

            Broots heard a noise from the left side of the room and looked that way just in time to see Lyle turn towards him, an angry flush on his face.  “She’s drunk,” he said disgustedly.  “You deal with her.”  He strode quickly from the room, brushing roughly past Broots who still hovered indecisively in the doorway.

            Until he saw Miss Parker lying on the sofa, a sight which sent him hurrying to her side.  “Miss Parker!” 

            There was no response.  Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes a stark contrast to her pale cheeks.  As he stared down at her still form, he felt an icy fist of dread clench around his heart.  “Miss Parker, can you hear me?”  His fingers fumbled for her wrist to – oh, God, please – feel for a pulse.

            When he touched her she stirred slightly and let out a quiet groan.  “Miss Parker,” he breathed in relief.  “Are you alright?” 

            She didn’t answer but slowly opened her eyes, as if it required a great effort.  Her unfocused gaze went past him, directed vaguely at the ceiling.

            Broots squeezed her hand, fresh alarm gripping him as he felt the clamminess of her skin.  “Don’t worry, Miss Parker, everything’s going to be okay,” he said.  He let go to pull out his cell phone but didn’t leave her side as he called for help.

            “This is Sydney.”

            “Sydney!  Where are you?”

            “At home, Broots.  Is something the matter?”

            Broots ignored Sydney’s slightly skeptical tone.  “It’s Miss Parker!  I don’t know if you know she came to work today, but she stayed in her office the whole time, so I thought I’d better check on her before I went home even if she didn’t want to see anyone.  I mean, I had a feeling she was drinking again, and sure enough, she’d in bad shape…”  He stopped to gulp air.

            Sydney said wearily, “Unfortunately, some people choose to numb their pain with alcohol.  If that’s the way Miss Parker deals with her grief, there’s not much we can do.  She has to move through the process in her own way and in her own time.”

            Broots let some of his impatience show.  “I know she’s trying to drown her sorrows, Sydney, that’s not the problem!  She’s really out of it, and I’m afraid it’s not just the Scotch making her this way.  When I came into her office, Lyle was here!”

            “Lyle?”  Now Sydney sounded worried.  “What was he doing there?”

            “I don’t know!  Miss Parker is lying on the couch, and I think Lyle was leaning over her.  When he saw me, he said something about her being drunk then ran out of here!”

            “How is Miss Parker?”

            “Well, she’s awake...sort of.  At first, she was unconscious, and for a minute I thought…”  Broots swallowed hard.  “But then she sort of moaned and opened her eyes.  She’s not focusing on anything, though.  Oh, Sydney, what if Lyle injected her with another virus?  Without Jarod to find an antidote…”

            “Listen to me, Broots,” Sydney said sharply.  “I want you to take Miss Parker to the hospital right now.”

            “B-but what about the infirmary?  She might need help right away.”

            “What she needs is to have some tests run at a facility independent from the Centre where Lyle can’t tamper with the results!  Take her to Mercy Hospital.  I’ll meet you there.”

            “Well, if you’re sure…”

            “Go, Broots!”  Sydney hung up.

            Broots pocketed his cell and stared down at Miss Parker, using a few precious seconds to take a deep breath and try to quell his rising panic.  He hated seeing her like this, so vulnerable, so… in need of a hero.

            And he was all she had.

            You can do this, Broots, he told himself firmly.  Miss Parker needs you.  Don’t let her down!

            Two hours later he feared he’d done just that.

            He was seriously regretting the decision to take her to the hospital.  The Centre infirmary was not a nice place, but at least there she would be given VIP treatment.  Here, in the hospital emergency room on a Friday night, Miss Parker was just another nameless patient.  After spending an interminable amount of time in a crowded waiting room where the air conditioning was no match for a mass of sweating bodies in distress, Broots had found himself thinking fondly of the shadowy and pleasantly cool corridors of the Centre.  He’d vainly attempted to keep Miss Parker awake by prattling on and on about the computer virus he’d been battling all day (which probably just drove her deeper into a stupor), but by the time she’d been finally called back, she was barely conscious and needed a wheelchair.  Broots had insisted that Miss Parker was not just drunk and needed to be tested for unknown toxins, but he could tell that his message was not getting across.  When the doctor had finally come in, he’d repeated the need for a full blood panel, but he’d been kicked out so that Miss Parker could be examined.

            After being assured by the nurse that someone would come get him as soon as his friend was ready for visitors again, Broots had reluctantly returned to the main waiting area.  He would rather have stayed back in the relatively quiet and marginally cooler inner sanctum, but he needed to keep an eye out for Sydney.

            Who still had not arrived an hour later.  Broots checked his watch for the umpteenth time (there was no clock on the wall, probably so the miserable patients were not reminded of how long they were being kept waiting) and fretted over his colleague’s continued absence.  Repeated attempts to reach Sydney on his cell had failed; all calls went directly to voice mail.  Where was he?  Sydney lived on the far side of town, but he should have been here by now.  Unless he’d been in an accident.  What if he’d been drinking when Broots had called him and should not have gotten behind the wheel but did so out of concern for Miss Parker? 

            Stop.  Breathe.

            Broots had lost count of the number of times he’d issued these commands to himself in the last hour.  All he knew was that it was getting harder and harder to take calming breaths in a stifling room crowded with miserable people.  Without Miss Parker at his side as a distraction, Broots had become all too aware of the sights and sounds of the summertime mishaps surrounding him.  By this time he felt like he knew the sad tale of every person in this cramped room.

            There was the teenage boy with the head laceration who slumped in his chair, sulking while his mother went on and on about she couldn’t understand his decision to dive into a shallow pond when they had a perfectly wonderful pool right in their own back yard.  Just because his friends thought it was cool to swim in some murky water back in the woods didn’t mean he had to do it!

            A little girl with skinned knees and elbows was huddled in the hard plastic chair between her parents who were arguing about whose responsibility it had been to make sure she wore her helmet when riding her bike.  Dad kept insisting she was fine and this trip to the hospital was a waste of time (Broots bet he was the one who’d forgotten to make her wear the helmet), while Mom declared she wasn’t leaving until her daughter had been examined to check for a head injury.  The child looked on the verge of tears but Broots noted with admiration that she hadn’t shed a single one.

            An older man in the far corner tried to doze, but his anxious wife kept waking him up to yell at him for being such a fool and mowing the grass in this heat!  Broots thought the poor man looked a little flushed but doubted he was suffering from actual heat stroke.

            The most recent addition to this gloomy gathering was a hefty boy who was clutching a basin.  He hadn’t actually vomited since he’d arrived fifteen minutes ago, but his face was turning a sickly green color as his mother berated him for eating all that junk food at the carnival.  As she listed each and every fatty or sugary item he’d ingested, Broots started to feel a little queasy, too.

            A couple of walk-ins – a boy with numerous bee stings and an elderly woman who’d been bleeding profusely from a cut to her hand – had been taken back immediately, and Broots couldn’t decide if they were the lucky ones.

            He felt a tug on his pants leg.  “Hey, mithter.”  A small boy with his two front teeth missing – not from any injury Broots could see - was trying to get his attention.  “Whath wrong with you?”

            “N-nothing.”  Broots picked nervously at the collar of his tee shirt.  “I’m just waiting for someone.”

            The child studied him doubtfully, and Broots wondered if being in such close proximity with the sick and injured made him look like he needed medical attention, too.  He did feel flushed but figured that was due to the woefully inadequate air conditioning and not the early symptoms of some fast-acting virus.  A woman in the row of seats across from Broots said sharply, “Tommy!” and the boy wandered back to her and a teenage girl with a bad sunburn who hadn’t stopped texting on her cell phone since the trio had come in about thirty minutes ago.

            Broots surreptitiously took his pulse.  Slightly elevated, which was normal for him.  He tried his breathing exercises again but the little boy’s innocent question had him feeling more wretched than ever.  Which made him worry about how Miss Parker was doing.  What if Lyle had infected her again with some mysterious illness?  Broots hoped that the doctor had listened to him and ordered a full battery of blood tests to check for anything out of the ordinary.  Again he found himself wishing he’d taken Miss Parker to the Centre infirmary.  At least there he could hack into the medical records and find out what was wrong with her.  He could do the same thing here, if only he had his laptop… 

He eyed the nurses he could see bustling around on the other side of the glass partition of the reception desk.  Why hadn’t anyone come to get him?  He didn’t like the idea of Miss Parker being alone back there, trapped in an uncomfortable bed behind a faded, neutral-colored curtain.  He wished he had the guts to go up to the desk and ask if he could join her, but he had a feeling he’d get a better response if he had back-up in the form of the distinguished Dr. Sydney Green.  Even then, they might be denied access to Miss Parker because they weren’t family.

            Should he call her father?  No, Sydney thought it was better not to involve the Centre.  Informing Mr. Parker that his daughter was in the hospital would definitely get the Centre involved.  And that might bring Lyle, and who knew what further trouble he might cause?

            But what if Miss Parker’s condition was serious?  What if she…?

            Broots felt a fresh wave of panic wash over him as he refused to finish that thought. Maybe he should wait for Sydney outside.  He’d hoped that paying attention to the problems of other people might take his mind off his own predicament, but the misery all around him was making his own thoughts take a morbid turn.  He needed to get out of this room.

            Broots stood up and headed for the exit.  He was almost at the door when he heard “Broots!”

            He spun around, surprised to see Sydney approaching him from the interior of the emergency department.  “Sydney!  W-where did –?”

            “I came in through the main entrance of the hospital.”  Sydney took him by the arm.  “Come on, we need to talk.”

            Oh, that didn’t sound good.  As eager as he was to leave this waiting room, Broots’ feet dragged as he followed his colleague back to the inner sanctum; something in Sydney’s voice filled him with dread.  “I- I don’t know what’s going on with Miss Parker,” he said, feeling the need to speak first.  “It’s been a whole hour since I saw her, so-”

            “She’s being kept overnight for observation,” Sydney said.  “They’re just waiting for a bed to be ready before they move her upstairs.”

            Observation?  Broots started to relax.  That sounded like just a precaution, which had to mean Miss Parker was going to be okay.  Right?

            So why was Sydney pulling him to the side of the hallway and looking so serious?

            “The head E.R. nurse here runs a free clinic where I volunteer from time to time,” Sydney said.  “I told her Miss Parker was my patient and she filled me in on her condition.”

            He hadn’t known about any pro bono work Sydney did outside the Centre, but Broots filed that interesting fact away for the future; right now the only thing that mattered was how Sydney used his connections at this hospital to help Miss Parker.  “Oh, good,” he said weakly.  “Um.  What is her condition?  What did the tests show?”

            “Well, no mysterious toxin or exotic pathogen.”

            Broots let out the breath he’d been holding.  So Lyle hadn’t injected her with another virus.  

            “The blood tests did, however, come back positive for something that shouldn’t be in her system.”  Sydney looked at him gravely.  “Rohypnol.”

Broots wasn’t sure he’d heard Sydney correctly.  With all the beeping of machines and call buttons, as well as the ringing of telephones and the moaning of a patient on a stretcher a short distance away… “Rohypnol?” he repeated.  “But that…that’s the…”

            Sydney nodded.  “More commonly known as the ‘date rape drug’.”

            That didn’t make any sense.  “But if Lyle gave that to her, that means that he… he… But, but he’s her brother!”

            Sydney folded his arms in what seemed to be his attempt to maintain his professional demeanor.  “And a much more disturbed individual than we ever realized,” he said grimly.

            Broots felt like he was going to be sick.  He slumped sideways against the wall.

            Sydney reached out an arm to steady him.  “Take it easy, Broots,” he said.  “Slow, even breaths.”

            Broots dutifully concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.  When he felt like he was standing on steady ground again, he swallowed hard before managing to ask, “D-did, did Lyle…?”

            “A physical examination showed no signs of assault,” Sydney said.

            The feeling of relief was overwhelming.  Broots’ legs gave way and he slid down the wall, his bottom hitting the cold tile floor.  He pulled his knees up to his chest.  “Thank God,” he breathed.

            Sydney squatted beside him, waving away a passing nurse who had veered in their direction.  “Listen to me, Broots,” he said.  “You must have interrupted Lyle before he could do whatever he was planning. It’s thanks to you,” he added with intensity, “that Miss Parker is safe.”

            Broots appreciated the compliment but didn’t feel particularly heroic collapsed in a quivering heap here on the floor of the hospital.  He could imagine what Miss Parker would have said if she’d seen his unmanly swoon.  “Miss Parker!” he exclaimed.  “She shouldn’t be alone right now, not after hearing what Lyle did.”  He struggled to rise.

            Sydney helped him to his feet but stopped him from heading for her cubicle.  “She doesn’t know yet, Broots.  She was already unconscious by the time the test results came back.  She’ll probably be asleep for several more hours until the drug wears off.  They’re giving her I.V. fluids to keep her hydrated and hopefully flush the Rohypnol out of her system faster.  They should release her in the morning but not until they’re sure she’s free of the drug’s effects.”

            “Oh.  Good.”  Then Broots had an uncomfortable thought.  “Sydney, are the police going to have to be notified about this?  I know the Centre frowns on involving the authorities in its business, but in this case… I mean, maybe it would be best if Lyle’s actions were reported.”  He gave in to a flare of anger.  “He’s gotten away with far too much for far too long!”

            “I agree, Broots, but we have no proof that he drugged Miss Parker,” Sydney said wearily.  “Hopefully, the Triumverate will soon take care of Lyle once and for all.”

            Broots knew it was wrong to hope for someone to be abducted, dragged to a foreign country, and tortured, but when that someone was Lyle… well, his conscience was clear.  Then he had another uncomfortable thought.  “Um, Sydney?  What if the hospital already called the police when Miss Parker tested positive for Rohypnol?  I wasn’t totally…um, truthful when I brought her in.  She didn’t have any identification on her, and since I don’t even know her first name, I made one up.  Missy.  Original, huh?  Anyway, I said I ran into her outside a local bar – um, I said we were co-workers but not real close or anything – and since she was acting strangely, I thought I should bring her here.”  He paused for breath and realized how suspicious his story sounded.  Maybe that was the reason the nurses hadn’t let him return to Miss Parker’s side; they didn’t trust him!  “W-what if they think I gave M-miss Parker the Rohypnol?”  He looked around wildly, half-expecting to see a contingent of cops bearing down on him.

“Relax, Broots,” Sydney said.  “I told you that I’m acquainted with the head nurse here.  I explained to her that Miss Parker is my patient in treatment for alcohol and drug abuse.  She believes that the Rohypnol was self-administered.”

            “Oh… okay.  Good, good, that’s good.”  Broots realized he was nodding repeatedly and stopped.  He tucked his hands under his armpits and tried to literally get ahold of himself.  “So, um… Miss Parker is going to be okay?”

            “She’ll be just fine.  She likely won’t have any memory of tonight’s events, but once she’s slept for a few hours, she’ll wake up feeling much better.  Maybe with a bit of a hangover, but unfortunately, she’s probably used to those by now.”

            “Well, I’m going to stay here tonight,” Broots declared.  “I don’t care if they try to kick me out, I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Are you sure?  That’s really not necessary.  Miss Parker should be safe here.”

            “I’m sure.  Debbie’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight, so I don’t need to be at home.  And it is necessary,” he added firmly.  “Miss Parker shouldn’t be alone, especially not when she wakes up.” He paused.  “She doesn’t need to hear what happened from a total stranger.”

            “I know.  I’m planning to tell her myself,” Sydney said.

            “Oh.  Good.  I’ll be here when you do.” Broots could imagine her reaction.  It was not going to be pretty.  “She’s not going to be… um, happy about this, you know.  You might need some back-up.” 

            Sydney smiled slightly.  “You’re a good friend, Broots.  Miss Parker is lucky to have you in her life.”

            Broots wondered when she’d realize that.