Dirty Secrets

Part 55

What am I doing?

Lyla pushed through the revolving door into the lobby of St. Clair Hospital. She'd texted Packer at school and again while riding the bus but received no response.

Do they even let you have your phone in the ICU?

She realized that his phone was probably collateral damage of the brutal car wreck.

So deep in thought while waiting for the elevator, she wasn't immediately aware that a Catholic priest stood beside her. He smiled gently when their eyes met. She noticed that he was clutching a small Bible, a red ribbon protruding from the yellowed pages. It suddenly occurred to her that he was visiting the hospital to offer Last Rites. What if he had come to administer to Packer? Her heart sank.

When the elevator door opened she froze, overtaken by an urgent impulse to turn around and run like she was on fire. The priest gestured politely for her to enter. She was committed now. Both stepped into the elevator car and, when the priest pushed the button, she was alarmed to discover that their destination was the same floor. 

No. No. Please no.

She exhaled, deflated, depleted of oxygen and vitality, feeling like a shrunken version of herself.

"Don't let your heart be troubled," he said kindly. "Give your trouble to Him in prayer."

Barely able to breathe, she had no words. Her heart pounded, her lips were numb.

"Would you like to join me in prayer?"

She shook her head. "I'm good," she whispered.

"I know you are," he said softly. "Look to the Lord for strength." He patted her shoulder.

When the elevator stopped and the door opened, she and the priest were stunned by a thunderous round of applause in the ICU's typically sedate environment.

Nurses and techs spilled out of the unit, lining the walls while cheering for a small woman wearing scrubs and a surgical cap dragging her feet down the hallway past the elevators. She managed a weary, embarrassed grin on her way along the corridor.

"You rock, Doctor B," a nurse hollered.

Hesitantly, Lyla stepped into the hallway, the priest following. The congregation of nurses, physicians, and techs chattered excitedly amongst themselves as they returned to work. Beyond the gathering of healthcare workers, Lyla recognized Packer's mother through the open ICU doors. She noticed Lyla and strode out into the hallway, a broad smile masking the exhaustion on her face.

"It's... it's... I can't believe it," she said as she approached.

Lyla's brain faltered, unable to produce a response.

"It's like I'm dreaming. That surgeon, Doctor Beckman..." She covered her reddening face with her hand, scarcely able to catch her breath. "She had him in surgery through the night for nine hours. Nine hours. We didn't think we'd ever see our boy again."

Tears of relief spilled from her eyes. When she covered her mouth with her forearm, the gesture reminded Lyla of her mother.

"We were prepared to..." She couldn't finish her sentence. "Nine hours of brain surgery. They said it's nothing short of a miracle."

Until she felt the warm trails down her cheeks, Lyla didn't realize that she, too, was crying. "He's gonna be okay?"

"He's alive," his mom replied. "Thank God, he's alive."

As she watched the congregation part to allow the priest passage into the ICU, Lyla realized that he hadn't come to offer comfort to the dying, but instead, to bear witness to a resurrection.

A tall man in the ICU gestured to Packer's mom, waving her back into the critical care unit.

"I'll tell him you were here," she said. "It'll probably be a while until he's allowed visitors."

Lyla nodded, watching Packer's parents reunite in an emotional embrace. She paced slowly toward the elevator, her head swimming.

Brain surgery. Does that mean...?

DING. The elevator door opened. An empty car awaited. Lyla interpreted the antiseptic odor as a warning. As she took a step backward, her eyes went to the elevator ceiling. The door slid closed leaving her stranded in the hallway.

She was beckoned by a green exit sign a short distance down the corridor at a metal security door. She peered through the window in the door and, seeing the stairwell empty, shoved the push bar and shouldered open the heavy metal door. As she jogged down the first flight, the door slammed shut behind her, reverberating off the painted concrete block walls.

During her two-flight descent, the only echoey sounds were the soles of her shoes squeaking against the stair's rubber treads. When she reached the first floor, she pulled the door handle but the door wouldn't budge. She yanked again. The door remained sealed. She noticed a card reader mounted beside the door handle. Of course, she didn't have a key card. Her hammering on the door's thick surface failed to attract the attention of a rescuer so she decided to return to the second floor. 

She climbed the stairs and when she reached the landing, to her dismay, discovered that the second-floor door was also locked. Her anxiety ramped up.

People die trapped in stairwells. 

She heard a door slam a few floors above, followed by footsteps.

"Hey, I got stuck in here," she called.

She saw a thick hand gripping the handrail and the sleeve of a maintenance worker's uniform. The man turned the corner and stepped onto the landing one floor above her. It was the creepy janitor looking down at her with his dull black eyes occupying sockets in sallow skin.

"Ouroboros," he said with a sneer. "Look, girl. When we're finally together then you'll know." Keenan's words spilled from his cracked lips. He started down the stairs.

"Get away from me!" she shouted.

"Wear the ring." His tongue snaked from his mouth, unspooling.

She bolted down the stairs, desperately throwing herself against the door. She wrenched the door handle with all her might but it would not yield.

"Wear the ring, you little bitch," he growled, closing in on his trapped prey.

With her back against the door, she gasped, "Geno! Geno Bonatello! You don't belong here."

He straightened. A flicker of life transformed his dead eyes to a warm brown. He exhaled a mournful sigh, clutching the stair rail as though he'd just been shot in the back.

Lyla yelped when the door behind her pushed open, nearly knocking her down.

"Hey, sorry," said an orderly. "I didn't see you there." He held the door for her. "You coming out?"

She couldn't escape fast enough and, as she slipped out of her stairwell prison, she glanced over her shoulder and discovered that Geno had vanished.