Coma

“Christ,” said Susan, shaking her head and closing her eyes tightly. As her eyes closed, the tears overflowed from her lids, running down her cheeks in profusion. There was no doubt that the photograph was authentic.

Footsteps in the hall made Susan suddenly alert, and she pushed herself up onto her feet. The footsteps passed her room and receded down the hall. Susan staggered into her bedroom and rebolted the door. Turning, she scanned her room. Everything seemed undisturbed. Then she realized she felt wet. With her hand she felt herself and couldn’t believe it. She had urinated in her panic.

The confusion began to metamorphose into analytical thought, and the thought brought the tears rapidly in check. There had been a host of unexplained episodes in the last couple of days, but one thing began to take definite form in Susan’s consciousness. She was now more sure than ever that she had stumbled onto something, something big, something strange.

Looking into the mirror, Susan assayed the damage. Her left eyelids were slightly swollen and might turn into a black eye. Her left cheek sported a contused area about the size of a quarter, and her left lower lip was swollen and tender. By pulling her lip out gently and looking into the mirror Susan could see that she had a two- or three-millimeter laceration on the inside surface. It had been crushed against her lower teeth when she had been struck. The small amount of blood in the corner of her mouth came away easily, improving her appearance tremendously, Susan decided she was not going to overreact to the latest episode. She also decided that despite Chapman’s pleas she was not ready to give up completely. She had a competitive spirit and, although it was deeply buried by years of stereotypical conditioning, it was very strong. Susan had never been challenged in an equivalent capacity before. Never had the potential stakes been so high. But she was also aware of two realities: she had to be extraordinarily careful from then on, and she had to work fast.

Susan got into the shower, turning on the water as hard as it would go.

She let it crash down on her head while she slowly rotated. She cupped her hands over her breasts to protect them from the needlelike jets of water. The effect was soothing and it gave her time to think. She thought about calling Bellows but decided against it. Their embryonic intimacy would make it difficult for Bellows to react to the information objectively. He’d probably respond in some idiotic male overprotective fashion. What she needed was a mind with the perspective to challenge her deductions. Then she thought about Stark. He had not been overly influenced by her lowly position as a medical student or by her sex.

Besides, his astonishing grasp of medical and business matters was immediately apparent. Above all, he was maturely rational and could be counted on to be objective.

Once out of the shower, Susan wrapped her hair in a towel and donned her terrycloth bathrobe.

She sat down by the phone and dialed the Memorial. She asked for Dr.

Stark’s office.

“I’m sorry, but Dr. Stark is on another line. Can I have him call you back?”

“No, I’ll wait. Just say that it is Susan Wheeler calling and that it is important.”

“I’ll try, but I cannot promise anything. He’s talking long distance and may be on the line for some time.”

“I’ll hold just the same.” Susan was well aware that doctors often ignore returning a call.

Stark finally came onto the line.

“Dr. Stark, you said that I could call you if I found out anything interesting in my little investigation.”

“Of course, Susan.”

“Well I have found out something extraordinary. This whole affair is definitely ...” She paused.

“Is definitely what, Susan?”

“Well, I’m not sure how to put it. I guess I’m now sure that there is a criminal aspect. I don’t know how or why, but I’m quite certain. In fact, I have a feeling that some large organization is involved ... like the Mafia or something.”

“Sounds like a pretty wild conjecture to me, Susan. What has brought this idea to mind?”

“I’ve had a pretty funny afternoon with no laughs.” Susan looked closely at her abraded knees.

“And?”

“I’ve been threatened tonight.”

“Threatened with what?” Stark’s voice changed from interest to concern.

“My life, I guess.” Susan looked at the photo of her brother.

“Susan, if that is true, then this becomes a serious affair, to say the very least. But are you sure this isn’t some sort of prank by some of your classmates? Medical school pranks can get rather elaborate on occasion.”

“I must admit I hadn’t thought of that.” Susan gingerly felt her lacerated lip with the tip of her tongue. “But I think this was the real thing.”