Death of an Adept

"I've got plenty of time to sleep, after my girl is married, Andy," he whispered. "I don't want to risk being muddle-headed."

"How about if I put you to sleep, the way I did yesterday?" Adam said, glancing at Saloa. "I promise you won't be muddle-headed; but I will ask that you let Dr. Saloa give you another half-dose of your usual pain medication, to make my work easier. Would that be all right?"

Wearily Lockhart nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded with pain only barely held at bay. Signalling with a glance that Saloa should fetch the indicated medication, Adam settled beside Lockhart's bed, gently taking his hand as the other doctor slipped quietly from the room.

"I think you've made a wise decision, Alan," Adam murmured, gently stroking the back of Lockhart's hand. "Close your eyes now, and let yourself go back to that place of peace and comfort you found yesterday. Take a deep breath and let it out, and feel the pain draining away as you float and drift…."

Lockhart was deeply asleep by the time Saloa returned, relaxing even more profoundly when the medication had been administered. Saloa watched in something of amazement as Adam bent to murmur final instructions in Lockhart's ear, though he did not speak until they had left the room and closed the door.

"Does hypnosis usually work that well?" he asked, jotting a notation on Lockhart's chart.

"It depends on the patient - and the hypnotist," Adam said with a faint smile. "Anyone can learn the basics. I suggest that you might find hypnosis useful in your practice, if you're prepared to put a bit of effort into it."

"I may just do that," Saloa replied. "I may just."

Adam headed down to Emergency after that, stopping en route to alert Philippa regarding what he had done with Lock-hart. Then, after joining Ximena for coffee, he set out to brave San Francisco traffic to pick up the champagne and glasses before the stores began closing for Christmas Eve; Vance had gotten tied up fetching the wedding cake.

Meanwhile, following a quick lunch, the two mothers repaired to Lockhart's room and settled into the happy task of arranging the floral decorations for the coming wedding ceremony. Lest their bustling disturb the sleeping Lockhart, Teresa drew the curtain around his bed - though Philippa assured her that he would not stir, and checked on him from time to time, in case Adam's instructions needed reinforcement. In honor of the season - and also to minimize too close a concentration of floral scent that might overpower the room's fragile occupant - much of the greenery consisted of holiday garlands of holly, ivy, and evergreen fronds to supplement the tiny tree at Lock-hart's bedside.

The floor nurses looked in from time to time to admire the decor and offer help, but Teresa declined, sweetly but firmly. Slowly the illusion grew. But midway through the afternoon, when Philippa returned from speaking to one of the hospital porters about bringing in chairs, she found Teresa softly singing a Spanish lullaby to her husband, tears all but blinding her as she fastened a garland of evergreen across the foot of his bed with love knots of red and white satin ribbon.

Philippa tactfully withdrew before she could be noticed, taking care to make more noise when she returned a few minutes later, this time pushing a small wheeled table.

"Teresa, I think this might do for an altar," she said, calling to the other woman as she rattled the table into place against a side wall. "Anything bigger, and we'll have no room for the wedding guests."

"I'll be there in a moment to take a look," Teresa replied, from behind the curtain.

When she emerged a few minutes later, Philippa was busily engaged in covering the table with a white sheet appropriated from the linen room, careful to make no reference to Teresa's swollen eyes.

"I believe you said you have a proper cloth to go over this," Philippa said brightly, giving the other woman a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, Laurel and Austen are bringing it, along with some other things," Teresa said. "They should be here very shortly."

As if on cue, the door swung back to admit Teresa's older son and his titian-haired wife, both of them still clad in jeans and sweatshirts. Austen was carrying a cardboard carton, and gave an admiring whistle as he glanced around at the garlands swagged around the window and above the door.

"Wow, now it really looks like Christmas!" he exclaimed with a grin. "You two have worked wonders in the time we've been gone."

"Were you able to find everything?" Teresa asked, a shade anxiously.

"Sure did," Laurel assured her. "Your directions were better than a treasure map. I also put some red votive lights in the box. I thought they might look nice on the windowsill."

While she spoke, Austen had been lowering his box to an empty chair. As Teresa came to look, Laurel began to unpack its contents. First out of the box was a finely woven tablecloth of snow-white damask, its patterning as delicate as lacework.