Mercy 6

“You found Meeks in here.”

The tech nodded.

She stepped inside the boiler, felt the contained heat. She crouched near its far wall, where it curled below the shelves. She moved her hand along the curve, recalling Meeks on the gurney, his bicycling form. “Right here.”

“Yes.”

Mendenhall placed her palm against the smooth copper. It was warm. She guessed 101.5.

“I have a thermometer,” said Mullich.

“Of course you do.” She remained in her crouch, gazing at the smooth cup of copper that had held Meeks. “You can tell Claiborne Meeks was in here, against the wall. The wall is 101.5. You can double-check me with your thermometer. With your lasers.”

“You should tell Claiborne.”

She stood but stayed inside the boiler, felt the sweat from her workout returning, reblooming along her forehead. She stepped out and addressed Cabral. “His eyes,” she said. “You didn’t touch his eyes.”

“No, Doctor. You caught me doing that once. Told me never to do that. Close their eyes.”

She nodded. She didn’t remember. She looked at his name tag, saw the A. after his last name. She had no idea what it stood for.

“You did good work, Cabral.”

It sounded okay like that, somehow equal. Egalitarian, Mullich would have said.

“Will they put me in Q?” Cabral asked her.

She put a shushing finger to her lips. She nodded for him to leave. He had a resolute bearing about him, not forced but new.

She hadn’t noticed it before. She saw it in patients sometimes, quiet internal decisions to go forth after seeing an X-ray, learning the extent of an injury, hearing bad news from her.

After the tech left she spoke to Mullich. “I can’t tell Claiborne.

I doubt he would even speak with me.”

Mullich raised one eyebrow.

“I almost did a very bad thing up there. Which is the same as doing the bad thing.” She pointed upward to the ER. “Pao Pao saw it. Dmir saw it. Everyone saw it. Don’t even mention my name when you tell Claiborne. Unless you want him to hate you, too.”

“What will Thorpe do?”

“Thorpe will be okay with it,” she said. “He’ll like it. That I backed down. That I gave in.”

“I have a theory, Dr. Mendenhall. That you and Thorpe are the same.”

She lifted her chin. “Yeah? I have a theory that you are Thorpe.”

Mullich took more of his laser calibrations. Mendenhall leaned against the cool wall across from the boilers, crossed her arms, and watched. Mullich took a vertical measurement from the outside edge of the old boiler to the ceiling. He moved easily into a crouch, pivoted with no excess movement. But in between measurements, he repeatedly glanced at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Cortez.”

“Those are personal. I offer nothing about what’s going on in here. You and Thorpe can go—”

Still in his crouch, Mullich put his hand up, then brought it to his chest. “He showed them to me. I—”

“You what? You just did your job.”

“No. That’s not my job.” He stood. “I only wanted to ask you something. Something about your dog.”

Her anger turned to fear. How much of her did he want to peel away? “At least you knew he was a dog.”

Mullich remained on point. “Do you miss him, or do you regret not having that life? That life one can have with a dog?”

“The second thing,” she said. “But no. Both.”

“People,” he replied. The word heightened his accent, the e a bit short. “People like Cabral and Silva. They are drawn to you. They want something from you.”

“Cabral and Silva are nothing alike. Cabral’s a med tech, a hoddy.

You don’t even need a college degree. Silva’s a research tech. She has that and more. She’s probably Brazilian. He’s Filipino. But you’re right. They both have brown skin.”

He bristled, which was what she was trying for. He remained in his crouch, his laser pen aimed at her. “I am not like that. You know this. But I don’t like the joke. I meant they are both people who want to learn what medicine is. What it really is.”

“They’re interested in me because I’m familiar. I go to patients—

to bodies — and put my hands there. Listen. They want medicine to be that. But it isn’t.” Without unfolding her arms, she pointed at his tablet. “It’s that.”

He looked at his tablet.

“It’s that,” she said again. “Until you get to the surgeons. Or Claiborne. I’m nothing, Mullich. Stop trying to find me.”

“Your cynicism is false.” Mullich stood.

It was difficult for her to remain relaxed against the wall.

“Your action betrays you. You hurried down here to see, to prove something. To yourself. Then to Claiborne, whom you respect.”

“To prove what?” She tightened her arms about herself.

“Something you know. You moved like someone who knows.”

“I don’t feel like that,” she said. “Like someone who knows anything.”

“Come back to the lab. Let’s see.”

“Claiborne’s?”

“He won’t be there.” Mullich checked his tablet. “Yes. He’s up with Thorpe.”

She eyed the tablet. He brushed it.

“Silva’s there. That’s all.”

“She’ll have orders,” said Mendenhall.

Mullich put away his laser pen and raised his card. “I have this.”