The Cutting Edge Read online

  Glancing over Meg’s hand, Craig stared for a moment, analyzing what he saw, and shook his head. “What kind of monster would do this?”

  Meg shrugged her shoulders as she began to clean up an area around the woman’s eyes.

  “O positive,” Beth announced walking into the room. “And I’ve got some with me.”

  Nodding, the doctor replied, “Let’s get her started. Set it up on the right side. How’s her breathing?”

  “It’s shallow, but it’s regular.”

  “How much blood do you think she lost?” Meg asked.

  Taking another look at her injuries, Craig replied, “Maybe four units … maybe more. She probably bled a great deal at first, but it seems to have slowed down some now.”

  Moving to clean up the patient’s chin and throat, Meg noted her torn blouse. “Robert, do you suppose she was raped?”

  As he felt her limbs for signs of injuries, he shook his head. It evidently wasn’t a concern in his mind at this time, but every nurse in the room shuddered at the thought.

  “We’ll get to that as soon as we save her,” Craig then yelled through the closed curtain, “Greer, what have you found out?”

  Sticking her head into ER1, Jan rattled off her report. “An investigative team is there at this moment looking over the scene. A man who was getting a newspaper discovered her and called the police … didn’t give his name and he said that no one else was there when he was. The police don’t think he knew anymore. At this point, that’s about all they have.”

  Never once looking up while applying pressure and trying to stem the flow of blood from a large cut just above the eye, Craig replied, “Tell them to call us when they know anything else that might give us some idea of how this was done.”

  Finishing the injury cleanup, Meg took a moment to stare at what she’d uncovered. She noted that five different cuts were so deep that they had penetrated through the skin and muscle and into the inner mouth area. Her upper lip had almost been severed. Two huge gashes made a road map-like pattern beginning just to the right of her nose, and continuing into her left scalp. Another ragged one revealed the white glow of the skull. None of the cuts were clean. All were jagged and uneven. Besides the major damage, there were at least three-dozen smaller wounds.

  “Robert,” Meg almost whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this. I mean going through a windshield doesn’t do this much damage. What could have done this? This woman doesn’t really have much of a face left.”

  The doctor nodded his head, and then looked behind him and hollered, “Jan.”

  “Yes, Dr. Craig.”

  “What’s the name of that cosmetic surgeon down at the clinic?”

  “A …” Jan went through her mental note cards finally finding the one she needed, “Dr. John Parks.”

  Applying pressure to another cut, Craig replied, “You’d better find him and get him up here.” Then, almost as an afterthought he added, “Quickly!”

  14

  Beth,” Craig said as he once more looked at the injured woman’s face, “start an IV. By the way, how are our vitals?”

  Marsha took a quick check, reacting to what she saw, nodded her head, and then stated, “Rising. She’s coming back a little.”

  “Good, let’s get another unit in her.” Looking up at Meg, the doctor, his voice now calmed by the good news his patient was rallying, said, “See if the cops have found out anything else. I want to know how this happened and if I should be looking for anything internal.”

  Exiting ER1 Meg discovered one of the policemen sitting in a waiting room chair drinking a cup of coffee. The man’s expression was grim.

  “Officer,” Meg inquired, “have you got anything further for us?”

  “Yeah,” the policeman stood as the nurse approached. “I’m Jenkins. We got an initial report from the state’s C.S.I.’s at the scene that they found a broken whiskey bottle, pretty much covered with blood. That must have been the weapon. They also found some personal belongings—some clothes, a bag, a magazine, and a purse. They haven’t got an ID yet, but the bag had an airline tag giving a New York origination point and yesterday’s date. So, she must have flown in last night. How she got to that alley from the airport is unknown—at least at this point.”

  Digesting the information, Meg began to thank the officer and then asked, “Couldn’t you find out from the baggage tag who she is? That might help us locate someone who knows something about her.”

  “Probably,” the man replied. “I’m sure that the guys are running that down now. But just in case they’re not, I’ll call it in.”

  “Any idea how long she’d been there before you found her?” Meg’s question was one that should’ve been asked first, but the shock of seeing the gruesome injuries had disrupted even her usually efficient manner.

  “No,” Jenkins replied. Then, after taking another sip of coffee he added, “She evidently crawled from the back of the alley because there was a lot of blood on the wall and the pavement there. It had dried and had not been washed off, so it had to have happened before it started raining. We brought her in at five-fifteen. It started raining at three-thirty. If she was on that last commuter flight, it got in around midnight. So, she could’ve been there as long as four hours.”

  “Remarkable girl,” Meg sighed.

  “Excuse me,” the policeman replied, seemingly unable to understand the nurse’s almost whispered comment.

  Shaking her head and looking up, Meg said, “It was remarkable that she was able to make it that long having been so badly injured. It shows a great will to live.”

  Leaving the officer, Meg returned to ER. “How is she?” she asked as she entered the room.

  Reaching for another sponge, Craig replied, “She’s getting stronger. She seems to be regaining consciousness.”

  Meg moved to a point beside the woman’s right shoulder and looked down at her face. After once again studying the massive damage, she quietly said, “I wonder what she looked like.”

  “There’s no telling,” the doctor said. “Did you find out anything more?”

  “Yes—a little.” While still studying the injuries, Meg brought the team up to date.

  “A broken bottle,” the doctor’s voice now showed a touch of controlled rage. “No wonder the cuts are so uneven and nasty. What kind of slime would do something like this?”

  “Dr. Parks is here,” Jan quietly noted.

  Looking up, Craig nodded. A few moments later, a small, balding man in his forties entered the room. Noting his unshaven face and the shirttail hanging halfway in and out of his pants, Meg judged that Jan had gotten him out of bed. Nevertheless, as soon as he glanced at the woman, all signs of sleepiness shot from his face. Leaning over the woman, Parks stared at the injuries for only a few moments before signaling for Craig and Meg to follow him outside the room. Once in the hall, he offered his singular observation and then began his questions.

  “That’s the worst I’ve ever seen. It couldn’t have been a car accident, at least not a normal one. How did it happen?”

  “Somebody cut her up with a broken bottle.” The words projected from Meg’s lips like they had been shot from a gun. Her voice was harsh, an anger threatening to expose itself on each separate word. And the more she thought about how this had been done, the angrier she became.

  “How much blood did she take?” Parks inquired, while trying to shove the rest of his shirt under his belt line.

  “Four units—so far.”

  Shaking his head, Parks scratched his head for a moment, then, after checking his watch, “She seems strong enough now, so let’s get her into surgery just as soon as possible. I’ll get my people here and do my best, but it’s not going to help much. Not at first anyway.” Then, once again picturing what he had just seen, he looked Meg in the eyes and added. “Wish I had a photo to know what she looked like before. There is damage on that woman’s face that only God could fix.”

  “Yeah,” Meg nodded, “but you can make her better. Whoever she is, whatever happened, she didn’t deserve this. So, she needs the best now.”

  “Bring her up as soon as you can, Doctor,” Parks said. “I’ll get ready for you.”

  15

  The patient was beginning to stir. By the time Dr. Craig and the nurse had reentered ER1 her eyes were open and trying to focus. Leaning over, Meg began to speak softly to her patient.

  “Don’t get excited,” the nurse said slowly, hoping to calm any fears the woman might have. “You’re in a hospital. Some policemen found you, got you here, and you are going …” Meg paused as she again surveyed the woman’s destroyed face, after taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she spat out what she felt was a lie, “you’re going to be fine.”

  As Meg finished, the woman raised her hand, and upon finding Meg’s, squeezed it hard. Nodding, the nurse reassured her patient, “You’ll be fine. Just take it easy and we’ll make all that pain go away very soon.”

  Her deep blue eyes never leaving Meg’s face, the patient continued holding onto the nurse’s hand. Even when Dr. Craig began to speak to her, the woman’s focus never wavered.

  “Young lady,” Craig began. “Can you tell us your name? There wasn’t any ID when they found you.”

  The patient tried to move her lips, her throat quivering, but all that came out was meaningless noise. Leaning back over her, he gently said, “Don’t worry about it. We’ll find that out later. Right now we’re going to take you up to surgery and fix some of those injuries. You just stay calm.”

  Looking away from the patient, the doctor signaled for Jan and Marsha to wheel her up to the operating room. Still, the woman held firmly onto Meg’s hand. For a moment, Meg thought she recognized something about the patient. As she watched her roll ou
t of the room, she felt a tie to the victim—stronger than her normal nurse/patient bond. There was something about her. When the nurse finally pulled loose, a frightened look filled the patient’s eyes.

  “Strange,” Craig’s voice broke into Meg’s troubled thoughts.

  “What is?” Meg asked, still looking to the door leading to the surgical wing.

  “How she took to you. Almost like she knew who you were.”

  “No,” Meg shook her head while removing a glove, “I didn’t recognize her. Who could, the way she is right now?”

  “Are you sure you don’t know her?” the doctor questioned. “The way she looked at you made me believe she knew you.”

  An exhausted Meg leaned against the admitting counter. “No, I don’t know her, but my heart goes out to her. It’s going to be tough to face life as she will have to. Reminds me of the young girl that was brought in two days ago.”

  “Dr. Craig,” Beth announced as she returned to the room.

  “Yeah,” the doctor sighed, fatigue, both mental and physical showing in his voice.

  Beth glanced at Meg before continuing. “The police are pretty sure they know who the woman is. Officer Jenkins is in the waiting room. You’ll want to speak to him.”

  Nodding his head, Craig, joined by both nurses, crossed the ER, rounded a corner and entered the small waiting area. The policeman was sitting in the corner looking at a magazine.

  “Jenkins,” Robert said as he crossed the room. “I’m Dr. Craig.”

  “Hi, Doc,” Jenkins replied while getting up from his seat. “The woman we brought in—how is she?”

  “She’ll live.”

  “That’s good,” the big cop sighed, “I figured her for a goner. What about her face?”

  “There’ll be lots of scars. It’ll never be like it was. Nevertheless, the important part is that she’s alive. Your getting her here is a big part of that, too.”

  Shaking his head, the policeman rolled up the magazine and gently tapped it against his arm. Finally, after seemingly searching for words, he began, “We traced her through the baggage claim,” pointing at Meg with the rolled-up magazine, he continued, “just like the nurse here suggested. The victim’s a New York model. In fact, she’s a cover girl. She’s even on this magazine.” The officer tossed the periodical onto the chair beside him. Meg watched as it slowly unrolled to reveal the cover. She visibly shook when she saw the woman’s face in the smiling photo.

  It couldn’t be!

  Reaching slowly down, Meg picked up the issue. Hoping she’d been wrong, she took another long look. Her eyes filling with tears, she glanced back at the policeman. Her voice shaking, “Are you sure that this is the woman you brought in?”

  “Yeah—real sure!”

  “Meg,” Craig asked. “So do you know her after all?”

  Handing the magazine to the doctor, Meg took a deep breath. “That girl in the picture—that beautiful girl. That’s the woman who we cleaned up. The reason she looked at me and grabbed my hand is that she knew me. She’s my cousin, Leslie Rhoads. That face in the picture used to be hers.”

  Finding a chair, Meg once again studied the magazine cover. “I used to babysit her, even though I was only a few years older. There was a time when she and I were closer than sisters. I helped her with her makeup when she did local modeling—before she went to New York. I know her face as well as I know my own. And for the last hour I’ve been staring at her and I didn’t even know who she was.”

  Looking back at the photo again, Meg whispered, “She was so beautiful. Heaven only knows what she’ll look like now.”

  Meg dropped the magazine on the table and hurried back to her station. Sitting down at the records desk she picked up the phone, dialed a familiar number and waited for someone to answer. A few rings later someone did.

  “Aunt Flo,” the nurse began. “This is Meg. I don’t know how to tell you this but …”

  16

  How’s your cousin?” Jan asked Meg as the nurse returned from making her afternoon rounds.

  “Up until now,” Meg began as she pulled a Kardex, initialed it, then returned it to its slot, “she has been so heavily sedated she’s been unaware of the pain, the injuries, or what she can expect. Today, they’re pulling her back into the real world and I wonder how she’s going to handle it. With her injuries, it’ll be a mind game more than anything else. I just don’t know.”

  Opening a newspaper, Jan found a short article dealing with the investigation of Leslie’s attack. After scanning it, she shook her head and tossed the paper in the trashcan. “Can you believe that it has been three days and the police haven’t gotten anything of any substance? I mean, what are we paying these guys for?”

  Looking up, Meg nodded and then added, “I think they’re hoping that Leslie will be able to tell them something when she comes around. She may be able to give them a lead the crime scene couldn’t. She’s bound to know something, but when she’ll remember it will be the million-dollar question. You know as well as I do that sometimes the shock keeps people from ever recalling a tragedy like that. If she can’t, the cops tell me that the odds are the monsters who did this will never be caught.”

  Jan’s eyes followed a rough-looking man as he walked past the nurse’s station, down the hall, finally entering room 212. “That’s another thing that bothers me,” she complained.

  “What’s that?” Meg questioned, looking up and observing nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Why don’t the cops have somebody here protecting Leslie?” A mixture of anger and fear met in Jan’s voice as she continued. “I mean when she does come to, she’ll probably say something that will identify someone. So it makes sense to me that the person would try to kill her first. I jump every time anybody I don’t know walks past her room.”

  Shaking her head, Meg tried to ease her friend’s fears. “The cops aren’t too worried about that. They seem to think that if whoever attacked her had wanted to kill her, he’d have done the job differently. The way she was cut up they seem to think that hurting her was what the person wanted. To them it looked like a revenge job. That’s why they believe it must have been someone she knew. So, they aren’t concerned with anyone coming to get her. And if you think about it, that makes sense.”

  Still not convinced, Jan shifted the subject. “How are her folks? I mean they’ve barely left her side since you called them.”

  “Pretty destroyed,” Meg replied. “Aunt Flo in particular. You know how she was always so proud of Leslie and all her beauty titles and stuff. She put her in pageants when she was a baby. I think to Flo it’s almost like a part of her died in the attack, too.”

  “Well,” Jan understandingly answered, “the model did die. No matter what kind of magic Dr. Parks has up his sleeve, that face isn’t going to work again. It’ll be a whole lot different for her from now on.”

  “That’s what worries me,” Meg sighed. “Her beauty was what Leslie lived on for years. Even when she was little, she didn’t play outside or roughhouse with the other kids because she and her mother were afraid that she might get bruised. Except for one freak broken leg when she tripped in the yard, she never got a scar, a blemish, or even a cavity, that’s how much she was protected. She was always the perfect little lady. Kids used to make fun of her by saying that the wind blew around her, and that’s the way it seemed. There was never a hair out of place. In some ways that made her pretty unpopular, in other ways, she was the Belle of the Ball.

  “Her dance card … well, let’s put it this way, with her looks, she never had to worry about having dates. Funny, deep down I always thought she seemed a bit lonely, even if she was always surrounded by large groups of people. But no one else thought that. After we got married, Steve called her an airhead because she didn’t appear to be concerned about anything but the way she looked. Of course by that time she was into modeling a great deal and the mirror had to be her best friend.”

  Pausing for a moment, caught up in a memory from another place and time, Meg smiled a little, and after shrugging her shoulders continued. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, Leslie never had to work at being beautiful or liked. It was given to her. In some ways she never did develop very much in the way of a personality. So, now I’m worried that she never developed what it takes to go on with life after something like this.”