Part 15 (1/2)
”Tinkie,” I said as I rubbed her back. ”Oscar is tough. He's made it this far. If he can make it a little longer, he'll pull through this.”
”Why didn't he ask for me?” She wasn't jealous, just hurt.
”Because he knows you're guarding him. I'm the one who has to solve this. If he has information about the cause of the illness, he'll tell me. Oscar would do anything to keep you safe, which means keeping you out of that room.”
She pushed her hair out of her face. ”I don't want you to come down sick, Sarah Booth.”
”I'm healthy as a horse and you know it. You haven't slept in days. You're on the verge of a complete physical, emotional, and mental breakdown.”
”I am not.” She straightened her posture. ”I just like hanging out at the hospital so I can flirt with the doctors.”
That one act of bravery was almost my undoing. Worn to the bone, Tinkie had more courage than anyone I knew.
”Sarah Booth, we need to suit up.” Doc gently took Tinkie by the shoulders. He kissed her cheek. ”We'll figure this out, Tinkie. Don't give up yet.”
14.
The suit that Doc gave me was like something from a Star Trek episode. I wondered if Oscar, if he returned to consciousness from the coma, would recognize me.
”What, exactly, did Oscar say?” I asked Doc as I fastened the Velcro tabs.
”The seizure forced us to remove the ventilator. While he was struggling, he said your name.”
”Anything else?”
”No.”
”What should I do?” I felt helpless.
”Talk to him,” Doc said. ”Touch him lightly. Let him know you're drawing him back to this world.”
I'd never talked theology with Doc, but his sentiments were clear. Oscar was hovering somewhere between life and the other side. I was to bring him back to the world of mortals. Too bad no one had given me a cape or magic powers. ”Inadequate” didn't begin to describe my feelings.
”I'll try.” The suit made me sound like some kind of wheezy insect-man.
The door to the isolation ward swished open, and I stepped into what looked like an airlock. Another door opened automatically onto the room where four very sick people appeared to sleep.
As I pa.s.sed Gordon I lightly touched his shoulder. ”You have to get well,” I told him. Gordon was the only victim who remained on a ventilator. Regina and Luann breathed on their own. Though I had no medical training, they appeared to have more color and their sores seemed to be healing. Or it could just be they were less under the glare of unforgiving fluorescent lights.
As I approached his bed, Oscar moaned and one leg twitched. That had to be a good sign. He could move. He wasn't paralyzed.
My gloved fingertips grazed his cheek. ”Oscar, it's me, Sarah Booth.”
I dared a look at Tinkie, who watched each second with breathless hope from behind the gla.s.s. My stomach knotted, and I stroked Oscar's hand, avoiding the needles and tubes attached to every possible artery.
”Oscar, Tinkie said you wanted to talk to me.”
His chest moved up and down so shallowly, I wondered if the ventilator shouldn't be reinserted. ”Oscar?”
I needed a response. One that would let Tinkie know he was sound of mind and that the fever hadn't destroyed his brain function.
Moving to the side of the bed, I lifted his hand and held it on top of mine. ”Oscar, I'm here. I'm here because you asked for me. You have something to tell me?”
It seemed an hour pa.s.sed with only the rasp of his labored breathing, but it was only seconds. I watched his face for any change of expression--for some indication that he was aware of me.
”Oscar, Tinkie is not twenty feet away. She's watching you. The only time she leaves your side is when we force her to rest or eat. If you're here, and if you can respond, signal with your hand.”
The bandages had been removed from his eyes, and though they didn't open, I thought I saw the eyeb.a.l.l.s s.h.i.+ft left, then right. His index finger scratched my palm.
”Oh, Oscar.” I wept then. I couldn't stop it. He was there, trapped in that body ravaged by pain and disease. He hadn't gone away.
His finger moved again, a light tap against the base of my forefinger. He was trying to comfort me, and that prompted me to get a grip on my emotions.
”Oscar, if you don't get better, and soon, I'm going to have to kill you.” It sounded peculiar, but he knew what I meant. ”Tinkie is about to worry herself to death. Gordon is very sick, as are two realtors. Do you have any idea what happened to you?”
One tap of his finger on my palm.
”You went to the Carlisle plantation?”
Two taps. A yes. He was communicating! But I had to test it to be sure.
”Shall I tell Tinkie that you love her?”
The finger tapped twice, with emphasis. He tried to grasp my hand, but he was too weak.
”It's okay. I'll tell her,” I promised. ”But we have to talk about what happened. You went to the plantation. Everything in the house was in order.” I went over the facts as I knew them, and he confirmed them.
”And when you went out to walk the fields, you discovered the cotton was infested with boll weevils.”
Two solid taps.
”Did you talk to anyone there?”
One tap. His lips pursed, and he made a dry rasping sound in his throat. I frantically waved to Doc. ”Can he have some water?”
”I'd love it if he'd drink,” Doc said. He disappeared through the airlock doors and came back with a gla.s.s and a straw. He wore the same hazmat suit that I wore, which made both of us a little clumsy, but Doc was able to put the straw to Oscar's lips. Oscar drew in a small amount of water and swallowed.
”Who did you see?” I was pressing him, but this might be the break we needed to find the source of his illness.
”Bugs.” The word rasped out of his throat. ”Cotton.”
Doc frowned at me. He indicated the monitors, which showed elevated blood pressure and a spike in heart rate. My time with Oscar was limited.
”Did you see anyone there?”
His finger tapped once. His hand went limp and slipped from mine. His eyes darted wildly behind the closed lids before they rolled upward.