T Wave by Steven F. Freeman Read Free Book Online

have to have some seriously big cojones to steal medicine from the father of a Secret Service agent.”
    Alton shrugged. “The thief wouldn’t know that. The pills may simply be misplaced, but we can’t rule out a theft, either.”
    David returned shortly and leaned over his father. “The nurse is bringing more medicine. You’ll feel better in no time, Dad.”

THURSDAY, JULY 12

CHAPTER 11
    The next morning, Mallory called Alton from the hospital.
    “Jacob had another endoscopy and an MRI first thing this morning. The lab also ran blood tests. The results just came back.”
    “And…?”
    “They weren’t good. The esophageal varices haven’t grown any bigger, but results of the blood tests are terrible.” Mallory had difficulty continuing. “Doctor Chupp, Jacob’s doctor, said Jacob has sepsis. His blood is infected and is causing general organ failure. He doesn’t think Jacob will recover.”
    For a moment, Alton recounted his own private hell, a place in which he had stood helpless after learning almost all of his Army subordinates had died in a tragic explosion. Perhaps Mallory felt that way too. In the past, she had certainly spoken passionately of feeling helpless when her father had died, and her current tone resonated with sorrow.
    After a few moments of silence, Alton responded. “Did Doctor Chupp say what caused the sepsis? Is it a product of the esophageal varices?”
    “He didn’t think so. He’s a little perplexed that Jacob has it.”
    Alton restrained his frustration over the doctor’s admitted ignorance, knowing such thoughts to be fruitless. “So what happens next?”
    “There’s nothing else they can do. They’re going to transfer him to Serenity Hospice at dinner time. Can you come?”
    “Yes. I’ll be early.” He ended the call and exhaled slowly.
     
    At the hospice, Alton watched Nurse Corroto, a plump and smiling creature in white scrubs and floral lab coat, wheel Jacob into his room. The faux hardwood floors, floral drapes, and landscape-in-oil over the bed belied the somber purpose of the room. Corroto pulled back the drapes, revealing a screened-in porch with a charming view of the thick woods bordering the property.
    “You can call us to wheel your father’s bed onto the porch, if he doesn’t mind the heat,” she said. “The view is best from the second floor, but it’s still quite nice down here . ” She leaned in towards David. “We have a lot of paperwork that needs to be completed. Could we knock it out now, and then you can focus on being with your dad?”
    “Sure,” said David, who appeared to be in a bit of a daze. He and Fahima left with the nurse.
    Alton and Mallory kept company with Jacob, recounting some of David’s more humorous Army escapades in an attempt to keep their sick friend cheerful. Before long, though, the combined effects of illness and pain medicines sent Jacob into a deep slumber.
    As they waited for their friends’ return, Alton and Mallory heard a commotion in the hall.
    “Code—room one-oh-seven!” came a terse announcement over the public-address speakers.
    Several staff members rushed past their door. One of them wheeled a cart with medicines and equipment. Alton heard several more shouts from the end of the hall.
    In a quarter of an hour, the same staffs members filed slowly back up the hall, their conversations momentarily audible as they passed Jacob’s room.
    “I can’t understand it,” a nurse was saying to a bearded man who had briefly stopped by Jacob’s room upon check-in. The man had worn a “Dale Sampson, Physician’s Assistant” badge.
    “Was he on monitoring?” asked Dale.
    “We don’t monitor patients here in hospice,” replied the nurse.
    “Sorry—I meant back at the hospital, before he came here.”
    “No. Mr. Thrash was admitted with a tumor of the lower intestine. It was a terminal condition, but it shouldn’t have caused respiratory failure or an MI.”
    “Weird.”
    The two continued down the