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Chapter 42

Dayne finished unwrapping the bandages from her seven-year-old patient's face. She was supposed to apply a new coat of Silvadene, then rewrap the head. Most of the boy's skull had been shaved before surgery, and blood had matted, black and ugly, in the remaining strands of hair.

While she did the dressing and began his bath, Dayne sang songs her mother had sung to her when she was a child.

"If you go down to the woods tonight,
You'd better go in disguise.
If you go down to the woods tonight,
You're in for a big surprise.
'Cause all the bears that ever were there,
Are gonna be there again today . . .
'Cause today's the day the
Teddy bears have their picnic."

She rolled him gently and applied antibiotic ointment to the abrasions on his body. He was so small, and so horribly quiet.

"Down in the valley, the valley so low,
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow, love
Hear the wind blow,
Down in the valley . . ."

She started to cry. She was angry with herself—she usually managed to stay bright and cheerful and professional when she was around her patients, but her patients weren't usually seven years old. She knew the little boy's doctor was out talking with his parents right then, telling them that the life support that was keeping air in his lungs was never going to make him better, and that they ought to prepare themselves for the worst.

"It isn't fair," she whispered. She sniffled and wiped her tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her scrub jacket.

"So few things are."

Dayne stiffened. Dr. Mhya Jezick had come in while she was singing, and had managed to do it so quietly that Dayne hadn't even suspected someone else was in the room.

"Leave, please," she told the doctor. "There is nothing here you need to see."

"No. There isn't. I've seen this sort of thing forever, it seems. It is never any more fair or right than this." The doctor smiled at Dayne, a sly smile that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "I didn't come in here to watch you work, however. I came in here to talk to you about something very important."

Dayne went back to giving her patient a bath. "This isn't a good time. I prefer to spend my time with my patients actually paying attention to them."

"He can't hear you sing. You might as well talk to me."

"I don't know that he can't hear me. I prefer to keep in mind the possibility that he can."

"Trust me. There's nothing left of him but the body—and not an awful lot of that." Jezick didn't leave. Instead she settled into the recliner that sat next to the window, leaned back and crossed her legs. "A group of interested persons has been watching your boyfriend."

"Adam?"

"Is that what he's calling himself? Very amusing."

"I'm not interested in hearing you bad-mouth Adam."

"You will be. Don't you think it at all strange that he appeared on the day of the Unchaining? Haven't you thought it strange that he was so charismatic, so attractive? Doesn't it seem strange to you that he managed to lure you into bed in mere days, when Dr. Prestwick tried to bed you for months and still hasn't succeeded?" She smiled. "Or that prim Dr. Weist."

Dayne put down her washcloth and dried Tad off, and put the pediatric gown on him. "I don't think Adam is any more unlikely than you."

Dr. Jezick chuckled. "Clever girl." Her smile grew broader. "Agonostis, who has apparently been calling himself Adam when he's with you, is the number one man at Satco, Lucifer's North Carolina division. He's a fallen angel—not a human, not something that ever has been human. It was his job to lead you into Hell, and he won. He betrayed you."

Dayne sighed. "And you're telling me this because you want to help me, right?"

Dr. Jezick frowned. Dayne decided her response hadn't been the one Jezick had expected.

"I assume you'll want to get even—after all, you certainly weren't one of the damned before this."

Dayne repositioned Tad, rolling him to one side and placing pillows under his upper arm and upper leg to hold him in place and keep the pressure off of his limbs. "I knew Adam was one of the Hellraised," she told Dr. Jezick. "Just as I suspected you were. I was pretty sure about Adam before I went to bed with him; I didn't have any doubt at all after." She smiled, remembering Adam's little anatomical omission—an omission that would have been just right had he been the original Adam, too.

Dr. Jezick blanched. "You . . . knew?"

"I knew. I love him, and he loves me, so I didn't feel—and still don't, for that matter—that God would hold our lovemaking against us. Not in any real, significant way. I knew Adam was trying to tempt me, too; I figured that out after the fiasco with the contract." She pulled the sheet up over Tad, and stood there resting her hand on the little boy's arm. "Adam refused to offer me the contract a second time, and told me that I wouldn't like working for Satco; when he did that, I knew he cared about me."

"He . . . did . . . what?" Dr. Jezick stood. "He threw the contest?"

"Apparently. You haven't though, have you? You're here to tempt me, too."

Mhya Jezick got out of the chair and walked to Dayne's side. She towered over Dayne, exuding the same aura of compelling sexuality and inhuman beauty that marked Adam. "Since you know why I'm here, we might as well not play games. I can give you whatever you want. You want to be rich—I can make you richer than nations. You want to be beautiful—I can make you the most stunning woman since Helen of Troy . . . who also ended up working for us, for that matter. You want power—I can make you the President of the United States, if you want the job . . . or the power behind the President, if you prefer that."

"I don't want anything."

"Of course you do. What about Agon—Adam? You want him, don't you? I can give him to you."

"He isn't yours to give." Dayne pulled a roll of tape out of her pocket and began tearing it into short, narrow strips—she needed to redress both IVs.

"He will be after today."

"No. I won't deal with you for Adam. That is in God's hands."

Mhya Jezick glared at Dayne with eyes that glowed red and evil. Then the red glow guttered out, and the fallen angel smiled. "There is something you want, after all, and if you sign my contract, consigning your soul to Hell at the end of your life, I'll give it to you."

Dayne laughed. "You're persistent, but I'm not kidding. There is nothing you can offer me that I'd even consider."

"How about the power to heal your patients?"

Dayne froze. The roll of tape dropped to the bed. Involuntarily, she glanced down at Tad—lifeless Tad, who deserved a whole life ahead of him. What if she could speak a single word and make him better? What if she could bring back his missing eye, restore his damaged face, return his wandering spirit to his body—what if she could, in an instant, give him back the life that stupidity and carelessness had stolen from him?

The ghosts of the patients she'd lost during her career paraded before her—mothers and fathers and grandparents, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters; all of them important to someone . . . all of them important to her. In the next twenty or thirty years, how many more would there be? How many more people beyond hope or help would come through those doors, begging her to do something. How many more of their families would look at her, their eyes filled with a frightening desperation, and ask, "Do you think he'll get better?"

How long would she be able to face them, if she knew that she'd had the chance to make the difference, but that she had chosen to turn it down?

Her soul, or all those lives?

She bit her lip and looked down at Tad, then up at Dr. Jezick. She was beyond words.

Dr. Jezick wasn't. She said, "I have a pen and a contract right here."

Dayne whispered, "Let me read the contract." Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a flash of blue.

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Framed

Back | Next
Contents

Chapter 42

Dayne finished unwrapping the bandages from her seven-year-old patient's face. She was supposed to apply a new coat of Silvadene, then rewrap the head. Most of the boy's skull had been shaved before surgery, and blood had matted, black and ugly, in the remaining strands of hair.

While she did the dressing and began his bath, Dayne sang songs her mother had sung to her when she was a child.

"If you go down to the woods tonight,
You'd better go in disguise.
If you go down to the woods tonight,
You're in for a big surprise.
'Cause all the bears that ever were there,
Are gonna be there again today . . .
'Cause today's the day the
Teddy bears have their picnic."

She rolled him gently and applied antibiotic ointment to the abrasions on his body. He was so small, and so horribly quiet.

"Down in the valley, the valley so low,
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow,
Hear the wind blow, love
Hear the wind blow,
Down in the valley . . ."

She started to cry. She was angry with herself—she usually managed to stay bright and cheerful and professional when she was around her patients, but her patients weren't usually seven years old. She knew the little boy's doctor was out talking with his parents right then, telling them that the life support that was keeping air in his lungs was never going to make him better, and that they ought to prepare themselves for the worst.

"It isn't fair," she whispered. She sniffled and wiped her tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of her scrub jacket.

"So few things are."

Dayne stiffened. Dr. Mhya Jezick had come in while she was singing, and had managed to do it so quietly that Dayne hadn't even suspected someone else was in the room.

"Leave, please," she told the doctor. "There is nothing here you need to see."

"No. There isn't. I've seen this sort of thing forever, it seems. It is never any more fair or right than this." The doctor smiled at Dayne, a sly smile that raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "I didn't come in here to watch you work, however. I came in here to talk to you about something very important."

Dayne went back to giving her patient a bath. "This isn't a good time. I prefer to spend my time with my patients actually paying attention to them."

"He can't hear you sing. You might as well talk to me."

"I don't know that he can't hear me. I prefer to keep in mind the possibility that he can."

"Trust me. There's nothing left of him but the body—and not an awful lot of that." Jezick didn't leave. Instead she settled into the recliner that sat next to the window, leaned back and crossed her legs. "A group of interested persons has been watching your boyfriend."

"Adam?"

"Is that what he's calling himself? Very amusing."

"I'm not interested in hearing you bad-mouth Adam."

"You will be. Don't you think it at all strange that he appeared on the day of the Unchaining? Haven't you thought it strange that he was so charismatic, so attractive? Doesn't it seem strange to you that he managed to lure you into bed in mere days, when Dr. Prestwick tried to bed you for months and still hasn't succeeded?" She smiled. "Or that prim Dr. Weist."

Dayne put down her washcloth and dried Tad off, and put the pediatric gown on him. "I don't think Adam is any more unlikely than you."

Dr. Jezick chuckled. "Clever girl." Her smile grew broader. "Agonostis, who has apparently been calling himself Adam when he's with you, is the number one man at Satco, Lucifer's North Carolina division. He's a fallen angel—not a human, not something that ever has been human. It was his job to lead you into Hell, and he won. He betrayed you."

Dayne sighed. "And you're telling me this because you want to help me, right?"

Dr. Jezick frowned. Dayne decided her response hadn't been the one Jezick had expected.

"I assume you'll want to get even—after all, you certainly weren't one of the damned before this."

Dayne repositioned Tad, rolling him to one side and placing pillows under his upper arm and upper leg to hold him in place and keep the pressure off of his limbs. "I knew Adam was one of the Hellraised," she told Dr. Jezick. "Just as I suspected you were. I was pretty sure about Adam before I went to bed with him; I didn't have any doubt at all after." She smiled, remembering Adam's little anatomical omission—an omission that would have been just right had he been the original Adam, too.

Dr. Jezick blanched. "You . . . knew?"

"I knew. I love him, and he loves me, so I didn't feel—and still don't, for that matter—that God would hold our lovemaking against us. Not in any real, significant way. I knew Adam was trying to tempt me, too; I figured that out after the fiasco with the contract." She pulled the sheet up over Tad, and stood there resting her hand on the little boy's arm. "Adam refused to offer me the contract a second time, and told me that I wouldn't like working for Satco; when he did that, I knew he cared about me."

"He . . . did . . . what?" Dr. Jezick stood. "He threw the contest?"

"Apparently. You haven't though, have you? You're here to tempt me, too."

Mhya Jezick got out of the chair and walked to Dayne's side. She towered over Dayne, exuding the same aura of compelling sexuality and inhuman beauty that marked Adam. "Since you know why I'm here, we might as well not play games. I can give you whatever you want. You want to be rich—I can make you richer than nations. You want to be beautiful—I can make you the most stunning woman since Helen of Troy . . . who also ended up working for us, for that matter. You want power—I can make you the President of the United States, if you want the job . . . or the power behind the President, if you prefer that."

"I don't want anything."

"Of course you do. What about Agon—Adam? You want him, don't you? I can give him to you."

"He isn't yours to give." Dayne pulled a roll of tape out of her pocket and began tearing it into short, narrow strips—she needed to redress both IVs.

"He will be after today."

"No. I won't deal with you for Adam. That is in God's hands."

Mhya Jezick glared at Dayne with eyes that glowed red and evil. Then the red glow guttered out, and the fallen angel smiled. "There is something you want, after all, and if you sign my contract, consigning your soul to Hell at the end of your life, I'll give it to you."

Dayne laughed. "You're persistent, but I'm not kidding. There is nothing you can offer me that I'd even consider."

"How about the power to heal your patients?"

Dayne froze. The roll of tape dropped to the bed. Involuntarily, she glanced down at Tad—lifeless Tad, who deserved a whole life ahead of him. What if she could speak a single word and make him better? What if she could bring back his missing eye, restore his damaged face, return his wandering spirit to his body—what if she could, in an instant, give him back the life that stupidity and carelessness had stolen from him?

The ghosts of the patients she'd lost during her career paraded before her—mothers and fathers and grandparents, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters; all of them important to someone . . . all of them important to her. In the next twenty or thirty years, how many more would there be? How many more people beyond hope or help would come through those doors, begging her to do something. How many more of their families would look at her, their eyes filled with a frightening desperation, and ask, "Do you think he'll get better?"

How long would she be able to face them, if she knew that she'd had the chance to make the difference, but that she had chosen to turn it down?

Her soul, or all those lives?

She bit her lip and looked down at Tad, then up at Dr. Jezick. She was beyond words.

Dr. Jezick wasn't. She said, "I have a pen and a contract right here."

Dayne whispered, "Let me read the contract." Out of the corner of one eye, she saw a flash of blue.

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Contents
Framed