To Part 15
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"Kacie's not 'people'," Paul corrected her. "She's family. We're supposed to just drop in on family unannounced. We're in-laws. Besides, we told Peter we'd 'just happen to be in the neighborhood' to see Kacie whenever he decided to go back to work."
Annie suddenly clutched at Paul's arm. "Paul, there's something wrong at the apartment."
"What is it, Babe?"
"I hear things breaking, things falling. And a man's voice. An angry voice. And it's not Peter's."
They had continued to walk, and Paul could now hear the noises for himself. He pushed Annie against the wall and ordered "You stay put!" before sprinting the rest of the way.
Throwing open the door, he nearly tripped over Epstein as the man strangled Kacie, shouting into her bloodied, purpling face, "Always comin' between me an' my boys!"
Clasping his fingers together and swinging his arms like a baseball bat, Paul sent Epstein reeling into the wall, knocked out by the blow.
Quickly kneeling beside Kacie, Paul discovered that she wasn't breathing. He stifled a groan. {How long has she been without air? Sweet Jesus, don't let me be too late!} Giving two breaths, he felt for a pulse, and thought for one sickening moment there was none. {Dear Lord, this will kill Peter.} Forcing himself to be calm, he checked a few seconds longer and felt a faint throbbing. "Thank God!" he muttered, and started into the steady rhythm of rescue breathing.
Mentally counting seconds between breaths, he shouted, "Annie! Annie! Get in here!"
Annie felt her way into the apartment, and Paul instructed her between breaths, "Call 9-1-1. Use the kitchen phone. Hurry, Sweetheart."
Annie felt her way along the wall, nearly stumbling over Paul as he worked over Kacie. "Paul, what's happened? What's going on?"
"Eppy's here. He was choking Kacie...when I came in. She's not breathing. Looks like...she's hit her head. Her cut's opened up...again, too."
"Oh, dear Lord," Annie gasped, and finally found the phone. Feeling for the correct digits, she punched in the numbers with trembling fingers.
Paul could hear Annie speaking to a dispatcher as he continued to force air into Kacie's lungs. "Come on, Kacie. Breathe, dammit! Breathe!"
Peter burst into the Emergency Room entrance wild-
eyed and frantic. Kermit followed closely on his heels,
looking grim.
Paul and Annie, who had been sitting close together on a settee, rose to their feet as one to face Peter.
"What happened? Where's Kacie? How is she?" Peter demanded hoarsely.
Annie took him in her arms and held him tightly while Paul reported, "It looks like there was some kind of struggle, Son. Kacie somehow fell and hit her head. She split open some of her stitches again."
"What aren't you telling me?"
Putting a hand on Peter's shoulder to steady him, Paul continued. "When I came into your place, Eppy was...choking her. I...got him off her and...she wasn't breathing at first. I had to use rescue breathing before the EMTs came. They're afraid her throat is crushed."
"He was choking her? Eppy? Why? Why would he want to hurt Kacie? My God, if you hadn't come along, she'd be..." He couldn't finish the thought. His breath started to come in great, sobbing gasps. "I *KNEW* something bad was going to happen to her! I-I-I could feel it this morning, after I talked to her on the phone. Dammit, I could FEEL it, and I didn't DO anything about it! I shoulda gone home right then. Why the HELL did I go into work today?"
Paul and Kermit exchanged looks of helplessness, and Annie clung to Paul's arm.
Peter struggled to control his warring emotions. With a roar of rage and grief, he drew back a fist, intending to send it through the wall.
A strong hand reached out and grabbed his wrist before he could smash either himself or the plaster. "Peter," a soft voice gently cautioned him.
Peter tried to pull away his arm, corded muscles straining and quivering with the effort, but it would have been simpler to try to move the Rock of Gibraltar. The physical action of using his strength against his father's helped to relieve some of the anger and frustration.
"She will be all right, my son."
Peter turned stricken eyes to meet his father's. "How can you be so sure?"
Caine lifted an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder. "I just...know."
"Mr. Caine?" Dr. Dawson emerged from the nearby sliding doors that led from the ER. He wore the expression of a consummate professional, careful not to reveal too little or too much. "Mr. Caine, I've just finished examining your wife, and while we have some real concerns here, I want to assure you that her injuries are NOT life-threatening."
Peter emitted a strangled gasp, like that of a drowning man who reaches the surface of the water for his first gulp of air. He sagged in relief against the wall behind him. "How-how-how is she?" Peter rasped out, his face still white.
"Our first concern was the possible structural damage to the trachea and larynx, but both are only badly bruised."
"She-she's breathing OK?"
The doctor nodded an affirmative. "We're administering oxygen just to make her breathing a little easier. Her throat is going to be extremely sore, so she won't have much of a voice for awhile, either."
Paul interrupted. "Doctor, she hit her head pretty hard, didn't she?"
"Yes. She has a concussion. Her vision is blurred, she's nauseated -- all the classic symptoms. The cut we stitched a week ago has torn open again, and I'm afraid that THIS repair job is going to leave some scarring."
"I need to see her, please!" Peter begged.
A dispassionate voice intoned over the intercom system, "Dawson. Dr. Dawson. You are needed in Exam Room 4. STAT. Dr. Dawson."
Dawson abruptly turned on his heel and headed back into the ER. After a split second's hesitation, Peter followed. The determined look on his face bespoke the fact that nothing and no one would stop him.
Kacie was struggling to sit up, and fighting off the hands that were trying to help her. The expression on her face was one of sheer terror, though her eyes were glazed and unfocused. The ER personnel were doing their best to be gentle, but the reopened cut on her face was bleeding badly. Both IV needle and nasal cannula had been dislodged in the struggle. She was shaking uncontrollably and frantically calling out in a voice that was little more than a harsh squeak. "Peter! Peter! Help me! I need you! Peter!"
Oblivious to the doctors and nurses, Peter gathered Kacie into his arms and held her in a desperate embrace. She instantly recognized his voice and the feel and smell of him, and clutched him around the neck, sobbing hysterically.
Peter crooned soothingly into her ear as she trembled violently against him. He could see Dawson out of the corner of his eye, approaching with an alcohol swab and a hypodermic syringe. Kacie jumped at the needle prick and within seconds her crying subsided into muffled whimpers. Her muscles relaxed, and she became a dead weight against Peter's shoulder.
"Peter? Peter!" Dawson's voice was insistent. "Lay her back down. Lay her down!"
Peter released his hold reluctantly. The nurses and interns returned to work on Kacie, reinserting the IV needle and replacing the nasal cannula. They covered the bleeding cut with gauze, and attempted to clean away the drying blood from her face and neck.
Peter turned to the doctor and demanded, "What did you do to her?"
"I gave her a sedative called Ativan, but if she doesn't stay calm, I'll have to knock her out entirely and put her on a respirator. Her blood pressure shot sky high there, and that could aggravate the brain swelling. We don't want to let that concussion get any worse."
"Why haven't you stitched her head yet?" Peter demanded, looking down at his blood-soaked shirt.
"When I came to talk to you, she wasn't bleeding that badly. But you saw her when you came in here. I couldn't try and suture that cut while she was thrashing around like that."
"You won't be suturing at all, Dave." Dr. McClanahan's deep baritone broke into their conversation. Peter shifted his gaze to the surgeon, and was reassured by the man's steadying presence.
"No offense against your needle work, Dave," McClanahan continued, "but I've grown rather fond of the way my nurse used to look, and I brought my friend here to make sure she continues to look like that."
Dr. Novak, dressed in scrubs and already wearing gloves, stepped from behind McClanahan and peered at Kacie's face to examine the damage. "Hmm. Concussion, too? Any vomiting?"
Dawson nodded and replied, "The EMTs said she threw up once during transport, and she had a smaller episode here upon arrival."
Novak frowned. "I don't want to risk using a general anesthetic. What would you recommend, Doctor Dawson?"
"I gave her a shot of Ativan just before you arrived. I'm rather surprised that it knocked her out like this..."
"Any drug hits her hard," Peter said tensely, taking her limp hand in his.
"Well, do you think a local will be enough?" Novak continued conversationally.
"Your call, Doctor," Dawson replied.
"How can you people just stand around sounding like you're talking about last night's baseball game?" Peter exploded. "This is my wife, dammit! Do something for her!"
All three doctors stared at him, as if just remembering his presence. "Peter, you'll have to wait outside now," McClanahan said gently.
Peter's lip curled back in an almost feral snarl. "It'll take a SWAT team to get me out of here."
The doctors exchanged looks.
Novak speared Peter with a steely stare. "You would deliberately risk your wife's health by increasing her chance of infection and complications?"
Peter blanched. "Please," he whispered, begging now. "I'll do anything you want me to do. I wasn't with her when I should have been. Just let me be here with her now, while you take care of her. Please."
McClanahan looked at him compassionately. "Peter, we can't let you stay while we work. You would only get in our way, and to be quite honest, I don't think you could handle watching." He put an arm around Peter's shoulder and started to walk him from the room.
Peter shrugged off the arm and turned back to Kacie. "I need to talk to her first."
"Mr. Caine, she won't hear you," Dawson commented as tactfully as he could.
"Yes, she will!" Peter snapped fiercely. "I know she will!"
Behind Peter's back, McClanahan was silently signaling Dawson to allow the distraught husband this bit of comfort.
Bending over Kacie's still form, Peter tried not to look at the mottled bruises and the scratches on her throat. He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers as he whispered, "I wanted to stay, Sweetheart. But I have to leave now. I'll be right outside, all the time. And I promise you..." His voice cracked and broke. "I promise you that I will be right there with you when you wake up. I love you."
"Come on, Peter. We need to get to work." McClanahan took his arm and gently started to lead him away.
"Mr. Caine?"
Peter looked at the nurse who stood holding a small plastic bag.
She held it out to him and explained, "We had to take this off your wife, Mr. Caine. It was...scratching her, and we removed it. Would you mind taking it with you now?"
He took the small bag from her, closing his eyes and dropping his head as he recognized the entwined hearts necklace. {It seems like just yesterday she told me she'd never take this off. She was so happy that night, and she looked at me with so much love, I thought I would drown in her eyes. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.}
He didn't realize he had spoken aloud until McClanahan shook his arm.
"Peter. Peter! Listen to me." The doctor shook him again, and Peter stared at him dumbly. "She will be all right. I promise you that."
"You-you won't leave her alone? You'll stay with her until I can be there? She-she trusts you. She likes you. You'll..."
"I will take care of her for you, Son. You have my word on it." They started walking out the door of the exam room.