Free Lethal Remedy by Richard Mabry

meant there was no incompatibility among them. Good to know and not the kind of information that would come up in a normal study protocol.

Would the data from this case have to be excluded because of the confounding factors of the second infection and additional antibiotics? Ingersoll thought back to his conversation with Wolfe. We may have to be creative in the way we handle our data. So be it, then. He might have to be creative in the way he entered this information into the database, conveniently ignoring the additional drugs, but he couldn't afford to lose even a single patient from the study. He'd handle it.

Sara seemed to be running down, so he brought his full attention back to her. "So little . . . little Chelsea is getting better. Is that right?"

"Yes. Her temp's down. White count returning to normal. No protein or cells in her urine this morning. I think she's turned the corner."

"Well, that's the important thing," Ingersoll said. "I'll look in on her this morning, but you and Pearson should be able to handle things from here on out. You can call me if there are any questions."

Sara frowned. "Jack, we were really afraid you'd erupt when you heard we had to go outside the study protocol to treat her. I'm glad you're taking it this well."

Ingersoll summoned up his most sincere look. "The patient is better. That's what's important." He rose and walked around the desk. He took his ex-wife's hand in both of his. "Sara, I appreciate your coming by to tell me in person. And I hope you won't be a stranger. I think we had something really good at one time, and I'm sorry I let it slip away while I was depressed about the death of our son. Maybe we can get it back."

6

 

 

S ARA SNUGGLED BENEATH THE COVERS. L IFE WAS GOOD . S HE AND J ACK had a lot of good years ahead of them, and the prospect made her smile. Maybe she'd give up her practice at the medical school to be a real stay-at-home mom. That was something a lot of her female colleagues talked about, and although none of them had actually made that move, it was obvious to Sara that deep down, most of them would like nothing better.

She rolled over and reached across the bed, but a cry stopped her arm in mid-reach. Her mother's instinct drove her out of bed, and in a few seconds she was shrugging into her robe as her feet darted here and there in search of her slippers. Don't turn on the light. Don't want to wake Jack.

The cries were louder now, and Sara quickened her steps. She paused at the doorway of the nursery, and the cries stopped as suddenly as they began. She shuffled across the carpet and peered over the edge of the crib. The bundle it held was jammed up against the far corner. She lifted the corner of the blanket and reached forth a hesitant hand to touch the angelic face. It was cold and unmoving as marble.

Her cry began as a low moan deep in her throat and escalated into a siren-like shriek.

Sara sat up in bed and reached for the light at her bedside. Another nightmare. No, not another one. The same one. The same dream that had tormented her since the original scene played out.

There was no hope of sleep now. She shoved aside the bedclothes, grabbed her robe, and padded on slipper-shod feet into the kitchen. Maybe a snack would help. She passed the bathroom and remembered the bottle in the medicine chest. One at bedtime as needed for sleep. Her doctor prescribed them after the baby died, but Sara refused to take them. No, she wanted to feel the full force of her grief. Jack, on the other hand, took them regularly. She'd watched him lie there in drug-induced sleep and hated him for it. How could he ignore the loss . . . their loss?

The prescription was old now. Would the pills still be good? Why had she kept the half-full bottle anyway? She had no intention of drugging herself to sleep. Of course, there were times when she'd wanted to take all of them and fall into that deepest and most permanent of sleeps. But not tonight. She wasn't that