Free ADRENALINE: New 2013 edition by John Benedict Page A

again.
Help me, Dr. Danowski! Help me, Dr. Danowski!
    A bright light shone directly into her right eye. It was so intense, it hurt.
This must be the light they talk about. I’m dying. I’m heading for the light
.

    “Oh, thank God,” Ken sighed with relief. Dorothy’s pupils had contracted briskly to the light, indicating her brain was still functioning. There was no stroke. The conclusion was inescapable.
She’s light! How did I miss it? She’s light, possibly even awake!
    “Everything OK up there, Ken?” Watkins asked.
    “Yeah, fine,” Ken lied, his voice a bit shaky. He didn’t want to upset Watkins, who had a nasty reputation for turning ugly if all didn’t suit him.
    “Makes me nervous when I hear my gas-man praying,” Watkins said, breaking up again.
    Ken injected large doses of Fentanyl, Versed and Diprivan into Dorothy’s intravenous line while he tried to figure out what had gone wrong. He whispered in Dorothy’s ear, “Everything’s OK, Dorothy. You’re all right.”

    Dorothy sensed herself being carried away again into oblivion. The awful pain was finally going away.
God’s answering my prayers and taking me
. As she lost consciousness for the second time that morning, Dorothy thought she could hear the Almighty telling her: “Everything’s OK, Dorothy.”

    Ken checked his infrared agent monitor again. It was reading -

    Just what he had dialed in. That should have been plenty to keep her asleep. What went wrong? Computer glitch? Monitor malfunction? Broken vaporizer? Sudden instinct propelled him to action before he fully comprehended what he was doing.
    Ken tore the rubber breathing bag from the circuit and sniffed the contents. Almost three percent Forane should be easy to smell.
    What the—that’s not Forane! It’s Suprane!
    In a flash, it all made sense. Two-point-nine percent Suprane isn’t enough to keep anyone asleep. Eight to ten percent Suprane were the typical concentrations used. Poor Dorothy had been light all along, probably even awake.
    But, how could it’ve happened? he wondered sickly. And, how much would she remember?

CHAPTER SEVEN

    Maybe now, I’ll get some answers, Rusty thought as he waited in the hallway for Dr. Landry to come out of the locker room. The two had hooked up this morning and done several cases in the outpatient surgery wing, a stand-alone unit separate from the main hospital OR. Rusty’s investigation of his past had amazingly led him to Mercy Hospital, but here the trail went cold. Ever since his days at the orphanage, he had wondered about his parents. Who were they? Why did they put him there? What had really happened to them?
    The locker room door opened and Dr. Landry stepped out, interrupting further thoughts. “C’mon, Rusty,” Dr. Landry said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”
    “Sure, you’re on!” Rusty replied. He was always eager to humor his attendings—they were, of course, responsible for his all-important evaluations. Rusty knew he was quite adept at adapting himself to please people. In fact, he had dubbed himself, “Plastic-man,” not really having a shape of his own but able to take any formthe other person wanted to see. A true shape-shifter, just like on Star Trek . He had gotten along very well with Dr. Danowski yesterday and figured it would be even easier with Dr. Landry. This skill had served him well through college and the rigors of medical school. He viewed life as an endless series of cranky attendings to be hoodwinked in order to achieve his goals.
    But he had to admit that Mercy felt very different from the Med Center. There was a feeling of freedom here to be away from the Med Center’s stiff professors, endless rounds, boring case presentations and countless students. He was getting a taste of medicine on the front lines with real-life doctors. Plus, he was getting one-on-one training, something that just didn’t happen at the Med Center.
    “OK, follow me,” Dr. Landry said. “We’ll head down to the