Free The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel by T. Ainsworth Page B

group of laughing nurses passing between blocked any chance of that until they moved on.
    “Islam is a religion of peace—”
    Another crowd of people walked between them, talking loudly.
    “When the Towers—”
    Morgan’s stomach twisted.
    “Some people in my country cheered.”
    Blood rushed to Morgan’s face. The responsibility of being a senior surgeon could no longer restrain him. Reacting viscerally, he threw his tray toward the resident, jumped across the aisle, and lunged at him, yelling, “You goddamn son of a bitch!”
    The surgeon’s fingers squeezed the young man’s neck as the institutional cafeteria chair tipped backward. Both crashed to the floor with Morgan on top. The resident almost lost consciousness on impact.
    “How can you talk like that?” Purple in the face, Morgan’s grip around the man’s neck grew tighter. “Fucking Bin Laden—and you bastards—killed Cay!”
    Many hands pulled Morgan off and forced him into a chair. Food and broken dishes were strewn everywhere.
    “I loved her…” His head bowed into his hands as everyone in the cafeteria stared in shock.
    The resident stood up shakily and looked at his soiled white coat. When Morgan struggled to move, the terrified man recoiled and quickly stepped away, never taking his eyes off him.

    Ross Merrimac paged Morgan and demanded he appear immediately at his office. Once Morgan arrived, Merrimac shut the door. An administrative assistant stood in a corner, monitoring the conversation.
    The chief of surgery suspended his friend from surgery and further barred him from entering the hospital. He had to.
    “Morgan, you’ll be lucky if that resident doesn’t file assault charges…and maybe he should.”
    Merrimac didn’t offer him a chair.
    “He deserved it,” Morgan seethed through his teeth. Pumping his fists, Morgan had no intention of backing down.
    “No he didn’t!” Merrimac answered in an unusually loud voice. “The other residents said he was condemning the terrorists. But that makes no difference, Dr. Morgan.” He was getting testier and it showed. “You almost strangled that kid.”
    Merrimac glared. “You’re a damn doctor!” His forehead blood vessels bulged.
    “They killed Cay…”
    “I know how much you loved Cay, but that house officer didn’t kill her! You know that! Attacking an innocent man is your approach to anger management? Are you crazy?” Merrimac’s hands moved in underscored synchrony with his words.
    “Why did I believe you?” Merrimac said, finally catching his breath. “Should have gone with my gut, insisted you get help weeks ago. But oh no! Damn surgeons and their egos! They can control everything!”
    He continued through clenched teeth. “God almighty! Do you have any idea how bad this is? We’ve invested a fortune in you and this transplant program! I frigging know the chairman of the board is going to call me and ask why we have a bigoted lunatic on staff! How will this affect the hospital? Worse yet, the program we’re trying to build!”
    Merrimac’s hands shot in the air. “What about our patients? Christ almighty!” With a final sway of his arm, Ross Merrimac motioned him toward the door. “Unlike the way you treated that kid, you get a fair hearing! We’ll notify you about the date. Now…get the hell out of my face!”
    To sever contact, he grabbed a surgery journal, opened it to a dog-eared page and started reading.
    Escorted to his office by hospital security guards, Morgan collected whatever he could, packed it in his briefcase, surrendered his identification badge, and changed into street clothes. They flanked him to his BMW.

    During the two weeks before his hearing, Morgan became a vagrant entombed in his own home. Eating little, sleeping less, and infrequently shaving, he moved aimlessly from room to room, snatching restless catnaps and doing little else. Cocooned in his misery, there was no escape.
    “You were stupid for jumping that kid…” he said.