Princeton Baptist Medical Center

Birmingham, AL.

16 June, 2019

7 pm

Dr. Warren Grayson was beyond livid. Nothing got under his skin more than ER Physicians that acted territorial. Frankly, he didn't care how they ran a hospital in backwater, Alabama. His people were here to do a job–one that had far more implications than what excuse Bobby Jo Sue Ann had to get her next Oxycodone fix."What's the problem here, Dr. Hanson?" Dr. Grayson didn't hide his annoyance at being called down here to listen to this, so soon after his arrival.

"With all due respect, Doctors," a beleaguered Hanson grumbled, "it's a too-hot Friday night in Alabama. Now that may not mean much in Washington, but we get our butts kicked in the ER when it's like this." With a scowl that would scare the dead, he walked away from Dr. Grayson, turning his attention instead to a stack of charts the charge nurse had set on his desk.

"Dr. Hanson," Dr. Crenshaw interjected, his voice the calm in this gathering storm. "May I call you Jerry?"

Hanson's eyes briefly looked up from his work. "No," he said abruptly, "you may not."

"Fine. Dr. Hanson." Dr. Crenshaw appeared a little impatient with the ER Chief's blatant disregard for the possible ramifications of the man lying dead in room ED27. "You run you're ER however you see fit." He placed his hand down hard on the charts, stopping Dr. Hanson's reading. "But the fact is that Sammy Kehoe, a healthy man in his prime, died under your care. Now I can have the AHA down here in an hour, investigating possible malpractice, or you can let me run my tests. I just want to know that whatever killed him, is an isolated event."

"We'll be out of your hair by morning," Dr. Grayson grumbled, wishing that he was already anywhere but there.

Dr. Hanson glanced up at the two with a look of disgust. One that said he knew that if he didn't let them investigate, the threat to call in the Alabama Hospital Association would become a reality. By morning, his hospital would be crawling with arrogant bureaucrats just like these two. "Fine," he said, pointing at a stout Bahamian woman in blue scrubs. "Do you see the woman holding the chart? That is Althea Timmons. She was charge nurse last night, and can answer all your questions concerning Mister Kehoe's condition and care." He stood, his hand outstretched in front of him. "After you Gentlemen."

"Nurse Timmons," Hanson announced, as the three of them walked up to meet her, "this is Doctors Grayson and Crenshaw. They are with the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, here to investigate Mister Kehoe. Would you be so kind to accompany to the Medical Examiner's work area downstairs." His voice was sharply arrogant, but reeked of defeat. Warren Grayson had won.

The intensity in the look the nurse gave Dr. Hanson, had an undercurrent of something nasty. Either these two hated each other, or they were in love. Dr. Grayson smiled, content that he had an angle to use, if needed. "Yes... Doctor."

"Let me know what you gentlemen come up with."

"Wait," Dr. Crenshaw said loudly, as the events of the past few minutes sped through his brain like a shot of adrenaline. "Why the ME's office? We need to be using containment procedures, just in case. That means keeping his body in that room and sealing it until we know more."

Dr. Hanson was growing increasingly agitated over the whole night's events. "I have a full emergency department, a lot of sick, and injured people. They need the room. I don't think Sammy Kehoe will mind."

******

The elevator ride to the bowels of Princeton hospital was as far removed from the soured undertones of the day as one could get. The dark skinned Nurse Timmons was Hanson's polar opposite. Upbeat and cracking well timed jokes, Dr. Crenshaw could just imagine how loved this woman must be to those in her charge. With a glimmer I his eye, he came to the conclusion, that little detail was what probably got under the uptight 'Jerry's' skin. If there was one thing he'd learned during his years in the field, it was that Chief ED Doctors despised anything that challenged their playing the lead. Especially charge nurses that everyone–patients, visitors, and staff–rallied around.

"All joking aside Doctors," she said, her Bahamian accent hitting Richard's ears like musical notes. "Twas I that called the CDC dis morning. Someting very bad is going on, I want ta know what it is. But when I say ta dat man me feeling, he shut me down. He says he da Doctor, dat I need to mind me business, do what me paid ta do." Althea reached out and hit the STOP button, jarring the elevator to a halt. The look in her soft brown eyes was one he noticed earlier, though now more pronounced.

Fear.

Dr. Crenshaw put a hand on her arm, doing his best to ease whatever tension she had. "Listen, Althea." Richard always tried to get on a first name basis with anyone he had to work with. People, he thought, were usually well aware of their titles, and were more prone to open up to someone that took the time to learn–and call them by–their given name. "May I call you that?"

A warm smile worked her lips upward. "Please. Yes."

Placing his hand to his mouth, he cleared his throat. Across the elevator, he noticed Warren's eyes were focused on his. "Althea, I want the same thing, to know what this is. As for your boss, you need not worry. He'll never know you called us in."

Nurse Timmons erupted in a deep laughter that bounced from the elevator walls like a rubber ball. "You, Dr. Crenshaw, ya make me laugh. Me not care what da silly Hanson tinks."

"Then what's on your mind?"

"It's da way dat man, Kehoe, got so sick." She paused her thoughts momentarily, then pulled the button to start the elevator again.
"Let me tell you a story about one very sick man. And da lady who brought him in."