Chapter 2 - The Hospital Corridor
Mercy General Hospital smelled of floor stripper, isopropyl alcohol, and the sharp, vinegar-like tang of industrial bleach. It was a sterile, bright world where the lights never turned off and the clocks on the walls did not tick; they simply jumped from one digital minute to the next with silent, uncaring precision.
They had taken Daniel and Chloe through the double doors of the emergency department twenty minutes ago. I had been left in the waiting room, a space furnished with low, vinyl-covered chairs in shades of faded teal and a television mounted in the corner that was playing a daytime talk show with the sound turned down.
Vance sat two chairs away from me. He had not left my side since we got into the police cruiser. He had a paper cup of black coffee in his lap, the steam rising in a thin, straight line toward the fluorescent light panels. He looked uncomfortable, his heavy duty belt squeaking every time he shifted his weight.
“My sister has a kid Chloe’s age,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the television screen where a woman was waving her hands dramatically at a studio audience. “Ten is a hard age. They’re old enough to know when something is wrong, but they still think adults have everything under control. Your girl... she was smart to use that watch.”
I didn't answer. I was staring at my hands. There was a smudge of grey soot on my left thumb, likely from the door frame of the garage when I had reached in to find Daniel. I tried to rub it off against my jeans, but it only smeared, leaving a dark, dirty line across my skin.
The double doors swung open, and a doctor in light blue scrubs stepped through. His face was lined with fatigue, his eyes carrying that neutral, professional distance that doctors wear when they have to deliver news to people who are waiting in vinyl chairs.
“Mrs. Vance?” he asked, looking around the empty room before his eyes settled on me.
“I’m Sarah,” I said, standing up so fast my head swam. “Sarah Jenkins. How are they?”
“Your daughter is awake,” the doctor said, and the air finally returned to my lungs. “She’s in the pediatric ICU. Her carbon monoxide levels were high—around eighteen percent—but we got her into the hyperbaric chamber quickly. The oxygen therapy is working. She’s groggy, and she has a headache that she’s currently complaining about very loudly, which is actually a very good sign.”
“And Daniel?”
The doctor’s expression did not change, which told me everything I needed to know before he even spoke. “Your husband’s levels were much higher. Closer to forty-five percent. He was closer to the source of the gas for a longer period of time, and his respiratory rate was lower because he was already asleep or unconscious when the concentration reached its peak. We’ve got him on a ventilator in the medical ICU. We’re doing the same hyperbaric treatments, but... there may be some neurological complications. We won't know the extent of the damage until we can get him off the sedative and see how he responds.”
“Neurological damage,” I repeated. The words felt heavy, like stones I had to carry in my mouth. “Like... he won't be able to talk? Or walk?”
“We’re not there yet, Mrs. Jenkins,” the doctor said, his tone softening slightly. “Right now, we’re focused on keeping his heart stable. Carbon monoxide does a number on the cardiac muscle. We have him on a low dose of epinephrine to keep his blood pressure up. You can see your daughter for five minutes, but your husband is still in the middle of a treatment cycle. It’ll be another hour before he’s back in his room.”
“I want to see Chloe,” I said.
Vance stood up, setting his coffee cup on the side table. “I’ll wait here, ma'am. Officer Miller is on his way from the house. He said he has some preliminary findings from the tech team.”
I followed the doctor through the double doors, down a long corridor where the air grew colder and the noise of the emergency room faded into the steady, rhythmic beeping of monitors.
Chloe’s room was small, lit only by the green and blue glow of the bedside equipment. She looked tiny in the middle of the high, white hospital bed, her small frame covered by a yellow blanket with cartoon bears printed on it. Her pink backpack sat in the corner of the room on a plastic chair, its straps dirty and twisted, a silent reminder of the ordinary afternoon she should have had.
“Mom?” she whispered as I stepped inside. Her voice was raspy, dry from the oxygen mask that now sat around her neck like a plastic collar.
“I’m here, baby,” I said, rushing to her side and taking her small, warm hand in both of mine. “I’m right here.”
“My head hurts,” she said, her eyes half-closed. “Like when I fell off the swing and hit the dirt. Only worse. And everything tastes like copper.”
“I know, sweetie. The doctors are giving you medicine for that. You’re going to be okay.”
She turned her head slightly, looking toward the window where the afternoon sun was beginning to set, casting long, orange bars across the linoleum floor. “Where’s Dad? He was on the floor. I tried to pull his arm, but he was too heavy. I couldn't get him to wake up, Mom. I kept shaking him, but his eyes were just... they were open, but he wasn't looking at me.”
A cold finger of dread traced its way down my spine. “You found him on the floor, Chloe? Before you felt sick?”
“I got off the bus,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as if she were still inside that quiet, poisoned house. “The door was already open a little bit. Not wide, just... like someone didn't push it all the way shut. I thought Dad was playing a trick on me. He does that sometimes, hides behind the pantry. But when I went into the kitchen, he was already down. He had his blue cup in his hand, and it was broken.”
“Did you see anyone else, Chloe?” I asked, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to keep it steady for her. “Was there anyone in the house when you got home?”
She shook her head, then winced as the movement hurt her. “No. But... the basement door was shut. Dad always keeps it open so the cat can get to her food. And I heard something downstairs. Like... a click. Like when the furnace turns on, but louder.”
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The door to the room opened, and Officer Miller stepped inside. He had a yellow legal pad under his arm and a small, clear plastic bag in his hand. He caught my eye and nodded toward the hallway.
“Five more minutes, Sarah,” he said quietly. “Then we need to talk.”
