Page 80 of Mob Star

“The mother wheeled the basinet into the bathroom when she showered. She stepped out, and the basinet was gone.”

“The bracelet?”

“On the floor.”

I look back toward the doors. Family members are sticking their heads out of rooms and milling around the hallway. Babies are wailing from the noise, and I’m certain parents are terrified. It’s organized chaos as the safety protocols are put in place for the entire hospital. This could be a non-custodial parent abduction, a premeditated abduction, or— I don’t even know —crime of passion abduction?

I take two steps toward the patient room since that baby was under my care at birth. Everything checked out, so I’m no longer her doctor. I still consider her a patient.

“Dr. Gallagher?”

I turn toward a woman holding her baby, jiggling it as she calls for me. The baby isn’t moving. Not flailing. Not crying. Not twisting their head.

“Suze, with me!” I practically have to scream as I run below a speaker.

I lift the newborn from his mother’s arms and take him to the basinet. The infant is turning blue. I pull my stethoscope from around my neck as I run my gaze over the baby. The heartbeat is irregular, and the breathing shallow. The nurse comes in with a cart that includes oxygen. I get the mask fitted around the tiny head. I keep listening to the heart as I run my hands over the fragile arms and legs. I press with two fingers on the abdomen.

The heartbeat grows steadier and stronger. The breathing remains labored with nostrils flaring with each inhale and quiet grunts, but a healthy color is coming back to his blue-tinged face, arms, and legs. I hear the parents asking what’s happening, but I don’t stop to answer them. Something made this baby nearly stop breathing. I can feel the muscles pulling in around the ribs with each breath, which concerns me. This little one isn’t fully out of distress yet.

Suze and I keep working for another five minutes until I’m more confident the infant is stable, but I explain to the parents that their baby needs to go to the NICU for more observations than we can provide in their hospital room. I hate giving that piece of news. I know they feel like their world is crumbling because the unknown is unquantifiably terrifying right now.

I hurry to catch up with Suze and the baby. Examining and running tests on the little boy consumes the next two hours. I’m finally satisfied that he’s stable and recovered from a BRUE—brief resolved unexpected event. I have no idea what happened with the abduction. I barely looked down when Sean called. I pulled out my phone long enough to send a thumbs up text back to him. He must hear what’s going on inside, so he knows I’m not ignoring him or being flippant.

I head back to the charge desk with my surgical cap in my hand as I blow out a long breath. I look around, and you’d never know there was a crisis earlier. It’s like everything is back to normal. That wouldn’t be the case if the abduction was unresolved.

“Terence, what happened?” I stop at the desk and ask a nurse.

“It was a false alarm.”

“How? I heard the monitoring bracelet was on the floor.”

“It was. Apparently, it was too loose and slipped off.”

Bullshit.

“Where was the baby?”

“In a crib in the nursery.”

“What? How?”

Occupied basinets have stats on a whiteboard at the foot of them. That would mean there was one too many babies in there if a basinet with no information had a patient.

“The baby who belonged in the basinet— a little boy —was under the bili lights. The baby in the basinet was a girl. She had a birthmark one nurse recognized and knew who she was.”

Bilirubin lights— phototherapy for jaundiced babies. That makes sense about an unoccupied bed, but that is— I don’t even know. We have one of the best birthing centers and postpartum care units in the state. These types of accidents don’t just happen.

I thank him and head to the doors that lead to the lounge outside the unit. I spot Sean immediately. Red hair helps. His back is also like twice as broad as the chair. He has his laptop and looks up when the doors open. He stands as I walk over.

“What happened?” He keeps his voice low since we aren’t alone.

“An abduction, or rather a misplacement. A baby went missing from her basinet while the mother was taking a shower with the basinet in the bathroom. Apparently— and I don’t believe this for a second —the monitoring bracelet slipped off. The baby wound up in the wrong basinet in the nursery. I just found this out because I had my own patient in distress for the past two hours.”

“Are they both okay?”

“My patient is stable and awaiting test results. As far as I know, the— misplaced— that sounds as horrible as it is — baby is back with her parents. I have ten minutes before I start rounds. I’m going to grab a Coke Zero and a candy bar. Would you like anything?”

“Where do you have to go for that?”

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