Page 11 of Crow's Haven
My throat tightens. “What do you mean? What are they saying?”
“Word on the grapevine is they’re saying you were overwhelmed. Stressed out and began to lose track of the details. That you were careless with your medication administration. That you made mistakes and didn’t document them. Someone even suggested that you panicked and took off because you knew that you were about to get caught.”
I’m so shocked that I can hardly manage to keep it together. The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. I stare blankly through the windshield, as I try to process this latest turn of events. I want to tell her what I found. That someone was trying to frame me, but something makes me stop.
“You didn’t do that, did you, Sharon?” Her question catches me by surprise because there is something about the tone of her voice that catches my attention. She sounds almost accusatory.
“No,” I reply immediately. “Is that what you believe too?”
“Dr. Brunell is the only one going against the grain,” she tells me. “Everyone else is convinced you made a horrible neglectful mistake.”
“You never answered my question. Do you think I accidentally or intentionally killed that little boy?” My voice is stern, but I don’t even know why I’m asking Sylvia to take sides.
“I don’t know,” she says. “I think we should all reserve judgment until the police complete a more thorough investigation. You need to come back, you taking off only makes you look guilty.”
My head drops back against the seat. “They obviously forwarded the results of the investigation to law enforcement, right?”
“Of course they did,” she shoots back sharply. “A child under your care died. This is serious, Sharon. The hospital has to protect itself and there is a strong feeling among our fellow employees that Joshua deserves justice.”
“I get that,” I tell her. Because truly I do.
She finally sighs. “There’s something else you should know.”
My body stiffens and I brace for yet more bad news.
“There’s talk of a homicide investigation,” she states, her voice taking on a steely edge.
I press my free hand to my mouth to cover the gasp. I’m panicking on the inside but struggle to stay calm. “Do they think it was neglect or intentional?”
“They’re currently checking into other deaths on your ward,” she replies.
I stare at the condensation forming on the Subaru’s window. “But how could they even think I’d do something like that?”
“They’re scared,” she says. “The board of directors and admin team are all scrambling to manage what they consider a tragic event that’s about to turn into a PR disaster before it explodes.”
My blood runs cold. “I don’t understand how they can come to the conclusion that I’m responsible when I did nothing wrong.”
She hesitates just long enough for real worry to set in.
“They brought in a forensic psychologist to consult. Someone who specializes in criminal pathology. He flagged the pattern of deaths in your ward as consistent with an Angel of Death profile. They are saying it’s a clear pattern that points to a possible serial killer.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t because I don’t have the mental bandwidth to process her words or the ability to even respond. I just let the words hang there, vile and absurd. My stomach roils.
I finally choke on the thought. “Are you seriously telling me they think I killed that child? That I put him out of his misery like I’m some kind of vigilante nurse? That I’ve killed other kids too? That doesn’t begin to make sense. That’s the exact opposite of what our mission is as nurses.”
“To be honest, I stood up for you in the beginning. I told them it couldn’t be true,” Sylvia says quickly. “That you cared about your patients. I even told them how you sat with him every night and read those books his parents left. But the person they brought in suggested that maybe you cared too much. Maybe you couldn’t handle it anymore.”
I swallow hard, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “I followed protocol. I did nothing wrong.”
“I believe you,” she says, but this time there’s an edge to her voice that’s grown stronger. “But you left. And that makes it easier for them to fill in the blanks however they want.”
Then, in a quieter voice, Sylvia says, “You could still come in. Tell your side. Cooperate before it spirals. Maybe even… turn yourself in.”
I flinch like I’ve been slapped. “Turn myself in for what? For doing my job? I feel like I’ve been chosen to be the fall guy. Why would I turn myself in if they’re trying to paint me as a serial killer?”
“Prove you’re not guilty,” she says, clearly shaken. “Right now, the story is being written without you having your say. If you wait too long, no one is going to listen. You have to strike while the iron is hot. Do it before there’s an arrest warrant. Face this thing head on.”
My voice cracks. “You think I should just walk into a police station, turn myself in and hope for the best. Is that what you’re saying?”
