continued...
Since Nick broke every known speed law he made it to the hospital right after the ambulance.Nick picked the first spot he found, caring more about Natalie than his prized car at this point. He and Schanke bolted for the emergency entrance.
They entered as Natalie was being whisked by. Neither could believe what they saw.
"It can't be..." Schanke said, stunned, "she's not the type." He couldn't believe his friend had just tried to take her own life. "Besides, aren't doctors supposed to OD or something?"
"You're right, she's not the type. And, yes, they generally do OD," Nick said.
Grace entered, and walked over to the two men. She saw their pain and confusion, and was surprised to see a little anger in Nick's eyes.
"What happened?" Nick asked.
"We were supposed to have a girl's night out. Nat never forgets. I stopped by to see if she wanted a ride. I knew she was home because her car was in it's spot. After ringing the bell and knocking a couple times I entered to make sure everything was okay. When I saw her purse and keys on that piece I knew she was in there. I called out to her, but still no response. I started looking around and found nothing... until I reached the bathroom. She was in the tub. She'd used a scalpel to slit her wrists. I checked her pulse, fearing the worst. She's alive, but was unconscious, and still is."
"I still can't believe it. She'd never do it. She thinks it's the easy way out," Schanke said.
"I know," Grace said in consolation. "Do either of you have any idea..."
Both men shook their heads. Nick knew he couldn't say anything without endangering Schanke and Grace's lives.
About twenty-five minutes later the doctor came out and headed for the threesome in the waiting room.
"I'm looking for someone here for Natalie Lambert."
"That's us," Nick said.
"She should be fine, provided she gets counseling. We found Phenobarbital in her system." He noticed the surprised looks on their faces. "She's being moved to her room. You can see her there shortly." He started to leave but decided to ask the one question he'd been hesitant to ask. "Does anyone know that this wasn't her first attempt? From the scars we found on both wrists she had the same injury about five weeks ago, yet we have no record of it."
Grace was shocked, then it hit her. "Nick, isn't that when she said she fell and sprained one wrist, and cut the other on broken glass when she fell?"
"It is."
"You took her to the ER then. Did you know?"
Nick didn't know how to respond to the question. "Umm...I saw the wounds. She asked me not to tell anyone. That she was okay, that it was an accident. That if people saw them, they'd get the wrong idea."
"Make sure she gets counseling. I have to go check on a few other patients. I'll check in on your friend shortly." The doctor headed back into the emergency room treatment area.
"Nick, you know how hard it is for her to admit something's wrong. She needs help," Grace said.
"What's Phenobarbital?" Schanke asked.
"It's used for seizure disorders."
"Nat doesn't have one," Schanke said. "Does she?"
"No." Nick said.
Nick approached the information desk.
"I need the room number of Natalie Lambert," he said in his most charming voice.
"Room 1013."
"Thank you."
Nick returned to his friends and together they headed for the elevator. Before long they arrived at the tenth floor and checked the signs to see which way to go.
Before long Nick quietly pushed open Natalie's door. He saw her eyes closed and wasn't sure if they should bother her, but knew his friends wanted to see for themselves that she was okay.
The three of them entered the room. They were surprised, yet not totally surprised to see restraints on both Natalie's wrists. It hurt to see their friend restrained like that, and in such emotional pain.
Natalie woke, startled to see her three friends staring down at her. She tried to reach out to Nick and was startled to discover the restraints.
"What happened?" She asked, her fear growing.
"That's what we'd like to know," Grace said.
"I fell asleep on my couch and the next thing I know I'm here."
"Natalie, your wrists don't get slashed by sleeping on the couch," Grace said a bit sterner.
"Grace, how hard is it to hold onto a wet slippery scalpel? Especially if your hands are wet?"
"Quite hard. What does that have to do... Oh. But it can still be done."
"Have you been taking drugs?"
"No. And no, I didn't try to kill myself."
"Natalie, the accident wasn't really a fall was it? I might've believed that had there been one scar," Grace said.
"Guys, can I have a moment alone with her?"
"Sure," Schanke said.
Grace nodded. They saw how Natalie was growing more disturbed with the passing time, and knew it was time to leave.
"We're glad you're going to be okay," Schanke said.
"Don't ever scare me like that again!" Grace admonished.
"You were the one who found me?" Natalie asked curious and concerned.
"Yes."
"Thank you," Natalie said, sincerely.
"We'll see you later," Schanke said.
He and Grace left.
"Nick... They did it to me again!" Natalie cried scared. "Can you please undo these?"
Nick could tell the restraints terrified her more than the actual injuries. "I can't, but I'll talk to the doctor and see what I can do. Okay?"
Natalie nodded. Nick gently stroked her hair, and kissed her forehead.
"Why did they ask me about drugs?" Natalie asked totally confused, but with a hunch she didn't want to know the answer.
"They found Phenobarbital in your bloodstream. Schanke didn't know what it was and asked about it. After I told him what it's used for, he asked if you had a seizure disorder, pretty sure you didn't. I told him you didn't."
"Take a sample, please. I want to know if you can see something I can't."
Nick reluctantly let his fangs drop and nipped the tip of her pinky finger. She flinched as the fang pierced her skin. He took a sip then licked the wound to close it, not wanting the staff to think she'd tried to hurt herself again. He searched the blood for any clue to who did this to her but there was nothing. It did reassure him that he was right, that she was again the victim of a frame up.
"Why is someone out to get me?" Natalie asked, scared.
"I don't know. But I promise you, I will find out!"
"Don't kill them. I want to face them."
"Okay."
"Will you stay with me for a while? Talk with me?"
"Sure." He knew he'd be terrified if he was in her place. "Why don't we start with what happened."
"I fell asleep, just like last time, and when I woke up I was here." Natalie shuddered. "If Grace hadn't found me..."
"I don't think they want you dead. There are too many other ways they could've done it if that was their goal. They could've given you an OD as well, or instead. They could've made the gashes worse."
"I know." She sighed.
"Did you bring in take out?"
"Yes. Same place I've been going to for the last three weeks."
"Have their been any workmen in your apartment, or in the building?"
"I haven't seen anyone in the building. I know I haven't had any work done around the place. Do you think someone got in?"
"It's possible, but I don't think so."
"What did my blood tell you?"
"Nothing. Which means that you were unconscious when they slit your wrists."
"I want to go home," Natalie said.
"I'm sorry but we're required to hold you for a seventy-two hour evaluation period," the doctor said as he entered.
"Can you take these off?" Natalie asked, hopeful.
"Maybe in a little while. First you need to talk with our counselor."
"They're hurting my wrists."
The doctor checked the restraints and noticed they were a little tight so he loosened them a notch, at the same time doing a quick check to see if any of the sutures had been torn loose, and found the bandage unstained by blood. "Sorry about that."
"Thank you. That's much better."
"Care to tell me what happened?"
Natalie wanted to give him a sarcastic answer but knew it was probably not in her best interest to do so. "I don't know. I fell asleep on the couch and woke up here."
The doctor sensed she was telling the truth, but it just didn't work with the known factors.
"I'll have the counselor come down and talk to you. Then we'll see about the restraints. They're for your own protection."
Natalie sighed. She knew he was right.
"Nat, I'll see you later. There are a few things I have to do," Nick said as he kissed her on the cheek. He gently caressed her face before turning and leaving the room.
The doctor wondered how his patient wound up here with that many caring friends. He knew that sometimes friends only made the situation seem worse.
Nick headed straight for the treatment area.
"Sir, you're not allowed back here."
Nick pulled his badge. "I need Natalie Lambert's clothes and personal belongings."
"You'll have to sign for them," a nurse said. She'd dealt with enough cops to know that asking questions rarely resulted in answers.
The nurse quickly retrieved the plastic bag they'd put the patient's belongings into.
"Her clothes are ruined from the blood, but we thought you might need them."
"We do."
Nick signed the release form and left with her clothes. He headed for her apartment, making a phone call along the way.
One of the top forensics people met him at the entrance to Natalie's apartment building.
"Peter, thank you for coming on your day off."
"Your request had me quite curious. What is it you want me to do?"
"I need you to check for fingerprints, and any other forensic evidence you can find. And I want the information to be delivered ONLY to me. Understand?"
"Yes," the guy said. He knew Nick's reputation, and that he often returned the favor with a pair of super tickets to whatever sport or music you were into. Also that Nick was one of the few cops who knew the forensics guys names, and that he didn't treat them like science geeks. The tickets were merely a show of appreciation, nothing more.
Peter grabbed his bag and followed Nick upstairs to Natalie's apartment, totally unaware of where he was going. Nick unlocked the door and let him in, turning on lights as necessary.
"Is this someone you know?" Peter asked.
"Yes. It's someone we both know," Nick said, knowing Peter would see one of the pictures soon enough and realize who's apartment he was dusting.
Peter started with the door knob, knowing it would most likely be too contaminated to do much good.
"It will take forever to do this whole apartment. Anywhere you want me to concentrate my efforts?"
Nick realized Peter was right. "The closet door over there, and the medical bag. I also want the couch examined the tables and floor around the area, and the path from the front door to the bathroom. As well as the bathroom. And anything else you think necessary."
"That does narrow it down a bit. If you're going to stay here, stay out of those areas."
"Okay. I'll be in the kitchen."
"When I get everything back to the lab what am I to eliminate?"
"Anything relating to myself, Don Schanke, Grace Balthazar and Schanke's wife Myra."
"Okay. That will help me finish this sometime before the end of the century," the guy said a little lighthearted. "Who's apartment is this?"
"Natalie Lambert's."
Peter looked stunned. "Is she okay? Is she in trouble?"
"She'll be okay. That's what I'm hoping you can tell me."
Peter vowed to himself to do an extra thorough job as Natalie had always been nice to him, even when he'd made stupid rookie mistakes she took the time to explain what he'd done wrong and showed him what to do next time.
Nick hoped he could sneak in a quick meal without being caught. He was hungry and the scent of Natalie's blood wasn't helping matters.
Nick ducked into the kitchen and grabbed his mug, then opened the fridge door, glad it would block any side view into there and helped himself to a healthy portion of blood from the expired blood orange juice container. The date was far enough past that neither of them believed anyone would drink it. They thought the natural name and nature of the juice would help disguise the true contents.
He quickly downed the entire mug, careful not to dribble any onto his clothes. He carefully checked his face in the toaster's reflection before washing out the mug and returning it to it's proper place. He then sat down at the kitchen table and laid his head on his hands. He was tired.
Peter moved from area to area as he finished the previous one. He made sure he had all the possible evidence available. He also tried not to make a big mess, knowing that someone would have to clean it up.
Meanwhile at the hospital, A woman entered Natalie's room. Natalie looked at her, taking her attention from the television set.
"Hello. I'm Amanda Black."
"Hello. I'm Natalie Lambert. You're the one I'm supposed to talk to right? And you'll take these off?"
"Yes, and most likely." Amanda was pleased to see things starting off pretty well. Her patient seemed rational and didn't seem a danger to herself, but the interview would give her a much better indication of her patient's true state.
"You probably won't believe me, but I'll tell you the truth," Natalie said simply.
"Why don't you just tell me something about yourself first, then we'll get into why you're here. Okay?"
Natalie nodded. "I don't really know where to start. I love my work and enjoy being with my friends. Life's not bad. My friends call me a workaholic, but I'm not. I just have a demanding job. I can't leave at the end of a shift if I'm in the middle of someone." Natalie noticed Amanda's expression and continued. "I'm a forensic pathologist. Sometimes a body will come in near the end of my shift so I have to stay late and do the autopsy and required paperwork. Or if I was the crime scene investigator then I have to follow the case until after I've testified in court or given a deposition if there is not going to be a trial."
"Interesting choice of occupation."
"I suppose you want to know why someone like me would pick such a career." She saw the therapist nod. "I don't know. Why did you pick your career? Why did my doctor and nurses pick theirs?" Natalie sensed that the therapist believed she was avoiding the question. "I wasn't avoiding answering. I guess when I wound up doing a forensics rotation it caught my attention. There are no easy answers in my job. I can't just match the symptoms with the answers in a book. I have to treat each case like a puzzle and fit the pieces together until I come up with a complete picture, or as complete as possible. I love the challenge."
"How's your social life?"
"It's good. I go out with friends, get along well with my coworkers."
"Are you seeing anyone in the dating, romantic sense?"
"Not really."
The therapist saw the brief flash of something in her patient's eyes and wasn't sure what it meant.
"Would you like to be?"
"What woman wouldn't like a nice romantic guy in their life? I'm happy with my life." Natalie looked up at the therapist hopeful, and moved a bound wrist slightly.
"Okay. I'll remove them." Amanda didn't sense anything seriously wrong with her patient and knew that she might open up even more if she wasn't restrained. She unbuckled the restraints and let them hang down towards the floor. She noticed Natalie's gaze at them.
"Don't worry. I'll take them with me when I leave. Okay?"
Natalie nodded reassured. She flexed her arm muscles and tried to get into a more comfortable position, but using her wrists hurt too much. She set the bed into a much more upright position.
"Can I help?"
Natalie hated asking for help, but she did want to be comfortable, especially if the interview was to continue.
"Can you fix my pillow up a little higher?"
"Sure." Amanda helped Natalie get comfortable then pulled over the chair to continue their discussion.
"Thanks. There is someone I'd like to get closer to, and I know he'd like it too. The problem is his father. He mentally and physically abused him all his life, and continues to do so, mostly mentally now." Natalie looked down at her hands. "I was also abused as a child by my grandmother. She helped take care of my little brother and myself after mom grew really sick."
"Did you tell anyone about this?"
"No. Who was going to believe a little kid? She didn't always hurt me. I don't know why she started doing it. Even after she started, we still had some good times together. She'd tell my mom I was too headstrong and needed discipline. Yet, at home I wasn't considered either of those," Natalie chuckled. "That stubbornness was what got me where I am today. It helped me look after my brother as we grew up."
"Sounds like you were a bright, energetic, curious child."
"I was. I was the little girl in jeans studying a bug or inside reading a book."
"Did anyone ever find out about the abuse?"
"Yes. Mom and dad noticed changes in my behavior, but not good ones. I'd be afraid whenever I made a mistake. They noticed how I didn't want to go back to Nana's when I used to love going there. Dad did ask me once, but I couldn't tell him. How does a five year old say that her grandma hits her? How does she tell her dad that his mom does it?"
"It is hard. So, what happened?"
"Dad realized that something wasn't right because he skipped work that morning and checked up on us without anyone seeing him. He told me that when he saw me crying, looking so scared he wanted to rush in and comfort me but knew he had to find out what was really going on. He knew he had to go to work for at least part of the day because he was facing a major deadline and still had a lot to do. He took off early and saw Nana slap me across the face because I dropped some cookie batter on the floor. A couple minutes later the doorbell rang and it was dad taking me and Richie home. We never went back to Nana's without mom and dad present."
Natalie couldn't believe how much she was opening up to this stranger, but at the same time it felt good to have someone to talk to. Someone impartial.
"Did you talk about it then?"
"Yes. Mom called me into her room and she and dad questioned me. They told me no one would get in trouble. I told them what happened. They spent more time with me afterwards, probably trying to undo what Nana had done to me. They were good parents. Dad spent as much time with us as he could between work and helping take care of mom. Mom and I spent a lot of time together. They felt bad for what happened, for not listening to me when I tried to tell them about it without actually coming out and saying Nana hits me. I remember going to work with dad one day. And the next day I stayed home with mom. After that I generally stayed home with mom and her helper. Richie stayed with a neighbor because he was too little and needed too much attention. Mom and dad encouraged us in whatever we wanted to do. After mom died dad kept encouraging us. He lived long enough to see me graduate from medical school, and to see Richie excelling in his first year at law school.
"Did you ever resolve things between you and your grandmother?"
"Not face to face. When I was a teen she was dying and I refused to go see her. That's when dad told me about how he'd discovered she was abusing me. He told me how angry it made him and how he'd told his mother off. He apologized for not believing me when I'd tried to tell him, for the suffering I'd endured. I told him it was okay because he had believed me once I told him and had protected me from further harm. And had tried to help me heal from it. He knew I had never held it against him, but I guess he needed to hear it."
"And now it's time for the tough questions," Amanda said.
"Why did I try to kill myself and do I have a drug addiction, right?" Natalie saw Amanda nod. "I didn't try to kill myself and I don't have a drug addiction. I was tired after a long shift so I picked up some take out and went home. I changed into something more comfortable and ate while watching TV. I remember getting sleepy and probably dozed off on the couch. The next thing I know I'm here. And you probably don't believe me. I think suicide is the easy way out, the cowards way out. Ask anyone who knows me, especially Nick. It is not the answer. As for the drugs, I haven't taken any since my last bout with the flu last winter. And you probably don't believe me about that either."
Amanda wasn't sure what to believe. She did believe her patient was telling the truth, but the facts told her otherwise. She knew had she not talked with Natalie first she might've been seriously tempted to believe she had indeed tried to take her own life and was a drug addict. The fact that the woman in front of her was intelligent, coherent and did not show any of the danger signs. She was not depressed, she did not hate her life, or have any obvious emotional problems, outside of the ones most of the public had, ones relating to daily life.
"I do believe you. The facts are what trouble me. Especially since there is a pretty recent scar on each wrist. And the most recent injury was skillfully done, and without any hesitation cuts. And the fact that they found Phenobarbital in your bloodstream doesn't help your case. Especially since you don't have seizures. But on the other hand, you haven't shown any signs of withdrawal, which as you know an addict would be showing. And I know that statistically most doctors overdose when they attempt suicide."
"I'd have trouble believing my story. How can I expect any one else to. I think Nick's the only one who does truly believe me."
"Would you mind me talking to your friends?"
"Not at all," Natalie said. She saw no reason it would be a problem. "Do I have to stay the full seventy-two hours?"
"Yes. I think you need the break. And I want to talk with you a bit more. Maybe have you participate in a group discussion. No, I don't think you're crazy. Just a little overworked and maybe a little stressed out. But that describes most of us, doesn't it?" She said with a little chuckle. "And I suspect that you'll follow your doctor's orders better here than at home."
"Damn," Natalie said. The therapist knew her too well.
"I've treated quite a few doctors, cops, and others in high stress, heavy workload occupations. I know that you all tend to rush back to work before you should. That you think you're fine when you're not. That you think you have to be perfect and strong all the time."
"I never said I had to be perfect. I don't think I've ever been that. Brilliant once or twice," Natalie joked.
"Laughter and the ability to joke is a very good sign. I think you'll be fine. Try to take a little time each day for yourself, even if it's just indulging in a few pages of a good book, and I don't mean a journal or technical book. And I'd recommend a daily dose of dark chocolate, if you're not diabetic or hypoglycemic."
"I'm not and that's one prescription I've already given myself."
Amanda laughed. "Another chocoholic?"
"Yes," Natalie said with a big smile.
"I have to go now, but I'll stop by again before you leave. It was nice talking to you."
"The same here. I didn't think I'd like it, but I actually did."
"Everyone needs to talk sometimes, even those of us in the mental health field."
"I guess you're right."
Amanda disconnected the restraints from the bed and saw Natalie's relief as she did so. She couldn't blame her as she'd hate to wake up restrained. She remembered when that had happened during her training, as part of it. It had been frightening and uncomfortable, and she knew it was coming. She knew it had to be even more terrifying when you're not expecting it.
About four hours later Peter was finished with his forensic examination of Natalie's apartment and approached Nick.
"I found this envelope. What do you want me to do with it?" He showed Nick the bagged envelope. It was addressed to Nick, Grace and Schanke.
"Do you have a spare pair?"
Peter pulled a pair of gloves out of his bag and handed them to Nick.
"Thanks. Nick took bag and carefully opened it. He read the contents silently to himself.
'Nick, Grace, Schanke, I'm sorry but I couldn't go on any longer. Things were just too much for me to take. Love, Natalie'
"I'll take this," Nick said as he tucked it back into it's evidence bag and sealed it. He tucked it into his jacket pocket.
"Okay. Was it a suicide note?"
"No. It was just some tickets for us that she didn't want to forget to bring to work." Nick hated lying, but knew it was better than the truth. "Don't list this as a suicide attempt, list it as an assault, or an attempted murder," Nick said.
"No problem."
"How are you doing?" Nick asked.
"I'm done here. I'll take the stuff back to the lab and test it. What name do you want me to put on the file?"
Nick thought about it a moment. "Lisa Williams." He wanted a plain name, one that wouldn't draw undue attention to itself, and hoped the one he had chosen fit that category. "Can you fudge the address?"
"Sure. How does 303 Wood street sound?"
"Good. Thanks." Nick hoped that was all the info that would identify Lisa as Natalie. "If you stumble across anything else..."
"I'll change it." He wondered why Nick was disguising the file but didn't ask, knowing he most likely wouldn't get the truth. He knew there had to be a very good reason for it and that was good enough for him, at least for the time being.
"Thanks," Nick said.
Nick walked Peter down to his car, locking the door as they left.
"I have one more bit of evidence for you," Nick said as he pulled the bag containing Natalie's clothes from his trunk.
"Her clothes?"
"Yes. Maybe they'll provide a clue."
"Let's hope so."
Peter drove off and Nick headed for the loft to feed.