At the Seams

Chapter 6: Day 1 - 9:16 am

Chapter 6: Day 1 - 9:16 am

Mary’s journey through the many stomachs of the hospital begins, of course, in an ungraceful, noisy, smelly emergency berth. Sam sits in the chair next to the bed, not even enough room to cross his legs, and stews about the implications of Eve’s expression in the van. By the time the emergency doctor shows up—expediently, to his credit—Sam has frothed himself into an angry, nervous sweat.

A short man with thick black hair, a handle bar mustache, and a thick accent breezes between the nearly sheer sheets hanging around Mary’s temporary station. He keeps his gaze just above Sam’s head. His lips twitch. “I’m Dr. Lapi,” he says in a clipped tone. Did Eve tell this man something? If so, what did she say? “We have some questions about Mary’s condition,” the doctor says, bending over his patient, checking her pulse and blood pressure, shining a light in her good eye. As he peers down at Mary’s face, his posture is rigid, his eyes wide.  He gently prods the flesh on the left side of her face and asks, “What happened to her face? The bruising is quite extensive.”

His mind somersaulting, Sam stares speechless at Dr. Lapi. Sam doesn't know what happened to Mary's face, or when. He had been blind when he kissed her before his run. His stomach clenches. Was she like this even then? Could it really have taken him that long to notice Mary's blight?

Guilt and its more insidious brother, shame—already chuckling at the edges of his consciousness over his inadvertent manhandling of Mary—start to shimmy and shout. Dr. Lapi must glimpse and misunderstand this guilt painted on Sam's face. The doctor’s lips press into a colorless line within his mustache. His eyes darken and he turns back to the bed. He reaches out and delicately lifts Mary’s left hand from her chest. Sam can see a gash obscuring her palm and wrist, the skin caked with rusty grit. He hadn’t noticed the wound before, not even in the ambulance. “And this?” Dr. Lapi asks. The doctor looks up at Sam, gently replacing Mary’s hand.

 Sam, who would rather be struck mute than try to answer this question, shrugs in desperation. “Jay, the dog, was under that arm, when I found her. He wears a studded collar.” Sam swallows hard as he adds, “Mary always thought it made him look ferocious. Maybe his collar scratched her.”

Dr. Lapi doesn’t respond to this explanation. "When did you notice something wrong with her?" he asks, sounding perfectly clinical, returning to his patient. He lifts the eyelid of her left eye as he waits for Sam to respond.

"An hour and a half ago, when I got back from my run." Sam's voice tremors, and he clears his throat. "When I got to the bedroom, I smelled urine. I thought it was the dog at first."

"Did you try to speak to her?" the doctor asks, shining a light into Mary’s left eye.

"A couple times. She never said anything."

"Do you know how her eye became detached?" Dr. Lapi glances back up at Sam with a blank expression.

Sam pauses, holding Dr. Lapi’s eyes with his own, willing the man to believe him. "I have no idea. I wish I did."

Dr. Lapi looks down at his patient, his eyes flashing. Sam thinks he spies disappointment on the doctor’s face.

"Hey, enough questions,” Sam complains. “Is she okay?"

Dr. Lapi stares at Sam. “She’s in pretty bad shape. I have more questions and I need your help, Mr. Conlin. Shall I continue?"

Dr. Lapi’s eyes are wide open, but Sam can read nothing within them. They might as well be mirrors.  Sam fetches a deep sigh, hoping the suspicion he keeps spying in Dr. Lapi is only a reflection of his own shame. He tries to focus on finding out what the hell happened to Mary. "Yeah, go on."