Page 68 of The Bone Code

For hours, I’d watched the lines on the screens trace their erratic mountains and valleys. For hours, I’d listened to the rhythmic pinging of the sensors.

Though exhausted, I’d refused to allow myself sleep. Irrational, I know. But I needed to stay awake to will the tracing and pinging to continue. I’d been told that the films hadn’t shown any cranial fracture. Probably because the plexiglass bus shelter had kept him from slamming directly against the concrete.

I got up and crossed to the window. Overnight, the rain and clouds had departed. The sun was sending its first tentative feelers above the horizon, lighting the multicolored buildings of the Montreal General. Beyond the complex, the hills of Westmount shimmered hazy blue-gray, like the colors and textures of a Monet painting.

I recalled the surgeon’s words. Good news and bad. Though there was no fracture, a CT scan had picked up an epidural hematoma. Immediate surgery was needed.

An eon later, she’d returned, eyes caring, voice calm through the fatigue. She’d made a tiny burr hole in Ryan’s skull to drain the pooled blood and relieve the pressure. All had gone well. Now we must be patient.

So, I was waiting.

I thought of the many years Ryan and I had spent together. The joys and sorrows. The shared challenges. The shared sense of accomplishment when we’d solved a case. The mutual frustration and disappointment when we hadn’t.

Ryan and I had seen much death together. Lives ended in every imaginable way. Male, female, old, young. Throughout our careers, we’d often been the bearers of life-changing news. Informed anxious next of kin that their loved ones were dead. Given comfort by reporting that a killer had been found.

Death was a constant in our work. We’d had our ups and downs,and Ryan hadn’t always been there. But when we were together, he’d listen as I unburdened myself, and he’d offer comfort and support.

I felt a tremor in my chest. Was fighting it down when a nurse appeared, rubber soles noiseless on the immaculate tile. She was silver-haired and hefty, probably looking at retirement in the next few years. A badge on her scrubs saidS. Beauvais.

“Bonjour.” S. Beauvais gave a quick dip of her chin.

“Bonjour,” I said.

S. Beauvais began checking fluid levels and dials and tracings, hair gleaming aqua-green in the monitor’s reflected light. “My night-shift colleagues tell me you have been here throughout.”

“Yes,” I said.

“You must be exhausted.”

“I’m good.” I watched S. Beauvais, impressed with the fluidity and efficiency of her movements. And with her perceptive abilities. I was, indeed,épuisée.

“He will sleep a while. This is normal. You might use this opportunity to do the same?”

“I don’t wan—”

“We will call if there is any change in his condition.”

I said nothing,

“To be of value, a caregiver must be fit and alert.”

I stared at Nurse S. Beauvais’s broad back as it disappeared through the door. She was right. Which annoyed the hell out of me.

Agitated, I pulled my phone from my pocket to check for messages. No signal. I knew that. I’d repeated the ritual a thousand times.

I resumed my vigil.

In the eerie cast-off light from the monitor, Ryan’s face looked gaunt, his eyes more deeply set than normal. Each showed the beginning of a spectacular shiner.

I watched Ryan’s sheet-clad chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. Rise and fall.

The sensors pinged.

My lids drew together. My chin dropped.

My head snapped up. I was losing the battle.

I rose from my chair.