"I agree."
"I've shown symptoms for a couple of weeks, but it's only been over the last two days that I'm sure of the diagnosis. I'm in love with you, Denise."
For Denise the word had never had more meaning. Martin had not mentioned love before, even when he told her how much he cared for her.
They kissed lightly. The words hadn't been necessary but they added a new dimension of closeness.
"Admitting my love for you," said Martin after a few moments, "scares me in one way. Medicine destroyed my previous relationship and I worry it could do it again."
"I don't think so."
"I do. It has a way of holding one hostage by ever increasing demands."
"But I understand those demands."
"I'm not so sure you do. Not yet," said Martin. He was aware the comment sounded condescending but he knew at this point in Sanger's career it would be impossible to convince her that running a department made day-to-day medicine as much of a rat race as most other businesses. Besides, Goldblatt's challenge to their relationship was very much in Philips' mind, so the worry was not hypothetical.
"I think I understand more than you think," said Denise. "I think you've changed since your divorce. Back then I think you had a kind of macho belief you could get most of your fulfillment from your career. Now I think that's changed. I believe you realize that the greater part of your satisfaction is going to come from your own interpersonal relationships."
There was a silence. Martin was stunned at his transparency as well as Denise's clairvoyance. Denise broke the silence. "The only thing I can't understand is if you're interested in having more of a life outside the hospital, why not ease up on your research?"
"Because it can be the key to my freedom," said Martin holding her close. "You have become my promise for fulfillment and research has the power of giving me what I want from medicine as well as more time with you."
They kissed, secure in their newly expressed affection for each other. But as they lay there in each other's arms, they began to feel their fatigue and knew they should go to sleep.
Denise went to brush her teeth, while Martin let his mind drift back to Lynn Anne's mysterious disappearance. Glancing at the closed bathroom door, he decided to make a quick call to the hospital, reminding the nurse Lynn Anne had been admitted through the ER, then immediately transferred. The nurse recalled the case because the transfer had come right after she'd finished all the admission paper work. Martin asked if she remembered where the patient had been sent, but the nurse said she did not. Philips thanked her and hung up.
In bed he curled up against Denise's back, but had trouble falling asleep. He began telling her about his disturbing experience with the monkeys with the electrodes in their heads, and asked if she thought the information Mannerheim obtained was worth the sacrifice. Denise, on the verge of sleep, just grunted, but Martin's overstimulated mind jumped back to his visit to the university's GYN clinic.
"Hey, have you ever been to the GYN clinic in the hospital?" He pushed himself up on his elbow rolling Denise over on her back. The movement awakened her.
"No. I haven't."
"I visited there today and the place gave me a strange feeling."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's hard to say, but then again I haven't been in too many GYN clinics."
"They're really fun," said Denise sarcastically, and turned back op her side away from Martin.
"Would you do me a favor and check it out?"
"You mean as a patient?"
"I don't care. I'd like to know your opinion about the personnel."
"Well I'm a bit late on my annual checkup. I suppose I could have it done there. In fact, I'll call tomorrow."
"Thanks," said Martin, finally settling himself to sleep.
Chapter 10
It was after seven when Denise woke up and grabbed for the clock. She was horrified at the time. Being so accustomed to Martin getting up at six, she didn't set the alarm when he slept over. Throwing back the covers, she dashed into the bathroom to jump into the shower. Philips opened his eyes in time to catch her bare back heading down the hallway. It was a wonderful image to start the day.
Oversleeping had been Philips' deliberate gesture of defiance to his old life, and he stretched luxuriously in the warm bed. He thought about going back to sleep but then decided showering with Denise was a better idea.
In the bathroom, he found she was almost finished and in no mood to kid around. Entering the shower stall he got in her way and she petulantly reminded him that she had to present the X rays at the CPC at 8:00 A.M.
"Why don't we make love again?" crooned Martin. "I'll give you a doctor's excuse for being late."
Denise draped her wet washcloth over Martin's head, and stepped out onto the bath mat. While she dried herself she spoke to Philips over the sound of the water. "If you finish at a decent hour, I'll make some dinner tonight."
"I'm not accepting any bribes," shouted Martin. "I'm going to see what Pathology says about my sections on McCarthy's brain, and I'm hoping to take some polytomes and a CAT scan on Kristin Lindquist. Besides, I've got to run a bunch of old skull films through the computer. Today research is going to get top billing."
"I think you're stubborn," said Denise.
"Compulsive," said Martin.
"When do you want me to go to the GYN clinic?"
"As soon as possible."
"Okay. I'll make it for tomorrow."
While Sanger used the hair dryer, conversation was impossible. Philips got out of the shower and shaved with one of her disposable razors. The two of them had to do a complicated dance in the confines of the small bathroom.
As Denise leaned close to the mirror to put on her eye makeup she asked, "What do you think is causing the density variation on those X rays?"
"I really don't know," said Philips, trying to tame his thick blond hair. "That's why I've got the section in Pathology."
Denise leaned back to assay her efforts. "It seems that answering that question would be the first step rather than associating the abnormality with a specific disease like multiple sclerosis."
"You're right," said Philips. "The multiple sclerosis idea originated from the charts. It was a stab in the dark. But you know something? You've just given me another idea."
Philips entered the old medical-school building from the tunnel. The entrance from the street had long since been sealed off. As he climbed the stairs to the lobby, he felt a surprising sentimentality for that time in his life when the future held nothing but promise. When he reached the familiar dark wood doors with the worn red leather panels, he paused. The carefully lettered sign saying MEDICAL SCHOOL had been desecrated by a crude board nailed haphazardly across it. Below, held in place with thumbtacks, was a cardboard sign which read, "Medical School located in the Burger Building."
Beyond the venerable old doors, the decor deteriorated. The old foyer had been demolished, its oak wainscoting sold at auction. The renovation funds had dried up even before the demolition had been completed.
Martin followed a path cleared of debris that ran around what had been an information booth, and started up the curved staircase. Looking down the length of the foyer he could see the barred entrance from the street. The doors had been chained together.
Philips' destination was the Barrow Amphitheater, When he arrived he noticed a new sign that read DEPARTMENT OF COMPUTER SCIENCE: DIVISION OF ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE. Philips opened the door and, walking up to the iron piping that formed the railing, looked down into the semi-circular auditorium. The seats had been removed. Arranged in intervals on the various tiers were all sorts of components. Down in the pit were two large units constructed similarly to the small processor that had been brought to Philips' office. A young man in a short-sleeved white coat was working on one of them. He had a soldering gun in one hand and wire in the other.