Resuscitation Read online

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright ©2011 D.M. Annechino

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN: 978-1-61218-071-7

  This one’s for you, Mom.

  In loving memory of Josephine DiMarco-Montinarelli.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  When Genevieve Foster awoke, she felt completely disoriented, like someone regaining consciousness after major surgery and a heavy dose of anesthesia. She lay on the bed, having no idea where she was or how she got there. When she tried to brush the hair out of her eyes, she found that her wrists were bound to a brass headboard with nylon straps. She lifted her throbbing head and could see that her ankles were also bound to the bed. She lay there spread-eagle. Next to the bed, she noticed the silhouette of an IV bag hanging from a metal pole. The line from the IV was inserted into the vein at the bend of her left elbow. Except for a thin sheet covering her from neck to toe, she was completely naked.

  This can’t be happening.

  The only light in the room spilled in from passing cars, their headlights flashing across the floor-to-ceiling windows just long enough for Genevieve to get a glimpse of her surroundings. The room looked big, perhaps a loft, or maybe a small warehouse. By the volume of cars passing by, she guessed that she was in a populated area. Lying still, listening closely, she could hear what she believed was a refrigerator humming in the background. And somewhere on the other side of the room, she heard the steady rhythm of a clock.

  Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

  She felt as if the clock warned her of impending danger.

  She closed her eyes and tried to piece together the hazy fragments of images floating around in her head. She looked to her left, then right, searching for something that might trigger her memory. But she saw no one and felt completely alone, isolated from the world. Strangely, she thought about the Tom Hanks movie, Castaway. Although she was not stranded on a deserted island like he had been, this dark, eerie prison seemed as lifeless.

  Who would rescue her?

  Breathing deeply, sucking in short, quivering gulps of air, she evoked every ounce of willpower to stay awake. Falling asleep was the last thing she wanted. She guessed that the IV was more than saline because as terrified as she was, she seemed way too composed for the situation. Shouldn’t she be screaming her throat raw? Her body shivered uncontrollably, reminding her of a chilly November morning when her brother had double-dog-dared her to take a quick dip in the sixty-degree Pacific Ocean. Never one to back down from a challenge, a tomboy in every respect, Genevieve accepted the dare and not only went into the water, she swam to the end of Crystal Pier and back. Twice. So chilled was she that she couldn’t stop shaking for more than an hour. Right now, at this exact moment, she would gladly trade her situation for a long swim in icy water.

  Lying quietly, trying to suppress her utter feeling of helplessness, she vaguely recalled a sandy beach, watching the sun set, a handsome face. But none of those things fit together. There were far too many voids in her memory. About to surrender to the effects of the potent drug flowing through the IV, she heard the familiar sound of a key unlocking a deadbolt. Her head snapped toward the door, eyes suddenly alert and probing. A rectangular block of light flooded the hardwood floors, but only for a moment.

  Darkness fell again.

  Then, Genevieve Foster heard the most terrifying sound of all: heavy footsteps moving toward her.

  He sat at the bar sipping his second glass of Johnny Walker Blue, searching for the courage he needed to do the unthinkable. Unthinkable? Wasn’t there a word in the English language that would more accurately describe what he was about to do? He let the smooth Scotch reward his taste buds before taking a long, silky swallow. At two hundred dollars a bottle, it was worth every penny. Thinking about the events over the last several weeks, the life-changing letter he’d received from GAFF, the Global A-Fib Foundation, he couldn’t believe what he was about to do. But what choice did he have? They had driven him to this crossroad. Here he sat, sipping Scotch at Tony’s Bar & Grill as if it were happy hour on a Friday afternoon, when in reality, his intentions were far from lighthearted banter with his colleagues. Although he had worked with hundreds of volunteers, Julian’s research findings were still limited. He had explored every possible solution, but no other option could solve his problem. His only hope to complete the research was to work on live subjects with no limitations. The decision had not come easily. After all, he was a healer, an esteemed cardiologist, not a murderer. But drastic situations often call for drastic remedies.

  When he received the certified letter, at first he thought that the board of directors at GAFF were satisfied with the data from his research and had approved the ten-million-dollar grant. The first two paragraphs brought him to his knees.

  “Our committee painstakingly reviewed your research data and the statistics associated with the controlled study to develop new surgical treatments for atrial fibrillation. Although groundbreaking in some respects, we found the data insufficient to approve your grant. To be specific, the test results you submitted that support modifications to the current catheter ablation and Maze III procedures are incomplete, and we do not agree with your findings that the use of amiodarone in doses less than 200 milligrams can be effective. In light of your impressive efforts, however, we are pleased to offer you a six-month extension to complete and resubmit additional findings, at which time we will reevaluate.

  “Enclosed please find a comprehensive summary of the data we require to reconsider your application.”

&
nbsp; Two years of long workdays, sleepless nights, neglecting his family, and setback after setback, and all he had to show for his efforts was a two-page letter that undermined his hard work.

  After carefully reading the comments detailing the additional data they required, Julian concluded that he would need eight subjects to fulfill the GAFF request. At first, he had thought about using his own patients. After all, he archived every detail of their medical histories and could hand-select each of them based on specific parameters. But what would happen if his patients went missing, and the police investigated and connected the dots? He would be the common denominator. No, he did not have the luxury to select perfect specimens. Having no other choice, he had to rely on instincts and random selection in his search for ideal subjects. However, through the strategic use of medication and careful surgical procedures, he could produce just about any symptom or condition he needed to compile the data he sought.

  Julian didn’t feel comfortable sitting in this bar. He was out of his element. But he thought of it as a means to an end. The popular hot spot in the Gaslamp District of downtown San Diego pulsed with a rowdy crowd and made it easier for him to remain inconspicuous—just a face in the crowd.

  He remembered when the Gaslamp District was little more than vacant, boarded-up buildings and a collection of drunks littering the streets. Now completely revitalized with renovated hotels, jazz clubs, trendy boutiques, and sidewalk cafes—not to mention PETCO Park, the new ballpark for the San Diego Padres—the area buzzed with activity.

  Just forty-two years old, Julian hoped he hadn’t lost his charm. In years past, women gravitated to him like steel to a magnet. Back in college, his smile and vivid blue eyes never failed to yield an eager companion. But that was twenty years ago, and no man can preserve his youthful appearance forever. Besides, he no longer had the physique of an athlete.

  He made eye contact with a blonde woman sitting a few barstools away and presented his best smile, hoping that she’d respond. Married for over a decade, he didn’t have the slightest idea how to meet women in a bar. Seemingly shy, the blonde looked away, took a long sip of a martini, and continued talking to another woman. When their eyes met again, he held up his glass and gestured toward her, offering a cordial salute. Then for the next few minutes, he glanced at her every few seconds and caught her looking his way, presumably wanting to continue with their innocent flirting.

  He waited patiently, hoping she would approach him. Lost in his thoughts, he felt someone gently clutch his shoulder, and when he turned to look, he was happy to see the blonde standing next to him, noticeably nervous.

  “I was hoping you’d come over,” he said, delighted that she was young, relatively slim, and appeared to be healthy. He wanted to say, “Do you mind if I listen to your heart with my stethoscope to be sure everything’s okay?”

  “Oh, really?” the blonde said, with both hands parked on her hips.

  “Didn’t you get my signal?” he said.

  “Well, I’m standing here, so I guess I got something.”

  He offered a handshake. “My name is Julian.”

  She firmly grasped his hand and pumped his arm. “Genevieve.”

  “Pretty name.” Acting totally poised while his gut churned uncontrollably, he motioned for the bartender. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  She shook her head. “I’m already past my limit.”

  “And what happens when you exceed it?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  He sipped his drink. “Should I feel guilty that you abandoned your friend to talk to me?”

  “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

  “So, how often do you dump your girlfriends and pick up strange men?”

  She set her small clutch purse on the bar and laughed. “Counting tonight?”

  He nodded.

  “This is my first.”

  This, he doubted. “Why me?”

  “You look…interesting.”

  “And I should be flattered?”

  “You damned well better be.” She pointed to the crowd. “In case you haven’t noticed, there are lots of possibilities here.”

  “You’re feisty, Genevieve. I like that in a woman.”

  “What else do you like in a woman?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that question.” He ordered another Scotch and dropped a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. He could barely keep his hands from shaking. “Sure you wouldn’t like another?”

  “No thanks.”

  The bartender poured his drink and Julian took a sip. “So what’s your gig, Genevieve? Are you a fashion model or a promising actor?”

  “First year of law school.”

  “Impressive.” He smiled like a bashful schoolboy. “I don’t impress easily.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. Attorneys are a dime a dozen these days.”

  “Where are you headed with your legal career?”

  “Haven’t figured that out yet. I’m kinda leaning toward corporate law.” She curled her long hair around her fingers. “I know. It’s boring.”

  “Hey, if it moves you, go for it.” His confidence was building and he felt more relaxed.

  “How about you, Julian? What’s your deal?”

  He hadn’t prepared for such a question and had to think fast. “I dabble in real estate.”

  “Dabble?”

  “I buy. I sell. I make a bundle. I lose a bundle.”

  “Sounds risky.”

  “Only when you lose more than you win.”

  They sat quietly for a few minutes, their eyes doing most of the talking.

  He’d been told by many of the single doctors he worked with that younger women these days were easy. Time to find out. “Are you a betting woman, Genevieve?”

  “If going to Barona Casino and playing the slots is betting, then I guess I am.”

  “How would you like to make a small wager—just for kicks and giggles?”

  “What kind of wager?” Her eyes were markedly suspicious.

  “Twenty bucks says you’ll be sipping a glass of wine at my place by eleven thirty tonight.”

  “You already lost, Julian. Where’s my twenty bucks?”

  “I’m not following you.”

  She grinned. “I don’t drink wine.”

  “Okay, you’ve got me there. Let me rephrase. I’ll wager one portrait of Andrew Jackson that you’ll be sitting in my apartment by eleven thirty.”

  “You’re pretty damned sure of yourself, Buster.”

  Actually, he wasn’t, and regretted this approach. But he couldn’t back down now. “Sure enough to wager twenty dollars.”

  “Are you trying to make me walk out that door?”

  “We both know you’re not going to do that.”

  “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

  “Cause we’re having too much fun.”

  “My God. You’re unbelievable.” She snatched her purse off the bar. “Maybe your cocky bullshit charms other women, but…” She shook her head and turned to walk away.

  This was his last shot. “Look me in the eyes, Genevieve, and tell me you really want to leave.”

  “Are you always this arrogant?”

  “It’s not arrogance. It’s honesty. Why do we have to play some childish game of cat and mouse? If you weren’t attracted to me, you wouldn’t have approached me. And if I wasn’t interested, the conversation would have been over in a New York minute. You like me and I like you. So why don’t we take it to the next level?”

  “Next level? I don’t even kiss on a first date and you want to make a wager about getting me in bed?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “But it’s what you meant. I’ve been around long enough to read between the lines. Do I look like some cheap tramp?”

  “No, Genevieve. You look like a woman who never lets her guard down.”

  She couldn’t suppress her smile. “So, it’s that obvious, huh?”

  He lifted a sh
oulder. “I see what I see.”

  “It’s tough out here,” she motioned toward the crowd. “Lots of assholes.”

  Right now, he felt like an asshole. “If I offended you, I’m sorry. Alcohol doesn’t bring out my charming side. How about giving me another chance?”

  It appeared that she was considering his request. But then, she offered her hand. “It’s been…interesting, Julian. Maybe we’ll bump into each other again some time when alcohol hasn’t dampened your charm. And if there is a next time, you might want to consider toning it down a bit.”

  “So you’re leaving?”