earlier, as the office of Dr. Arthur Wiseman. As his practice grew, Wiseman had begun to take on partners. Ten years before, with five other doctors, he had formed Eastbury Community Hospital, Inc., and built the clinic. Now there were seven doctors, all of them specialists, but none of them so specialized they could not function as general practitioners. In addition to the clinic, there was a tiny emergency room, an operating room, a ward, and a few private rooms. For Eastbury, the system worked well: each of the patients at Eastbury Community felt that he had several doctors, and each of the doctors always had six consultants on call. It was the hope of everyone that someday in the not-too-distant future, Eastbury Community would grow into a true hospital, though for the moment it was still a miniature.
In the operating room, Dr. Mark Malone—who, at the age of forty-two, was still not reconciled to the fact that he would forever be known as Young Dr. Malone—smiled down at the unconscious ten-year-old child on the table. A routine, if emergency, appendectomy. He winked at the nurse who had assisted him, then expertly snipped a sample of tissue from the excised organ, and gave it to an aide.
“The usual tests,” he said. He glanced at the anesthetist, who nodded to him to indicate that everything was all right, then left the operating room and began washing up. He was staring disconsolately at the clock and wondering why so many appendixes chose to go bad in the wee hours of the morning, when he heard his name on the page.
“Dr. Malone, please. Dr. Malone.”
Wiping his hands, he picked up the phone. “Malone.”
“You’re wanted in the emergency room, Dr. Malone,” the voice of the operator informed him.
“Oh, Christ.” Malone wracked his brain, trying to remember who was supposed to be on call that night.
The operator answered his unasked question. “It’s—it’s one of your patients, Doctor.”
Malone’s frown deepened, but he only grunted into the phone and hung up. He slipped off his surgical gown, put on a white jacket, then started for the emergency room, already sure of what had happened.
The duty man would have handled the emergency. The call to him meant that one of his patients had died, and, since he was in the clinic, someone had decided he should break the news to the parents. He braced himself, preparing for the worst part of his job.
He found the nurse, shaken and pale, just outside the emergency room. “What’s happened?” he asked.
“It’s a baby,” the nurse replied, her voice quaking. She nodded toward the door. “She’s in there with her mother. It’s Julie Montgomery, and Sally won’t let go of her. She just keeps insisting that she has to make the baby warm.” Her voice faltered, then she went on. “I—I called Dr. Wiseman.”
Malone nodded. Though Julie Montgomery was his patient, the child’s mother was Art Wiseman’s. “Is he coming?”
“He should be here any minute,” the nurse promised. Even as she spoke, the distinguished gray-haired figure of Arthur Wiseman strode purposefully through the door from the parking lot.
The older doctor sized the situation up at once.
Sally Montgomery was sitting on a chair, with Julie cradled in her arms. She looked up at Wiseman, and her eyes were wide and empty.
Shock, Wiseman thought She’s in shock. He moved toward her and tried to take Julie from her arms. Sally drew back and turned away slightly.
“She’s cold,” Sally said, her voice no more than a whisper. “She’s cold, and I have to make her warm.”
“I know, Sally,” Wiseman said softly. “But why don’t you let us do it? Isn’t that why you brought her here?”
Sally stared at him for a moment, then nodded her head. “Yes … I—I guess so. She’s not sick, Dr. Wiseman. I know she’s not sick. She’s—she’s just cold. So cold …” Her voice trailed off, and she surrendered the tiny body to the doctor. Then she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Wiseman gave Julie to Mark Malone.
“See what you can do,” he said softly.
Leaving Sally Montgomery under Wiseman’s care, Malone took Julie Montgomery’s body into a treatment cubicle. For the child, he knew already, there was no hope of resuscitation. But even knowing it was already far too late, he began trying to revive her. A few minutes later, holding Julie as if his will alone could bring her back to life, he felt a presence in the room and glanced up. It was