The Presence by David B. Silva

Author:David B. Silva
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: Misty Springs Productions
Published: 2012-04-14T04:30:00+00:00

The Wagner tape played quietly in the background of OR3, almost too soft to hear. For a stretch of time it was the only sound inside the room.

Dr. Campbell stared at the anesthesiologist, his eyes cold blue stones just above the surgical mask. "What do you mean his eyes are open? Is he still under?"

"It appears he's awake. His pupils are no long dilated."

Katherine, who had positioned herself off to one side of the room, out of the way, tried unsuccessfully to catch a glimpse of Sean's face. But her view was blocked by the anesthesiologist. She moved a step or two closer, and glanced at the monitors. If you believed the readings, Sean Turner's eyes should not be open.

"Pulse rate?" Campbell asked.

"Seventy-seven and regular."

"Everything else holding steady?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any chance the monitors are malfunctioning?"

"Not likely. I ran through a routine check before surgery."

"Can you take him down again?"

"I'm not sure how safe that would be, sir."

"What's the anesthesia?"

"Halothane."

"Can you give him a shot of fentanyl?"

"Maybe one cc."

"Try it."

Katherine edged her way around the periphery of the room until she finally had a clear view of Sean's face. His eyes were open, the pupils constricted, the eyelids unblinking. There was color in his face, more than there should have been. This was crazy.

"How are we doing?" Campbell asked.

"No change."

"Blood pressure?"

"One-ten over seventy-five."

"Christ, I can't wait," Campbell said. The graft was already in place, above a small debrided patch on the thigh. Campbell took a deep breath, inserted a large sterile staple, and waited for the reaction. There was none, thank God. "Well, apparently the anesthesia's doing its job. Try closing his eyes."

"Sir?"

"His eyes. See if you can close his eyes for him."

The anesthesiologist passed his hand over Sean's face and for a moment, it appeared as if that was all that had been needed. The eyelids closed, and Sean seemed to be resting peacefully. The only problem was … the boy's eyes opened again.

"Any luck?"

"Sorry, doctor."

"Maybe it's simply an anomaly," Katherine suggested. "I mean, all his signs are right on the mark and he's stable. Maybe we shouldn't be so worried about it."

"You always worry when something out of the ordinary happens."

"What I mean—"

"I know what you mean," Campbell said sharply. Then he turned to the anesthesiologist. "Any suggestions?"

"I'm sorry. I've never seen anything like this."

Campbell glanced at the clock on the wall behind Katherine. 10:13 p.m. A sheen of sweat had broken out across his forehead, and though he had snapped at her, Katherine had little doubt that his presence of mind under the circumstances was as strong as ever. As long as she'd known him, which had been better than two years now, Dr. Campbell had always been the kind of man who liked to sail along on an even keel.

"I've got one more graft before we can call it a night," he said. "Since he's not responding to pain – if no one has any objections – I'd like to try finishing this thing up."

A consensus was granted in the form of silence.

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