Diagnosis Death Read Online Free PDF

that night to the accompaniment of pounding pulse and jangling nerves. As she crossed the threshold, she asked herself once more, "What's wrong with me?" She was an intelligent woman, a trained physician. There were no demons waiting in the darkness. True, once this apartment had been a home, and now it was only a place to sleep and eat and mourn. But that was no reason to let her grief take over her life.
    Then again, it wasn't just the grief. There were the phone calls. If she'd heard heavy breathing or a torrent of obscenities, she'd know what was going on. She could handle that. Any single woman living in the city knew such things occurred. But these calls were more than that. And she thought she finally knew what they represented.
    Elena dropped her backpack, slammed the door, and turned on the TV for company. The mail went onto the small table beside her armchair. It could wait. First, a shower and a cup of tea.
    Clean, but in no way refreshed, Elena dropped into the easy chair and considered the mail. There was never anything good there anymore. The condolence cards and letters had dried up. She had no family to send her cheery notes. Only her creditors and the people wanting her to spend money she didn't have now accounted for the handful of mail she received.
    The envelope was there between her MasterCard bill and an ad for a new textbook. The envelope was a cheap, self-sealing one, addressed by hand in block capitals using blue ballpoint. Two different stamps were affixed to provide the proper postage. The blurred postmark gave no indication of the city of origin.
    Elena ran her finger under the flap and pulled out a single sheet of paper from a lined tablet.
    The message was printed in the same block capitals. At the end, the writer had pressed down hard enough to penetrate the paper. Elena read the message twice, at first unable to understand and then unwilling to believe it.
    I KNOW WHAT YOU DID AND YOU'LL PAY.
    She dropped the paper onto the table and pressed both hands to her temples.

3
     
     
     
     
     
    "M rs. Gardner, you really need to make arrangements to clear this entire balance." The woman's voice was level and calm. No threats. No pressure. But, nevertheless, the words made Elena's stomach roil.
    As it had so many evenings for several months, Elena's phone rang at about 8:00 p.m. When she checked the Caller ID, she knew what the call was about. This was the collection agency for the ambulance that took Mark to the hospital. Other nights the call would be about the balance due for Mark's hospital care or his funeral. There'd been so much expense, and his insurance coverage wasn't the best. The doctors caring for him discounted their fees, often writing off the balance. But there were other expenses—so many other expenses.
    Elena took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to loosen her death grip on the phone. "Not that it makes any difference to you, but it's Dr. Gardner. I'm well aware of the situation, and I have no intention of letting this debt slide. But right now I'm in residency training, working eighty hours a week. The pay's not much, certainly not what you'd expect a doctor to make. Then there are deductions for taxes and Social Security. Some of what's left goes for utilities, groceries, rent, car payment. You know, living expenses, although I don't know if you could call what I'm doing living. I've tried to pay something on my debts every month since Mark . . ." The words trailed off. What was the use? Elena leaned forward onto her desk and watched her tears drip onto the blotter.
    "Mrs. Gardner?" The woman might have been a robot for all her response to the emotion in Elena's voice. Maybe she was. Maybe they used robots for this. Certainly, it seemed to Elena that the people she'd talked with so far had no living, beating hearts.
    "I'll keep paying you as much as I can," Elena said. "My employment situation is sort of up in the air right now, but you can rest assured that this debt