Chapter 3 - NotE TO SELF: LOVE
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The waling siren could be heard a few blocks away, but it took another fifteen minutes for the ambulance driver to maneuver through the streets. There was no room for any vehicle to move out of the ambulance’s path. Bumper-to-bumper cars were jammed together trying to circumvent the trucks that were stopped making storefront deliveries. When the paramedics finally got there, each of the bystanders freely offered a theory as to what had happened.
“I bet a mugger pushed her down when she wouldn’t give up her purse,” one old lady stated.
“She probably tripped over this fish barrel and hit her head,” another younger woman chimed in.
“She overdosed,” said a young Latino teenager with conviction, as if he were an authority on the subject.
Mario offered no opinions. He was actually thinking about his client, concerned that the neighborhood surrounding the building might not be so desirable. If something shady was going on around there—like drugs or murder—he needed to find out before his client signed the contract. Dealers scared away renters, particularly renters with children.
Since Mario was closest to the body, the paramedics assumed he was with Morgan. He neither confirmed nor denied it. He wanted to learn more about why this woman fell (perhaps even died) in front of the building he was researching. Impulsively, he hopped into the back of the van, holding Morgan’s fake Prada. The siren started up again as they slowly made their way to St. Joseph’s hospital about fifteen blocks west.
No one in the van was paying attention to Mario while he examined the contents of Morgan’s purse. By the time they arrived at the hospital, Mario had learned Morgan’s full name, age, occupation, and address. She lived in the building his client wanted to buy. In her wallet, he found her SAG membership card, a photo of a cute little dog, and four one-dollar bills. He gave all the necessary information to the admitting nurse in the emergency room and told her he was a friend of Morgan’s. He figured he’d wait to find out what happened and then leave.
About an hour later, a tall, lean young doctor greeted Mario. His nametag indicated he was a resident. The deep purple rings under his eyes had developed sometime in the middle of two consecutive twelve-hour shifts. He had been about to leave when they wheeled in Morgan. He needed food and sleep, but sleep would surely overcome him first.
“Hello, I’m…um…Dr. Baron. Are you the man that brought Morgan Miller in?” “Yes, I’m Mario Toglioni. A…friend.”
“It seems as if…uh….Mary. Oh, sorry, I mean Morgan. She ingested a deadly overdose of muscle relaxants and alcohol. We pumped out as much as possible, but I’m afraid the affects of the drugs combined with the trauma to her head when she fell was too much for her brain to handle.” The doctor chose his words carefully, making sure he spoke in plain language. His eyes shifted from the floor to Mario as he explained the situation. He still wasn’t comfortable doling out bad news to patients’ friends and family. In fact, he hated it. He felt the eyes of everyone in the waiting room piercing through him as they each awaited the fate of their own loved ones.
“Is she dead?” Mario blurted, partly from curiosity but mainly to help this young doctor spit out what he needed to say.
“No, she’s alive, but she’s...um…she’s in a coma. And we have her hooked up to a respirator.”
Mario didn’t want to ask the next question. He didn’t want to open that door. He knew it led to a dark place deep within him. A place he had spent years trying to forget. But the force on the other side of the door was too powerful. It pulled him through like a magnet. He had to know, and so he asked. “Did she try to kill herself?”
“Well, it looks that way. Any normal person would never willingly take an entire bottle of pills unless they were planning to…well, you know. Can you help us notify the next of kin?”
Now Mario was stumbling over his words. “Uh…well…you see…I didn’t know her that well. I’m…um…not sure where her family is.”
“Aren’t you her boyfriend?” the doctor asked, his tone now suspicious.
“No, just a friend. May I see her?” Mario politely asked. Why did you ask to see her? You found out what you came here for. She wasn’t on street drugs or dealing out of the building. She wasn’t a victim of a violent crime. She was probably a working actress with a bout of depression. Serious depression. But Mario stayed, not from the morbid curiosity that stops people at the scene of an accident, but for his own personal reasons. The demons of his past had resurfaced and, this time, they wouldn’t let go. He had no choice but to stay.
The tired doctor replied, “Sure, as soon as we get her in a room, you can see her. The nurse will let you know. By the way, we discovered some bruises on her arms and legs. Old bruises. Not caused by the fall. Would you know anything about them?”
“No,” replied Mario. “Like I said, we’re new friends.” The plot thickens, thought Mario.
The doctor practically accused him of beating this woman!
Dr. Baron avoided eye contact with the rest of the helpless people as he left the waiting room. He made a note on Morgan’s chart about the suspicious bruises. He had confronted wife and girlfriend beaters before and didn’t think Mario was guilty. He hung the chart on the foot of
Morgan’s bed and headed for the staff lounge. His body hit the couch like a refrigerator tossed out of a tenth-floor window. He didn’t wake up until morning.
