Buried Evidence Read Free Page B

anything worth salvaging. “Can she breathe without the respirator?”
    “No,” he said, shaking his head.
    “What about brain activity?”
    “Slight,” Logan said, clearing his throat.
    They were staring directly into each other’s eyes. Lily felt an urge to look away, but the nature of their conversation demanded a degree of intimacy. “How slight?”
    “Almost nonexistent.”
    Logan was kind, intelligent, and, from Lily’s previous contacts with him, highly cooperative. Extracting information fromdoctors, however, was never easy. She considered it along the lines of pulling teeth. “Is the child in pain?”
    “I don’t think so,” he answered.
    Generally when a patient was in the terminal stages of an illness, physicians attempted to comfort the family by convincing them their loved one could no longer experience pain. “How can you make such a vague statement?” Lily blurted out. “I’m not a family member, someone you have to placate. Is she in pain or not?”
    Logan was a calm man, accustomed to dealing with difficult situations. His body language remained the same: his palms rested lightly on his knees, his forehead was unfurrowed, his voice low and steady. “I’d give you a definitive answer if I could,” he said. “Betsy is in what we classify as a level six coma. She doesn’t respond to external stimuli, so there’s no reason to believe she’s in pain.”
    Lily stood. “May I see her now?”
    “Of course,” Logan said, following her out of the waiting room.
    They walked along a path to the rear of the hospital. Lily noticed several small ceramic statues of various animals positioned along the trail. Then they began climbing a steep series of concrete steps. Several times she had to stop and catch her breath. When they reached the top, she saw another structure located between the hospital and the extended-care facility. “What’s in that building?”
    “The nuns stay there.”
    “Is it a convent?”
    “No,” Logan replied. “It’s just a place for them to rest.” A question mark appeared on his face. “I guess a few of them might reside there.”
    Lily realized she was letting herself become sidetracked, possibly due to the hectic pace of the morning. “Is there any chance Betsy could recover?”
    “Outside of a miracle,” Logan answered, “I don’t think it’s possible.”
    Once they passed through the doors to the nursing facility, amiddle-aged nun swished by wearing a white cotton habit. Lily glanced in a room and spotted another nun working over an elderly patient. The facility must be staffed by a specific religious order, she decided, probably one dedicated to the care of the terminally ill. No phones jangled, no televisions blasted, no orderlies pushed metal carts down the tiled corridors. The silence alone was ominous. The sisters seemed to drift from room to room on a cushion of air, their movements completely soundless. Patients were not moved to this transitional unit simply because their insurance would no longer pick up the tab.
    Betsy Middleton had reached the last stop on the train.
    The building was long and narrow, with the majority of the rooms on the ocean side. Even from the hallway Lily could see the entire coastline through one of the patients’ windows. She had seen pictures of monasteries in Tibet perched on the edge of windswept cliffs. This particular facility might not be as removed from civilization, but she imagined there was a similar feeling of stillness and isolation. She felt as if she were floating just slightly below the clouds.
    Dr. Logan reached over the counter and retrieved Betsy’s chart, then motioned for Lily to follow him. “We don’t usually admit children over here,” he told her, stopping in front of a room. “In this instance our administrator made an exception.”
    Lily stared through the window at Betsy Middleton. The girl was in a crib, tubes and wires snaking out between the bars. A hard ball of rage formed in her