I Will Follow You Into the Dark

CHAPTER 63

so...............dun dun dun................

**scurries away to hide**

TWO YEARS LATER...........





One night in the early fall, Derek was jolted out of his sleep in an on call room by his ringing cell phone. Trent's ring at this hour wasn't likely to be good news.

"Hello," Derek said, sitting up slowly and trying to wake up and concentrate on the call.

"Dad," Trent began, "there's been an accident."

"Are you OK?" Derek asked, panic evident in his voice.

"I'm fine. It's not me. It's..........Mom," Trent blurted out as he broke down crying.

Instantly awake and horrified, Derek felt a chill to the depths of his soul. "Is she.......?"

"They're at the hospital. I'm so scared. Can you come?"

Even before he had heard Trent's plea, Derek had run down to his office and unlocked the door. He grabbed his gym bag and threw some clean scrubs and a lab coat and his laptop inside. "I'll be on the next flight. It'll be OK, Trent. I'm coming..........."

**********



Halfway to the airport, Derek calmed down enough to realize that he had no idea what time it was. Glancing at his watch, he noticed that it was nearly 4 a.m. There would be an early morning flight. He could be in Chicago by noon, earlier if he were lucky.

Taking as deep a breath as possible given the weight of the world pressing on his chest and threatening to crush him, he dialed the hospital and found out who was on call. He needed help. He didn't even know how serious this was. It couldn't be too serious.......maybe Trent was overreacting..........

"Thank God," he said as he heard the voice mail system indicate who was on call and quickly entered the codes that would transfer him to that attending.

"Miranda," he said before he began talking too quickly to be understood.

"Dr. Shepherd, slow down. It's 4 a.m. Speak at middle-of-the-night speed."

"I'm flying to Chicago," he said, trying to breathe between sentences. Breathing is good. Breathing is necessary. God, is Meredith still breathing? "It's a personal emergency. But I need your help. Call Chicago Presbyterian and find out about a patient for me."

"Are you drunk? You know HIPAA rules. I can't call about a patient I'm not treating. Are you going there to treat a patient?"

God, I hope so, he thought. He was only able to utter, "uh huh."

"Well, when Patricia gets in, I'll have her forward your credentials, the paperwork requesting access, set up the consult........Patient's name?"

There was silence. Derek was near sobbing. He couldn't speak. Meredith was hurt and he wasn't there yet. He had to get there. He started to panic.

"Scalpel," Bailey barked.

"What??!!"

"You're a surgeon. Got your attention. Now focus. Patient's name...........," she said slowly, hoping to get him to answer.

"Meredith Parker," he said flatly.

"Illness or injury," she said. "Injury," he choked out.

"Who requested the consult?"

"Trent Shepherd."

"Your son? The one in high school?"

"Yeah. He called me about.......his mother."

"Oh, Derek. I'm sorry. But he's not old enough to request a consult."

"Dammit, Miranda! I have to go. I will see her. It has to happen."

Bailey had never heard him so emotional. She had seen this man deal with things that sent most people into general practice and out of operating rooms forever. And he had never flinched. She had seen him deliriously happy as he took his son around and introduced him to the hospital staff, but that was it. She had thought he just wasn't an emotional man. But this was different. This was a side of him she'd never seen. Or a crisis so enormous that she had to help him.

"So Ms. Parker requested the consult, I understand."

"Thank you..........," he said, barely able to breathe again.

"No problem. I'm sure she'll be fine," she said, wanting to delve more, but afraid he'd crack if he talked too much about it. "How much time off do you need?"

"A week's fine," he said absently.

Dr. Bailey had always had a soft spot for this man. Granted, he was too pretty and had that crazy curly hair, but he had a good heart underneath his professional demeanor. "Hey," she began, "I have a friend who works there. I'll call and ask a favor, see what I can find out."

"Thanks," Derek said, his voice cracking, "she works there."

"Who? My friend? Are you drunk or something? I know she works there!"

"No...........Meredith...........she's a neurosurgeon there."

"Oh, well then I'm sure my friend will help. I'll call you back, OK?"

"OK."

"Derek?"

"Yeah."

"I'll get you access, but I can tell that you're close to this case. Be careful. This will get you to see her, but you might just want to do that—visit, check her vitals, read her chart. Nothing more."

"Yeah," he said absently.

"Ten blade," Miranda barked at him.

"What??!!"

"Just don't be stupid and do something that you'll regret."

"I'm afraid I already have," he said in the saddest voice she'd ever heard.

"Wanna tell me about it?" she asked softly.

"No."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"Gotta go," he said, trying to assume some semblance of himself, "thanks again."

"Anytime," she said as she heard him click off. Dr. Bailey knew that she would move mountains to help this man. She owed him for saving her husband after the accident he'd had when rushing to the hospital the day she went into labor with their son.