Page 8 of Tough Justice

Quietly, Suzie closed the door behind them. For a moment, the room was dead silent. Tori couldn’t get her feet to move. Then one of the monitors beeped, calling her attention to the handsome teenager on the bed. Various tubes containing fluids and artificial nutrients led to the IV in his arm. Since Tyler was incapable of breathing on his own, a ventilator did the job for him. Once it was removed, his heart would continue to beat anywhere from minutes to up to an hour. For the Wojciks’ sake, she hoped it was the former. Prolonging things would only make their decision to take Tyler off life support that much harder to live with.

With her heart squeezing as if someone had tied a noose around it, Tori went to the couple. “Hi, Tom. Emma.”

“Dr. Sampson.” Tom’s eyes were red and puffy, his face haggard and looking as if he’d aged ten years in the few days she’d known him. Slowly, and with obvious reluctance, he nodded. “We’re ready. We’ve made our peace with this and said our goodbyes.”

A gut-wrenching, gurgling sob came from Emma’s throat. “I still can’t believe this is happening,” she began, shaking her head. “This is just so…surreal.”

Mrs. Joba hugged Emma’s shoulders. “I know it’s hard, but what you’re doing is a very beautiful, very generous thing.”

“I know.” Tears ran freely down Emma’s cheeks, her eyes as equally red and puffy as her husband’s. “I know,” she repeated, as if to reassure herself.

Tom took his wife’s other hand then sat down again, his shoulders shaking as he began sobbing.

As an only child, Tyler was the center of their universe. Soon, he would be gone.

Tori rolled her lips inward and tilted her head back, hoping the tears backing up behind her eyes didn’t start rolling. Once they did, they’d never stop. Be strong. Be strong for Tom and Emma. That’s the only thing she could do for them now.

“Okay,” she whispered to Suzie. To Tom and Emma, she said, “You can hold his hand, if you like.” Miraculously, her voice hadn’t shaken, and it gave her the strength she so desperately needed.

Through her tears, Emma managed a grateful smile. Tom helped her to stand then tucked her against his side as they followed Tori and Suzie to the bed. Mrs. Joba stood at a respectful distance, waiting to accompany the couple from the room before Tyler was taken to surgery to have his organs removed. Tori had already discussed the process with the Wojciks so they’d know what to expect.

Grimly, it occurred to Tori that the opioid epidemic sweeping the country had led to a great many more life-saving organ donations.

She stood on one side of the bed next to the Wojciks. Suzie stood on the other, awaiting Tori’s signal. She gave a single head nod, then Suzie turned off the EEG and disconnected the leads. The ventilator would remain on to keep Tyler’s organs oxygenated prior to surgery.

Emma leaned over and kissed her son on the mouth. “Oh, my sweet, sweet boy,” she whispered, kissing him again on the cheek. “We love you. We will always love you.”

Tom uttered a low moan then leaned down and kissed his son’s forehead in a gesture that threatened to crack Tori’s heart wide open. Hold it together.

Mrs. Joba stepped closer, resting her hands on the Wojciks’ shoulders. “Tom, Emma, I have another private room for you to wait in. After the surgery, you can spend more time with him. I promise.”

As Mrs. Joba accompanied the Wojciks from the room, Tom turned. “Thank you, Dr. Sampson.”

Unable to move, unable to speak, Tori watched them go, staring numbly at the door. The Wojciks’ grief remained, lingering in the room like a dark shroud and reminding her of another horrible day. The day her mother died of a broken heart. She was no stranger to grief herself, but she’d never had to make the decision to take a loved one off life support.

“You okay, Tor?” Suzie asked.

Tori opened her mouth to answer when the door re-opened. An orderly came in to take Tyler’s body to the surgical unit where his organs and some tissue would be extracted then whisked away to help some lucky souls. As the orderly covered Tyler with a sheet, the tears that had been backing up steadily stung her eyes like someone had thrown a vat of acid in her face.

“I’ll be in the chapel,” she managed then rushed from the room.

…

Before heading to the ER, Deck put Thor up in the air-conditioned SUV specially designed for K-9s. At the admissions desk, he asked for Dr. Sampson. Several minutes and several unanswered pages later, Deck badged his way past the desk and went in search of the prickly doctor.

Part of him still couldn’t believe he was about to do this, but he’d already decided he wouldn’t take no for an answer. A doctor who looked vaguely familiar walked past. Deck was almost positive it was the other doctor in the ER with Dr. Sampson. About five-eleven, fit, and with a thick shock of brown hair. “Excuse me,” he said.

“Yes?” W. Barnett, according to his name tag, stopped and turned.

“You were in the ER helping my colleague last night.” Deck held out his hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The doctor shook Deck’s hand. “But I didn’t do anything. Dr. Sampson was in charge, and your friend was lucky to have her. I hear it was a close call.”

“Yeah, it was.” Something he hoped no other DEA agent had to go through again.

“Think you’ll get this gray death, or whatever it’s called, off the street anytime soon?” Dr. Barnett asked.

“We’re doing our best.” Which, lately, was piss-poor. “Actually, I’m looking for Dr. Sampson.”