Countdown
Part Eight
By Scott J. Welles
scottjwelles@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMERS: Okay, here we are again. First, the usual jazz. Sing along if you know the words...

ER and all related characters are the property of Warner Bros., ConstantC Productions, and Amblin Entertainment Television, a bunch of really swell, understanding guys who won't sue me if I mention that the aforementioned characters and institutions are being used without their permission, but only for entertainment purposes, and that no form of profit is being made on this work, especially if I remind them that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Yeah, they'll buy that...

Rate this one PG-13 for subject material.

(8:03 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Three hours and fifty-seven minutes before the end of the world, Lucy Knight finished her paperwork and dropped by the desk to check the board. Clear again. Noticing the chorus girls still sitting in chairs, chatting, she said, "They're still here?"

"I don't mind," Jerry said, idly, looking in the same direction.

"Me neither," Malik put in, also looking.

"Didn't we discharge the last of them?"

"They're waiting for a replacement bus," Jerry told her without moving his eyes.

Lucy looked at both of the men. Their eyes were clearly glued to the masses of female flesh, and each wore an ever-so-slightly-glazed smile. If she waved her hand in front of their faces, like in a cartoon, she bet they wouldn't notice. "Could you two be any more of a cliché?" she asked.

"Ahh, leave 'em alone," Randi remarked, casually, "They're just slaves to their hormones, like all guys. Either that or they're trying to figure out which are real and which aren't."

Malik and Jerry looked at Randi. "Excuse me?" Jerry said.

Randi looked up from her magazine. "You know, a lot of 'em are implants. Can't you tell?"

"You mean you can?" Malik asked her.

"Sure. Isn't it obvious?"

"Why would you say something like that?" Jerry argued, "Is that catty, or what?"

"I'm not sayin' there's anything wrong with it, a lot of women have 'em," Randi replied, "I'm just sayin' you can tell, if you know what you're looking at."

The men exchanged a look. "Okay, so how many of those are fake?" Malik challenged her.

She shrugged. "I can't count accurately while they're all sitting down. And no, I'm not gonna go take a survey, before you ask."

A characteristic glint entered Jerry's eye. "You think you could tell if, maybe, they were to file past you on their way out?"

Randi raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I could probably tell then..."

They were calling out numbers and slapping five-dollar bills on the counter before she was finished.

(8:11 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

The chill wind on the roof was increased to gale force under the rotors of the helicopter. Kerry fought the urge to bolt for the stairway, and settled for cowering behind Luka, letting the tall man block as much of the wind as possible.

When the chopper touched down, they both moved forward, along with Yosh, Haleh, and a gurney. As they reached the landing pad, the helicopter's doors opened, and the Emergency Medical Technician began shouting above the noise.

A twenty-seven year old male, driving under the influence, had rolled his car three or four times, and had shown no signs of regaining consciousness. He had no identification, though the police were trying to trace the license plate. Kerry listened to his vital signs, but even as she and the others were rushing him off of the roof, into the elevator, she knew his chances were slim.

If she had anything to say about it, though, he wouldn't die tonight.

(8:28 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Lloyd Markovic shivered as he hurried down the alley and into County General's emergency room doors. He'd only been there once before, but he knew his cousin was a pretty important guy around the hospital. He had some cool title, like "Logistical Services Coordinator" or something like that, so it must pay pretty well.

A cute brunette behind the front desk looked at him and said, "Can I help - oh, wait, I know you. Cap'n Powerball." She smiled. "You looking for Jerry?"

"Yeah, hi, is the knucklehead around?"

"Sure, he just ran to the cafeteria, so he should be right - oh, here he is..."

Jerry arrived, still dusting a few crumbs off his chin with a napkin, and stopped suddenly at the sight of his cousin. "Lloyd?"

"Yo, Jer-REE!" Lloyd broke into a grin, waving a hand.

"What are you doing here?" Jerry asked him, "Are you sick or something?"

"Nah, I was on my way home for dinner, and I just wanted to drop this off for you." Lloyd lifted the package under his arm and dropped it on the desk in front of his cousin. "Feliz Navidad, cuz!"

"Uh, that means 'Merry Christmas'," Randi informed him, quietly, "Not 'Happy New Year'.

"Right, it's a late Christmas present. I told ya I'd get it."

"All right!" Jerry eagerly ripped open the packaging, pulling a bulky, bundled object out of the box.

" 'Reed's Sporting Goods'?" Randi asked, reading the name off the packaging.

"Yeah, I used my employee discount," Lloyd told her, "Twenny percent off everything."

"Lloyd, man, you're the best," Jerry beamed, admiring his new acquisition. "Soon as I can take my vacation, this baby's gonna be great!"

"What is it?" Randi asked.

"Just a top-of-the-line inflatable raft, is all," the burly clerk informed her, smiling broadly. "Pull the cord and FOOMP! You've got yourself the perfect means for gliding down the Colorado River. Lloyd, you made my day, bud!" He reached a hand out for his cousin to shake.

Lloyd didn't reply.

"Lloyd?" Jerry looked up.

Lloyd was staring, slack-jawed, at the crowd of near-naked dancers in the waiting area. "You see this sort'a thing a lot?" he asked, nearly drooling.

"Huh? Oh, them. Yeah, all the time," Jerry suavely informed him.

"DU-ude, you got the most bitchin' job around, cuz!"

"So you're going to Colorado, huh?" Randi said to Jerry.

"No, California."

"Why are you going to California if you want to raft the Colorado River?"

" 'Cause the Colorado River's in California."

"There's a river in California named Colorado?"

"Right."

"Is there a California River in Colorado?"

"No, but the Colorado River is a river in California, okay?"

"Why do they call the river in California the Colorado River if it's not gonna be in Colorado?"

"What am I, a geographer?! Look, I'm not going to Califor - I mean, I'm not going to Colorado, I'm going to California, 'cause there's a river in California called the Colorado River! I don't know why it's called the Colorado River instead of the California River, all I know is I'm going to California to go rafting on the Colorado River, which is a river that happens to be in California, NOT in Colorado! Got it?"

"Okay, whatever, I don't know."

"THIRD BASE!" Lloyd yelled.

(8:34 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry thanked the police officer and hung up the phone with a dejected sigh. No luck identifying the young man.

Surgical consults had confirmed her earlier suspicions; the levels of brain activity indicated that he was beyond saving. They could keep him alive for the time being, but he would never regain consciousness, and she fervently hoped his family could be identified and contacted soon.

Pushing him out of her mind, she concentrated on her next patient, an elderly African-American gentleman in Curtain Area One. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Henshaw," she said, "but I can tell you it looks like you're going to be fine."

"Oh, well, that's certainly good news," the old man told her, with a friendly smile, "I told my granddaughter I didn't need to come here just for a dizzy spell or two, but you know how the young people carry on sometimes."

"I certainly do," said Kerry, though she really didn't.

"Excuse me," Haleh said, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Scatman Crothers?"

Henshaw's face lit up even more. "Why, yes! Not for a long time now, mind you, not many of the young people today know the Scatman any more."

"I know, and I feel sorry for them. I saw him perform once, when I was just a girl."

"Really? Now that couldn't have been long ago, could it?"

"Oh, you are a charmer," Haleh said with a smile.

"Wait, I think I know who you mean," Kerry put in, "Wasn't he an actor in 'The Shining'? And that Disney cartoon with the cats?"

"Mm-hmm. He was an actor, singer, comedian, a real Renaissance man," Haleh told her.

"You're right, I can see the resemblance," she remarked.

Henshaw didn't reply. He was gazing distractedly at Kerry, scrutinizing her in a way that made her feel more than a little discomfited.

"Well, ah, I don't think you need to worry about those dizzy spells, Mr. Henshaw, it looks like it was just low blood sugar," Kerry forged on, "We can give you some fluids, and then you should probably be fine."

"All right, thank you," the old man said, absently.

"Haleh, can you take care of him?"

"Of course, Dr. Weaver."

"Well, then you're in good hands, Mr. Henshaw. If you'll excuse me..." As she turned to leave, Kerry felt the old man's hand touch her arm tentatively, and she looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Is there something else?"

Henshaw looked carefully at her, as if trying to see something inside her soul. "You feel it, too, don't you?" he asked, quietly.

Kerry felt the slightest of chills. "Feel what?"

He leaned closer, appraising her, and then nodded. "Yes, you do," he said, half to himself.

"Mr. Henshaw, I don't - "

"You've been seeing things today," the old man told her, matter-of-factly, "People you know, or might have known, but not as you remember them. Haven't you?"

It was as if the man had reached inside her and produced her most private thoughts, as easily as an adult appears to 'conjure' a coin from a child's ear. Kerry suddenly felt weak in the knees, as though she had been turned inside out. "Wh-what...?"

"It's all right," Henshaw soothed her, "It's nothing to worry about."

"Dr. Weaver?" Haleh said, looking from one to the other with concern.

"All things are possible, therefore all possibilities are things," the old man explained, gently, as though imparting a precious secret. "You were born carrying the shape of all things. Those who can be anything become everything. They just don't realize it. You are all you can be, and all of it is you." Then he sat back, his piece apparently spoken.

Kerry gazed at him in astonishment. She couldn't fathom the meaning of his explanation, but one thing was certain. He knew what had been happening to her. How could he know...?

With an effort, she composed herself, then turned and walked away.

"That was a little spooky," Haleh said, catching up to her. "You think we should call Psyche Services?"

Kerry stopped and considered. Henshaw's manner had been odd, and his words unnerving, but they weren't the product of senility or dementia. She was sure of it.

He KNEW...

"No," she said, simply.

(8:40 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)

Kerry sat, alone, in the lounge, staring into space, trying to make sense of this new development. She kept thinking of a scene from the science fiction film 'Blade Runner' - Harrison Ford convincing Sean Young that she's an artificial life form with prerecorded brain patterns by describing one of her most private memories to her in exact detail. Remembering the look on the woman's face as the truth sank in, Kerry knew how she must have felt.

Until now, Kerry had considered that the images coming to her out of nowhere might be the result of some sort of mental imbalance, whether chemical, physiological, or psychological. There was no way to connect the things she saw with reality as she knew it, and no one else had seen anything similar, to her knowledge. Insanity was not a pleasant prospect, but the rational side of her mind was forced to concede the possibility.

But now, one old man had looked at her and known, somehow, that she was having these experiences. Not merely that she was distracted, or that there was something wrong with her. He could tell exactly what was happening to her. What did that imply?

Posit: a second party corroborates my experience, she thought. Logical conclusion: I am NOT imagining these things. Something IS happening to me, or perhaps around me.

If the visions she was experiencing were caused by some external force - psychics on drugs, alien broadcasts, fluorides in the water fountains, whatever - then she could take a small measure of comfort. Whatever else might be happening, at least she wasn't going crazy.

But then, that raised an entirely new set of questions. Where were these visions coming from? What was causing them? What determined their shape and content? Would they continue indefinitely? Were they the harbingers of something else yet to come? And, for God's sakes, why me?

Unbidden, the words of Detective Porterfield came to her ears. "...kept worrying about 'opening the floodgates of chaos'..."

She remembered the graffiti on the outside wall. "THE END IS NER."

What if they were right?

Her pager went off.

Palming it off her belt, she checked the number, reading the extension for the front desk. Jerry and Randi had both seen her go into the lounge, she thought with some confusion. Now why would they be paging her, instead of just opening the door? She lifted the phone and dialed their extension. "It's Dr. Weaver," she said, "Did somebody page me?"

"Yes, hello, Dr. Fronczak," said Randi's voice, in a slightly artificial tone, "I need to speak to Dr. Weaver."

Doctor FRONCZAK...? Now what was that all about? "Is there something wrong, Randi?" Kerry asked, keeping her voice low.

"Yes, would you tell her that I have Ms. Vitelli here, inquiring about her wallet? Did we locate one?"

Oh. "Is she right there with you?"

"Yes, I'll wait," Randi replied, emphasizing the 'yes'.

"Did she bring her child with her?"

"Yes, that's correct. V-I-T-E-L-L-I."

"All right. I'll come take her into Curtain Area Three. As soon as we've gone, I want you to call security."

"Certainly, Doctor."

Kerry hung up and walked to the desk, where she found the same woman, Crystal Blandisch, who she'd argued with earlier. She wore the same outfit, and carried the same backpack and infant, but there was an extra vibration running through her now. Kerry immediately recognized it; she was getting desperate for her next dose of drugs, craving it. Best to get this done quickly, before her nervousness increased. "Ms. Vitelli?"

"Yeah, hi," Blandisch replied, tensely, "She said you found my wallet in here? I really need it, is it here?"

"Yes, I have it," Kerry assured her.

"Great, gimme it, I gotta be somewhere," she snapped, growing impatient.

"Ma'am, I feel we owe you an apology," Kerry told her, playing for time, "I should have treated you more respectfully earlier-"

"Would you just gimme my wallet?! I don't have time fer this!" Almost frantic now.

A thought struck Kerry. "Also, I took the liberty of confirming your prescription in our records," she said, "I can have it filled for you while you're here, if you like."

A momentary glimmer of hope filled the woman's face. "Oh, yeah?" She shifted the baby in her arms, awkwardly. The child made no protest, as before, at the treatment.

"Sure. If you'd like to come with me, I can get it for you right now." It was a feeble ruse, but Kerry was counting on the woman's addiction, particularly in this stage of withdrawal, to supplant much of her reasoning.

Blandisch thought it over for a second, but it was clear she was sold. "Yeah, okay." She adjusted the baby again.

Randi spoke up, carefully. "You want me to hold him for a few minutes, while Dr. Weaver helps you out?"

Good thinking, Randi, Kerry thought. "We'll just be a few minutes."

"Okay, sure." The woman roughly handed her baby to Randi, who took him with much more care.

Kerry led her towards the curtain areas, where a pair of hospital security guards met them. "Hey, what's goin' on?" the woman protested.

"Ms. Blandisch, we have reason to believe-"

"YOU BITCH!!" She swung at Kerry with an animalistic fury in her eyes.

Kerry was already in the process of stepping back, and she received only a glancing blow, but it was enough to unbalance her, and she hit the floor, rolling with it. Neither impact hurt much, and the greatest danger to her was the possibility of being stepped on by either the berserk woman screaming obscenities, or the two guards struggling to restrain her.

In the end, however, the worst damage was to her pride, when Crystal Blandish managed to spit in her face before being dragged away. She wiped it off and trudged back to the desk.

Randi was trying to comfort the boy, who had begun crying pitifully, probably in reaction to the sound of his mother screaming. "You okay, Dr. Weaver?" she asked. The question of the day.

"Great," Kerry said, wryly. "I just took a child away from his mother on New Year's Eve. Happy New Year, li'l guy."

(8:51 p.m., December 31st, 1999...)