No Good Deed (Roswell) - Softcover

Chapter One

December 24 -- Phoenix, Arizona

Chad Newcomb removed the cotton mask, scrubs, gloves and paper booties the hospital had made him put on. Then he swept the plastic shower cap from his head, and tossed it all into the recycle bin. He glanced through the glass window that separated him from the isolation area.Katie lay on the bed, her face so pale and thin that she almost didn't look human. A month ago, she had been a healthy child. A month ago, she had laughed and played and had asked him questions about Christmas.

Do you think Santa will find the new house, Daddy?

Do you think I've been a good girl, Daddy? What if Santa thinks I haven't?

Do you think Santa'll come early this time?

This year, she was too ill to ask if Santa would bring Mommy back. That question had blindsided Chad last Christmas. His wife Maggie had been dead since January. Katie had been devastated -- he had been devastated -- but she seemed to get through it.

Mommy's dead; Mommy left but she didn't want to; Mommy was really sick, and had to leave us. None of those answers had worked, so this time, Chad had said, God took her to live with him.

Katie's beautiful face, so like Maggie's, had squinched up and turned bright red. God took her? Tell Him to give her back.

Chad had had to turn away from his daughter. Her words had captured his feelings so essentially that he had never forgotten them. It wasn't until his parents insisted Katie view the body that Katie had finally understood Mommy was never going to return -- or at least he thought she had, until Christmas.

Then the magic of Santa Claus had enticed her. Surely, Santa's magic would give her the present she really wanted -- her mother's return.

Chad had done some quick thinking last year to explain why Santa could answer material needs, but not needs of the heart. He had been relieved when Katie had said she understood.

Chad stared through the glass at his daughter. Right now he would give anything to have her ask for her mother again. He wanted to fight the Santa questions, deal with the disappointments and thrills of Christmas, anything -- anything, but this.

Katie had been listless and pale for a week before he took her to the local doctor, who had prescribed fluids and bed rest, thinking she had a cold. When she didn't get better, the doctor added a slate of antibiotics, which had done nothing.

A few nights ago, her temperature had spiked to 103, and Chad had brought Katie to the emergency ward. They had stabilized her as best they could, given her tests, and sent her here -- the best children's hospital in the Southwest.

The tests, however, were inconclusive, and more were being run. Until then, Katie had to be in isolation. She could have anything, the doctors told Chad. From a serious case of meningitis, to a virus they couldn't identify, to cancer.

Cancer. That word frightened him more than the other diseases. Maggie had died of cancer. Chad wasn't sure he could go through a death like that again, especially that of his -- and Maggie's -- only child.

Katie was sleeping now, the deep exhausted sleep of the very ill. She hadn't heard him leave. If she stayed true to form, she'd sleep like this for quite a while.

Chad needed a break. A little food, maybe some coffee. Some conversation, someone to share the pain with. His parents were on a year-long cruise, something they had saved their entire lives for, and Maggie had had no family.

He was alone, completely alone.

Chad slipped out of the children's isolation ward. He'd already learned the hospital's rhythms. At this time of night, a single nurse spent much of her time at the desk, reviewing charts and going on hourly rounds. There were other nurses on duty, of course, but the hospital's corridors were mostly empty, accenting the scents of sickness and disinfectant -- the feeling of doom.

Children's drawings lined the hallway walls, giving the place a false air of festivity. Some of the drawings were old, and Chad had made the mistake of asking if all of the drawings were done by children currently in the ward.

The nurse who had answered him looked sad. "The children were all in the ward," she had said. "Sometimes this is all we have to remember them by."

He looked away from the drawings as he walked past. Katie was too sick to hold a crayon. If she died before the new year, she would never contribute anything to these walls. He wondered if the nurses would remember her at all.

Finally, he saw the bright lights of the nurses' station. Against a nearby wall stood a vending machine where he had already spent too much money. Poinsettias lined the desk, and below the beautiful seasonal plants, someone had strung a row of Christmas lights. Big red bows were pasted to the end of the desk.

The decorations only added to his despair. Children shouldn't be in the hospital at Christmas. No one should.

As he approached the desk, he noted an LPN standing before it, searching through a chart. He had seen her a number of times before. She was short and blond and usually very cheerful. At the moment, though, the pediatrics nurse seemed almost lost. Her head was bent, and he noticed drying blood on the edges of her white nursing shoes.

Another emergency. The place was full of them. How did the staff maintain their balance from day to day? It had to be easier in the regular wards. Adults at least had tasted life.

An intern stood in front of Pediatric Oncology. His scrubs were fresh, not even wrinkled. His dark hair looked wet and was combed away from his face.

He turned toward Chad. Chad got a sense of fear from the man -- really, he looked more like a teen. He had the long angular face of a high school-age boy, a handsome face that promised great character as the boy matured.

Surely he was too young to be an intern. But Chad couldn't tell anymore. Since Maggie died, everyone looked young. Young and innocent and untouched by life.

Or maybe he just felt old.

Chad bought a root beer from the vending machine and went to the windows off to the right. The street below was quiet. Only a few cars remained in the parking lot.

Two squad cars sat in front of the emergency area, their lights flashing. How many times a day did the police come here, to bring someone in?

Then he heard the stairway door close, and worried voices echo down the corridor. Chad turned.

The duty nurse, a pretty woman with dark hair and dark eyes, was talking softly to an overweight police officer. Two other officers trailed them, looking worried.

Chad took a step forward.

"I don't recognize him," the duty nurse was saying. Her voice was barely above a whisper, but he still caught the words in the night silence. "He isn't wearing hospital identification. He said he had checked on the children, but he's hovering around the door like he's waiting for someone. I don't like it."

"How long has he been there?" the cop asked.

Chad looked down the hall. The intern was frowning, but he hadn't moved. The boy did look odd. Even Chad had noticed that.

"Apparently I wasn't at the desk when he arrived." The duty nurse rounded the corner. She was walking so fast the cop was having trouble keeping up.

Chad stayed back, standing in the opposite corridor so that he could see what was going on. Why would anyone hover around a door in a children's ward in the middle of the night?

Then he went cold. He didn't like the answers he was coming up with. Neither, apparently, had the duty nurse.

The LPN looked up as the duty nurse and the cops surrounded her.

"If he's a member of the staff -- " the cop said.

"He isn't, believe me," she said. "If he were, he'd have something to do."

The intern moved closer to the door, but didn't take his gaze off the duty nurse and the cops. For a moment, Chad thought all they were going to do was stare at each other.

Then the intern knocked on the door, right next to the Pediatric Oncology sign. Three knocks, like a signal.

That, apparently, was enough for the cops. They hurried forward.

The intern pulled open the door and slipped inside. Chad took a step into the hallway, so that he could see even better. The LPN closed her chart and watched.

Chad saw a flutter near the window on the oncology door, and then darkness. Apparently the intern had covered the window with something.

Chad's mouth went dry.

"Oh no," the LPN whispered.

The cops tried the door, but it didn't open. The first cop pressed his considerable weight against it. It still didn't open.

"It's the police!" one of the cops yelled. "Come out of there!"

The frightened duty nurse didn't even shush him, despite the need for quiet on this ward.

"It's the police!"

Chad moved closer. A few of the children in nearby rooms woke up and began to cry out. The LPN went down the corridor, closing doors, her soothing voice mixing with the cops' angry tones.

Two of the cops were throwing themselves against the door now, in a concerted effort to force it open.

"Why in the hell did someone put a lock on this door?" the remaining cop asked the duty nurse.

"There is no lock," she said.

"Then this guy is amazingly strong," the cop said.

"Or he's found a way to block it," one of the other cops said, gasping between words as he continued to throw himself against the door.

"Is there another way in?" the heavyset cop asked the duty nurse.

"No." There was a thread of panic in her voice.

Chad clenched his fists. He hated to feel helpless. He'd been feeling helpless too much lately.

They were on a low floor. Why didn't someone go outside and enter through the window?

The cops continued their efforts. The LPN came back, watching nervously, her hands clasped before her. Chad glanced over his shoulder, but saw no help coming.

He reached behind the desk, grabbed the metal office chair, and pushed it into the hallway. The sound of chair legs scraping against the floor caught everyone's attention. All five turned in unison to look at him.

He shoved the chair toward them. "Here," he said. "Try this."

One of the cops grabbed it, and slammed it against the door. The door banged open.

The main cop and the duty nurse hurried inside, followed by the other three. Voices filtered into the hallway. Children's voices.

Pattycake, pattycake, baker man.

Bake me a cake as fast as you can...

Chad leaned forward. Except for the children's voices, no one else spoke. There were no sounds of violence. And no one emerged from the room.

The children's voices fell silent.

Chad's heart started to pound. He hurried down the hall and stopped at the door.

The two nurses and two of the cops were still standing there, watching several children jump on a bed. Two young girls were sitting in front of a lit Christmas tree, smiling at the adults. The children were the picture of health.

The heavyset cop stood near an open window, peering outside. The breeze coming through it was icy cold.

"What happened?" Chad asked.

"It's a miracle," the LPN said in a stunned voice. She stared at the children.

Chad frowned.

"All of those children were dying," the duty nurse said slowly.

"Are you sure they're still not?" he asked.

"No more than the rest of us," said the LPN, a smile breaking over her face.

"How can you tell? Don't you have to run tests?"

"Mr. Newcomb," the LPN said, turning to him, "none of those children had enough strength to get out of bed half an hour ago. I wasn't sure if some of them would make it through the night."

He looked at two boys, jumping on the bed, laughing and giggling like normal children.

"What do you think happened?" Chad asked one of the cops.

"I have no idea," the cop said.

"Angels," said a little girl near the Christmas tree. "An angel came and healed me."

She lifted her shirt. A silver handprint covered her small stomach.

Everyone gasped. The duty nurse hurried toward her, touching the spot. "Does it hurt?"

The little girl giggled. "No."

The other children lifted their shirts, revealing similar handprints. They were smiling.

"It's a miracle," the LPN said.

Chad was shaking. A Christmas miracle? Could it be possible? He felt, for the first time in days -- maybe even in years, a bit of hope thread through him.

Then he turned and ran down the corridor, past the nurses' station and toward the isolation ward. He could hear his own breathing, ragged and hopeful and frightened all at the same time. He was saying Katie's name softly as he pushed the isolation ward door open and looked through the window.

She was still asleep. Her little face wasn't pale anymore. Instead, it was a sickly white-green. He knew with a father's instinct that she was no better. In fact, in the short time he had been gone, she had gotten worse.

"That's not fair," he said brokenly to a God he wasn't sure was listening. "If you were going to heal all the children, why not Katie? Why not my Katie?"

Chad looked through the other windows, his hands clenched at his sides. He saw other sleeping, restless, horribly ill children. No one had saved them, either. If angels had come down from the heavens to heal children, they would have healed all the children, not just a select few.

That intern had looked real. He had been frightened, Chad thought. He had knocked three times -- a signal that meant he and someone else had been afraid of being caught.

They had escaped, not by vanishing, but by going through a window.

They were human, and they used some kind of experimental cure on children on Christmas Eve. A cure that left a silver handprint on smooth, young skin.

The cure had to work on all sorts of diseases. Cancer wasn't one thing. It was many things. And just because the children had all been in Pediatric Oncology didn't mean they had the same kind of cancer.

Most of those children had been sicker than Katie -- and they had been cured.

Chad grabbed his coat from the chair he had left it on, knocking the book he'd been trying to read earlier to the floor. He slipped the coat on and hurried outside, hoping he could catch what was left of that miracle.

For Katie, as well as for himself.

Copyright © 2001 by Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation