Pandora's Daughter

Chapter 1

“He’s dead, Megan. Call it,” Scott Rogan said as he looked at her over the body of the fourteen-year-old boy. “Give it up.”

“Tell that to his mother.” She hit the paddles again to try to jump-start the boy’s heart. Come on, Manuel. Come back to us. “I’m not going to do it without a fight.”

“We’ve been working on him for the last twenty minutes.”

“Then another few won’t make a difference.” She counted to three and then hit him again. “Live, Manuel,” she whispered. “You have so much to do, so much to see. Don’t let it end like this.”

But it had ended, she realized in helpless frustration after another two minutes. Dammit to hell. Poor kid.

She ripped her gloves off as she turned away. “Document that the patient died at eleven-oh-five p.m.,” she said jerkily to the nurse. She strode out of the ER to wash and change her bloodstained scrubs. She couldn’t face the boy’s mother like this. The woman was going to have a bad enough memory to carry for the rest of her life.

Damn. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the jamb of the door for a minute. It shouldn’t be like this. She should be able to do more.

“Are you okay, Megan?”

She opened her eyes to see Scott standing beside her. “No.” She straightened. “I wanted a miracle. I didn’t get it.”

“You did your best. We’re just doctors. We can’t walk on water.”

“I can try. Every day I can try a little harder and maybe someday I’ll be good enough to—” She rubbed her stinging eyes on the back of her hand and turned away. “I can’t stand here talking. I have to talk to Manuel’s mother.”

“Wait.” He was hurrying after her. “I’ll tell her, Megan.”

She shook her head. “My job. He was my patient.” But, dammit, she didn’t want to do this. It was always a painful responsibility but especially traumatic when it concerned the young. “Thanks anyway, Scott.”

He shrugged. “It’s bad for me too. But it doesn’t tear me up like it does you. Sometimes I wonder why you decided to become a doctor. You’re too damn emotional. All that psychological training we were given in med school didn’t get through to you.”

“I’ll get used to it.” Her gaze was fixed on the small Latina woman sitting in a chair across the waiting room. A deep pang of sadness surged through her. Dear God, the woman’s hopeful expression as she saw Megan . . .

No, she’d never get used to it. Not in a million years. Then take it on the chin and go tell that mother her boy is dead.

The woman was tensing, her eyes anxious. Megan could feel her pain and desperation as if it were her own. It was surrounding her, deluging her, drowning her. She braced herself, fighting to pull away from it.

“Megan,” Scott murmured.

She shook her head to clear it. “It’s okay.” She moistened her lips and forced herself to start across the room. Get it over with and try to offer the woman what comfort she could.

“Mrs. Rivera, I’m Dr. Megan Blair.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry to tell you that . . .”