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He looked after her and felt like crying.
"Lindsay, we’ve got a new case," Peter announced, standing in the doorway.
"Great, come in," her voice sounded dull and lifeless.
"Lin, are you ok?" he entered the kitchen, seeing her standing at the window and doing nothing. Just standing there and staring outside.
"No, I’m not, Pete," she answered, turning to greet him. "Thanks for asking."
"I’m sorry," that was all he could think of saying.
"Don’t be. It’s my fault."
"It’s about Doyle, isn’t it?" Peter lowered himself on a chair. Lindsay nodded.
"I thought you could let him go."
"Would you?"
"No, I wouldn’t," he admitted.
"Neither could I. Pete, I know I’m making him miserable and so many people as well but I can’t help it. I wish I could hate Becca but I can’t. And Elsinger’s gone."
"You mean there’s no one to be declared guilty?"
"There is. I’m responsible, Doyle’s responsible. Oh, Pete, there’re so many people responsible like many small stones making a castle. So many things went wrong. Neither Doyle nor me can find the responsible now. It’s like an avalanche: you throw a small snowball and masses of snow follow."
"But things would be different if not for Rebecca…"
"Now don’t start with "if"s, Peter. There is no "if" in this story. There are facts and I can’t ignore them. Connor can’t do that as well and that’s why he’s feeling so down. Because he knows he can’t change anything. And his conscience doesn’t allow him to act ignoring facts."
He looked put out.
Lindsay gently put a hand on his sleeve: "Sorry, Pete, I’ve been so angry I’ve forgotten I can’t stop hurting people around me. You haven’t come here to listen to my wails. What’s the case about?"
"A little girl," he now looked more self confident, fumbling in his case for the papers. "A five year old called Chelsey Leons."
"What happened to her?" Lindsay looked nervous.
"She had a shock while she was at the dentist, was brought to the hospital. Now she’s in coma. We have to find out why."
"God, not Chelsey, not this bright little kid!" she moaned.
"You know her?" Peter asked, surprised.
"Yes, she’s in the same day group as Colleen. And … and I’ve seen her only a week ago at the dentist’s by the way. She looked just great. Poor Angela!"
Axon looked into the papers: "I must say, it all happened a week ago."
Lindsay threw him a quick glance and rushed to the telephone. While she pushed the buttons, she prayed Dana was okay.
The telephone was answered at the third ring. "Here’s Dana Praeger speaking, hello."
"Hi, Dana," Lindsay’s knees were weak with relief, "how are you?"
"Lindsay!" the voice sounded delighted. "Thanks, I’m great. Only the teeth hurt a bit but otherwise I’m great. Mom was furious of course, because of the doctor, but eventually she calmed down. Did you call just to say hello?"
"Yes, I wanted to make sure you’re all right," Donner said.
"Right, thanks for calling. Got to rush now, see you later!" Dana said.
"Bye, greet your mom from me," Lindsay replied, hanging up.
She turned to Peter: "Thanks heavens she’s feeling good."
"Why suddenly Dana? It was Dana Praeger, wasn’t it?" Peter frowned.
"Uhu, she was at the same dentist a week ago. As I’ve heard about Chelsey, I’ve immediately thought about her."
"I think we should nose around at the clinic," Axon proposed.
"That the best proposal I’ve heard since a long time," Lindsay managed a smile. "Let’s go!"
"And where’s the small princess?" asked Peter.
"Oh, she’s over at Marc’s. Surprising how much he loves her."
"He still loves you too, Lin," Axon said softly. "Only looks like you can’t face it right now. I wish you and Doyle could sort out your probs."
"You can’t imagine how much I wish that," she replied quietly, taking her coat.
Lindsay disliked hospitals. But what she disliked most was the feeling of helplessness she had each time she had to see someone – especially a child – in coma. Each time she saw them, she felt the reality was a burden too heavy to carry.
This time it was even worse: Chelsey, who she saw only a week ago, the lively smiling child, was lying here, silent and pale. Angela was sitting by her side. She didn’t stand up as Lindsay and Peter entered the room, only looked up.
"Oh, Ms. Donner, what are you doing here?"
"Just Lindsay. I’m trying to find out who’s done this to Chels," Lindsay answered.
"Ms. Donner, who are you to do this?" the woman asked.
"Well, I’m here not privately, Angela, but on an OSIR mission," she explained. "Here’s my colleague, Peter Axon. He’s a physicist. May he have a look around in the room?"
Angela nodded, confused: "What does OSIR mean? What has it to do with my daughter?"
"OSIR means Office of Scientific Investigation and Research," Peter replied and smiled – the trick that always worked. "We have every reason to suppose that young Chelsey was not just a victim of an anaphylactic shock as you’ve been told."
"Oh," Angela’s eyes widened. "Oh," she repeated after a while. "Then do whatever is needed to help her. And me," she added quietly.
"Certainly, Angela," Lindsay reassured the woman.
"We’re gonna make it together," agreed Peter.
Angela smiled faintly and turned her attention to the child on the bed.
"Linds, what are we going to do first?" Axon whispered as they took a look around.
"I guess I’ll go to the infirmary and nurses’ area and you can try to work out whether all the stuff here," she made a wide gesture, including all the peeping monitors, "is all right. Whoever informed Anton: if he’s after Chelsey, he’s going to try to get her in the hospital as well."
"But what has Chelsey done?"
"What has Lizzie done?" retorted Lindsay. "They’ve got no proof, no explanation, no excuse: just do things. I’d better be going."
Peter sighed: he hated when Lindsay got touchy but he could understand her state of mind perfectly well. It must have been dreadful being near someone yet so far away.
Lindsay walked down the corridor and approached a nurse at a desk. The elderly woman looked very busy, shuffling the papers on her table and furiously typing something on an old fashioned computer.
"Hi," she tried her best engaging smile.
The nurse looked up for an instant: "What do you want, lady?"
"Mmm," Lindsay shortly considered asking her about Chelsey’s delivery but then saw the nurse’s expression. "I’d like to have some blood samples of certain Miss Chelsey Leons."
"Why?" the nurse was still hostile.
"Well, guess I’ve got no choice," Lindsay pulled out her OSIR mark. "Because I’m a scientist and I need them."
The woman looked rather angry but nevertheless she stood up and went to a younger nurse, standing a bit aside: "Blood samples, Chelsey Leons. Hand over to that woman."
The girl nodded: "I’ll do that right away."
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