Date: Sun, 28 Jan 1996 13:00:27 EST Reply-To: Russet McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russet McMillan Subject: Mortality Rate, Part 6 (REVISED) 'Scuse me, folks. Part 6 wasn't supposed to go out yesterday, because it was not-quite-finished. Here's the correct version. Mortality Rate, Part 6 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu "So," said Anne after I'd carried in her groceries and guzzled a glass of her orange juice and told her that everyone was just fine -- even though I wasn't so sure about Mac -- "What's this important business you and Joe need to know about?" "Well --" I swallowed. "A few weeks ago, did you have a patient come into the ER by the name of Sarah Pirelli?" Anne's brow cleared in recognition. "Yes. I tried to get her to go to Duncan for help. Did she?" "Uh. Not exactly." I took a deep breath and focused my mind hard. "Tell me everything you know about her." ==================== "Marla, who do we have in three?" Anne asked, adjusting the clean scrubs she had just put on. "Man and his wife," said the admitting nurse. "Name of Pirelli." "What's the problem? Something urgent?" "We're not sure, doctor. He claims she swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills, but she seems just fine. Her reflexes are good, pupils normal, she's fully aware." "What does she say about the pills?" "Not much," the nurse answered with a twist of her mouth. "Is she depressed? Hysterical?" "Kinda withdrawn, maybe. To be honest, I don't know if the problem is her or her husband. I'm having trouble reaching the psychiatrist on call. I was about to start going down the list." Anne was no psychiatrist, but her head spun quickly with possibilities. The husband was somehow involving his wife in his delusions -- emotional abuse -- Munchausen's Syndrome by proxy, perhaps . . . or maybe the wife really _had_ taken a bottle of sleeping pills? Anne suppressed a grimace. Learning about Immortals was turning her entire life upside down, and now she saw them around every corner. Still, better to be sure. "I'll go talk to them," she said quickly. "You might not need to get anyone out of bed for this." "Oookay," said Marla doubtfully, setting the phone aside. "So, Mr. and Mrs. Pirelli," Anne said briskly as she entered the room. "What seems to be the problem?" The woman was sitting on an examining table, still clothed. She looked up at once when Anne entered the room, glanced at her swollen belly under the green scrubs, and returned to staring dully at the floor. Her husband, who had been pacing, seemed more distressed by far. "My wife tried to commit suicide, Doctor," he said anxiously. "So I understand. Sleeping pills, is that it?" She quickly checked the woman's pulse and flashed a light into her eyes. There certainly didn't seem to be any effect on her pupil reaction. "A whole bottle. I brought it with me." He showed Anne the bottle. "Fiorinal. That's powerful stuff. How many did you take, Mrs. Pirelli?" The woman shrugged. "There were at least a dozen in the bottle yesterday," the husband explained. "When I came home from the store tonight, she was knocked out on the bed, and the bottle was empty by her hand." "She was unconscious? She seems fine now. Mrs. Pirelli? Did you swallow the pills, or just flush them?" The woman shrugged again. "I don't remember." "You don't remember." "Dan says I took the pills. He must be right." "It isn't the first time she's tried to kill herself, Doctor. I just don't know what to do." Anne kept trying to draw some response from the patient. "Mrs. Pirelli? Have you been trying to kill yourself?" "She hanged herself with her pantyhose last week, and two days ago she slit her wrists!" The man's voice broke. Anne glanced at the woman's smooth, unscarred wrists and lifted one eyebrow at the husband. "I know, I know, there's no scar -- but I saw it! There was blood all over the bathroom! And I swear she had stopped breathing when I cut her down." He ran a hand through his hair. "You're going to think I'm crazy, but --" "Relax, Mr. Pirelli. I don't think you're crazy." Anne settled gingerly into the chair, rubbing her lower back with one hand. This was going to be a very delicate business. Telling a suicidally depressed woman that she couldn't die . . . "Tell me. Why do you think your wife would want to commit suicide?" "_You_ wouldn't understand," Mrs. Pirelli said unexpectedly. Her gaze slid briefly to Anne's stomach, then away. Her husband bit his lip. "You see, it was because she lost the baby!" Anne's baby kicked and she jumped in surprise. So the woman couldn't be Immortal! But then she was back to assuming Munchausen's Syndrome. Which of these two could she trust? ====================== Anne sighed. "When her husband told me about their fertility problems, how they finally used a donated ovum, then she miscarried after the car accident, then I understood." "Understood what?" I sure didn't understand much. "Well, you see, the in vitro fertilization only worked because she hadn't become Immortal yet. Her immune system was still functioning within normal parameters. When she died in the car crash and revived, her newly Immortal immune system killed the baby." "Wait. You mean the baby didn't die from the crash?" "Oh, no. From her husband's description of the crash, I'd say she suffered a bad head wound. Her abdomen was well protected by the air bag, but her head hit the window strut. The baby didn't die until afterwards." "Her own . . . immune system killed the baby?" "Yes." Anne rested a hand on the bulge of her stomach. She kept talking in her calm, clinical voice, but there was something at the back of her eyes. "It's not that uncommon, actually. People don't realize that pregnancy involves a great deal of competition between mother and fetus. Both are fighting for the nutrition they need to survive. But the child doesn't have a functioning immune system; the mother does. If the mother's body decides that the baby is actually a threat . . . " Her hand rubbed in small, soothing circles. I felt sick. "So, you mean, this test tube fertilization stuff doesn't really work for an Immortal woman." "Not after the first death, no. I doubt implantation would even be successful in a mother who's already Immortal. It's just a very unfortunate coincidence that Mrs. Pirelli died when she did. Another two months --" "-- And she could have been the first Immortal with her own baby." "Not her own baby genetically, but, yes, that's basically it." "Oh, geeze." I had never even _tried_ to have a kid, and I had to feel for the woman. "There's often a powerful sense of guilt in these cases. The mother feels responsible for her body's involuntary chemical responses. There's a strong risk of suicide. Usually we try to bring up the possibility of another, successful pregnancy, but that wasn't an option for Mrs. Pirelli." "So she tried to kill herself." Anne sighed. "Richie, she did kill herself. Several times. She was serious about suicide; it wasn't some attention-getting ploy. But she kept reviving. It was driving her husband to desperation. Neither of them understood what was happening." "And you had to break the news to them." "Well, I tried." Anne ran a hand through her hair, looking helpless. "I didn't tell her what I just told you, that immortals are all sterile and another in vitro fertilization would be unsuccessful. I figured there was time for that later, and I wanted to minimize the shock -- she was already pretty upset. I just explained that she was Immortal, I vaguely mentioned the danger from other Immortals, and I gave her Duncan's name. I said he could help her out. But you say she didn't go to MacLeod?" "No." I swallowed hard. "She killed herself. For real, this time. " "Oh . . . oh, no." In one moment, Anne turned from a calm doctor into an upset woman. She covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. "I knew she would try again. But what could I do, admit her to the psychiatric ward? What about the next time she tried to slit her wrists, and they healed instantly? I just didn't know what to do!" I passed her the tissues. "I don't think there was anything you could do," I said gently. It's a weird paradox, but an Immortal who wants to die will probably manage it pretty soon, one way or another. Anne wiped her eyes. "How did she do it?" "She rigged a -- a kind of a sickle, I guess, so it would stand with the edge upward. And she came to Joe's and . . . " I stopped. "And what?" "That's just it. It doesn't make any sense. Why come to Joe's place? She could have done it anywhere -- her basement, the park, Times Square, for Pete's sake. Why Joe's?" "Because she guessed she could find another Immortal there." I squinted at her, not understanding. Anne waved her tissue. "I told her it would be a good place to meet Duncan. I thought she might be more comfortable there, more likely to listen." "But that still doesn't explain why she didn't do it at home." "Because there had to be another Immortal present. Or there would be no quickening." That was true, but I didn't see why it would matter to Sarah Pirelli. If she was as desperate to die as she sounded, what would she care if her quickening was passed on? Then I guessed what Anne was confused about. "She didn't need to be around another Immortal to _die_." Anne looked baffled. "But -- I thought --" "There wouldn't be a quickening, but beheading is fatal any way you look at it. Didn't Mac explain it to you?" "Well, yes. He said -- he told me -- I don't remember his exact words, but I'm sure he implied that there had to be another Immortal present." "No, of course not!" I was almost laughing at her surprise, and then I realized. "Oh. I see. It must have been . . . you see, a good friend of ours died like that. He was murdered by mortals, and his quickening was never passed on. Mac was -- really upset. I guess, after that, he wouldn't even want to mention the possibility." "He changed the subject pretty quickly when I was asking questions," Anne recalled thoughtfully. "So that's it," I said. "The whole mystery, right there." "What mystery?" "Well, the question of why this woman died right on Joe's doorstep with just me there. It wasn't murder, it was suicide. And it happened at Joe's because she thought that was the only way it would work." It was so simple, and so tragic. The poor woman, trying all those different ways to kill herself, and failing. Couldn't anyone have explained to her . . . What? That she could live a long, healthy life and watch her husband grow old and die? That if she didn't learn to kill, she would almost certainly be killed? That she could spend all her time running from strangers who were after her head, only to have them pick off her friends and loved ones one after the other? If the woman had wanted to kill herself just because she couldn't have a baby, how would she have reacted when she learned the whole truth about the Game? I took a deep breath. "Anne, it wasn't your fault." She nodded. "I know. I could tell when I saw her that there wasn't much hope. I tried to talk to her, but she wasn't listening to me, maybe because --" Again she patted her stomach. "If I could have reached MacLeod . . . if she would have just talked to him . . ." "That still might not have helped," I said. "Mac's not perfect, either." And as close to the edge as he was right now, I was glad he hadn't talked to this woman. She would probably have tried to get him to take her head. In fact, that was basically what she was doing when she went to Joe's, wasn't it? Just as well that I was there instead. "Listen, Anne," I said, standing up. "Thanks for telling me this. It really clears up a lot of questions. I'll head back to Joe's and let him know what you told me. It wasn't anyone's fault. You take care of yourself, all right?" She managed to smile as I left. I shook my head while I got on my bike. Just look how upset this business had already made Anne, Barbara -- even me. Mac was well out of it. But when I got back to Joe's place, I learned that Mac _wasn't_ out of it. =========================================================================