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Back The Lighthouse Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. PART ONE
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. PART TWO
  13. 12
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 18
  18. 19
  19. 21
  20. 22
  21. 23
  22. 24
  23. 25
  24. 26
  25. 27
  26. 28
  27. 30
  28. 31
  29. 32
  30. 33
  31. 34
  32. 35
  33. 36
  34. 37
  35. 38
  36. 39
  37. 40
  38. 41
  39. 42
  40. 43
  41. PART THREE
  42. 44
  43. 45
  44. 46
  45. 47
  46. 49
  47. 50
  48. 51
  49. 52
  50. EPILOGUE

Arriving a little after midnight, Amy was seen by the attending physician, who made the decision to admit her for the night. He ordered a battery of tests to be done, expressing concern on a number of different fronts—the pills still in her system, the water that might still be sitting in her lungs, and the amount of time her brain had been starved of oxygen. Though the tests took less than ninety minutes, to Kevin the wait felt like an eternity.

When the tests were over, a nurse came to get him and together they wheeled Amy into a room. The nurse dimmed the lights, prepared a bed by the window, then put a needle in Amy’s arm and hooked her up to a drip. She told Kevin the doctor would be in shortly to go through the results of the tests. As soon as the lights were turned off, Amy fell asleep.

A half hour later, the doctor knocked. Kevin tiptoed across the room and joined him out in the hall.

“How are you doing, Mr. Tucker?”

“Nerves are shot. How is my girl?” By this point it was 3:00 a.m. and Kevin was running on adrenaline.

“Let me set your mind at ease and tell you that your daughter is going to be okay. The results came back fine.”

“Thank God. There’s no permanent damage?”

“Brain activity is fine, lungs are clear.” The doctor looked down at a clipboard. “She’s a lucky girl, but I’m not surprised to see that she’s asleep—she’s been knocked about a bit by the pills. They were yours, yes?”

“Yes . . . they were mine. Is she really going to be all right? Don’t you think we ought to be pumping her stomach or something?”

“That won’t be necessary. The fluids we’ve given her will help flush out any remaining DPH still in her system.” The doctor flipped to another page and read some handwritten scrawl. “The on-call psychiatrist will be here in the morning—she’ll pop in to have a word with Amy when she’s awake. She’ll do an assessment, then recommend what steps need to be taken next.”

He scribbled something in his notes, signed another page, then looked up and glanced into Amy’s room.

“Mr. Tucker, Amy has been through an awful lot tonight. Her heart stopped—for how long, we don’t really know. That she’s come through as strong as she has is nothing short of a miracle. By no means am I a religious man, but if you want my opinion, I’d say someone up there was looking out for you and your daughter tonight. You’re both incredibly lucky.” He gave Kevin a pat on the arm. “Try to get some rest.”

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