Chapter 8 - Dr. Whitfield Notices the Drip
That afternoon, Dr. Alan Whitfield arrived unannounced through the private side entrance, wearing his signature camel-hair coat and silver-framed glasses.
He strode into the master suite without knocking, pulling a fresh leather medical case from beneath his arm with clinical urgency.
“How is his baseline reactivity this morning?” Whitfield demanded, tossing his stethoscope onto the velvet armchair without looking at Willa.
“His heart rate has stabilized, and his pupil response is slightly more active when the window blinds are opened,” Willa answered calmly.
Whitfield walked over to the IV infusion pump, his eyes scanning the digital readout and the adjusted saline drip rate with sudden suspicion.
“Who touched this infusion rate? I specifically calibrated this pump to maintain deep neurological suppression during the transition phase,” he snapped.
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“I adjusted the saline dilution because his skin was showing signs of severe dehydration around the needle insertion site,” Willa lied without blinking.
Whitfield glared at her, his fingers hovering over the control panel before resetting the toxic chemical mixture back to its original heavy dosage.
