“It’s a disease, Allan. It’s not an enemy army,” Joe said. “Let’s take it a step at a time. I’m right beside you all the way, if we do this correctly.”
Allan nodded but thought, He doesn’t get it. We’ve got to replicate what they did with the mice. A cancer-free mouse passed on its miraculous white blood cells to its progeny. Those cells were used to fight cancers in normal mice. If this kid has some special biological gift, it has to be transfused into another human being who happened to be suffering from a particularly virulent form of cancer. That’s the way to do the research. Not spend weeks, months, analyzing the DNA. Furthermore, someone might be saved right here and now.
He regretted not simply taking Taylor Petersen’s blood specimen back to LA. where he was king.
Later, when Joe called him at the hospital to tell him where they were going for dinner, he opted out.
“I’ll just have something here,” he said. “I want to get some of this preliminary work done in the lab and get into the slides. You know I’ll have to head back to Los Angeles for the rest of the work, Joe.”
“You coming back to the house tonight though, right?”
“Sure. I’m in for another day if Toby doesn’t mind.”
“Of course, she doesn’t mind.”
Allan thanked him. He knew Joe’s wife wasn’t fond of him, but he could care less about friendships now. While he was in the lab, he went on the hospital computer and looked at the descriptions of the various patients. He paused when he read about Paul Wellman. Joe hadn’t even mentioned this patient, a patient ideal for a last hope effort of any kind. But what made it more amazing was Wellman had O/Rh blood type.
He sat back and thought about it. Here was an opportunity. Why not go straight on in? Take a shot? Despite the unorthodoxy and violations of medical procedure, he’d be taking quite a risk in another sense. If there was a reason why this didn’t work on Wellman, he would have lost his sample, and returning to the Petersens for more of the kid’s blood this soon might really spook Demi Petersen. There was also the very issue of how much would be needed to have an effect. Maybe this wasn’t enough. It was more prudent to do the research, break down the DNA, follow all the protocols. If he didn’t do it all right, no one would accept his findings anyway.
Why am I remaining here? he then thought. I should get back To my home turf.
He considered packing up the samples and leaving, but then he looked at the computer information again. All the time in between, all the steps to the research, all of the findings would take so long. It ate away at him. He pondered and teased himself with the possibilities. Later, he did try to eat some dinner, but he was such a bundle of nervous energy, he barely ate anything.
He returned to the lab and looked at some of the preliminary information on the first tube of blood specimens. The kid’s numbers were terrific, especially his chemistry, but there was nothing that indicated anything unusual. As he pondered, his cell phone buzzed, and he picked up his call. It was Thornton Carver.
“Sorry to tell you, Allan. We lost Zoe Livingston. She put up quite a fight for a twelve-year-old.”
Allan didn’t speak.
“How is it going there? Anything worthwhile?”
“I’m not sure, Thornton. I might remain another day or so.”
“Hey, take your time. You have yet to take a vacation.”
“Cancer doesn’t, so I don’t,” he replied dryly.
Thornton grunted rather than laughed.
“Watch yourself, Allan. You’re burning out at this high speed.”
Allan finally laughed and then told Thornton about his nearly getting a very serious speeding ticket.
“Well, you see? We have some perks after all,” Thornton Carver said. “Call me.”
“Will do,” Allan said.
After he ended the call, he sat back and closed his eyes. He vividly recalled Zoe Livingston from the first day she was admitted to the hospital. He could see her faith in him, her hope when he spoke to and treated her, and the optimism he had planted in her parents. He now felt like a total fraud. He was helpless, after all—Superman without anything but the costume. The disease was doing this to him, playing with him, tormenting and torturing him. In his mind, perhaps close to some state of madness, Cancer was a living monster, a creature that walked the earth and toyed with fools like him who believed they were any competition whatsoever.
His all too familiar rage roared inside him and tired him out. He closed his eyes again, and this time, his fatigue took a firm grasp and sent him spiraling deep into sleep. When he woke, he was surprised to find himself still in the same chair. He checked the time and realized it was close to one in the morning. It also surprised him that Joe hadn’t called. He checked his phone to be sure. There were no messages. Maybe he was hoping I returned to Los Angeles, he thought. He scrubbed his face with his dry palms and then looked at the blinking computer screen.
Paul Wellman’s chart was still up.
He stared at it and then stood up and looked around the quiet lab.
“It’s all a crapshoot anyway,” he practically screamed at the equipment.
Still reeling from his rage, he scooped up the white blood cells he had separated from Taylor Petersen’s blood samples and marched out with everything else he needed. No one paid him much attention. He went to the elevator and stepped out on Paul Wellman’s floor. For a split second, he hesitated and tried to change his mind, but he was driven by something greater than himself now. He was Captain Ahab. He was on the verge of facing Moby Dick.
He went directly to Wellman’s room.
Frankie Vico had undergone his first chemotherapy treatment. He had lain there waiting for it to hit him like a punch in the stomach. He had some indigestion, a dryness in his mouth, and the beginning of a real killer of a headache, but the dramatic side effects were waiting to pounce, probably with the next treatment. They had done too good of a job preparing him for what to expect. Just listening to it all was pure torture. Now, he found he couldn’t sleep. He was restless and so anxious he felt like screaming.
Almost in a rage, he threw off his blanket and sat up. Why was this happening to him? What the hell was going on? If the Big Boss wanted him gone, why didn’t he just have him in a head-on crash or marked for a hit and get it done? Of course, perhaps He was enjoying torturing him.
Christ, he had started this health kick, hadn’t he? Look at how good he looked these days. This made no sense. Maybe something the doctor had told him to do led to this situation. None of them seemed to know what the hell they were doing. They weren’t even good at investing their money.
He scooped up his robe, slipped into it and his slippers, and went for a damn walk. Maybe it would be his last. When he stepped into the hallway, he looked toward the nurse’s station. There were only two, and they were so involved in their conversation they weren’t even paying attention To monitors, much less able to see him wandering about. He wondered if the poor bastard next door was still alive. Maybe he died hours ago and no one knew, not that it mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.
Practically skating over the tiled floor, he made his way up to Paul Wellman’s door and looked in at him. Despite the late hour, his doctor appeared to be there. Wellman looked unconscious. The doctor had his back to the door and was apparently injecting something into Wellman’s arm. He watched as the doctor made some quick moves while keeping the needle in Wellman’s arm. Finally, he was finished and stepped back. He just stood there looking down at Wellman for a while before turning to leave. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Frankie in the doorway.
Frankie was surprised it was not Dr. Weber.
“Can I help you?” the doctor asked.
“I’m next door. Just looking in on him. What’s happening?”
“He’s resting comfortably,” he said. “You shouldn’t disturb him now.”
“Who’s disturbing him?”
Frankie stepped back as the doctor rushed toward him. He
moved quickly out of the room and away. Frankie watched him hurry down to the elevator and push the button. He looked back once. Weird, Frankie thought, glanced in at Wellman, and then continued his walk, thinking, Dead Man Walking. He wanted to chant it in fact.
Allan Parker stepped into the elevator and stood there looking at him until the door closed.
“Fucking doctors,” Frankie muttered. He walked on and then got so tired he wasn’t sure he’d make it back. In fact, he had to stop and lean against the wall to get his balance. One of the nurses finally saw him and came to him quickly.
“Mr. Vico. What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for a pizza,” he said.
She smiled and shook her head. “Let’s go back to your room,” she said, taking his arm.
“You’re going back with me? I don’t know as I’m up to it, although I’ll give it the old college try.”
“I’m taking you back,” she said sharply. “To rest. You need your rest.”
“Yeah, yeah. Say, what does this chemo crap do to your sex drive?”
“Save your questions for your doctor, Mr. Vico.”
He paused at Wellman’s door again.
“There was another doctor just here,” he told the nurse. “Kinda late for him, ain’t it? Is he about to kick the bucket or what?”
“Another doctor?” She smiled and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Vico.”
“I saw him. I spoke to him!” he emphasized.
She simply held her smile as if she were talking to a complete idiot. “I assure you that I would know, Mr. Vico.”
“Well, someone was here. Someone gave him an injection or something.”
She stopped smiling.
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago if that,” he said. “I watched him doing it. He wasn’t the nicest guy on the block either.”
“Let’s get you back to bed,” she told him.
“Don’t believe me. You can’t ask him,” he said nodding at Wellman. “He didn’t wake up even though the guy was sticking him. Maybe he’s already dead. Hey, wait a minute,” he said, forcefully stopping himself and the nurse. He looked back at the elevator as if there was some significant evidence he might have missed.
“Now what, Mr. Vico?” the nurse asked.
“Maybe someone came up here and took him out of his misery. Ever think of that, Nurse…” He looked at her tag. “Dakota?”
Her face grew more serious now.
“You’re named after a state?” he asked.
“You didn’t really see anyone up here just now, did you, Mr. Vico?”
“He was in there. I spoke to him. He told me not to disturb Wellman and then he walked out quickly. He practically ran, come to think of it, and went to the elevator.”
“Come along,” she said with more urgency.
She took him to his bed and helped him get comfortable.
“Maybe Wellman’s wife sent someone up. Get it?” he asked the nurse. “In his case, it ain’t even a crime. It’s a favor, ain’t it? Huh?” he pursued.
“We don’t practice euthanasia here, Mr. Vico. This is a place where we work at getting people better, cured.”
“Right. Cure me, will ya.”
“I’m sure your doctor is trying,” she replied and walked out quickly.
Moments later, he heard another pair of footsteps and saw both nurses pass his door. He was still restless, despite his fatigue. He listened and heard more coming and going, but he didn’t have the strength to get himself up again. He needed some rest. The nurse had been right about that. Hospitals, however, were famous as places where people could get no rest. You had to be unconscious.
He fell asleep, finally, and was woken in the morning by loud chatter and even some laughter in the hallway. Curiosity gave him the energy and strength to sit up and then get out of his bed. He shoved his feet into his slippers and this time was so curious he didn’t bother going first for his robe. They could see his rear end. He didn’t care. He went to the door and looked out. The morning nursing shift had arrived, and all the nurses were talking to Nurse Dakota and the other nurse who had been with her. They were on their way out. Everyone was standing in front of Wellman’s door.
“What’s going on?” he demanded.
They all turned to look at him, but no one spoke for a moment. Then Nurse Dakota approached him.
“You told me last night you saw a doctor here.”
“so?”
“See?” she said to the others.
They looked at him as if he had seen a ghost or something.
“What the hell’s going on?” he demanded, more intently this time.
Before any of them could respond, Paul Wellman stepped out of his room. He was in his robe and slippers, and he was smiling.
“When’s breakfast?” he asked.
They all stared at him.
“Hey!” Frankie called to him.
Wellman looked at him.
“Ain’t you supposed to be dying?”
Wellman smiled and nodded. “Shows you,” he said without coughing, “you can’t believe one half of what you read and three quarters of what you hear.”
“What about what you see?”
“At least ten percent. Maybe, in my case, ninety,” he joked.
“Where’s your wife?”
“She’s on her way with something decent to eat,” Wellman told him.
Everyone turned when the elevator opened and Joe Weber came hurrying out.
“Uh-oh,” Wellman said. “Here comes my doctor. I better behave myself and stop chasing the nurses.”
Frankie saw the look of amazement on Dr. Weber’s face as he approached.
Nurse Dakota stepped closer to Frankie.
“Could it be that Doctor Weber was the doctor you saw last night?” she asked in a whisper.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s my doctor, too, ain’t he? I think I would recognize him.”
She nodded.
“But I can tell you this, Nurse Dakota.”
“What?”
“Whoever the hell he was, I want him coming to see me today,” he replied.
CHAPTER FOUR
There was a room with a cot reserved for anyone working very late hours in the laboratory. When Joe stepped into the laboratory, all the technicians turned toward him. It was as if he had brought a rough, chilling wind along. He panned the room and then approached Shirley Cavner, who had some blood slides under a microscope.
“I’m looking for Doctor Parker, an associate of mine. We were in here yester—”
“He’s taking a nap, Doctor. Or shall I say,’still sleeping.’ He was in there when I arrived this morning, and he hasn’t come out yet,” she replied, nodding at the door of the side room. Joe nodded and approached the room.
Allan was asleep with his back to the door. Joe stood there looking in on him a moment and then looked back. The technicians were still watching him, but when he looked at them, they all returned to their work.
He nudged Allan, who groaned and turned slowly.
“Did you do something with Paul Wellman last night, Allan?” Joe asked, not hiding his boiling rage. “Did you?”
Allan scrubbed his eyes with his closed fists a moment and then sat up.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I asked about Paul Wellman, Allan. Did you do something? Well?”
“What’s happened?”
“Allan, just tell me the truth!”
“I gambled,” he confessed.
“You gambled. This isn’t Las Vegas, Allan! Don’t you realize that you could have created a serious lawsuit for me and for the hospital?”
“Why? What damage can you do to a man who’s dying anyway, Joe? There’s nothing more you can do for him. You know it. Is he gone?”
Weber looked away.
“Joe? Did he pass away?”
Joe’s continued silence sent a chilling, electric shot through Al
lan. It nearly lifted him off the cot.
“Joe?”
Weber continued to look away, but his silence spoke mouthfuls.
“He’s in remission, isn’t he? Jesus, man, what’s going on?”
“I can’t come to any conclusions yet. I have him being scanned as we speak,” he said.
“Why? Why, Joe?” Allan pursued.
“He shocked the nurses this morning. He was up and about asking about breakfast. His vitals are nearly perfect and he’s not coughing at all. His lungs…”
“What?”
“Sound clear.”
Allan fell back on the cot, looking like he had been hit by a sledgehammer.
“Wow,” he cried, and punched his left palm. “I knew it. I knew it my very soul.”
“Regardless of any of this, you did a terrible thing, Allan.”
“Saving his life?”
“You know what I mean. Protocol. You know I could be in deep shit permitting you to go at my patient.”
“Forget all that,” Allan said. “I’ve been sick of the politics in medicine from the day I started, kissing ass to get funding, meeting with the most obnoxious, self-serving politicians, dealing with hospital bureaucrats with swollen egos. They know little about what we are doing and yet have all this power over us.”
“It’s the system we’re in, Allan.”
“You’re in. I’ve never accepted it.”
Joe folded his arms across his chest and stood straighter.
“Can you tell me how I’m going to explain this without revealing all these breaches in protocol? You’ve established a list of violations an arm and a leg long. Besides, to do it, we’ll have to reveal the kid, and then what? We could have done all this correctly, intelligently, protecting the findings.”
“Don’t say anything to anyone yet,” Allan told him, quickly interrupting. “Let’s confirm the results first. C’mon. We have so much to do.”
Weber looked at him. “It might be better if you just leave, Allan. I’ll call you.”
“What? No way. Don’t be a fool. You could make some mistake here and send us reeling back to the Dark Ages, because that’s where we are.”
The Magic Bullet Page 7
