Forbidden Cure Part Three
Page 1
Table of Contents
By William Rubin
FORBIDDEN CURE 3
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
BY WILLIAM RUBIN
FORBIDDEN BEGINNINGS: JACQUELINE’S TRAGEDY
FORBIDDEN BIRTH
FORBIDDEN CURE
MICHELLE’S CAPTIVITY
FORBIDDEN CURE 3
SORDID ASPIRATIONS
WILLIAM RUBIN
A Chris Ravello Medical Thriller
Crystal Vision
Publishing
Forbidden Cure is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. You can contact William Rubin at werubin67@gmail.com.
This book is also available in print.
ISBN: 978-1-949189-99-5
All rights reserved.
Copyright 2018 William Rubin
Published by Crystal Vision Publishing
Cover Design by Carl Graves – Extended Imagery
Formatted by Christine Keleny – CKBooks Publishing
Chapter 1
“More wine, darling?”
Grayson’s voice reaches out to her from his large master bathroom. “By all means. Not every night we get to play at my house.”
Kiki eyes the closed bathroom door as she slides the crushed sleeping pill in a baggie out of her purse and pours it into his drink. “I’m absolutely loving this, darling. Your place puts the Ritz-Carlton to shame,” she replies as she stirs the drink to dissolve the powder. “You’ll have to send your wife away more often.”
Grayson pops out of the bathroom as she finishes mixing and joins her in bed. He leans over, kisses her passionately, and takes the offering.
“If only it were that easy.” They click glasses. “To tonight,” Grayson says, downing the entire drink while Kiki sips hers and smiles provocatively.
§
Kiki glances at the slumbering Grayson, her hands poised over the laptop. Let’s see what you’ve been up to, darling, what you know about Irina’s death.
Minutes fly by, coalescing into hours as Kiki searches Grayson’s laptop, left open when he went to the bathroom earlier. At last, her diligence is rewarded, her anger sparked. How could he have found all this out? Formulas, compounds we’re working on. She shakes her head. So much for feeling bad about using him... he must have found a way to use me to access our computers. But how?
Kiki skim reads pages upon pages of pilfered proprietary information, understanding little except for the extent of his espionage.
Nothing on Irina yet. Wait, what’s this... notes on us?
“Wooing Todd Zigler is central to shuttering Hyslop’s operations. Zigler is highly skilled and knowledgeable. His loss would devastate their operations. Assessment: competent, caring, loyal. Everyone’s best friend. Weakness: grew up poor. Burning desire for wealth, recognition.”
Kiki’s eyes scroll down, finding notes on herself!
“Widow, financially precarious situation. Friendly, well kempt. Average intelligence at best. Joined Hyslop’s staff nine months ago from one of his referring doctor’s offices. Presumably motivated by the hope Hyslop will find a cure for her arthritis before the disease destroys her livelihood.”
Kiki looks at the bed again. Smart enough to knock you out cold, asshole.
“Harold Hyslop: astute, creative scientist. True innovator. Poor people skills. Moody, condescending at times with staff, particularly Kiki Aloni. Will use that against him to turn her. Over-reliance on Todd Zigler is another weak point. Motivated by brother Phil’s desperate need for a heart transplant. When Hyslop is at his most vulnerable, will recruit him with the promise of...”
Kiki’s eyes grow wide as Grayson begins to stir. Shit! Should have been out longer than this.
She moves quickly, closing each file she accessed, then folding the screen down over the keyboard. She glides across the room and slips into bed as Grayson awakens. “Oh God, what happened? Head’s killing me,” he groans.
She rubs his temple. “Maybe it was the wine, darling. I’ve got a splitting headache too.” Slipping out of the covers, she heads to the bathroom. “Have any Tylenol or Advil?”
Grayson sits up in bed. “Second drawer on the right, in the vanity. Bring me three Advil, will you?”
“Of course, darling.”
Grayson slides over to the nightstand where Kiki put the two wine glasses, her jewelry, and two full glasses of water. His eyes scan the area as he downs the water. Never felt like this after wine. Like I’m – what the! He picks up the empty wine glass, noting a trace amount of white residue at the bottom. His eyes dart to the lipstick marks on the other glass, still two-thirds full, then the closed computer on his desk. Grinding his teeth, he curses under his breath as Kiki emerges from the bathroom.
He contorts his face into a wide grin. “Ah, my love. Always the cure for what ails me.” He kisses her softly.
She offers him the Advils and a glass of water, speaking to him in the cute, little voice usually reserved for children. “Drink up, darling. Time to make you all better.”
Chapter 2
So here we are again. Same drab, bombshell-bunker style procedure-room at Washington General. Same cast of characters: Jacobs, Dad, Kennedy, and me. The tension is thick, the mood a trace of hopefulness, yet subdued—as if we’re ready to call the funeral home but hoping we don’t have to. Gotta lighten things up before I suffocate.
“Hey Kev, you know this doesn’t count as our guys night out?”
He smirks and jabs a thumb toward Jacobs. “Oh no? So how come Doctor Jacobs said he’s got the first round?”
Dad rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
Jacobs, surprised by our irreverence, almost cracks a smile. Almost. Back to deadly serious, he looks me in the eye. “Chris, this reformulation can help you tremendously, but it will take three minutes for its efficacy to kick in. Before that you may experience a roller coaster ride of adverse effects as your body adjusts to it.” Jacobs pulls off his glasses, rubs his eyes and temples, and sighs. “No matter what happens, we need you to ride it out. If I intervene at all in the first three minutes, the medicine’s positive effects will never be felt and we’ll have lost our chance for a cure.” He nods. “Do you understand?”
I swallow and nod back. Time to find out if Hyslop has it out for me.
Kennedy interjects. “How rough a ride we talking about, Doc?”
“Ever been on the Cyclone at Coney Island, Detective?”
“Shit,” Kennedy says, under his breath.
Dad turns away, his face filled with worry.
Jacobs replaces his glasses and signals to his nurse, who stands poised over two trays filled with medications. “Ready?”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Make note of the time I begin the injection and update me every thirty seconds.”
Jacobs pierces my IV tubing with the tip of his needle. “I want you to tell me everything you’r
e feeling, Chris.”
I hold on tight and nod my assent.
The green-tinged fluid fills my IV, then dissipates as it flows through my bloodstream.
“Thirty seconds, Doctor.”
“So far, so good,” I say. “A warm feeling. Definitely bet—”
My arms and legs go rigid. Waves of uncontrolled spasms ripple through my body as my eyes roll back in my head. Bodily fluids flow out of all of my orifices.
Jacobs: “Intubation tube, airway kit ready. He’s seizing! Carnexiv STAT.”
The nurse slaps a syringe of the antiepileptic in his palm. Jacobs’ hand hovers near my IV as I bounce all over the stretcher.
“BP holding at 110/64, Doctor. Pulse is 130 and climbing.” Concern seeps into her voice. “O2 sat is dropping: 90, now 86, 80 percent.” She glances at her watch. “One minute, Doctor.”
My lips turn blue.
Jacobs’ eyes hold steady on the monitors. His hand creeps closer to the IV. Beads of sweat build on his brow and trickle down the sides of his face.
Kennedy, frantic, says, “Do something, Doc....”
Light-headed, dizzy. Struggling to hold on.
“One minute, thirty seconds, Doctor! O2 down to 74 percent, pulse 150 and irregular!”
Jacobs talks under his breath. “C’mon, damn it, just a little more time!”
The blue hue spreads out across my cheeks, a sea of oxygen deprivation washing over me. Not sure I can hold on much longer.
“Two minutes, Doctor.”
Jacobs, frozen in place. His eyes break free of the monitors. They run quickly along my cold, clammy body, assessing my condition as I careen uncontrollably. Dad, terror in his eyes, implores him, “Please, don’t lose him.”
“Two and a half minutes, Doctor.” Wringing her hands. “He’s in a fib now! O2 sat plummeting.”
Jacobs’ eyes dart to the monitors, to me. Turning to the nurse, he drops his syringe on the tray. “Laryngoscope!” Jacobs lunges onto the stretcher, flailing his arms in a desperate effort to control me. Kennedy rushes over. “I got it, Doc.” In one motion he brushes Jacobs aside, grabs my arms with his gigantic hands, and forces me to be still. “Do what ya gotta do, quick.”
Jacobs is panic stricken. “His mouth.” Kennedy release his grip and lunges forward, using his chest to pin my body down. He grabs my face in his meaty, oversized hands, straining against my jawbone. With a scream he pries my teeth open as Jacobs rams the laryngoscope’s metal guide in. “Can’t hold him long...” A plastic tube, then an attachment follows.
“Three minutes, Doctor.”
“O2 at 15 liters!”
Sweet Jesus, at last! Oxygen pouring into me, filling my desperate, depleted lungs and starved blood.
The convulsing becomes less violent, then stops. I lay in the bed, feeling like I was just run over by an eighteen-wheeler.
The nurse’s voice fills with hope. “Heart rate becoming regular, Doctor. O2 sat climbing.”
Jacobs slumps forward, a disheveled, spent mess. “Thank God.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m going to extubate him now and drop the O2 down to four liters via a nasal cannula.”
Kennedy pulls away, in disbelief I made it. He grabs Dad in a bear hug and yanks him off the ground like a rag doll, dancing around. “Fucking A, we did it, Bill!”
Dad gasps. “Kev... can’t... breathe.”
Kennedy, startled, releases his grip, gently sets Dad back down. “Sorry, Bill. You okay?”
Dad smiles broadly. “I’m fine.” He makes his way to my bed as Jacobs finishes adjusting the cannula and steps aside. “You okay, Son?”
Weary, eyes half closed, relief washing over me in waves, I muster a smile. “Yeah... Anyone get the plate number on that semi?”
§
“How are you feeling, Chris?”
I smile back at Jacobs. “Surprisingly good, like someone lifted a huge weight off of me.”
He nods, a hint of a smile. “All the blood work is normal, and your vitals have never been better.” He toys with the stethoscope draped over his neck, the smile finally breaking through. “Safe to say, the worst is behind you.”
I’m buoyed by a new sense of hope. “You really think so, Doctor?”
He nods affirmatively. “Doctor Hyslop’s group is tightlipped with their results, but I’m very optimistic, Chris. Out of the dose-two survivors the only patients who had bad outcomes were those who deteriorated within five hours of the treatment.” Jacobs looks at his gold Rolex, folds his arms over his chest. “Nine hours post treatment now. We should be in the clear.”
“So what’s next?”
“You head home now, and we give you the final treatment in five days to lock in the effect.”
I shake my head in happy disbelief. “That’s great! Any restrictions? Any concerns about dose three?”
“No, none. In fact, you’ll probably feel better, stronger than you have in years without the drain of the pheo.” He pauses. “I’ll touch base with Hyslop today. In the meantime call my office, get the treatment scheduled.” He turns serious. “Remember, it has to be five days from today. A day or two late and the chances of a cure drop precipitously.”
Jacobs rolls his eyes as I salute him. “Ay, ay, sir, I’ll get right on it.”
With a shake of his head he’s off as I reach for my cell to call Kennedy, then Dad. “Hey Kev, got a clean bill of health. Any chance you can spring me now?”
Chapter 3
Silver Spring, MD
Just inside the Capital Beltway, due north of DC, two prominent members of the FDA’s Office of Special Medical Programs discuss the latest data from Immunogenetics Offerings.
Director Frank Presby arches his eyebrows as he leans back in his chair. “I’ve got to say, Paul, this is impressive. When Limerock’s Group gave us an update six months ago, I didn’t think there was any way we’d be green-lighting them. But they’ve done a complete one-eighty.”
Deputy Director Paul Wooden, seated on the opposite side of Frank’s massive Mahogany desk, shakes his head in disbelief. “I know. At that point I thought Hyslop’s treatments were more promising than Limerock’s. But this data, and some of the whispers I’ve heard, has me reconsidering.”
“What kind of whispers?” Presby asks.
“That Hyslop’s next round of reporting will contain at least one fatality,” Wooden says with a knowing nod.
“What, another one? We’re supposed to be notified within seven days of a treatment death.”
Wooden cuts in. “Actually, they came off probation a few months ago, so they don’t have to inform us until their next reporting date, which is the end of January.”
Presby plants his elbows and forearms on his desk, leans forward, and surveys Wooden’s face. “Check into your source’s story. I don’t want to get blindsided in a few weeks like they did to us last year.”
Paul rises from his chair with satisfaction, smooths his sports-coat, and turns to go. “Will do. I’ll get right on it.”
“And Paul, be discrete. No one else in the know until we’re certain what’s going on.”
Wooden gives a quick, confident nod then disappears down the hallway.
Chapter 4
“You oughta spend a few bucks and gets the wheels on this hunk of junk aligned. Definitely pulls left,” I say with a good-natured laugh as I slap Kennedy’s right shoulder. The Titanic gave a smoother ride than Kev’s ancient Honda does, but it’s all good today as we ride north on the Deegan, toward Dad’s house in Ossining, to meet him and the kids.
Kennedy nods and grins. “So after washing out as a surgeon and a police detective, you’re an auto mechanic now?”
“Hey, a guy’s gotta make a living somehow, right?”
“Bud, you never even changed windshield wiper blades growing up,” he says with a booming laugh.
My face contorts. “You’ve got a point there, big guy. Guess it’s back to the ‘help wanted’ section for me.”
Kenned
y jerks his head toward the direction we came from. “What a mess back there. You sure Jacobs knows what the hell he’s doing with the experimental stuff?” He shakes his head. “I thought you were a goner at one point.”
“Yeah, me too. Wouldn’t have bothered with my nice skivvies if I knew what was gonna happen,” I say sarcastically. “But seriously, I feel better than I have in years, and now we know Hyslop’s not trying to kill me.”
Kennedy nods. “Wasn’t sure there for a while.”
“Me neither.” I intertwine my fingers and crack my knuckles. “Looking forward to sealing the deal in a few days with the last treatment.”
“I hear you. What’re you gonna do with yourself in the meantime?”
My face takes on a puzzled look. “With all the crazy shit that’s gone down, I didn’t really think that far ahead.” I exhale and shake my head. “One thing’s for sure, I’m going to bear hug the kids. They have no idea how wrong this all could have gone, but I do.”
Kennedy pats his chest where two of Durand’s bullets tore through him back in July, one clipping his aorta. “Yeah, man, we’ve got enough scars to last a lifetime. Time to move on to better days.”
I nod in acknowledgment, Kennedy’s words ringing true, yet also unsettling me. Staring out the window as we drive past the Cross County Shopping Center and a maze of interconnecting Parkways, I realize how long the road to recovery is that stretches out before me. In a few days I’ll have my health back, but then what? How do I support myself and the kids? Do I try to get my job at Washington General back? Or plunge headlong again into the life of depravity of an NYPD detective? Maybe I have other marketable skills and talents that can set me on a different path?
Kennedy lets up on the gas as we head through the toll plaza’s E-Z Pass lane. Far up on the hill sits Stew Leonard’s and Costco, both bustling with holiday activity. In front of us a long, crowded stretch of the New York State Thruway. There are lots of questions to answer, for sure. But they all pale in comparison to the unspoken one, to the question I’ve barely had time to consider since we met with Durand. Are you out there somewhere, baby, or have I really lost you for good?