The Heart of It All (HeartSick Series Book 1)

by Weston Mitchel

  Ashley’s head slipped off Mia’s shoulder and down her front, snapping awake just as she ricocheted off Mia’s right boob. The Cabbie popped the trunk where the girl’s luggage was currently sitting and just sat there as they got out and unloaded the car by themselves. Ashley gave a sarcastic thanks after paying the exact fare with no tip, mouthing the word asshole as the tires squealed.

  Ashley began to walk down the paved path towards their dormitory, rolling each of their luggage behind her, one in each hand.

  “I’m not an invalid, Ash. I can carry my own bag,” Mia pleaded to her friend that seemed to be listening but not heeding her words.

  “I know you can, but you look like shit. So… just lemme.”

  “Gee thanks,” Mia said wryly flipping her the bird for added dramatics. Her fingers were all wrapped tightly into a fist except the middle which was standing straight up in defiance.

  “That is so unladylike, Meems… a proper woman leaves the other fingers halfway up dear, at the very least.” Ashley said letting go of her own bag to properly demonstrate for her impromptu student. “Like this,” her fingers were all bent at the middle knuckle except the offending finger making it look like a skyscraper standing amidst other shorter buildings, instead of a spire rising out of the plains like Mia’s had been.

  Without saying a word Mia used the sign language lesson as a chance to grab the unguarded handle that Ashley had to let go of to demonstrate. Ripping it away from Ashley’s side and dragging it to hers she said “There, now it’s fair. You can roll mine and I’ll roll yours.”

  “You’re a turd, you know that?” Ashley said giving up on her side of the argument in a flash like she always had, knowing it was pointless in trying. Even it was an argument over nothing. Rolling the bag she still had up next to Mia they began walking towards the building as Ashley changed the subject back to her friend, “Did you get any sleep at all on the plane?”

  “Yeah a bit,” Mia lied for what seemed like the ten hundredth time in the last 12 hours.

  “Whatever, liar,” Ashley said using her free hand to lightly back slap her friend’s arm.

  “I’m fine Ash.”

  “Uh huh, sure you are. Your eyes are tellin me otherwise.” Ashley said as she used the hand that just slapped her to vaguely point in the direction of Mia’s eyes. She didn’t want to push the subject too hard knowing how defensive Mia normally got talking about herself. They could have been twins in that respect. If Mia got upset and standoffish talking about her health and not-so-well being on a regular day, today she might just flip her gourd. So in a vane gesture to make light of it as best she could she added, “Well, those big ass purple tea bags under your eyes are telling me that anyway.”

  Four more minutes and a handful of Ashley’s bad jokes and stilted conversation from two completely tired girls later they finally made it to their room. Mia immediately regretted putting up a fight about the luggage, not taking no for an answer, and carrying Ashley’s. She should have let her, she knew she was just trying to be nice and help her friend.

  Although it wasn’t all that heavy, only packed for two days, and on rollers plus the fact that they used the elevator instead of the stairs. That little extra effort that almost any other human on this pale blue dot could have done without breaking a sweat, literally. Just that bit of added weight, that tiny amount of added friction to her already heavy gait, seemed to be more than what she had left in reserves. The luggage itself was a soft material with an unbalanced load on the wheels so she couldn’t even use it to lean on as she rolled, taking some weight off of her bones.

  Ashley had done her friendly duty, acting as if she couldn’t see the toll it was taking on her best friend, the toll of the trip, the toll of heartbreak, the toll of the sickness that was now as they walked likely ravaging her insides. The walk to the room however was all she would give her. As soon as they reached the doorway to their room, Ashley started babying her again, fighting the urge to carry her across the threshold like some lesbian newlyweds.

  Once they were out of sight and in the confines of their small room, although they had maybe only seen three people milling about and even then that was outside walking, Ashley became nurse and maid putting everything away for both of them while forcing Mia to lay on her bed.

  Mia wanted to help, even modestly forbidding Ashley to touch her stuff saying she would do it in the morning, but Mia didn’t have it in her to make it sound convincing. The pull of sleep was too much for her exhausted brain to ignore any longer and was out before Ashley had come back with a glass of water for her parched throat.

  Ashley threw her own blanket over Mia, not wanting to wake her up just to help her under the covers. She then turned off the lights, and used the ambient light from her phone’s screen, fearing the flashlight app would be too bright in lighting up her side of the room. Once she finished with Mia’s bag she started on her own, sorting through clothes and putting up her array of hair care and make-up products.

  She flopped into her bed as silently as she could, now blanketless, Ashley had only the thin top sheet for warmth. She got back up and yanked Brian’s leather jacket off the back of a wooden chair where she slung it after getting Mia settled. Ashley had been wearing it since they left each other at the airport. She draped it over her torso like a throw blanket, the smell of it reminding her to text him.

  She shot Brian a message letting him know they made it in okay. He replied with the obligatory request for a booby pic, but she told him she was too tired to try to look sexy and would make up for it tomorrow.

  Although she really didn’t want to, she also sent her mom a lengthy text explaining to her what happened, painstakingly sure to detail the state of Mia’s health from the time they left for the dunes until now. She knew that was really all she cared about anyway, leaving just a few words for the break up and flight home.

  Ashley silenced her phone while waiting on her to either text or call back. Once she got her mom’s reply of “ok thx” in a text, she huffed a sigh of exasperation and deleted the entire, one-sided conversation from her phone’s log. Ashley then turned over and faded off to sleep within thirty seconds.

  Doctor's Two Pint Theory

  Dr. Greer’s ass had been glued to her office chair, eyes peeled to the screen, one hand on the keyboard, and the other on a mouse ever since she received the email from Jesse last night. That had been 12 hours ago. Jesse was able to get her everything she demanded and then some.

  He must really not want to split with half of his shit.

  Catherine now had records on every one of the 9 different people whose blood had been used during the transfusions after Austin’s accident. 5 of them only had a quarter of the length of a paper filled out, meaning they had only donated the one time.

  Probably at some local blood drive after a tornado whipped through the Mayor’s trailer park.

  Another 3 had a page or two worth of donations, giving blood once every few years or so when they thought about it. Or when a bunch of pop stars got together and stopped tweeting long enough to put on a concert trying to help this third world or that tiny island recover from whichever natural disaster that laid waste to it.

  The last attachment in the email though, the one with the largest file, had possibly a hundred pages or more of just donation records alone. Then once you add the tracking data of each pint of donated blood, you could multiply that by two or three. Although Catherine was only about three quarters of the way through, it seemed this person, a one Rex Ford, had never donated at the same location twice. In fact it looked almost as if he traveled as far as he could with in the 56 days between his donations. 56 days, no less, no more. No matter where he was, on the 56th day after his last donation he always gave again.

  Catherine Greer had more than enough contacts spread through out the country that she could make a few calls to some of the places that had ultimately received Mr. Ford’s blood. Some were friends from med school, some one night stands from conferences a
nd some she thought she had finally been rid of for years now but she needed their help now more than ever if she was going to cut through this Gordian knot.

  One call she placed was to a trauma surgeon in Chicago that had been so squarely in the friend zone at college that he never stood a chance. For some reason though, he never understood this and was therefore always wrapped around her finger, even now. Dr. Greer had barely said more than the patient’s name she was calling about, Jessica Monroe, to get him to open up to her.

  He hadn’t the need to look up the case to talk it over with her, he remembered it right away. He told her that he had never seen anything like it, likewise for the nurses that worked on her.

  “She should have been a morgue-sickle with as much blood as she had lost on route. She soaked up the blood as fast as they could give it to her just to have it leak right back out. Then just like that, the wounds finally clotted and stopped hemorrhaging. Hell she was even sitting up and talking like nothing happened just an hour later. Luckily each bullet was through and through and we didn’t have to dig around for shrapnel but her body pretty much did all the work for us.”

  After a few playfully denied requests for her to join him in Chicago for the weekend and even a self invite for him to join her in Austin she finally was able to get off the phone and move to the next call. As she dialed the next number, Catherine had a sneaking suspicion of why Jessica Parker’s body began healing itself so suddenly.

  PBRC’s or packed red blood cells, known more commonly as a blood bag to the layman, are whats given to trauma patients in emergency situations. Looking at the record right now she could see that Mr. Ford’s blood was the last to be transfused in Ms. Parker’s case, and voila minutes later she went from a lost cause to a miracle. Something in this blood was transforming the cells surrounding it basically calling in a supercharged back up to fight off the sustained trauma.

  Catherine still couldn’t figure out, however, why Austin was able to keep producing the miracle substance. When every other patient who received it just got better then went back to normal.

  What am I missing?

  She couldn’t ruminate on her not getting the point, just had to keep pushing through, make another call, get more information as fast as she could.

  The next call she placed was to a woman she had considered as her nemesis through out her twenties and early thirties. They were both considered to be the rising stars in their fields back then, but Mae Madison always seemed to have the slight edge on Catherine.

  Mae got valedictorian to Catherine’s salutatorian, Mae got accepted to intern at Johns Hopkins while Catherine got wait listed and had to settle for Duke. Fast forward nearly thirty years later and Mae held more than just a slight edge. Now it was a damn near blow out with Mae standing over Catherine’s corpse as the victor.

  Not for too much longer though Mae, you conniving bitch, we’ll see who ends up having the upper hand here soon enough.

  Catherine had left a voicemail for her old rival and then a text to which Mae simply replied with a text of her own, I’ll Skype at 12:30.

  Of course you would want to Skype, I’m sure pictures of your perfectly healthy, all alive family will be positioned just behind you, perfectly juxtaposed right next to your magna cum laude diploma on the wall, ugh gag me.

  As she finished this thought however, Catherine swiveled on her chair to look behind her to see what Mae would be seeing in her background. She almost forgot is was there, even though she knew it was always there. She dreaded looking at it but also used it as her motivation. It was the only personal item in her office, no pictures of her and Ashley together in the obligatory mommy and me pose or drawings from when Ashley was a kid. It wasn’t even a picture of Mia, much to the astonishment of Ashley.

  Sitting on top of the small IKEA bookshelf behind her desk, was a 5 x 7 picture resting horizontally in a silver heirloom style frame. It was the same picture she had Izzy scan to put up on the sham website for the fake foundation. It was her daughter Kassie, laying in a hospital bed. Taken just minutes after Kassie made her decision, the smile on her pale face was showing off what was most undoubtedly the first genuine moment of happiness in her daughter’s life.

  Catherine didn’t necessarily need a copy of this picture, it was so ingrained into her mind she could see it anytime she wanted to. If asked to she could close her eyes and describe in detail every clear plastic tube weaving its way around, every hair dangling in her daughter’s face, which teeth you were able to see through her spread lips, which parts of the design on the hospital gown were being covered up by her daughter’s hands that were resting on her belly in disbelief that someone was now growing inside of her.

  Every glance at the picture, physically or mentally, wasn’t just a reminder of her daughter’s joy that day but also of how Catherine threw it all away. That image pushed her and guided her to where she was now, a dungeon of a lab and office seeking out the holy grail of medicine so no other mother had to watch their baby girl make a choice between their own life and another’s.

  It was more than that though, it was also for herself, a plea to her daughter if there is such a thing as heaven, to let her know that although she gave up on her when she was needed most, that she never truly let go and regretted each and every day.

  She reached her hand out and carefully laid the frame on it’s face then turned back to a beeping computer signaling an incoming Skype call. She furiously swiped at the nonexistent tears threatening to appear before tapping the space bar answering the call.

  Before Catherine had a chance to say hello or hi or anything else the video of an older but still amazingly well put together Mae Madison spoke out to her.

  “Cat! How are you?” Mae said drawing out the first and last words making it seem like she actually cared, so that it sounded like Caaaaaaaaat, how are youuuuuuu.

  “Mae,” Catherine said about to mimic the elongation of the words, maaae before growing tired of it half way through and spoke normally “I’m good, I’m good, how’s Phoenix?”

  Phoenix is where Mae began her own cancer research project except this one had the backing of several major donors and a building all to itself where people from all around the world went for better second opinions and treatments.

  Another one for the win column, huh Mae?

  “Oh, it is going great thank you, you know we’re doing some really amazing things here, you should come check it out, you would love it here and-”

  “Mae,” Catherine said breaking in and noticing not one but three pictures of her family in the background next to a picture of her shaking hands with Ben Carson while he was still a brain surgeon before he turned politician. “I hate to be rude,” not really, “but I really am on a tight schedule here, did you get a chance to look at the case I asked about in the voice mail I left?”

  As always Mae never gave the appearance of being rattled or taken off course and smoothly transitioned to the topic of question.

  “Of course, actually I didn’t even need to dig around, this one stayed with me. The patient you asked about, Sammy, what a horrible story by the way. I mean can you even imagine losing your spouse, trying to get used to raising three kids on your own then finding out you have terminal blood cancer. I mean bless his heart.”

  Mae didn’t realize that yes Catherine might know a little something about the loss cancer leaves behind, or if she did she didn’t let her face or words show it just plowed on through to the details. Catherine herself wasn’t about to let Mae see it effect her either. Although she kept her facial muscles unmoving and pupils from dilating with hatred, her thoughts were sending out mental knives soaring through the air. They must not have met their destination in Phoenix considering Mae just kept right on talking.

  “So sad. At least it was, until he came and saw us anyway. Not they we can take the credit, but it could be more than just coincidence.”

  “Mae, what do you mean?” Catherine asked all smiles, even though she was pretty su
re where this story was heading, she did her best not let on.

  “Well he came in for a routine transfusion, his third in six weeks actually and he mentioned that he felt like they were already helping. His vitals even seemed better just on the intake. And you know these transfusions, they never work like that. They are only meant to get the patient healthy enough to endure the chemotherapy, embolden their immune system ya know? I mean the transfusions themselves are just one of the first steps in treatment not the treatment itself.”

  “Yes, obviously,” Catherine said then began to herd her back on track, “So what happened?”

  “Well, he was right,” Mae said with a don’t ask me how the hell it happened expression on her face. “Sammy was better, head to toe. Blood pressure normal, oxygen levels not just good but on par with an athlete in their prime. I think he even mentioned something about his migraines stopping for a bit. I mean this guy was headed for the grave, his kids bound for an orphanage or worse and then bam, he’s back to normal, better than actually. Never seen anything like it, just one of those you gotta chalk up to God and say thanks big guy, ya know?”

  “Yep, I do know… exactly.”

  “Hey, so Cat, I’ve been meaning to ask how’s-”

  “Uh sorry Mae, I have to go, but I really do appreciate the help, we should get together sometime, maybe when I-” and with that Catherine slyly clicked the space bar again hanging up the video call.

  Catherine had already checked the dates of the blood used in Samuel Ybarra’s transfusions at the Madison Center and was certain that the second session of blood had been provided by this Mr. Rex Ford. This meant that when Sammy went in for his third visit he was already cured and the treatment became meaningless because there was nothing left to treat anymore.

  The computer started sending out that same beeping alert notifying her of an incoming skype call, stupid bitch can run a cancer think tank but couldn’t take a hint.