“It was horrible...the sound...something coming, and then the drain...it was awful.”
Beth had just arrived to begin her day shift, and before she went to the ICU, she’d stopped to see her friend. The room remained darkened. Sunrise, still ten minutes away, left the room lit only by a night light on the wall above the headboard.
Beth reached for the switch to turn on the indirect lighting behind her bed when Sandy grabbed her hand. “Don’t.”
“It’s going to be daylight soon. You can’t hide.”
Beth reached again. This time Sandy didn’t react so she flipped the light switch.
Beth tried to resist staring at her friend, but she couldn’t stop herself. Something had changed. This was still an elderly woman, but the ashen skin color had developed a pink background. Sandy’s lips and eyes were moist with fluid.
Could it be?
“I don’t know what it is, Sandy, but you look better to me. How do you feel?”
“More rested. I was up only twice last night. That hasn’t happened in a while.” Sandy paused for a moment. “I don’t know how I feel except it’s not worse.”
“I have to get to work, sweetie. I’ll see you later.”
Jack arrived thirty minutes later. The drapes and shades in Sandy’s room were drawn apart admitting the sunshine streaming over the east bay hills. He sensed something at once. The room smelled of fresh linen and flowers. Sandy raised the head of her bed to 45 degrees and smiled when Jack approached.
“You don’t have to say it. I can tell just by looking at you that you feel better.”
“I slept better. Maybe it’s just the security of the hospital, but I’m more rested.”
Jack held and rotated Sandy’s face with both hands as he completed the final step of his physical examination. For the first time, she hadn’t tried to turn her face away. Physically, Jack noted little change except that she looked brighter, more alert, and for lack of a better term, healthier.
Jack completed his hospital rounds and returned to the office.
Janet handed Jack a stack of pink messages, almost all related in some way to questions about Sandy. One came from Clarice Henson, the medical examiner.
Jack dialed her number. “Good morning, Clarice.”
“How’s Sandy doing?”
“Nothing specific, yet, but she looks and feels better.”
“Should I feel encouraged?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Look, Jack, I’m an officer of the court and I can’t sit on the Zoe Sims case and Harmony Lane’s role in the whole fiasco. I must move forward with my findings to the DA and to the Board of Medical quality Assurance (BMQA). Where does Brier Hospital stand on Harmony Lane?”
“The quality assurance committee of the department of medicine met last week. I’m often disappointed at my ability to read people, but I think that with Harmony Lane, we just might be on the same page. I want her punished, but not destroyed.”
Jack outlined the recommendations of the QA committee, the suspensions, counseling, and the strict terms of her rejoining the staff.
“You’re right about me, Jack. Thrusting this case into the legal arena and into the hands of BMQA has the potential of making things worse, especially for Harmony Lane. I’m glad that Brier Hospital is aggressively dealing with her. If she’s lucky, that’s as far as it will go.” She paused for a moment then added, “You’ll keep me posted?”
“Of course, and thanks.”
Chapter Fifty-T hree
By the next morning, there was no longer any question; Sandy Greer was better. As she’d aged thirty years in days to weeks, so had the years melted away over the next four days. The heavy wrinkling was gone, skin and muscle had restored tone, and her energy level had skyrocketed. The heavy brown skin spots remained, but were showing signs of fading. After a week, when she began complaining of feeling weak again, Jack gave her another infusion of liposomes and soon she was back aboard the train to youth.
When Jack arrived for Sandy’s morning visit, Marty was sitting at her side.
“It’s great to see you, Jack. Look at her! Do you believe it?”
It’ll be a while before I can relax on Sandy’s case, but we gained nothing by compromising their joy.
“I couldn’t be happier. Let me read your minds.” Jack stared at the ceiling. “Okay, you can go home tomorrow.”
Sandy grabbed Jack and squeezed him around his neck until his face turned red.
“I’d like to paint a picture of certainty, of a future without problems, but obviously I can’t. Your response to treatment is beyond our greatest expectations, but many questions remain. These include how long will the effects last? We anticipate you’ll need ongoing treatment, but how long and at what intervals? We need to monitor you closely when you leave for home. We’re going to become very good friends.”
Sandy looked at Marty then at Jack. “What’s happened to Harmony? I feel so bad that she’s taken the brunt of this whole thing, when her only intention was to help.”
“We strictly control experimental drugs because of their risks. No physician, no researcher is above the law when it comes to clinical trials. As you know better than anyone, bad things can happen.” Jack paused a moment. “Harmony’s taking time off. Getting her life in order, but I believe she’ll be back.”
Houston Chronicle, International News Division, Dateline Lourdes, France. June 14, 2012
The body of a woman identified as Angela Brightman was discovered at the Lourdes hotel, Accueil Notre-Dame. Ms. Brightman, a longtime resident of Houston and a vice-president of marketing for Ashley Pharmaceuticals, had been visiting Lourdes for ten days when her body was discovered. The reason for her visit was unstated.
French authorities have expressed concern over
the condition of Ms. Brightman’s body, that looked
like the body of an eighty or ninety-year-old, although her passport registered her age as forty-three. An autopsy is planned.
Andre Keller was riding high. With his guidance, PAT had created and used the liposomes and achieved incredible results. Sandy Greer and others similarly affected had the aging process not only halted, but also reversed. They’d need to study these patients indefinitely and treat them again as necessary.
That’s the trouble with liposome therapy Andre, thought. It was not likely to last. We’ll need to revisit PAT0075, the active virus vector that went so wrong. Once I fix this problem, we can expect lifelong effects.
Rumors about the study, its adverse effects, and the ethical lapses, had spread wildly through the academic and commercial worlds of molecular biology, genetics, and biotechnology. Incredibly, this had not affected Andre’s celebrity. He was hot. He had what they wanted, so it was not surprising that he’d had offers from several biotech firms, universities, and even the CIA.
The sky’s the limit, Andre thought.
As Andre thumbed through the Houston Chronicle at breakfast, in the international news section he saw the article about Angela Brightman. The article stunned him.
My God, she’s dead.
He sat with the open paper before him trying to digest what this would mean for him and his research.
This was her own goddamn fault. He’d warned her. She’d be alive today if she hadn’t left the country.
Andre gathered his office files and personal belongings when he ended his relationship with PAT. He’d accepted a position at Starling Pharmaceuticals in Florida, where they offered him a huge salary package with benefits, a stock option program, a five thousand foot laboratory facility, and a virtually unlimited budget. The walls were bare of his diplomas, newspaper articles, and awards. Two weeks from now, he’d be in Tampa.
A knock on the door interrupted his reverie. “Come in.”
Two large men entered. One wore the uniform of the Emeryville Police. “Andre Keller?” said the one wearing a dark suit.
“Yes. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”
“I’m detec
tive Sawyer and this is patrolman Clarke. I have a warrant for your arrest.”
Stunned, Andre gasped, “Arrest, you must be out of your minds. Arrest for what?”
“You’re charged with murder in the deaths of Angela Brightman and Zoe Sims, sir. Anything you say can be used...”
It took three months, but Sandy Greer managed to resume her life, only now the days had an altogether new meaning. She cherished each moment with Marty and the girls. The healing powers of time and love had compelled the frightening images of the past few months to fade. Sandy would never approach the mirror in the same way again. Each time, the reflected image carried a story she’d never forget. The Greers weren’t complaining. Sandy, Marty, and the family had something they thought they’d lost—a future.
The campsite on the shore of Lake Tahoe in Northern California was a thick forest with the last snow of the season sitting atop the Sierra’s peaks surrounding the lake. Tom and Rachel Palmer sat on the stern of their twenty-foot runabout while Carrie ran through the shallow, icy cold water at the shoreline. It was late afternoon and the lake was so calm that Rachel could see her image in the emerald green water. She hadn’t been much for the mirror, but since the events surrounding her own gene therapy, she’d begun to look at her reflection with trepidation. So much had happened; women died from complications of gene therapy; Andre Keller was in jail for the deaths of Angela Brightman and Zoe Sims. Harmony Lane had closed her practice; and a dark shadow covered all aspects of gene therapy.
“Gene therapy saved my life. The actions of these investigators may have deprived others of the opportunity to benefit from it as I have.”
Tom smiled. “I’ll be grateful forever to Andre Keller and Harmony Lane, but it was pure luck that they gave you the inactive virus, and not the one that caused the rapid aging.”
“We deserved some luck, don’t you think?”
“I’m not questioning anything, babe. I’m just glad we’re here together.”
“We’ll never be done with this, you know.”
“I know, but it’s a small price to pay.”
“I’ll never look into a mirror in the same way again. Do you know how I’m going to feel when those first wrinkles of normal aging appear?”
“Lucky!” Tom said, kissing his wife.
The hospital called Jack into ICU in the middle of the night to consult on a patient in septic shock. He was at it until 6:30 a.m. when Beth arrived. She poured two cups of coffee and they shared doughnuts she brought in for the nurses.
“I’m beat. It’s about time I brought in a partner, preferably a young and energetic one.”
“I’m all for that,” Beth said. “We could use more free time, especially if we can take it off together. I brought the morning paper from home. Take a look at page two.”
Jack opened the paper. The headline read, “Dr. Andre Keller, a Ph.D. in molecular biology and genetics, and a former employee of People for Alternative Treatment, pled no contest to involuntary manslaughter and received a sentence of three years.” Jack looked at Beth. “Seems right to me, but what a waste of talent. When I think of all the good the Andre Kellers of the world could do for mankind, it makes me sick.”
“Don’t forget, it is possible to do great things and still be ethical.” She paused for a moment in thought. “I don’t know what it is about you Jack. First, your adventure with the psychopathic Joe Polk, then it’s gene therapy gone wrong. Isn’t practicing medicine exciting enough for you?”
“I don’t know, babe, but life has never been, and I guess never will be, simple and easy for us. Who knows what will come next!”
Epilogue
Marie Callens’s trip to Europe was a mixed blessing. She enjoyed the travel and her visit to Lourdes, but paid the price by her involvement in the care of the demanding and often obnoxious Angela Brightman.
One should not speak unkindly of the dead, Marie thought, but in Angela’s case, she was willing to make an exception.
The rapidity of Angela’s death surprised Marie. In addition, when she opened Angela’s passport and discovered that she was only forty-three, she didn’t know what to believe.
When Marie returned to her apartment at Century House in Daytona Beach, she checked in with Hazel Richards, the facility’s administrator. “Why you look wonderful, Marie. How was your trip?”
“It was great, Hazel. My first, and maybe my last trip to Europe.”
“How did it go at Lourdes?”
“It was amazing, inspiring, but Angela Brightman kept me busy much of the time.” She paused, then continued, “You heard that she died?”
“No, I hadn’t. What happened?”
“It was strange. She simply died of old age, that is, she looked and acted like she was in her late eighties, but something was wrong. Her passport said she was only forty-three. I don’t know how they made that mistake.”
“Well, it’s great to have you back. We missed you. Are you ready to get back in the saddle?”
“I’m a little jet-lagged and I think I picked up a cold at Lourdes.”
Hazel stared for a moment at Marie. “Come here to the window, and let me have a good look at you. You look so young.”
Marie looked at Hazel and thought, what is she talking about?
Hazel examined Marie’s face in the bright midday light. “Your skin looks so young and those crows’ feet we shared and bemoaned, yours are gone. Maybe I should take a trip to Lourdes or maybe you made a quick European spa stop that included plastic surgery.”
“Sure,” said Marie. “If only we could afford it.”
Soon everyone was commenting on Marie’s appearance. She had to admit that she hadn’t felt this good in years. After a week, the sneezing and the coughing finally subsided. Several residents had developed cold symptoms as well and Marie paid little attention except to think that at least they had shared something of her European trip.
The changes were subtle at first. Many residents were becoming more active, eating better, and complaining less. A blessing, Marie thought. Soon family members began commenting; Grandma looks so great; keep up the good work; I’m having trouble keeping up with grandpa. Amorous glances between residents, once a rarity, were now common, and beds squeaking at night confirmed their newly restored interest in sex.
“The raising of the dead,” said the eighty-nine-year-old Bud Russell who, until recently, couldn’t remember the last time he had an erection. Bottles of Viagra were showing up in the garbage.
Whatever was happening, they’d found the paradise that Ponce De Leon sought when he searched one hundred miles too far north for the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine. Here it was in Daytona Beach.
Century House had more applications for admission than ever before.
No one, including the attending physicians at Century House, knew what to think about this or how to explain it. They had no way to make the association between what was happening at Century House, Angela Brightman, or those page five news stories about that experimental treatment that had gone awry.
Soon they would come to understand, as their appointment with life and renewed life lay just below the horizon. Was this paradise found, or a false paradise? For the moment, nobody cared.
Other Works by
Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.
Fiction:
Brier Hospital Series:
First, Do No Harm
No Cure for Murder
The Sixth Sense
Tortured Memory
The Plague Within
Other Novels:
For the Love of God
Rage
Non-Fiction:
I Love My Doctor, But…, a lighthearted look at the doctor/patient relationship
All available in print and in Kindle.
Net
The Plague Within (Brier Hospital Series) Page 26
