by Bill Clem
MEDICINE CUP
Bill Clem
Vision Books
Published by Vision Books
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
VISION BOOKS
P.O. Box 9034
New York NY 10020
Copyright © 2008 by Bill Clem
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
ISBN 13: 978-0-9795808-4-0
ISBN 10: 0-9795808-4-6
www.billclem.com
Also by Bill Clem
Novels
Skin Deep
Diencephalon (Holland Carter Detective Series)
Presidential Donor
Bliss
Microbe
They All Fall Down (Holland Carter Detective Series) (2008)
Immortal
Medicine Cup (2008)
Replica (2009)
The Seventh Day (2009)
The Lazarus Effect (2009)
A Note From Anna (Holland Carter Detective Series) (2009)
Short Fiction
A Brief Interval
(Collection of Short Stories) (2008)
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my editor John Hertzog for his keen eye; the great folks at Vision for keeping everything straight; and most of all, my wife and children for just being there.
This one is for Cindi and Debbie.
Table of Contents
Also by Bill Clem
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
The Amazon
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
The Fountain
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Epilogue
Prologue
April 12, 1933
Dawn came to the Amazon rain forest.
As the small barge drifted downstream, Charles Baxter watched the pale sun burn away the chilly, damp mist of the jungle. Enormous trees with trunks the diameter of a truck rose two hundred feet overhead where their thick foliage blotted out the sky from anyone on the forest floor.
Baxter looked across to the riverbank. Curtains of brown moss hung down in tangles from the trees; beautiful orchids sprouted from the trunks. Further back, huge ferns, dripping with moisture, grew taller than a man. The overall picture was one of oversized-beauty. To Baxter, though, it felt like he’d landed on another planet.
Baxter put aside his rifle and stretched his stiff muscles. Dawn came quickly at the equator; soon it was quite light, although the mist remained. They had made good time during the night.
He closed the curtain on the tiny window and sat on the edge of a supply box and took out his personal first-aid kit. The pain had racked his body all night; the shot he’d given himself earlier had barely touched it, and now he felt as if they had ignited a blowtorch inside him. Wrapping a tourniquet around his bicep, he watched the veins pop up on his forearm. He drew up 25mg. of morphine and gave himself another injection.
Baxter thought how glad he was to make this one last trip; before this disease of his, this... cancer, finally ate up his insides, completely.
He had decided on the trip a year earlier after he’d met the captain who now piloted the small barge. A crusty Australian who lived in the jungle nearly all his adult life, he told Baxter strange stories about an elusive tribe called the Yohagi. Their tribe’s witch doctor, they claimed, could cure any ailment with his potions and elixirs made from exotic and rare jungle plants. Ten years earlier, the captain himself had staggered into the Yohagi village, nearly dead from fever. After a ritualistic dance and the sacrifice of a small monkey, they fed him a pungent liquid from a wooden bowl. He passed out and slept for three days. When he awoke, he later told Baxter, he was free from any illness at all.
Now, and for the past two weeks, Baxter, the Australian, and six native guides had tracked the movement of the Yohagi while the tribe hunted; one of the few times the tribe’s men left the safety of their village to wander into the Amazon forest. The guides accompanying them were from another tribe close to the Yohagi who knew the language and customs.
Baxter planned to ask permission of the hunters to go back to their village and meet with their medicine man. Perhaps they could cure him, where modern medicine had failed.
Baxter had booked the expedition knowing he had nothing to lose. If nothing else, maybe there would be something to ease his pain until he got home. The morphine was just not strong enough anymore.
Baxter emerged from the cabin and suddenly the boat listed violently underneath him. He grabbed the railing to keep from falling and watched helplessly as it tossed four of the guides into the river. Instantly, terrified screams erupted from the river and echoed against the jungle canopy above. A throng of huge alligators snapped up the helpless guides, then spun them and crunched their bones like twigs. One guide managed to scramble back on board, dragging his mangled legs behind him. He collapsed on the deck at Baxter’s feet.
Baxter’s chest felt frozen. He gazed out from the barge and then saw what had nearly capsized them. A huge log had breeched the stern and now the barge was careening out of control. He could hear the distinctive gurgling of water. The trip had quickly turned into a nightmare and he was powerless to do anything. With five guides dead, and the sixth bleeding to death in front of him, they would be forced to turn back. Overhead, Colobus monkeys shrieked in the tops of huge rubber trees, mocking them. Baxter looked down. The water was crimson.
Although he felt it was useless, he grabbed his neckerchief and made two quick tourniquets around the bleeding native’s legs. Knowing the pain the man must be in, he went to his first aid kit to retrieve some morphine.
Then he stared in shock.
The trun
k that contained all the medical supplies was overboard!
Baxter felt a deep chill inside as he contemplated the consequences. Now he had no relief for his own unrelenting pain.
The Australian vaulted out of his bunk and onto the deck, grabbing the wheel to steady the boat. He then tied it off to keep it level. He looked at the hole where the log had come through. The boat was taking on water at an unprecedented rate.
“We gotta get outta here, mate,” he said to Baxter.
Baxter stood in stunned silence.
“We’re gonna have to swim that way,” the captain said, pointing to a patch of armongo roots.
The feeding frenzy of the gators was still in full swing and the surviving guide lay whimpering in the corner of the deck. Blood gelled all around him.
“What about him?” Baxter asked.
“We’ll have to leave him. He’s as good as dead anyway. In fact... he’ll be a good distraction for those gators.” The captain walked over to the bleeding native and hauled him up by his mangled legs. A second later, he threw him overboard and a huge alligator snapped him up amid his terrified screams.
Baxter stared in disbelief.
“Come on, man, we got to go, mate,” the captain said.
Baxter grabbed his diary he’d kept and wrapped it in some anaconda skin. He stuffed it into his jacket and gazed out. The captain was already in the water and heading for the armongo strand. Baxter’s pain had returned once again. He winced as he clambered over the side of the boat.
He saw the alligators still thrashing and chewing as he took a lungfull of air—then leaped into the water.
Chapter One
September 17, 2000
Colleen Brady sprinted down the darkened corridor with pursuing footsteps close behind her.
“Please stop,” she screamed. “Why are you doing this?”
Colleen darted down the adjacent hall. Her mind was unwilling to comprehend the horror she had just uncovered. She ran to a side door, praying to heaven it wasn’t locked.
It wasn’t.
She raced inside and heard voices approaching. Desperately, she stepped into the blackened interior, pulling the door shut behind her. The only light came from another door across the room.
Now, in the semi-darkness, what she’d seen came back with horrifying clarity. Colleen was shaking.
All she wanted to do was to find an exit and get the hell out.
She worked her way across the room, and felt her pulse quicken as she neared the other side. She reined in her fear and bolted to the door. Luckily, it opened. Colleen saw the red EXIT sign directly in front of her. “Oh, thank God,” she said, lunging for the door handle.
Suddenly, Colleen’s forward motion stopped. Something had a tight hold on her arms. Terrified, she tried to jerk herself free. For a second, the grip seemed to loosen and her body tingled with hope. Then, as she groped for the handle again, she recognized the two figures in hospital scrub suits as they grabbed her.
When she regained consciousness, Colleen was lying on a hospital table. Someone was calling her name. Slowly, she opened her eyes. A bright kettle light overhead washed across her. She closed her eyes again.
Where was she?
“Colleen, so glad you could join us.”
Her lids fluttered open, and she saw him bending over her, his eyes aged and dark now. Not the crystal-blue they had been. Colleen was too shocked to speak. She tried to lift her arms, but instantly realized they’d restrained her. When she looked down at the leather cuffs, she noticed something on the floor next to her: A large trocantor and a suction bottle. But why?
Then she heard it.
The thin hum of an electric motor cut the air.
As she felt the jab of the giant trocanter enter her leg vein, it became horrifyingly clear why they had strapped her down.
Then they drained the life from Colleen Brady.
Chapter Two
May 3, 2000
Phillip Baxter looked over the employment applications, scrutinizing each one carefully. He was extremely circumspect when it came to hiring new nurses. He had to be. His was a unique institution, the only one of its kind. The only nursing home where patients actually got better instead of worse. That was due, in large part, to the selection of nurses he hired. They had to fit his exact criteria. A rap on his door interrupted Baxter’s thoughts.
“Dr. Baxter, Paul Grant, the new nurse is here”
“Thank you, Margaret, send him in.”
“Right away.”
Margaret Melvin came back to the reception area and smiled at the tall blond man. He certainly was a fine specimen, she thought. With his mop of blond hair, Paul looked like a young version of TV actor John Schneider. The combination of good looks and good-humored charm would make him an object of desire in his female dominated profession, Margaret imagined. Too bad I’m old enough to be his... oh forget it!
“Mr. Baxter will see you now, Mr. Grant.”
* * *
A moment later, a light tap sounded on Baxter’s door.
“Mr. Grant, come right in. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Baxter stood and extended his hand.
Paul Grant was surprised when he saw Phillip Baxter. He expected a fat bald man, the typical administrator who rarely came out from behind his desk. In his experience, those types ran most nursing homes.
Baxter, however, possessed a full head of jet-black hair and had the body of a marathon runner. His tan face didn’t own a line. And he had a grip like a bear. He wore blue slacks, a white Polo shirt and casual loafers.
“Paul, I like to be very informal here with job interviews. No need to be nervous.”
Paul smiled. “I’m glad you told me that, I tend to be a bit jumpy when it comes to these kinds of things.”
“I understand,” Baxter said, sitting back down in his chair. “Tell me a little about yourself.”
Paul stiffened a little. This is it. He had to sell himself to this guy.
“I’m originally from Montana, but for the past ten years, I’ve been a travel nurse for several agencies. I’m single, no family to speak of... Dr. Baxter, I hope I’m not rambling here?”
“No, Paul, you’re doing fine.” Baxter sat forward. “You say you don’t have any family?”
“Yes. Both my parents are deceased. I’m an only child. I do have a couple of aunts and uncles I’ve never met. I doubt they even know I exist.”
“I see,” Baxter said. “Well, what brings you to this part of the country? This is a far cry from Montana.”
“I love New England. I did some travel nursing here seven or eight years ago and fell in love with the place. When I saw your ad in the nursing magazine, it caught my attention and, well... here I am.”
They talked for another half hour until Baxter finally leaned back in his chair and smiled.
“Paul, I must say, your resume speaks for itself. And all your references were glowing. I think it’s safe to say we’ll be quite happy with you. The position is yours.”
“Great! When do I start?”
“Margaret, the lady who let you in, handles all the employee arrangements. You can see her and she’ll show you where your living quarters are. I’m sure you’ll find it to your liking. We take special care of our employees here.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
Baxter stood and shook Paul’s hand. “Paul, thank you. Now go see Margaret. She’ll fix you up. She will also give you your schedule. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I have some meetings to attend.”
Paul was elated. He had actually secured himself a position at Harbor View. He had thought about it and thought about it for months. In preparation, he had taken jobs at the nursing agency that normally he wouldn’t have taken, and used them in his resume to further add to his legitimacy. And though he had his own agenda, Paul had to admit, the facility itself was the most magnificent he’d ever seen. It looked more like a cruise ship than a nursing home. Even the bathrooms were decorated with expensive artwork and antique
s that dated back to the eighteenth century.
More impressive yet, the residents he had seen so far all looked extremely healthy.
Why would they even need a nurse?
Maybe this was the assisted living area? Surely, they must have some infirm patients somewhere.
Baxter had confided in Paul that no one in the facility was on any medication.
That was truly incredible.
Unbelievable actually!
Chapter Three
After Paul left, Baxter mashed the intercom button to call his secretary, Margaret Melvin. She picked up immediately.
”Yes, sir?”
“Margaret. Give Paul the usual nurses’ quarters, and show him around the authorized areas. He’s going to work out perfectly.”
“I understand.”
Baxter turned off his intercom and leaned back in his chair. What a great choice he’d made when he had selected Margaret as his personal secretary so many years ago. She was so dependable.
She had been at death’s door when he brought her to Harbor View and gave her “the treatment.” She was a three-pack-a-day smoker with a gravely voice and the skin of a reptile. Her lungs were useless sacs that did little more than accumulate thick, black mucus that kept her coughing twenty-four hours a day. Her only companion was a 40-liter oxygen canister that sat beside her bed while she waited for the inevitable.
Once, Margaret was a Vermont socialite, married to one of the richest men in the state. He was a railroad executive who, ironically, was run over by one of his own trains. Margaret received a huge settlement and invested it wisely, managing to add even more wealth to her already sizable bank account. Unfortunately, her considerable assets did little to curb her insatiable lust for cigarettes. She once said she would rather hold a cigarette than a man.
She contacted Harbor View in 1956, when her doctor recommended she go there to live out her last few months. The tobacco had done its work and she needed round-the-clock care just to breathe.
Then she came to the attention of Baxter. Or rather, her money did. Under his direction, she managed to recover all of her lung capacity, as well as her youthful appearance. Six months after she came to Harbor View, Margaret Melvin looked like a healthy forty-year-old woman. Trouble was, she was a sixty-seven-year-old woman with incurable emphysema. Her doctor would have questions. Baxter had thought of that.
