From The Dead

by John Herrick

  And realized he had a plan.

  CHAPTER 61

  After Drew’s next treatment, Jesse and Caitlyn conferred with Dr. Bernstein while a nurse tended to Drew.

  “I had hoped we could find an alternative, but that hasn’t been the case. We haven’t been able to hinder Drew’s illness, so we need to move into our final option,” the doctor said. He turned to Jesse. “Have you given further thought to a bone-marrow test?”

  “I want to be tested,” Jesse said. “But we’ll need to get Drew home today. Can I set up an appointment?”

  “Of course. It’s a simple procedure: They’ll prick your finger and collect drops of blood. If it’s a match, then we’ll take the next step.”

  Jesse’s next step would occur sooner, but it wouldn’t involve a finger prick.

  * * *

  According to Jesse’s research on the Internet, Baer’s Disease involved a lower-than-normal count of all three blood-cell types: red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. Ashwaganda was an Asian herb prevalent in the areas of Sri Lanka, Pakistan and India—and it lifted all three cell types. Jesse needed to locate a product of pure Ashwaganda or, at least, one with a heavy presence of it.

  Not only would the herb’s presence increase his blood-cell counts, but the increase would, in turn, bring temporary relief of his symptoms as well. A nosebleed while in the doctor’s office could upset his plan as much as a low cell count. And the beauty of an herb, as far as Jesse could tell, lay in its natural origin: During the test and donation phases, no one would detect the presence of a manufactured drug in his blood. After all, he figured, a multivitamin contained an assortment of natural elements. No one questioned their presence, did they? Just products of the earth. Dust to dust.

  Moreover, Jesse’s last recreational use of marijuana had occurred a year ago, so he didn’t expect the hospital staff to discover any remnants. Thankfully, he hadn’t slipped in that area during his regretful incident at Sanders’s apartment.

  Jesse’s research also warned the Ashwaganda herb would not constitute a long-term remedy for Baer’s Disease; in fact, its use could cause the condition to worsen. But Jesse already faced a fatal risk with a marrow donation—an aggravated sickness of his own was the least of his concerns.

  And perhaps, in the end, staff couldn’t use his donation at all if Baer’s Disease would cause harm to Drew. But if Jesse never received the chance to donate, Drew’s chance of harm appeared to stand at 100 percent through an early death. To Jesse, the logic was clear.

  The overhead bell rang when Jesse entered Naturally!, but he knew Blake wouldn’t greet him. Blake had plans to meet with a real-estate agent that day to look at possible site locations for his foray into expansion.

  As Jesse wandered aisle by aisle, each container blended into the next. The labels looked similar, a representation of three different natural-herb companies, with details found only when he read the plain text on each label. After the first two aisles, the names congealed in a mental blur, and aside from the vitamins grouped together, he couldn’t determine the layout of the store. Was it based on root herb or intended consequence?

  Jesse startled when a store employee offered assistance. Before Jesse could answer, the teenager pointed at him.

  “Hey, aren’t you Blake’s friend from L.A.? I met you months ago when you stopped by. I think you’d just gotten into town.”

  Jesse’s heart pounced. “Yeah. You’re Matt?”

  “Good memory. Blake mentioned you guys went to shoot hoops that afternoon. Said he killed you on the court.”

  Nervous at the kid’s detailed recollection, Jesse hoped a casual comment about today’s visit wouldn’t make its way to Blake. But Jesse remained calm so he wouldn’t arouse Matt’s suspicions. “I’ve gotten rusty when it comes to basketball, I’ll admit.”

  “Can I help you find something?”

  “Ashwaganda? Or something with a heavy amount in it?”

  Matt appeared confused. He clucked his tongue and waved for Jesse to follow him. “Sure, this way.” Halfway across the store, Matt led Jesse to a shelf that looked the same as the others. “We don’t get many requests for that product.”

  “Yeah, thought I’d try it out. I’m not big on medicine.”

  “Something going on?”

  Nosy high-school kid. Didn’t Blake train his staff not to trample people’s privacy? Then again, Matt saw Jesse as an acquaintance, not a passerby.

  Jesse maintained his composure, played down the need. “Not a big deal. Had some nosebleeds lately and thought this might help. But for all I know, nosebleeds could just be due to humidity.”

  “In the middle of winter?”

  Just ring up the purchase, kid. “We keep our house well heated. My girlfriend’s always cold.” Casual. No big deal. Jesse willed him to hurry.

  Jesse’s rescue arrived in the form of a man who sought a jar of St. John’s Wort. Matt processed Jesse’s purchase. Relieved he’d kept his interaction with Matt and his memory to a minimum, Jesse paid cash and left the store.

  As he climbed into his car, Jesse noticed his own hands shook. He had just purchased a product that could send his life into turmoil—or perhaps termination. The entire way home, his stomach churned bittersweet, the sugary sense of preserving Drew’s life rinsed with an acidic foreboding of imminent death—a tug-of war between gladness of a new family versus the ache of knowing they would part again through a tragedy. Jesse didn’t want to sacrifice his life and would have done anything to avoid it—but his son was in bad shape. And Jesse’s love for Drew prevented him from backing down. At least this time around, his departure would benefit, rather than harm, his son. A gift.

  From this point on, a slight yet relentless anxiety made its home in Jesse’s gut.

  When Jesse pulled into the driveway at Caitlyn’s house, where he now lived, he turned off the engine and sat in the car, overwhelmed with the emotion of the end to come. Less than a year after his reunion with Caitlyn, Drew and Chuck, he would prepare his departure. Without words, Jesse would need to say good-bye in other ways. He would exhibit joy and normalcy, all while he covered the pang that soured his stomach whenever he pictured separation from his loved ones.

  He’d cried a lot lately; after all, he’d been through much in the past year. But each tear was worth it—his opportunities to do so continued to diminish. And here in the car, Jesse’s eyes watered again, a short spell, and he wiped them. As soon as he entered the house, he made a beeline for the bathroom, an excuse to splash cold water on his eyes before Caitlyn or Drew noticed redness from the tears.

  Yes, he would suppress a lot in the weeks ahead.

  But today he had another opportunity to indulge his family.

  Jesse headed toward the kitchen, where he heard Caitlyn and Drew chat. With Drew at the kitchen table engrossed in homework, his back to the entryway, Jesse sneaked up and squeezed a hefty hug from behind.

  Surprised by the unusual entrance, Drew joked, “Are you going psycho?”

  Next Jesse proceeded to Caitlyn. In a tight embrace, he planted a kiss on her temple.

  If indeed he didn’t wake up following his donation, Jesse determined to make his final days count.

  CHAPTER 62

  As expected, his bone-marrow test boiled down to a finger prick and a few drops of blood. He could have undergone the test sooner but decided to wait at least a week to allow the herbs to take full effect in his system.

  With each step, the end loomed closer.

  When his appointment ended, he called Eden and found her schedule open, so he drove to her office to lift his spirits. They sat together behind closed doors.

  “How’d the test go?” she asked.

  “As simple as yours did.”

  “I wish I could’ve helped him. Hopefully you’re a match.”

  Eden caught Jesse as he lulled into deep reflection, which he explained away as concern for his son. Jesse’s preoccupation, however, had deeper roots: Jesse accepted th
e prospect of heaven, but the concept of a never-ending eternity—an absence of time altogether—stretched beyond his comprehension and left him with an undercurrent of apprehension.

  In addition to that larger notion, Jesse’s thoughts circulated around Drew’s safety after the departure. But he felt confident Chuck would serve as a father figure to his grandson. Another base covered.

  From the opposite side of Eden’s desk, he wondered if this marked his last visit with her. Jesse fixed his gaze on his sister and offered a chapter of final words.

  “I hope you know how much I appreciate you. You’re the glue that’s held our family together, and I’m grateful for that.”

  Eden bounded around the desk and hugged him. “Oh, how sweet, my big brother loves me!” She felt him tremor and noticed beads of perspiration on his forehead. “You’re shaking. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” he replied. “Nerves—it’s been an emotional week.”

  He gave her one final hug, told her he loved her, and took in another glance of her office on his way out.

  Eden studied him as he hung a left from her office. He sensed her analytical gaze, one that suggested he had left her with a lingering impression that something was awry.

  CHAPTER 63

  Dr. Bernstein had fast-tracked Jesse’s marrow test and informed Jesse his marrow was indeed a positive match. Immediately Jesse arranged his donation appointment before he had a chance to procrastinate. When he revealed the news to Drew, Jesse could see the transformation in Drew’s face as relief settled in. The burden lifted from the little boy, who had worried about whether a match existed.

  Things had fallen into place: His dad would take care of it.

  And here Jesse sat, two weeks later, alone in the hospital waiting room in the middle of the afternoon. When he pictured a waiting room in the past, Jesse imagined a bleach-white environment, one that sparkled and smelled of disinfectant. Instead, this room resembled a hotel lobby with its fresh décor, tans and browns, and pots of coffee on a table in the corner. Instructed to fast for twelve hours, Jesse, at this moment, craved water and red meat. Drew, Caitlyn and he had indulged in a cheeseburger and fries the evening before, and it had felt like the last meal of his life. Then again, perhaps it was.

  Jesse darted his eyes away from the coffee pot and replayed the prior night’s memory. Beside him, a man in his fifties, a fellow nervous patient, tapped his feet and shook his leg. He turned to Jesse, and Jesse knew the man wanted to calm his own nerves with conversation. “Do you have kids?” asked the man.

  “A son.” At first, Jesse didn’t want to talk. But on reconsideration, he decided his own nerves could use some calm. “He’s ill—severe—but they can’t figure out what the illness is.”

  “You’re waiting for him?”

  “No, I’m here for a bone-marrow donation. We’re a perfect match.”

  “What a relief.” The man smiled. “You’ll enjoy a nice, long life with your son.”

  Jesse’s stomach cringed. “Yeah …”

  Caitlyn promised to bring Drew to the hospital after school to greet Jesse when he awoke. Despite Jesse’s attempt to dissuade them, Caitlyn insisted. He couldn’t justify his hesitation and avoid her suspicion, so he prayed they would handle the outcome with peace.

  During his last stint as a hospital patient—the only other time, for that matter—he’d arrived unconscious and awakened in a bed. He had no idea what to expect today. What would happen if they discovered his plan at the last moment? Jesse gritted his teeth and suppressed the thought.

  Each minute that passed seemed double in length. His stomach empty, his tongue dry, the nervousness made him want to vomit. Sorrow loitered in the pit of his soul.

  “Jesse Barlow.”

  A nurse led him down a corridor to a semi-private partition, where she instructed Jesse to empty his pockets. The nurse logged, bagged and tagged his possessions, then asked him general medical questions, the answers to which she wrote on a clipboard. Dr. Bernstein had asked the same questions a few days ago and had informed Jesse that he would waive the typical pre-surgery tests—no need to suspect health issues at such a relatively young age. Though surprised they could forego what seemed to him critical tests, Jesse had heard of its occurrence when it involved outpatient services for other patients his age.

  Jesse had lied to Dr. Bernstein about his medical condition and claimed he had no health concerns, no symptoms of which he was aware. And today, he lied again to the nurse.

  Most people come to the hospital to avoid the risk of death. No one suspected anything.

  No red flags had surfaced. No one discovered the herbal presence. Eerie how simple he’d found it to sidestep the process.

  The nurse left his flimsy cubicle and shut the curtain while Jesse changed into a hospital gown and slid onto the wheeled bed. Once the nurse tucked him in and treated him like royalty, she hooked up a heating tube to the bed to keep him warm. Jesse adored warmth.

  Inside, his belly continued to somersault. He grew weary with sorrow as the minutes ticked away.

  Another attendant greeted him, one who wrapped an elastic band around Jesse’s arm and inserted an IV into his vein. Jesse shivered a bit as the burst of cold liquid sped through his bloodstream.

  “Saline solution,” the attendant explained. “This will help prepare you for the anesthesia.”

  Jesse would undergo general anesthesia and would go unconscious before death could occur. Dying in one’s sleep seemed peaceful. A year ago in his apartment, Jesse had pined for peace and swallowed a bottle of pills.

  The minutes continued to tick. His opportunity to turn back dissipated.

  And then the anesthesiologist arrived, another nice-to-meet-you for Jesse. By now these greetings had become routine, and soon Jesse’s thoughts coasted to his son’s face. Then Caitlyn’s. Chuck’s. Eden’s.

  Soon another reunion would occur.

  Jesse would see his mother again.

  As Jesse grew woozy from the anesthesia, another attendant released the brake on his bed and wheeled it down the corridor. From a distance, Jesse could see a pair of doors that led to his destination. As his bed approached, the doors loomed larger, sixty feet away. Then fifty-nine … fifty-eight … fifty-seven …

  The impact of the anesthesia struck fast. Jesse drifted toward unconsciousness and a permanent sleep. He had expected to feel a floating sensation as the drug took effect, but instead, it hit him off guard and triggered a rapid drift into oblivion.

  The last thing Jesse remembered was his roll down the corridor.

  Fifty feet … forty-nine … forty-eight … blackness.

  * * *

  In the back office of his shop, Blake stared at the bookkeeping record on his computer. Matt, the hired help, wandered in and said, “Looks like we’re running low on vitamin-A tablets. I’ve searched the storeroom but can’t find any boxes.”

  “Next week I’ll put you to work on a physical count of the entire inventory.”

  “Sorry I asked.” Matt chuckled and started to head out of the office, then spun on his heels. “By the way, I saw that friend of yours a few weeks ago—the one from L.A.”

  “Oh, Jesse? Yeah, he’s made the hometown rounds.”

  “No, I mean I saw him here. He came one day while you were gone.”

  Blake kept his eyes glued to his computer screen as he typed. “How many times have I told you to put my messages on my desk?”

  “No message. He bought something.”

  Blake’s fingers froze. He uncrossed his legs and rested his elbows on the desk. “Bought what?”

  “A container of Ashwaganda.”

  “Ashwaganda?”

  “Yeah, it seemed odd to me, too.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Nosebleeds.”

  Blake pretended to dismiss the incident, and Matt returned to the sales floor. Blake looked over at the clock on his computer. Jesse should have arrived at the hospital by now.

  Blake s
quinted, shook his head. Didn’t Jesse realize an herb could skew the results of any tests they performed on him? It could prove downright dangerous.

  Nosebleeds. Back in February, Drew had mentioned he’d witnessed a nosebleed while Jesse and Drew were out one weekend.

  Blake resumed with his computer but ended up with his arms crossed against his chest.

  Jesse wouldn’t concern himself about nosebleeds unless they were frequent.

  Ashwaganda. It could be used to raise the levels of all three blood-cell types …

  And then the color drained from Blake’s face.

  Blake stumbled for the phone at the corner of his desk, raced through Eden’s number.

  She didn’t pick up. Blake jostled his hand on his knee. “Come on …” His hands slickened with sweat.

  Eden picked up on the final ring before her answering machine could kick in. She didn’t have a chance to say hello.

  “Thank God you’re there,” Blake blurted. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll pick you up in five minutes.”

  * * *

  Blake arrived at Eden’s house and left the engine running. He banged on Eden’s front door until she arrived, her expression equal parts confusion and alarm.

  “Come on!” Blake shouted, already in a sprint toward the car. “We don’t have time to talk!”

  Eden locked the door and ran to join him.

  When she got in, Blake peeled away and headed south on Route 91. “Which hospital is Jesse at?” Blake demanded.

  “St. Mark’s. Why?”

  “No! It’ll take us thirty minutes to get there!” Blake slammed his fist against the steering wheel.

  “Your face is pale! What’s the matter?”

  “The herbs.”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t know about it. Jesse came to my store a few weeks ago to buy herbs. I have a hunch it’s a cover: I think Jesse knows something about his own health—something that otherwise would have prevented his marrow donation. And I think he wanted the herbs to mask the issue long enough to make it through the medical hurdles.” Blake sped faster, veered around other vehicles, bit his lip as he approached the freeway. “I think he’s risking his life for Drew. Jesse knows the consequences and did it anyway.”