Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  Porter and Dingman glanced at each other, raised eyebrows in unison, and watched as the doctor walked forward to Montagno’s bed and held back the curtain.

  “Bloody bugger,” Dingman said.

  Porter mumbled, “Ah...I see—”

  “A horned devil, eh?”

  Dr. Grace returned the curtain and stepped back to the observation window.

  “I’ve seen a similar face before, but where...maybe in the movies.” Porter said.

  “Look familiar?” The doctor held up an open book containing pencil etchings and old Germanic text.

  “That’s it. What is this book?” Porter inquired.

  “Devils and Demons: A History of Witchcraft written in 1875 by a Dutch immigrant doctor living in Salem, Massachusetts. He was a witness at several local witch trials. Supposedly, one of the women described her meeting with the devil and provided this drawing: A picture of a man with projections coming from the temples just above each eye like horns. I’ve located some additional books related to the witch trials, plus recent speculative research completed by a U-of-M doctoral candidate as part of his thesis.”

  Porter retrieved his notebook and began sketching Montagno’s face from memory.

  “Does Ergot play into this?” Dingman asked.

  “Ah...yes, Ergot poisoning was described as a possible influence on the women of Salem. And, I’ve found evidence of an Ergot derivative in the blood stream of the patients who ate diseased deer meat. Where did you hear about Ergot?”

  “You mentioned it earlier in the briefing room. Also, from one of your patients, Mort Sulkin, the mortician from West Branch. He had recovered grain from one of his cadavers, a Gordon Lickshill, who was impaled and killed by what appeared to be deer antlers. The grain contained evidence of the Ergot fungus.”

  “Lickshill? One of the TV reporters mentioned him. His body is missing?”

  “Correct. Supposedly, Sulkin was conducting pathology tests on Lickshill for the Ogemaw County Medical Examiner and might have been experimenting with Ergot. We heard it could be used to derive a substance similar to LSD. We talked to him twice in the past week. The first time he seemed normal. The second time he had significant red marks on his face and seemed a bit strange—bizarre, actually.”

  “Aha, aha, aha,” the doctor repeated, nodding resolutely. “Requires a hydrolyzing agent, but possible.”

  “Hydrazine?” Dingman inquired. “Our contact in West Branch stated Sulkin had ordered Hydrazine and other mysterious chemicals last week.”

  “Hydrazine plus some specialized lab equipment? You gentlemen are just what I need to complete our investigation and determine probable cause and effect of the disease. I need someone to document all of the cases, while I run tests and treat the patients. Your reporting skills would be perfect for what I need. You would have to follow me around for two days; wear hospital garb and be decontaminated, though.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? What about privacy concerns? I’d rather stay independent to get the full story here,” Porter said.

  “He is not very experienced in these things,” Dingman said, “I am sure we can help, if...you give us exclusive rights to break the story.”

  “Don’t you have trained staff to take notes and create reports? We’re not scientists; we’re liable to leap to conclusions with minimal facts. You know, to get the story worth telling,” Porter said. His body shifted, becoming nervous. The thought of decontamination led him to believe he might be at risk.

  “You mean you don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story?” the doctor said, laughing. “Don’t worry, you won’t be asked to do anything immoral, illegal or life threatening. I need someone who can observe with me and explore causes beyond the facts.”

  “‘Please suspend your beliefs to explore the impossible,’” Dingman said, remembering the unusual statement printed on the podium in the briefing room they occupied earlier.”

  “Aha. You got it.”

  “We can suspend our beliefs, eh Porter?” Dingman said, winking.

  Porter hesitated. “I guess.”

  “Great, see the head nurse; she’ll give you proper forms to sign: usual disclaimer and waver of liability by the Control Center if you’re observations don’t always align with the facts and—”

  “And, you get sued,” Dingman said, chuckling.

  “Yes, however, it will allow the Times to publish related stories without directly tying us to your conclusions.”

  “Oh, I get it. We don’t necessarily have to come to the same cause/effect conclusions in our story that you make. Makes sense; I’m in. When do we start?” Porter said.

  “Now. The viral infection could run its course in several days, but I’m guessing no more than a week.

  “When in Rome, roam,” Dingman said, poking fingers toward his eyes, then pointing toward Porter.

  “Ah, learn to look,” Porter said, nodding.

  Chapter 42

  “What about Kottle’s aunt? I feel bad; she’s alone in the waiting room,” Porter said, removing his coat and tie.

  “Someone will take care of her,” Dingman said, also removing his coat and tie.

  Both men removed their clothes, stored them in a locker basket, showered in pristine stalls, and walked through air dryers. When dry, each hauled on paper underwear and a white jump suit zipped up to the neck.

  A male attendant helped slip on plastic shoes and adjusted on white aviator-style head caps with flaps dangling over each ear.

  The stark brushed-steel walls of the changing room, plus the white uniforms provided a sense of overwhelming cleanliness.

  “Why do you suppose we have to dress up, while the doctors and nurses work in street clothes and white jackets?” Porter asked.

  “Their clothes are specially cleaned and remain here. They have to change when they arrive. By looking normal, they keep the patients from overreacting,” the attendant explained.

  “Ah, makes sense. Can I take my notepad with me? How am I going to document what I see?”

  “You’ll be provided with the necessary equipment.”

  “Can you decontaminate this for me please? It’s my lifeline,” Dingman said, pointing to his text-messaging cellphone lying on top of his folded clothes.

  “Stop, don’t touch it. Sorry, you need to leave the phone here. You’ll get what you need, trust me.”

  “Okay, I tried.”

  The attendant placed the wire clothesbaskets into separate lockers, and handed back two stiff-paper access cards.

  “Keep these in here,” he said, sliding the cards into clear plastic slots on the front of each white uniform. “When this spot turns red, a sensor will direct an alarm to the main desk. You’ll be asked to return to this room immediately. It’s a safeguard for overexposure. The spot usually turns red in about four hours or less.”

  “Or less?” Porter asked.

  “Less if you’ve been contaminated, but there is little chance of that I’m told with this disease.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The attendant escorted the reporters into a smaller dark room. Intense infrared heat lamps projected down from the ceiling.

  “Hold your breath for at least ten seconds, then breathe normally.”

  A whistling rush of foggy air entered from vents near the floor, flowed upwards, and quickly disappeared through overhead vents, followed by a flow of oxygenated air.

  “Yes, cleared my sinuses completely,” Dingman said, willing to move on.

  Porter finally let out air and inhaled deeply

  ~ ~ ~

  Porter and Dingman emerged into the nurses’ ready room behind the glass wall of the waiting area. The attendant focused their attention toward several desktop computers with small round objects plugged into the side of each case.

  “You can each take one of these. They have a video camera in front and a voice recorder in back. You press this button to activate the camera with sound, or rock back on the button for voice only. When you�
�re done for the day, plug it in to the computer and it will download and store for you automatically.”

  Dingman grasped the object like a flashlight, and pointed it at Porter and pushed the button. Porter reacted by tugging on the earflaps of his white cap and looking cross-eyed.

  “How much video can this take before we need to download it?”

  “It will last all day if you use it wisely. I suggest you use it like this,” the attendant said, turning the camera around in Dingman’s hand. “Now bring your hand up. Note the back contains a small preview screen. You can slip the unit into your belt-loop pocket for storing.”

  Dingman raised his hand up allowing the camera lens to point forward, and glanced at the preview screen. He smiled at Porter’s antics.

  “How do I erase bad footage?”

  “You can’t.

  “Oh, shit,” Porter whispered, reverting to normal.

  Nurses sitting nearby giggled.

  Chapter 43

  Dr. Grace entered the room, giving the reporters a quick once-over. He nodded approval and motioned the men to follow him into the patient corridor leading to ten rooms, five to a side. Both men placed their video cameras into their belt-loop pockets and marched forward.

  A vague agonizing scream echoed from the farthest room.

  Porter hesitated and waited for Dingman to make the first move.

  “We’ll visit Sister Mary last. Her case is unique from the others. She discovered the remains of Father Fellorday, the priest murdered two days ago. She ingested deer meat apparently along with the Father and the homeless man suspected of killing the Father. The muscles on her right side are inflicted with uncontrollable muscle spasms.”

  “Ugh, I can’t imagine what she saw. Wasn’t the Father decapitated?” Porter asked. He casually touched the stored video camera, pressing the audio record button.

  Another scream reverberated from the same room followed by gurgling sounds and threatening expletives. Other rooms were quiet except for the voices of several nurses. All ten rooms had open entryways with no visible doors. Soft crackling noise filled the hallway.

  “She has also developed a slight case of Tourette’s,” the doctor explained. “Let us begin our journey with Miss Kottle since both of you are familiar with her case.” The doctor stopped by the first room to the right, held his hand over a scanning device on the wall and waited.

  Porter kept walking into the room. A sizzling sound forced him back.

  “Wait,” the doctor commanded, “you’ll get a nasty shock until I clear the air. We have an ionization-field generator at each room entrance to contain diseases. We avoid doors as they get contaminated easily.”

  Dingman laughed. “And it will make you sterile as well. Right, Doc?”

  Porter backed up several steps and cupped his crotch with both hands.

  “You’d have to spend at least ten seconds in the field.”

  “Whoa,” Dingman said, backing up next to Porter.

  “Gotchya,” the doctor said, “we can go in now.”

  Porter patted his video camera, indicating he had captured Dingman’s reaction.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Ida…Ida Kottle?” Porter said, seeing Ida Kottle in the observation room attached to Katie’s room.

  The woman tilted her head not understanding. Katie lay sleeping quietly.

  “It’s me, Jeb...Jeb Porter.”

  “What have you done to my baby? Where is Katie? How did you find—” the old woman asked, squinting at Porter’s face as he neared the glass window separating them.

  “This is Katie. See...Katie Kottle,” Porter said, lifting a bed tag with Katie’s name printed on it.

  Dr. Grace reviewed test results with Dingman on the other side of Katie’s bed.

  “Jeb, what are you doing in there? Why are you dressed in a pilot’s uniform? She...she is not...” Ida Kottle, stuttered, giving Porter an alarmed look. “How did they find her? In God’s good humor, I’m confused. What is going on here?”

  “Doctor, Miss Kottle has concerns.”

  “We do look like sky pilots: saviors of the planet,” Dingman said, holding his earflaps out like wings. Ida Kottle scowled. “Sorry, I meant no disrespect.”

  “What is it Miss Kottle? Can I help you? Katie is in safe hands and sleeping peacefully,” the doctor said.

  “Where is Katie? She is not Katie. Katie does not have a mole on her left cheek. That woman is...ah...Rachel.”

  “Hmm, she’s right; Katie doesn’t have a mole on her cheek,” Porter said.

  “She’s simply reacting to an obvious facial scar or pimple,” the doctor said. “It’s an overreaction I assure you.”

  “Hmm, it’s a hairy brown spot. Looks like a mole to me,” Porter said, observing Katie’s face.

  Dingman removed the camera from his belt and began recording video and sound.

  “Rachel had a large mole since birth. If you look close, it is round on one side and straight on the other like a half-moon.” Ida Kottle said, gasping for air. An attending nurse in the observation booth helped her sit into a chair.

  “She’s right. It is half-mooned shape,” the doctor said. “Could either of you gentlemen enlighten me about Rachel?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know. Rachel is...er, was Katie’s twin sister. When they were both about eight years old, they were riding their bikes on the sidewalk near where they lived and...” Porter explained the abduction and the additional facts Ida Kottle told him earlier. Ida Kottle nodded as Porter continued.

  “So what do you think, Doctor? Is she hallucinating about Rachel?” Porter asked.

  “A form of stigmata, perhaps?” Dingman said.

  “Perhaps. Similar instances of stigmata were reported at the time of the Salem witch trials. Some women showed apparent hand wounds of being nailed to a cross. I’m going to take a sample of the mole and have it analyzed.”

  “Isn’t stigmata a religious-based phenomenon? I don’t see the connection here,” Porter said.

  Katie opened her eyes and focused on the woman’s face behind the glass.

  “What, how...where am I?” Her eyes darted from wall to wall, trying to make sense of the surroundings. “Who are you people? Why am I here?”

  “It’s me, your Aunt Ida.” The old woman waved and smiled.

  “Ida? Aunt Ida? Where am I?”

  “Rachel? Are you Rachel?”

  “Yes, where is Gunter? I’m afraid. He told me not to talk to anyone. He’ll punish me. I must go. He just got up to go to the bathroom and will be returning soon.”

  “Gunter?” Porter asked, getting involved. “Is it okay if I respond to her? I might be able to get her to tell us more about the abduction.”

  “Keep going,” the doctor said. “She is obviously dredging up old memories and converting them into what she remembers about Rachel.”

  “Strange. I’ve never heard Katie mention anyone named Gunter before. Who is Gunter?”

  “Gunter is my friend.”

  Ida Kottle shook her head.

  “How old are you?” Porter asked, probing further.

  “I don’t know. Please let me go. Gunter will return soon,” she said, closing hers eyes.

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m...in...Neeee...va...daad...” she whispered and became motionless.

  “Neevadad? What do make of that?” Porter wondered.

  “Sounds like a foreign country,” Dingman said.

  “Probably a name she picked up from watching TV earlier today. She’s sleeping now,” the doctor said. “I’m going to have this analyzed. Best we leave her alone now.” The doctor plucked a piece of skin from the mole, put it into a vial and gave it to a waiting nurse. “Have them put a priority on this. Tell them to use routines four and five.”

  “Routines four and five?” Dingman asked, pointing his video camera at the doctor.

  “It’s a DNA compare with an earlier blood sample plus a virus check.”

  “Did you notice her eyes w
ere perfectly clear? No redness whatsoever.”

  “Yes, I’ve made note of it. She’s starting to dream now. Let’s move on to Lopez’ room.”

  “Should she be left alone? What if she wakes up again as Rachel?” Porter asked.

  “She’s being monitored continuously. We will be alerted immediately.” The doctor dimmed the lights and lowered a powered shade halfway down the only window to the outside world. Sunlight flickered off the green glass of the Times building and onto the shade.

  The nurse standing by Ida Kottle helped her out of the observation area and back to the waiting room. Porter waved and said he would stay in contact with her as the three men walked out of the room.

  Dr. Grace placed his right hand over the display by the entrance, activating the ion generator.

  “Sounds like bees in motion,” Dingman said.

  “Creates a soothing background noise for the patients, while blocking any microbes from going in or out of the room,” the doctor explained.

  “Probably also a good deterrent for a disobedient patient trying to escape.”

  “What if...if Katie is somehow a conduit to the real Rachel? Don’t twins have a sixth sense about each other?” Porter asked.

  “Let us not lose our objectivity here,” Dingman said. “Next you will be telling me the Bogey Man is real.”

  The doctor stroked his chin. “I wouldn’t rule out anything at this point.”

  Porter pointed toward his eyes then toward Dingman.

  Dingman sheepishly smiled.

  Chapter 44

  Colored light bulbs sizzled and flashed on and off in unison outside a half-closed window. Katie Kottle struggled to open her eyes. She could hear buzzing and see bright flashes of color through her eyelids. First red, then dancing yellow, then green. She shook her head violently forcing her eyes to crack open. The buzzing grew louder. One eyelid opened then the other. She awoke facing a half-shaded window. She turned her head. The room was dark with the rest of the shades drawn. An empty, squashed pillow lay next to her with bed covers thrown back. A light blanket covered her legs.