by Vera Quinn
Her lips twisted into a grimace and she turned back to Greyson. “Yes. I got sick. What’s it to you?”
“My dad is Dr. Miles Enver, and he’s doing amazing work in gene therapy. Work that could make a difference in your life.” His expression sobered and he put a hand on her arm. “Work that could get you back out there with both of your legs.”
It wasn’t possible, she thought as she limped back outside. The pain in her leg made her eyes water, but she kept walking. Her friends were in the locker room again and she didn’t want to be there when they came out. She was so proud of them, but she couldn’t be near them while they celebrated. It would break her heart.
Greyson had stayed next to her the whole time, not talking or anything. Just sitting. Like that was supposed to make her trust him. For all she knew, this was some sort of ruse to kidnap sick people to sell them off for the sorts of nefarious purposes that she didn’t even want to think about. She’d seen a documentary on something like that once.
Dr. Miles Enver probably didn’t even exist.
The worst part of all of it was that it made her hope, and she didn’t want that. Her whole life had been a series of moments of hope that were eventually dashed. If she even considered believing this kid about what his dad offered, she was setting herself back up for disappointment.
Caley was so caught up in her internal debate that she was halfway into her room before she realized that someone was sitting in the corner chair.
Dr. Lucas.
Caley shot a glare toward Millicent, but the traitor had pulled the curtain around the bed.
“Do I want to know where you’ve been?” Dr. Lucas asked mildly. She always looked so unruffled and cool. It was annoying, really.
“I went to see my friends compete,” Caley answered, too tired to lie. “I figured it’d be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission.”
Dr. Lucas pursed her lips. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Someone could’ve taken advantage of you.”
Greyson’s face popped into Caley’s mind, and before she could talk herself out of it, she asked, “Who’s Dr. Miles Enver?”
Dr. Lucas froze and a little shot of adrenaline raced through Caley’s blood. Dr. Enver was real, and he had to be someone important to get that kind of reaction.
“He’s a quack,” Dr. Lucas said finally. “A geneticist who started going too far when his wife was diagnosed with ALS. He ignored testing guidelines; rules that had been put into place to protect people from crackpot ideas.”
“Did he cure his wife?” Caley hated how eager she sounded.
Dr. Lucas gave her a strange look. “Of course not. ALS doesn’t have a cure.”
Caley’s heart sank.
“It didn’t stop Enver though. He finally had his medical license revoked. Rumors flew for a few years about secret experiments he did, even on his own son who may have carried the ALS gene.” Dr. Lucas waved her hand dismissively. “None of that matters. You need to get cleaned up and into bed. Tomorrow we have to discuss your treatment options.”
As the doctor left, Caley fingered the paper in her pocket. A paper with a phone number and the message Call anytime.
Maybe she had more options than she thought.
“I’m glad you decided to come in,” Greyson said as he opened the door for Caley. “I really think you’re going to be impressed with what my dad’s been working on.”
She didn’t tell him that she’d done her own research on Dr. Enver and the general consensus was that the doctor had gone off the deep end. She wasn’t here because of that. She was here because when she’d asked Greyson if his dad had experimented on him, Greyson had said yes. According to him, he’d had the ALS gene and now he didn’t. Caley assumed it wasn’t as simple as that, and there was always the possibility that Dr. Enver had lied to his son, but the intuition that Caley had often relied on told her this was worth looking into.
She’d been a little worried when Greyson had taken her out of the city, but then they’d pulled up to a small but clean-looking medical center and she’d felt better. Now, as he led her through the hallways, she noticed how different it looked than the hospitals and doctor offices she’d been to over the last few years. It was quiet, without the usual beeping of machines or the murmurs of doctors and nurses going over orders or talking to patients. In fact, most of the rooms they passed were empty and she only saw two adults in scrubs from a distance. They entered an office at the end of the hall and the man on the other side of the desk was Dr. Enver. Even if Caley hadn’t seen pictures of him online, Greyson looked enough like his father that Caley would’ve recognized the older man.
“Dad, this is Caley Mason. Caley, my dad, Dr. Miles Enver.” There was no mistaking the pride in Greyson’s voice.
“Please, Miss Mason, have a seat.” Dr. Enver smiled at Caley, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Or, rather, the glint in those pale depths had the sort of almost-maniacal look that Caley had seen in some of the ‘faith healers’ and religious fanatics who popped up at the hospital with their apocalyptic prophecies and claims of divine knowledge and power.
Caley’s belief in a higher power was despite those people and not because of them.
Either way, her gut told her she wasn’t going to like Dr. Enver, but it also said he’d do whatever he could to keep her alive and whole.
And if he couldn’t help her keep her leg, maybe being here would give her a new reason to live. The slight flush to Greyson’s cheek when their knees bumped together seemed to say that her crush wasn’t unrequited.
“I’ve been reviewing your medical history,” Dr. Enver said as he opened a file folder. “I see that you ended your chemo and radiation treatment two weeks ago. How are you feeling?”
Caley’s foster mom had barely looked at the medical release form Caley’d had her sign. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She just had too many kids with too many problems. Caley would either age out or die soon and unless it was absolutely necessary. Whatever happened, she’d be on her own.
“Better,” she answered honestly. “My leg’s been hurting more the last couple days, but I’ve had worse.”
“Greyson tells me that you’d like to be a part of our in-patient program.”
Her jaw clenched for a moment, but she showed no other sign of emotion. She had done nothing to be ashamed of. It wasn’t her fault she had no family.
“It’ll be easier on my foster mom,” she said.
“Considerate of you,” Dr. Enver said. “I tend to prefer that anyway. It allows for closer monitoring through the entire process.”
Caley didn’t like the reminder that this was experimental, but it wasn’t going to change anything. Her mind was made up and she intended to see it through to the end, no matter the results.
“Since you have my file, I’m assuming that you know the government pays my medical bills.” Some people might’ve thought that having government-funded health care meant that she could have whatever care she chose until either she elected to end the care or she was cured.
That wasn’t how it worked.
Whether it was an insurance company or the government, money was still the bottom line. If someone could manage with cheaper care, it didn’t matter if something else was better.
“Money isn’t an issue,” Dr. Enver said dismissively. “My work is funded by grants and donations from private organizations and individuals. They trust me to choose how those funds are used.”
Warning bells went off in Caley’s head. This wasn’t how real medical trials worked, which meant this wasn’t sanctioned by the International Department of Health. And everything was required to go through them. The only countries that got away with medicine and medical procedures not being IDH approved were ones like East Cuba and whatever Pakistan was calling themselves this week. Basically, places where dictators closed off their countries from the rest of the world.
She’d known this had been too good to be true.
Except Greyson
was sitting next to her as proof that Dr. Enver’s experiments could work. She wasn’t foolish or naïve enough to think that this was a guaranteed cure. The gene therapy could very well kill her. But she knew from personal experience that the treatment could often be worse than the cure even with proven methods.
“I’ll do it.”
Dr. Enver smiled. “Wonderful!” He took a sheaf of paper out of his desk and slid it across to her. “That is a comprehensive contract and non-disclosure agreement. Unlike a lot of places, I actually encourage my patients to read it through. Ask Greyson if you have any questions. You have until your physical tomorrow afternoon to sign. Greyson will take you to the cafeteria slash common room to meet the other in-patient residents. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.”
“Other people live here too?” Caley asked Greyson as Dr. Enver left.
“Five others,” Greyson said. “Well, and me. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
Ten minutes later, she was sitting on a couch next to Greyson, meeting five other people who were as desperate as she was to find a cure for their diseases.
Samuel G. was two years younger than her and had the adolescent form of adrenoleukodystrophy. Caley didn’t know much about what he referred to as ALD, but what she did know about it wasn’t good. His family lived on the other side of the country, which was why he lived here while getting his treatment.
Eloise P. was about the same age as Samuel, maybe a little older and had Machado-Joseph Disease, Type 1. Like Samuel and Greyson, her disease wasn’t something that could be cut out or off like Caley’s. Eloise’s grandmother had raised her but wasn’t strong enough to deal with the physical challenges that were Eloise’s future if Dr. Enver’s therapy didn’t work.
Jerome M. had just turned sixteen yesterday. He’d broken his leg skateboarding and that had been how his leukemia had been found. He said he didn’t know much about it because he had panic attacks every time someone tried to give him details about his disease or the treatments. Dr. Enver had been the one to break the news to him that he was past the point where a bone marrow transplant would do anything. Like Caley, he was an orphan in the foster care system.
Jeffrey B. was the oldest of the patients, though he couldn’t have been more than twenty. He had a malignant tumor wrapped around his spine. While it could, technically, be removed through surgery, his chances of surviving the surgery were low and it was doubtful he’d be able to walk again even if he did survive. His mom was his only parent and worked two jobs to take care of his younger sisters, so when he’d been diagnosed, he’d decided that it’d be better for everyone if he stayed at the hospital.
The last of the group was Raya I. who was more like Greyson had been. She carried the genes for something called Progressive Supranuclear Palsy that was apparently similar to Parkinson’s Disease. The test for her disorder was a new one but there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. She, like Caley and Jerome, had grown up in foster care.
As she settled back and listened to the conversation flow around her, Caley wondered which of them would be the first to fail and tried not to think about what she would do if it was her.
Caley’s lungs burned and she began to struggle, unable to hold herself still any longer. The saltwater stung her eyes, telling her that they were open even though she saw only darkness. The needles came next, long ones that burrowed down to the bone and shot electricity across her seared nerves. Not literal electricity, though she couldn’t imagine that would hurt more.
You agreed to this, she reminded herself again, the same way she’d done every day for the last month.
Today was a treatment day. Tomorrow, she’d rest. Not that resting was actually what any of them did on the days between treatments. No, those days were spent shivering and sweating like they had a fever, their muscles cramping and sore, like they’d run a marathon.
At least, she thought, I kept my hair and don’t throw up all the time like I had with the radiation and chemo from before.
Jerome hadn’t been so lucky though. He’d already lost fifteen pounds and had an IV keeping him hydrated most of the time.
Caley’s face broke the surface of the water and she choked and gasped, struggling for air. The restraints had rubbed her wrists raw again, she saw. The water was tinged pink from her blood.
Across the room, she saw Raya being put into the hyperbaric chamber. Elsewhere, she knew her friends were all having their specifically tailored gene therapy, each with its own unique delivery system. Apparently, they were based on which specific chemicals their individual bodies needed to make to correct their genes.
Or something like that.
The science was far beyond her.
“Caley.” Fingers snapped in front of her eyes.
She focused on Greyson. “Sorry. Drifted for a second.”
“You had me worried.” He wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
She frowned. When had she climbed out of the pool?
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I can take you straight to your room. I’ll tell Dad that you’re not up for questions.”
Caley shook her head and tried to pretend the movement didn’t make her dizzy. “I’m fine. Let me change into dry clothes and then you can walk me to see your dad.”
Each of them was required to have a shadow on treatment days and encouraged to have one on rest days. It could be a little annoying, but none of them wanted a setback simply because they’d gotten clumsy or light-headed and hurt themselves. Caley hadn’t yet decided if having Greyson as her shadow was good or bad. She enjoyed spending time with him but didn’t like the fact that he saw her at her worst.
At least he didn’t pity her.
Greyson stood on the other side of the screen while Caley changed and tried not to look at the bruises on her arms. Since the needles always went in at the same place, the bruises never had the chance to heal, instead growing darker until they were almost black now. Dr. Enver had said that was normal and they’d fade after the treatments were done.
If the treatments worked.
Neither of them had talked yet about how, if the six-week course of gene therapy didn’t work, Caley might not live long enough for the bruises to heal. Dr. Enver was completely confident in his process and never used words like if. Greyson was the same way and sometimes it put Caley’s teeth on edge.
She wasn’t the only one either. The others said it too. They’d all had doctors in the past who were realistic about their chances and options. Dr. Enver didn’t seem to think failure was an option…even though his own wife hadn’t been healed. None of them were going to bring that up though. Even on their worst days, none of them were that cruel.
“I heard there’s a romantic comedy movie marathon on tonight,” Greyson said. “I was wondering if you’d like to watch it.”
“Sure,” Caley said absently. “If the others are cool with it.”
She smiled as she toweled her short hair dry. Even when it looked crazy, she appreciated the fact that she still had it. It took her a few seconds to realize that Greyson had gone quiet. Then what he’d said came back to her in a different way and her eyes widened. She stepped around the screen, suddenly nervous.
“Were-were you asking if I wanted to watch it with you? I mean, like, with you?”
Color crept up his neck. “Um, yes? I mean, yes. I wanted to take you out on a real date, but I didn’t want to wait until you were done with your treatments so we could go out.”
Caley smiled, her cheeks hot in a way that didn’t have anything to with her treatment. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Great.”
The pair might’ve stood there, staring at each other, for who knew how long if a wave of vertigo hadn’t hit Caley and made her stagger. Immediately, Greyson was there, concern in his eyes as he wrapped his arm around her to keep her steady.
“Let’s get you in a seat–”
“No.” Caley’s voice was firm. “I just need a second.”
She could feel Greyson’s reluctance but the fact that he listened and let her make the decision gave her yet another reason to like him. She’d never let herself hope to have a guy look at her the way Greyson did. It hadn’t seemed like a fair thing to do–have a guy like her when she didn’t know if she had a future. When she’d learned that the chemo hadn’t worked, she’d regretted not having taken the chance before. She wasn’t going to make that same mistake here.
So, as Greyson helped her down the hall to his father’s office for the question-answer portion of treatment day, Caley promised herself that if Greyson was willing to risk being hurt, then she could risk it too.
“For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways,” declares the Lord.
This wasn’t the first time Caley had read Isaiah 55:8, and it wasn’t the first time she’d hoped to get a voice or a vision or a neon sign telling her exactly what God’s plan was for her. She’d been ten years old the first time she’d gone to church. The idea of this great Father had fascinated her for reasons she hadn’t needed a shrink to reveal to her. Since then, her relationship with God and with ‘organized religion’ had gone through ups and downs. Right now, she was trying to keep it on an even plateau but didn’t feel like she was having much success.
A knock at her door had her closing the Bible and telling Greyson he could come in.
“Still feeling up to a movie?” he asked, more nervous than Caley had ever seen him.
“I am.” She smiled at him and set the Bible on her nightstand.
He glanced at it and did a double take. “A Bible? I didn’t take you for the type.”
She shrugged. “I’m a work in progress.”
His face flushed. “No, I just meant that most people are either Bible or science. I haven’t really seen a lot of both, especially this sort of science.”
She pushed herself to her feet and took a moment to let herself steady before responding. “I don’t see it as a conflict. Jesus used mud to heal. I figure if He can do that, what’s a few needles and a sensory deprivation tank.”