by Mark Tufo
"If we, and by we I mean Tracy myself and Justin agree to this will he be cured? Will the virus be destroyed?"
"No this is a symptomatic treatment, it's much like giving insulin to a person suffering from diabetes. It will keep the parasite in check. It will allow his body to recover an equilibrium; it can stop the war that is raging within him."
"An armistice?"
"Armistice, détente, stasis, whatever you want to call it, your son will be back."
"Where is Justin now?" I asked a cold chill sweeping through my soul.
"He's in our isolation ward."
"Doc, I can't do it again." Doc Baker remained silent. "The night he was injured I stayed with him. I had a loaded gun with the hammer pulled back in my lap. I talked to him the entire night about every good and not so good thing we had done in our lives together. I fully expected to end his life that night." An unforced sob issued forth from the depths of my being. The Doc placed his hand on my good shoulder. "Can you know what it's like to take a piece of you, something that contains all your hopes, your dreams, your love and just destroy it? CAN YOU!?" I yelled.
I was sobbing nearly inconsolably. BT faked sleep. I owed him big for that. Tracy, true to her nature, was Johnny on the spot. She had somewhere along the line honed the skill of always being at the right spot at the right time to a science.
"What's going on Mike? Doctor?" She asked with concern. I was thinking that she thought I had received bad news about myself. Trust me I wouldn't have taken that news half as bad as what the Doctor was proposing. "You alright Mike?"
I wiped my eyes. "You know how I feel about you seeing me cry."
"I know, I know, you're Ironman. That's what has me concerned Mike, in twenty years of marriage I've seen you with more punctures, burns and body parts hanging on by a thread where you've just grunted about going back to the emergency room. The two times I've seen you cry, one involved the death of my dad and the other was your mom. So what's going on?"
The Doc took about ten minutes to lay out everything to her like he had to me.
"To quote my husband! Abso-fucking-lutely not!" She shouted.
"Go to him then." The Doc started.
"I do! Every day." She retorted.
"You didn't let me finish, Tracy."
In my head I couldn't believe he had pulled out the condescending card. BAD, BAD move.
"You've got about ten seconds Doctor, to explain yourself before I turn and walk out of here. I'd rather kick your ass right now. The only thing that’s keeping me at bay is the gratitude I have for you saving my husband, but that will only get you so far." Her finger of doom was in full thrust mode. A diamond tipped jackhammer would be less lethal.
I could tell the Doctor was especially appreciative of the fact that his chair had wheels and he was on a tile floor, but he would run out of running room long before she ran out of fuel.
"Tracy go to your son, ask him how he's doing." Tracy looked about to respond. "No really, ask him how he is doing. I've had long talks with him. He's told me that he feels like he slips a little deeper every day. That a little more of who he is gets dragged away and discarded like so much trash. Sometimes he just feels like giving up." Tracy sobbed much like I had. "He's tired of fighting both inside of himself and against the outside world. He knows what kind of threat he poses to all of you. He can't bear the thought that his mere existence could bring harm to any of you. He has lost hope. He's asked me more than once to give him enough pills or a lethal injection to end it all."
Tracy came over to me crying. She was careful to avoid my wound. She didn't do such a good job. I did my best to bite back my tears of pain.
"I don't bring this to either of you lightly."
Tracy held her hand up.
"It's just that…"
"Doc, stop talking now." I told him.
"Right, I'm going to check on my other patients."
"Thanks Doc." I wrapped my good arm around my wife. Her racking sobs jostled me, but that was a kind of pain I was familiar with. It was the kind that I could cope with. It was like a bad friend who you knew was going to borrow money that he had no intentions of paying back. He was the friend that would turn over your couch cushions after he burned them accidently with a cigarette after you specifically told him that nobody smokes in the house. He was an asshole, but he was YOUR asshole. That other pain? Well let's just say that pain was like a lawyer who just so happened to be a Yankees fan after they just bought their 26th championship. Yeah, he's that asshole.
Tracy and I did about another hour's worth of mutual consolation. We had a way of taking the little bit of strength we possessed and bouncing it back and forth between the two of us, adding to it at each and every toss. Do all married couples possess this super power? Probably not or there would have been fewer divorces.
"What do you think Talbot?" Tracy asked, lifting her tear soaked face off my tear soaked chest.
"I think I need a new shirt." Tracy made as if she was going to punch me. "I think we have the Doctor lay everything out there for him, the pros and the cons and we let him decide."
"Okay."
"Okay, that's it? No expletives about how crazy I am? Or how nuts this situation is? I was expecting more."
"There is no other answer Mike, you heard the Doctor. Our baby is ready to give up."
"I know." I said stroking her hair, which also happened to be wet. "You'd better wait before you go back out."
She looked at me funny. Ah, the Tracy I know and love.
"Your hair is soaked, you go out now and you're going to get an ice helmet. Although I really kind of dig chicks in uniform."
"Well maybe if you weren't in that hospital bed."
"That is not right. Not right at all." I lamented.
"I'm going to see Justin."
"Tell him I love him."
"Do I look like I've been crying?"
"Besides the running mascara, red eyes and Rudolph nose? No, you look fine."
"I'll tell him you love him. I'll see you tonight."
"Bye love."
"Bye Talbot."
Tracy walked out of the room. I turned to adjust myself. I had only been awake for a couple of hours and I was exhausted. BT's blanket was up over his head. I could see his whole bed shaking.
"You crying?" I asked him.
"I'm sleeping, leave me alone." He sniffed.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 7 -
Justin was in a small room maybe ten by ten feet with a heavy lockable oak door. He was usually able to walk around his room but for this experiment he was fully restrained to his bed with cloth straps. I involuntarily got the heebie-jeebies thinking about being completely tied down and then getting an itch on my nose. I was convinced that would drive me insane. The room was cramped with myself in a wheelchair, Tracy behind me, Doc Baker, a fully armed guard and the center of attention, Justin in his bed.
"For the fourth time, Mom, I want to do this." Justin said looking up as high as he could with the strap across his forehead.
Tracy reached down and grabbed my hand out of my lap. "Is the guard necessary?" Tracy asked.
Nobody responded. He was necessary in case the unspeakable happened.
"Justin, I am going to put this mask on you for our protection, okay?" The doc asked him. Justin nodded his head, his eyes locked on a fixed location on the ceiling. The 'mask' was nothing more than a leather strap with a wide piece that fit securely over the most dangerous part of a zombie, the mouth. Images of Hannibal Lecter streamed through my head as the mask was placed into position. To say my stomach was in knots would be an understatement. I could barely pull in air. Even the guard who had zero vested interest was uptight, but then he'd be the trigger man if this went bad and killing any defenseless enemy strapped to a bed would not ever sit well.
Without another word spoken in the room the doctor administered the shot to Justin's arm.
"How long Doc?" I asked quietly. The doctor didn't even have time to respond
as Justin's body struggled against the bonds. He thrashed so violently against them I thought they would start to saw through his skin. Tracy's grip on my hand was excruciating. She had my first and forth knuckles nearly touching. Saliva ran down the side of Justin's face in amounts I wouldn't think a human would be able to produce. Henry yes, Justin not so much. The doctor was checking Justin's pulse when he jumped back. The guard tensed up, undoing the snap on his holster. Tracy might have broken my hand. Justin's scream was muffled from the leather.
I won't swear to it. I can't. My mind just can't wrap around it securely enough to give a definitive answer but when Justin looked over to me and Tracy his eyes looked unbelievably black and flat. They reflected perfectly the soul of a black, dead heart. And just as quickly they returned back to their normal state. I hoped this wheelchair wasn't dry clean only.
"Oh my God." Tracy said under her breath. Apparently she had seen what I had, it was good to at least know that all those years of tripping on acid hadn't finally caught up to me.
Justin arched one more time and relaxed, his eyes were closed. Doc Baker hesitantly walked closer to check his vital signs.
"Doctor." The guard said. "Maybe you should step back." It was looking more and more like Justin's transformation was not such a secret.
"Nonsense." The doctor said without much conviction. "Can't you see his chest rising and falling? He's breathing."
I don’t know why these thoughts run through my head, they just do. Maybe it has more to do with the aforementioned acid trips from my college days than I would like to believe. What if the doctor had just created the first hybrid human-zombie? A living zombie? Would he be able to reproduce? Talk about unruly grandchildren.
Justin opened his eyes. "Did it work?" He asked. The flood of carbon dioxide that was released into the room as everyone let go of the breath they were holding was nearly intoxicating, possibly suffocating, no wonder why Vegas used to flood their casinos with oxygen.
"It'll be a few days until we can be sure but this is a great start," Doc Baker said. "I'm going to need some more blood Justin," he added apologetically.
"You sound like Eliza." Justin said jokingly.
"Poor taste son. We'll have to work on your material. Tracy could you wheel me up to him. If I try to do it I'll end up doing donuts."
"That wasn't much better than Justin's attempt at humor." Tracy said.
The doc got his measure of blood and left, giddy as a schoolboy that got to touch his first female breast. The guard also left the room but was in arm's distance of the door in case his services were still required. Tracy and I stayed with Justin a few more hours before my reserves started to give out. It was great to see our kid come more into his own with each passing minute. He looked happy, he smiled, and more importantly those flat black eyes never returned.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - JOURNAL ENTRY 8 -
I don't know what I had done in a former life to deserve this (although I had some guesses). Porkchop and I had become fast friends. Not sure what he saw in me, maybe it was my captive audience to his incessant questioning. I didn't begrudge the kid, like so many others his road up to this point had been extremely difficult. I was to learn that Doc Baker was not his biological father but rather a much needed stepdad. Generally, Porkchop wore me out like no tranquilizer could. Where was he when I used to suffer through bouts of insomnia? This next story had me riveted though. I am going to attempt to translate it as best I can, right from Porkchop's mouth to this journal.
PORKCHOP'S PAGES
"It was an awesome night. I had just made Major General on Halo ODST. I had killed like thirty-two guys and only died twice." (Tommy was here this time. The big kid usually came to see me right after lunch. He also held up two fingers to mimic Porkchop's hand signals but I think it had more to do with licking off some errant jelly.)
“The night it all started, my dad had come home from the bar early. Said he had got into a fight and didn’t feel so good. Which was kind of a bummer ‘cause when he goes out drinking he always comes home late and doesn’t bother me when I’m playing my 360. He just walked into the living room, grunted at me and walked into his bedroom. I was pretty psyched, it was a school night and I’m not even supposed to be watching TV, although mom didn’t care. Dad used to always say it rotted your brain, but what about booze?” Porkchop stopped his narrative and was actually asking, looking at me to answer his question.
I’m not one to rain on another’s libations, I’ve enjoyed the devil’s brew entirely too much to call someone else on it but Porkchop was fairly demanding an answer. “Um well, shit…sorry.”
“Oh its fine my dad used to say motherfucker all the time.”
“Porkchop!” Doc Baker admonished from across the room.
It was funny to see someone so innocent looking use one of the higher echelon cuss words, but I didn’t let on to either Porkchop or the doc.
“Sorry.” Porkchop said without a hint of truth, he was looking right at me with a smile in his eyes.
“No big deal.” I said smiling right back at him.
“So?” Porkchop prompted.
“Right, well it’s like anything Porkchop, if you do it in moderation.”
He was looking at me with the glazed over stare of a lost teenager.
“If you don’t do it too much.”
“Oh.” He answered. I had got him back. “My dad used to go to the bar every night after work and on Saturdays too, sometimes on Sunday but not all the time. He used to like to say that if God could rest on the seventh day so could his liver. What does that mean?”
“Um, I’m really tired Porkchop.” I was shooting for evasiveness. There was no way I was going to start dragging his dad through the mud. I didn’t even know the guy.
“My mom says he was an assaholic.”
I think I ripped a hole in my intestinal wall trying to stifle a laugh.
“That’s enough swearing Porkchop.” Doc said absently as he was prepping what looked like a surgical tray.
“It was getting late and I had finished playing Halo and had moved on to Rockband.”
It took me a moment to realize Porkchop had started his story back up. No matter how funny the kid was I had to remember this was the night he had become an orphan. He had lost a mom who most assuredly loved him more than the air she breathed and the food she ate and a father who might not be the best role model in the world but he was a provider. That was the best I could offer his memory.
“Smashing Pumpkins was on, do you know the song 1979?”
He didn’t stop for my answer. He needed to tell the story and if he stopped he might not get the nerve to start it up again.
“I was halfway through on expert!” He said proudly. “I hadn’t missed more than 3 or 4 notes.”
I knew this was impressive, I had never even graduated to the ‘hard’ level. ‘Medium’ was all the coordination I could muster when I played.
“My dad comes into the room and just walks right in front of the television. I couldn’t see shit.” He added softly looking over in the Doc’s direction. “I wanted to yell at him to get out of the way, but that’s not a good idea, ever.” He stressed. “The crowd on the game starts booing at me 'cause I’m missing so many notes. My dad turns away from the screen, it was then I noticed he had blood all over his face.” A tear streamed down Porkchop’s face. I wanted to take the kid in my arms and hug the bad thoughts right out of him. “So I asked him if he was alright. He looked back at me like he just realized I was there. He…he lifted his arms up and started walking towards me. He was holding a hand. I knew it was my mom’s 'cause of the wedding band.”
That was something that no kid should ever have to see.
“He dropped the hand on the floor. I…I couldn’t do anything Mr. Talbot. I just kept looking at my mom’s hand on the floor. I was wondering why she wasn’t screaming, why wasn’t she coming out of the bedroom to get it. I mean maybe it wasn’t too late to sew it back on. I wanted to get some ice but t
hen my dad stepped on it and I heard her hand bones crack. All I could think, Mr. Talbot, was that my assaholic dad had just ruined my mom’s perfect hand and now it could never be put back on. I got so mad I stood up on the couch and just started swinging my guitar controller. The first swing caught him square on the side of the face. I thought he was going to get so mad but he didn’t say anything, it was almost like he didn’t even know I had done it. So I did it again thinking that maybe that would get his attention. And then I did it again and again. Something snapped I didn’t know if it was my controller or my dad’s head. I was bummed about the controller. I had saved up all my allowance for 5 months to get it.”
Porkchop was full on crying now. But he marshaled on. There was a strength to the kid that you might not account for upon first glance, but the fact that he was alive was testament to that.
“I don’t know how many times I hit him but my arms were tired by the time he went to his knees and then he kinda fell over. My controller went with him. It flew right out of my hands cuz it was stuck in his head. His arms and legs were twitching and I could hear him moaning a little bit, but I didn’t care, I needed to go check on my mom.”
If this was a movie, this is where I would start yelling at the person on the screen to ‘RUN, just get out of the house, LEAVE NOW!' “Oh Porkchop. I’m so sorry.” I knew what was coming long before he could begin to tell me about it.
“The bedroom door was open, but it was super dark in there. I couldn’t see anything. So I called out to my mom.” He wiped his nose, rivulets of snot running into his mouth. “She didn’t say anything, she wasn’t moaning or anything. So I started to think that maybe she had gone to the hospital. Then I thought that she might need some stuff while she’s there. I needed to turn on a light so I could get her a bag packed. I turned on that light Mr. Talbot. I didn’t even think it was mom. How could anybody be in so many pieces?”
The doctor had come over and was fiercely hugging Porkchop. I had a lump in my throat that could have been used for ski jumps. “It’ll be alright.” The doc said, slightly swaying to Porkchop’s full-throated cries.