Finally, looking out the side window and realizing they were over the South China Sea, she turned to him and asked, “Uh…you okay?”
“Maggie, I told you we were going to get away,” he said without turning to look at her.
“I thought you meant away from the temple. I didn’t…”
“I don’t think I’m doing very well, Maggie. I don’t think I can face the world right now. It’s like I can’t stop the voices in my head. I need to go where the world stops spinning…to the rainforest.”
* * *
Wright slipped off his shirt. He was already feeling better. Moments before stepping onto the longboat and heading upriver, he’d popped another Welltrex into his mouth. Maybe that was the reason for his calmness, or maybe it was the fact that he was returning to where the world spun in peace and harmony. Everything was going to be okay; he’d been through this before, pulling himself up by his bootstraps and forging ahead. He was in control.
The water on the lake was glassy smooth. As he steered the boat toward the entrance of the Batang Ai River, the evening air temperature dropped slightly. It was a perfect evening, and there was no one else with whom he’d rather share it. The sun was beginning its descent in the west, and a beautiful waning gibbous moon rose in the east.
“Are we headed to Robert’s longhouse?” Maggie asked.
“No, somewhere more private. I have been building my own home away from home out here and wanted to show it to you,” he said, then whispered the Bengali word for princess: “Kumārī.”
After they landed at the research center, it had taken a considerable amount of convincing to get Maggie to go back into the jungle. Wright reminded her that the Huntsman was dead and the forest had reclaimed its tranquility. He promised to protect her from the spiders and other creatures that would have them for dinner. She insisted on calling Nick, but the call would not go through.
She didn’t know Wright had switched off the Wi-Fi and the cell tower. He offered no explanation and smiled to himself. He sensed her fear, but that only heightened his sexual energy, filling him with life.
He observed her beautiful black hair fluttering in the breeze along with her silk blouse, which accentuated her breasts and her dark skin glowing in the fading sun. He was excited and he thought the feeling must be love. The psychiatrist had told him he might never love—that control did not equate to affection. But Wright knew the man was wrong. He had found his kumārī, his princess.
* * *
“I’ve built it practically myself,” Wright said as they pulled the boat onto the shore. “My little hideaway.”
Maggie was relieved to see the A-framed structure jutting out from the hillside, supported by sturdy beams. The roof framed large-pane windows covered in shutters, and a deck hung near the water’s edge, surrounded by log railings. This was no thatched-roof longhouse; it was a beautifully constructed home, something you might find on a million-dollar luxury lake property on Flathead Lake in Montana.
“Okay, I had a little help.” He smiled, as she admired the home. “The best part is that it is off the grid. Solar panels line the roof, and I don’t know if you can see”—he tried to look around the overhanging foliage—“the wind generators at the crest of the hill. The cabin has a deep water well and septic system, even a flush toilet.”
Maggie smiled at him.
“See, I told you you’d love it.”
Wright led her up the concrete steps to the first landing, unlocked a metal box on a post, opened the door and flipped on switches. Shutters on the windows unfolded automatically and two fans with large leaf-shaped blades began to turn on the deck. Lights flickered on, both inside the home and around the eaves. Twinkling white lights came to life on many of the trees surrounding the deck. The effect was magical.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Now do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“It’s my true Robinson Crusoe getaway. I figured if the world keeps spiraling down and one of the rogue nations decides to drop a nuclear bomb or two and the world goes crazy, my fortune would be worthless. I would come here and live out my days in peace.”
He put his arm around Maggie and pulled her close. “I would not want to be here with anyone else but you.”
CHAPTER 45
ASYSTOLE
Nick had not slept well; it seemed like his spirit was battling the tide. He’d awakened in the middle of the night full of anxiety and worry, and his only remedy was to pray. He prayed over his parents, over his work, over Maggie, wherever she was, and over himself. Let go, his heart told his mind. “Father, I trust You,” he said over and over until his spirit took hold of it.
He thought about the old couple on the bus and how easily they’d put their faith in Jesus. Their faith was childlike. “Let me trust you like that, Father. Am I doing the right thing by taking this job? It sure doesn’t feel like it.”
A familiar voice rose from Nick’s heart with a kind and loving intonation. It seemed to be slowly but surely replacing the dark tone that had always been quick to remind him of his failures—the one that brought depression and self-loathing.
“Nicklaus, I am with you. I will never leave you. You are exactly where I want you, son.”
“Father, I’m not sure what I’m to do. Have I lost Maggie for good? Is there nothing I can do?”
“There is power in your prayers,” God’s voice rang in his heart.
A verse came to Nick. He wasn’t sure if it was John or Maggie who had taught him the scripture. Maybe it was one of his friends, Buck or Anna: “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.” Nick wasn’t even sure where in the Bible the verse came from, but he repeated it in his head until he drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Robert’s rapid healing had to be the result of the Revivere. Nick was sold on the drug’s potential. After only two doses, the effects were remarkable. Robert’s incision was less angry and it no longer tugged at the stitches. The swelling resolved to the point that his surgeons had removed the nasal tube.
His stabilized jaw would stay wired shut for at least six weeks, unless the Revivere sped that up as well. Even the cric wound appeared to be well on its way to healing, and Robert continued to try to talk through clenched teeth.
“I am certainly thankful for what I’m seeing, Robert. You almost look human again.” Nick smiled and squeezed his arm.
“Not you, Nickloss,” Robert said through the hardware closing his jaw.
“Yeah, I’m afraid I didn’t sleep well last night. But this is not about me. You ready for another dose?”
“Sure,” he shrugged.
“We’ll give you this dose and another after lunch, and if you’re feeling okay, your surgeons said you could blow this pop stand.”
Robert tilted his head and frowned.
Nick laughed. “You can get out of the hospital. They figure since I am staying in Wright’s home, you can go there with me for a night or two, and then we can get you upriver.”
Robert gave a thumbs-up.
“But no antics today. No more heart attacks.” Nick nodded to the nurse to give the medication.
The fluid started dripping from the bag. Zelutex and Nick would be rich. Hundreds of thousands of patients underwent surgery daily around the world, and if Zelutex provided the medication to a fraction of those, the financial potential was more than he could imagine.
Still, he tried to imagine. Like any person buying a lottery ticket when the jackpot was in the hundreds of millions, it was impossible not to dream. But this was a real possibility; he’d seen the numbers. When he’d sat with the witch lady, she showed him an example of the stock options that Wright was set to offer him. At first he thought it was a ridiculous fraction of what it should be—until she ran the numbers. If the IGF-1 medication turned out to be half the success they hoped, his options would be worth millions. No wonder people put their whole lives into these c
ompanies—big risk, big reward.
Plus, if patients responded as well as Robert had, it would be a saving grace for each and every patient. Nick thought of the burn patients he’d cared for throughout the years. If the drug prevented grotesque scarring, he could make dispensing it his life’s mission. On the personal side, if he cashed in his options, he would be completely out of debt and have plenty to live on. He and the medication could do so many good things.
The last of the bag emptied. “I’ll be back later to administer your last dose,” he told Robert. “We’re starting Daisy on the medication as well.”
Robert looked confused.
“Oh,” Nick explained, “the little girl we met upriver. Maggie named her Daisy. She had her surgery yesterday.”
Robert nodded. “She okay?”
“I’m going to see her next, and I’ll let you know.”
Robert waved his hand to the negative and shook his head. “Maggie?”
Nick understood and sighed. “That’s a story for another day. I’m afraid it’s just you and me tonight. We’ll go over to Wright’s on a boat unless you know how to fly a helicopter.”
Robert looked shocked and tilted his hand as if to say, “What?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tonight. I’m afraid I haven’t made the cut.”
* * *
Dr. Fang, his residents, and the medical students were all in Daisy’s room discussing her surgery and care plan. He introduced Nick to the group. Fang was kind to introduce him as a colleague rather than someone who had gone to the dark side of the drug industry.
“This is Dr. Hart, an orthopedic surgeon from the US. He works at a Level One trauma hospital—at the Elvis Presley Medical Center.”
That wasn’t exactly what they called the Memphis Medical Center, and Nick no longer worked there, but he wouldn’t make the correction in front of all the other doctors. It was better than being introduced as a damaged man who no longer practiced medicine and had sold his soul to the devil. Yes, I recognize that voice of darkness.
“Dr. Hart is helping us with a trial of a new medication that increases the body’s healing process by increasing secretion of IGF-1.”
The group of young doctors nodded approvingly.
“Yes, we are giving Daisy her first dose,” Nick said. “What I have seen so far with our other patient, Robert, is that its effectiveness is pretty impressive.”
The doctors parted for Nick to get to Daisy’s bedside. Images of Daisy’s deformed face flashed through his mind, and he looked forward to seeing the surgeon’s work. But Daisy’s face was completely covered—wrapped like a mummy, with only her breathing tube coming through the gauze.
Of course. She’d have to be intubated and placed on a respirator until the swelling around her mouth decreased. Poor thing, it was probably more humane to keep her comfortable in a medically induced coma. Her chest rose and fell with the sounds of the respirator next to the bed.
Dr. Fang stepped alongside of him. “Her surgery went very well, maybe better than expected. We hope her skin grafts will take. We’re encouraged by how well the old man responded to the medication.”
Nick nodded to Dr. Fang and then to the nurse that held the bag of Revivere. As he did, a sense of dread and danger rose in his solar plexus. “Don’t,” the voice of God called to his heart. He pushed the sensation away—the young doctors were watching him.
He nodded again to the nurse to insert the line into Daisy’s IV, and she started the drip. Had he imagined the voice and the slight hesitation of the nurse? Oh well. She’ll be fine.
Maybe the medicine went in too fast, or there was an interaction with another medication, but whatever it was, she was not fine.
It started with a slight increase in her pulse, then a decrease in her blood pressure. Dr. Fang and Nick missed the fluctuations as they casually conversed. The surgeon was asking where he should visit in the States.
Fortunately, a brave medical student with a short white coat stepped forward to interrupt them. “Uh…” was all he got out when Nick and Dr. Fang turned to see Daisy’s blood pressure dropping. Nick hadn’t gotten the words out of his mouth to stop the infusion when Fang yanked the needle out of the tubing and yelled back to no one and everyone, “Get the crash cart! Now!”
Daisy’s pulse slowed until it stopped.
The resident closest to Daisy threw the sheet off her and started immediate chest compressions. Thank God, she was already intubated. An anaphylactic reaction would not only stop her heart but would likely close her throat, making it impossible to insert a breathing tube. Even a cric would be useless.
The crash cart was bedside in less than a minute, and another resident yelled that the paddles were charged.
Fang held his hand over the chest. “Asystole,” he said, looking up at the monitor. “We’ve got to have a rhythm to shock,” he said calmly. “Continue chest compressions and give one amp of epinephrine, please,” he ordered. “Open her fluids to full and slow push ten milligrams of dexamethazone.”
Nick was frozen. He’d killed the child in front of the whole team. Come on, Daisy. Her heart was not even quivering, and her blood was not pumping. From the allergic reaction, her arteries were dumping fluid into her tissues. Hopefully, the epinephrine would spark the heart into activity and constrict her body’s arterial system. The steroid should reverse the allergic reaction. Hopefully. If her heart restarted, they would administer antihistamines. Right now, they were useless.
The two minutes of chest compressions seemed to last an eternity but circulated the epinephrine to her heart and tissues.
“Stop chest compressions,” Fang ordered. Every eye was on the monitor.
Nothing.
“Ready another amp of epinephrine, please.” Fang looked at his watch. Nick knew it could be repeated at three minutes. “Resume compressions,” he ordered, but then recanted and grabbed the young doctor’s arm to stop.
The monitor flickered. It was beautiful, but deadly—ventricular fibrillation. Daisy’s heart was quivering.
“Shock now, please.”
“Clear,” the resident yelled and placed the paddles on the young chest and discharged the voltage.
WHOMP. Daisy’s body spasmed, and there was an audible exhale through her tube as her chest compressed.
Beep…beep…beep—sinus rhythm.
“Yes.” Fang fist pumped the air and the residents high-fived.
Thank you, God. Nick’s knees went weak.
Fang grabbed Nick’s arm. “Well, you win one, you lose one.”
Nick shook his head; he was speechless.
CHAPTER 46
PSYCHOSIS
The inside of the river lodge was even more attractive than the outside. Exotic woods framed the living area in cozy comfort. The kitchen looked like the set of a cooking show with every gadget possible, including an Italian espresso machine. The bathroom really did have a flush toilet and included a marble inlay shower with multiple heads that bathed a person in waterfalls. And best of all, as far as Maggie was concerned, it was highly unlikely that a spider could find its way into the space. At least that’s what she told herself.
This was no cabin in the woods; it was a luxurious get-away. Except for the bathroom, it held an open, spacious design as one large room with the bed in the corner. After they’d arrived and settled in, Maggie showered. Wright made her a decaf cappuccino, and they sat on a plush couch sharing their drinks and thoughts.
Maggie noticed only one problem with the lodge—it had one bed, and she broached the topic head-on. “I haven’t shared a bed with a man since John died,” she said. As much as her head and body desired Wright, sleeping with him wasn’t okay. “I don’t believe in sex outside of marriage.”
Even though he tried to reassure her that they could share the bed together without the sex, Maggie thought it was too slippery a slope. Maybe she trusted him, but she wasn’t sure she trusted herself.
But whether to share the bed turned out to be a
moot question. Their conversation turned to religion and morals and then to business, and they ended the evening in an argument. Wright slept on the couch, and Maggie slept in her clothes on top of the bed’s comforter. In the morning, she woke to an empty cabin. Wright and the boat were gone.
* * *
Wright cast the fishing net into the water. What am I going to have to do to make her love me? It wasn’t fair. He’d done everything he knew to do. Given her things and showered her with kindness and affection, even though those concepts were foreign to him.
He pulled in the net, and it was empty. A statement on my romance. He could have anything in the world that he wanted, and he was offering her the same. Why wasn’t she happy? He’d tripled his own dose of Welltrex that morning, and maybe he’d do the same for her. He knew dopamine could increase a woman’s sexual response.
In spite of advances in scientific research, so much of the brain was still unknown. They knew the limbic system, the structures deep in the brain—the thalamus, hippocampus, amygdala, the corpus callosum, and the cingulate gyrus—controlled emotions like happiness, sadness and love. Would they ever be able to control a specific emotion instead of relying on randomly flooding the area with different neurotransmitters?
Wright wrapped the net around his arms in the Iban way, then cast the net in a perfect circle onto the water. Robert would be proud.
Wright was certainly proud of Zelutex’s research. It had won the Novac Award last year at the Neuroscience Convention. Their paper, titled “Proof That Women’s Brains Differ from Men’s,” was received with laughter, cheers, and accolades. Everyone knew it, but they had proved it. Everyone understood there was no single emotional center in the brain, but different emotions involved different structures. Most importantly, their paper demonstrated that the brains of men and women generate certain emotions with different patterns of activity. Their advanced research imagery allowed them to take snapshots of the brain in action. Emotions are fleeting, and so the snapshots had to capture them quickly. When a woman felt sad, high-speed PET scanners showed increased activity in the limbic system closest to her face and more activity in the left prefrontal cortex than in the right. It might explain why women wore their emotions on their faces more than men.
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