Life First: (Dystopian series, book 1)

by RJ Crayton

  “And she was Kelsey Reed’s mother?”

  “Yes,” he says, more quickly this time.

  “Maya Reed died under your care?”

  There is a dramatic intake of breath from the jury. Bickers stands and objects, saying it is irrelevant. We all turn to look at him.

  Uncle Albert does not. He looks at the judge. “Your honor, this goes to the defendant’s medical history. If I could get a couple more questions, the relevance will become apparent.”

  “Go ahead, Albert,” the judge says, revealing a familiarity that I didn’t realize they had. Though, it makes sense that Albert would know plenty of other judges.

  Albert acknowledges the judge’s remark, but remains coolly leaning on his wall. “So, Dr. Grant, did Maya Reed die under your care?”

  The doctor shifts in his seat slightly, and taps his fingers on his thigh. “Technically, she was under Dr. Johan Rice’s care, as he signed the death certificate, but I was the primary caregiver during much of her last day.”

  “I see,” Albert says, somehow shoving condemnation in those two words. “And the death certificate said she died of heart failure due to a previously undiagnosed heart condition. Did you agree with Dr. Rice’s finding?”

  “No,” he answers quickly.

  “What was your conclusion?”

  “I believe she had an extremely rare medical condition called pre-eclampsia, which led to a seizure, then heart failure.”

  “And as a physician whose life’s work is to study pregnancy and maladies that impact it, who researches all over the world, even getting special dispensation to travel to the heathen country of Peoria, would you say that rare pregnancy-related conditions tend to be hereditary?”

  He pauses a moment to think. “Yes.”

  “So, if you correctly assessed Maya Reed’s condition before she died, isn’t it possible that her daughter could have inherited a gene disposing her to rare pregnancy-related problems?”

  Dr. Grant shifts again in his seat, seeming to wonder what he should answer. “It’s possible,” he admits hesitantly.

  “Also,” Albert says casually. “Are you an expert on pregnancy psychosis?”

  “No,” he says, quickly adding, “However, I have seen it firsthand in patients.”

  Albert leaves his perch on the wall and moves steadily closer to Dr. Grant in his chair. “When do you typically start looking for pregnancy psychosis in your patients?”

  He takes a moment to consider the question. “I wouldn’t say I specifically go looking for it, but around the eighth month, if the patient exhibits symptoms, I might start to suspect psychosis.”

  “Have you ever attempted to diagnose it in a woman with Kelsey’s gestational state, less than two months into the pregnancy?”

  “No.”

  “And in the patients who you eventually diagnosed as suffering from pregnancy psychosis, did they appear any different to you at this point in their child’s gestation, than Ms. Reed appeared in the recording?”

  “I can’t say they did.”

  “So, a woman could have been suffering from pregnancy psychosis the entire pregnancy, and you wouldn’t have noticed or looked for symptoms until the eighth month?”

  “I would like to think I would have noticed...”

  Albert cuts him off, smiling the entire time. “Doctor, I’d like a yes or no answer, please. Would you have looked for symptoms of pregnancy psychosis in a woman who was fewer than six weeks pregnant?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what those symptoms would look like at this gestational age?”

  “No.”

  “So, are you really qualified to say Ms. Reed is not suffering from pregnancy psychosis since you’ve never looked for it in patients at this stage of pregnancy?”

  Bickers objects.

  “Never mind, your honor,” Albert says, looking up at the judge. “I’ll strike the last question.”

  Albert then turns back to the doctor, with an apologetic expression. “Just one more thing, Dr. Grant. Did your lab receive a special $8 million allocation in a funding bill that passed the state legislature last night, and was signed by the governor this morning?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Grant says, as Bickers objects, saying it is irrelevant.

  “Goes to bias, your honor,” Albert says.

  The judge tells him to proceed, which Albert does happily. “Did the governor promise you this funding if you would testify against his political rival’s daughter today.”

  “NO!” Dr. Grant says with enough indignation to make it look like he has clearly been part of a payoff.

  “I’m done, your honor,” Albert says, then returns to my side.

  And for the first time, I realize just how glad I am Albert is sitting next to me, and not across the aisle.

  * * *

  The prosecution spends the rest of the day adding to its case. They call witnesses who explain that my LMS data was changed and suggest I some how hacked in and did it myself. Though, even those witnesses admitted it would take someone of extreme knowhow — knowhow I likely did not have — to accomplish such a feat. I am glad the people we paid off have not been caught. That the prosecution thinks I am a hacking whiz.

  The prosecutor also mentions there were several pro-choice rallies on the campus while I attended. Albert points out there are no photos of me at rallies or any pro-choice literature found among my belongings.

  Then the prosecution rests. Just like that. Albert was right, I realize. The short prep time had hurt them more than it had hurt us. With very little time, there was very little information they could offer the jury. The psychiatric testimony was strong, but everything else was weak. Giving them short prep time meant they didn’t have a massive case to put on. They had what they had. No time to get more. Going now, at least, keeps us even.

  Our turn is next. The first witness Uncle Albert plans to call is Susan. Albert thinks Susan will be pivotal to the jury understanding how my pregnancy psychosis developed.

  Chapter 25: Susan’s Story

  This is the testimony I have most dreaded. It seems unfair to make Susan tell her story to these people; it is none of their business. Testifying means she must relive the mistakes the system made. I suppose she lives it every day, so perhaps my concern for her is unwarranted. Still, I feel guilty that my hearing will dredge up the senseless mistakes yet again. That it will remind her it all could have been prevented; remind her that at one point in time she was just like the rest of us: vibrant, walking, running, kicking, swimming, moving her legs. Instead, she will be tormented with this again today, reliving it one time more than necessary. Sometimes in life it’s easier to just move on with the results we have, not to keep going over what led us there.

  Steeling myself for Susan’s appearance, I tune out what’s going on. Albert says something, then I notice all eyes have converged on the door that leads into the courtroom. I turn to watch, too. The guard is holding the door open as Susan wheels herself in, past the rows of spectators, past my father, past the table where I sit with Albert and the one opposite mine where Bickers sits. She continues toward the chair where the other witnesses sat, where she can be seen by the jury and the opposing side. Once she turns her chair in the proper direction, she smiles at me. Instinctively, I smile back.

  The deputy walks over to swear Susan in, presuming she will remain in her wheelchair, hovering in front of the elevated seat where everyone else had testified. But, he doesn’t know Susan. “A little help,” she says to him, as she begins hoisting herself out of her wheelchair and into the testimony seat. The deputy seems astonished for just a moment, then grabs hold of her arm and helps heft her into the elevated witness chair. Susan catches her breath; the maneuver, even with the help of the deputy, has left her winded.

  We all watch, mesmerized by Susan’s determination to do things the same as everyone else. Mesmerized by her calm, by her projection that this is the norm, when it is not. The deputy watches beyond when Susan catches her
breath and seems ready to be sworn in. The judge clears his throat, jolting the deputy back from his trance-like observance, and he swears Susan in.

  When the deputy returns to his post, Uncle Albert approaches Susan and gives a respectful nod. “Ms. Harper, how long have you known Kelsey Reed?”

  “Since we were five. So 18 years,” she says in a firm voice that carries across the room clearly. She wants the jury to hear her answers, to make no mistake about what she is saying. Susan obviously has none of the ambivalence about her testifying that I do.

  “And how would you describe your relationship?”

  “We’re best friends.”

  Uncle Albert nods, then his expression turns serious, almost grim. “Ms. Harper, I’m going to cut to the chase here, and I know this may be difficult for you, but I’m going to ask a few frank questions about your medical condition. Is that alright?”

  She nods. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Have you always been in a wheelchair?”

  Emotionless, she says, “No.”

  “How did you come to be in a wheelchair?

  Susan takes a fortifying breath before answering. “It is the result of a bone marrow transplant operation, after I was marked.” Some members of the jury raise an eyebrow, but no one gasps. I keep watch on Susan’s face, which seems dispassionate, unemotional. I wonder if she’s practiced to keep herself from becoming emotional, or if she has gotten there on her own, after being wheelchair-bound for a year now.

  “Please explain, Ms. Harper,” Uncle Albert says, leaving things open-ended.

  “About a year ago, I received notice that I had been marked. I was the best match for a man in need of bone marrow, so I was scheduled for surgery. I had the procedure two weeks later. Everything went normally. I seemed to be recovering fine, and was released.”

  “You were fine, when you left the hospital?” Albert prods.

  Susan swallows, and answers, this time showing the first tremor in her voice. “I seemed fine,” she corrects. “Sometimes, there are complications from the surgery. The one doctors particularly worry about is infection. At the first sign of infection, you should see a doctor because the procedure is done so close to the spinal cord, the cord can become infected. I was out of the hospital for more than a week, when I started running a fever. I went in immediately. My regular doctor was away due to a family emergency. The doctor on call was new. He didn’t take the necessary blood tests. Instead, he imaged the site of the surgery and concluded all was well. The new doctor thought I’d picked up a viral infection from my cousin’s six-year-old daughter, who I’d visited and now had the flu. I was given some antiviral medication and sent home.

  “After following the doctor’s instructions, and taking my medication meticulously, I still felt like crap. Finally, Kelsey called an ambulance and had me taken in. By then, I could barely move. The infection was bacterial, not viral. It was from the surgery, which was fairly near the spinal column. The way the infection spread caused permanent damage. I don’t remember much of it. The infection was so severe they had to induce a coma during my treatment. When I woke up, I couldn’t feel my legs.”

  The jury is watching closely. I can see sympathy in the eyes of every person on that panel. What happened to Susan was so wrong. The room is deathly silent as Uncle Albert gives Susan a sympathetic look, but says nothing, letting the weight of her words really sink in with all those hearing it for the first time.

  “And was Ms. Reed a good friend to you during this time?” Albert finally asks in the firm, yet friendly, tone needed for this situation.

  “Of course,” Susan scoffs, as if suggesting otherwise is blasphemy. “Kelsey and I were roommates at the time, and she was wonderful. She stuck with me through one of the toughest times in my life. Going from able-bodied to being in a wheelchair and having health problems resulting from the infection was difficult. A lot of people feel guilty about still being able-bodied, or feel awkward about being around you when you’re so different from how you had been. And not that Kelsey didn’t have some initial pangs of that. But, she got over it, quickly. And she’s remained my friend. My best friend.”

  Uncle Albert gives a reverent nod, then presses on. “And did you ever tell Ms. Reed that you blamed the transplant for your problems?”

  “Yes, I did. I told her I wished I’d not been marked, and that if I had it to do over, I’d refuse,” she says bitterly. I try to keep my face neutral, try to hide my surprise at her blatant lie. Susan never said anything like that to me. She never told me she felt bitter. She’d always tried to move forward, deal with the hand she’d been dealt. I always thought she felt at least some bitterness beneath the bravado, but she never expressed it. I think saying it aloud to me would have crushed her spirit. Yet, now she wants to help me by saying she filled me with bitterness toward the prospect of donation. She didn’t need to fill me with bitterness. I gleaned that on my own.

  I look down for a moment, trying to make sure my face is composed, then back up at Susan, as she continues to lie.

  “You can call it a fluke, with statistical odds so entirely fantastical that you’d be more likely to be struck by an asteroid, but the truth is that infection was a complication from surgery. The misdiagnosis of my fever, of my type of infection was, well, just a poor job by the doctor. But, I shouldn’t have been in the position to be misdiagnosed like that. I was only compromised because I had been marked. My health was perfect before then. I had a full evaluation before surgery. There was nothing wrong with me. Nothing. The only reason I’m in a wheelchair is because of the surgery.”

  Albert’s face oozes empathy as he nods affirmation to Susan. “So, when Ms. Reed told you she had been marked, how was she?”

  “Scared. Scared that something crazy and statistically unlikely could happen to her, too. And I don’t blame her. I don’t think she should have to jeopardize her health, if she doesn’t want to.”

  Uncle Albert doesn’t nod in agreement this time. In fact, he doesn’t move. He asks simply. “What did you suggest Ms. Reed do?”

  Susan swallows, looks briefly at the jury, then casts down her gaze. “I lied to her. I told her I thought she’d be fine and that she should go through with it, that I was an aberration, and she shouldn’t use me to evaluate her situation.”

  “And what did Ms. Reed do with your advice?”

  Bickers objects, claiming hearsay.

  “Your honor,” says Albert. “I am not asking Ms. Harper what Ms. Reed said. I am asking about Ms. Reed’s actions. Those are witnessed, and go to my client’s state of mind.”

  The judge allows Susan to answer.

  “Kelsey ate very little, slept very little and ignored what I said. She was incredibly agitated about the upcoming surgery. And when I finally confronted her about it, she moved out of our apartment.”

  “She packed all her things and left?” Albert asks, as if this were the craziest thing a person could do. Perhaps if I’d done that, it would be an indication of crazy. But, I hadn’t left like that. I’d packed a few clothes and went home to my father’s. It was part of my escape plan. I told my father I felt more comfortable staying with him. That I thought it was bothering Susan for me to be there in anticipation of the surgery. That I was bringing back awful memories for her, and that it would be best to spend the last week at his house. For his part, my father was quite happy to have me return home. As it was campaign season, he didn’t cancel any of his scheduled meetings to spend time with me. I was home alone with Haleema. And she was rarely there, for she often attended my father’s campaign functions. It was a perfect place for Luke and me to get things ready.

  Susan gives a sigh of weariness and shakes her head lamentably. “I wanted her to be with me, where I could keep an eye on her. She said she wanted to be with her father, at home. But, I think she just wanted to be away from people, away from people who would know something was wrong. Her father is a wonderful man, but he’s been so busy campaigning, there’s no way he could have not
iced that Kelsey wasn’t alright. She packed up and left on one-day’s notice and went to be in a house where no one else would be around. Where no one would see that she had become unhinged.”

  “Objection,” Bickers shouts, standing. “Ms. Harper is not a psychiatrist and has no way to know why Ms. Reed chose to live with her father in the days before her surgery.”

  The objection is sustained, and part of Susan’s statement stricken from the record. But, the jury has already heard it. There will be no way to strike it from their memories.

  Uncle Albert asks a couple more questions of Susan, but nothing of note. When Bickers stands up, his face seems sympathetic, and he approaches Susan gingerly. “Is it possible that you misinterpreted Ms. Reed’s odd behavior and desire to return home as someone who was worried? Isn’t it possible it was the behavior of someone cold and callous who wanted to be alone to plot her escape?”

  To which Albert objects, even as Susan protests that she had not misread me.

  Chapter 26: Pregnancy Psychosis

  Susan’s testimony leaves the jury shaken. Some are shocked by her appearance, others by what she said. On her way out of the room, she stops her wheelchair in front of me, then grabs my hand. I flash her my widest grin, then hug her. Testifying must have been hard for her, and I am grateful for her support.

  Uncle Albert wastes no time after Susan. The psychiatrist testifies immediately.

  Dr. Melinda Winters’s first task in the chair is to explain pregnancy psychosis, which she does succinctly: “When a pregnant woman enters into an alternate world that she believes is real. It is characterized by strange and delusional thinking, often entailing thoughts of harming her baby.”

  Uncle Albert asks questions emphasizing that the delusions don’t have to deal with the baby, and that there is no way to know when pregnancy psychosis sets in. He also ties in Susan, asking if my knowledge of her problems could embed itself into my psychosis.

  “Yes,” Dr. Winters says. “The psychosis is often based in some nugget of reality. It is very likely that Ms. Reed’s psychosis was rooted in her friend’s ordeal. That she somehow internalized this struggle as her own.”