Spitting Image

by Patrick LeClerc

  Unless they knew Armstrong, in which case they might offer me a supervisory position.

  My emotions swung back and forth. I thought about showing up drunk, without pants, of throwing my feet up on the desk and trying to see just how insolent it was possible to be. It’s not like they could have me shot or send me to the Eastern Front. I’d been unemployed before.

  But then I thought I should do my best to try to salvage this job. As good as it might feel to watch Marty’s head spin, that would be fleeting. Keeping the job I liked with partners I liked would feel good for a lot longer.

  I decided to show up in a clean, pressed uniform, but only by promising myself that if they fired me and requested my uniforms back, I would drop my pants and put them on the desk before walking out of the office naked.

  I was buttoning up my shirt when the doorbell rang. Curious, I walked over to the intercom.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Monique.”

  Why? I wondered.

  “What’s the pediatric dose of morphine?” I asked.

  “Push it until they stop screaming,” she replied.

  “OK, it’s really you.” I buzzed her in.

  “So what brings you here?” I asked when she came in.

  “I’m driving you to your meeting.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you are dressed and sober, which is what I was going to check on. I wanted to make sure you didn’t blow it off.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’m going to try to see this through. Not real optimistic, though.”

  She smiled her little sad smile. “You’re probably screwed. But you’re not dead until you’re warm and dead, so let’s work this code like we mean it.”

  “Might as well,” I said.

  It reminded me a little bit of Sergeant Daly’s infamous “Do you want to live forever?” challenge at Belleau Wood. Of course, nobody talks about the corporal behind him who said “I wouldn’t mind tryin’, Sarge.”

  I settled into the passenger seat of Nique’s car.

  “You want to talk about it?” she asked.

  “Not much to talk about,” I said. “I totally did threaten him with violence, in front of God and everybody. I’ll claim temporary insanity, say I was provoked, throw myself on the mercy of the court. Not much else I can do.”

  “Stay polite,” she advised. “Don’t get defensive. Try to just go limp and let Marty’s lecture wash over you. Maybe they’ll let you off with a warning. You’re a good medic. They need good medics.”

  “Let’s hope so,” I said. “Then, when I know if I have a job, I need to figure out if I still have a girlfriend.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a huge mess, and it hit Sarah really hard. She’s asked for some ‘space,’ which is never a good thing.”

  “That is scary.”

  “So I don’t know what to do,” I said. “Or if I can ask her to forgive this or if she can get beyond it.”

  “Well,” Nique said, tapping the wheel. “It’s not a normal situation. You did totally have sex with somebody else. That would normally be an easy one to figure. You’d be wrong, and she’d be righteously outraged. Maybe you could get through that, and maybe not, but everybody would know their role. But you honestly thought it was her. So you really did cheat, but if you didn’t know it was cheating, was it?”

  “I would never cheat deliberately,” I said. “I think she actually believes that.”

  “That just makes it harder. She’s not sure she can feel angry at you. She does, but thinks she shouldn’t. Did you really not know it wasn’t her?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “You couldn’t tell it was different?”

  “It was different. That’s why I thought she was leaving me.”

  “So...OK. This might be overstepping, but help me understand this. If you can make me get it, maybe you can figure out how to make her get it.”

  I sighed. “I thought it was Sarah, but she seemed preoccupied. I assumed she was thinking about work stuff, since the semester was just starting.”

  “Alright. I guess I can see that.”

  “Then she initiated sex. So I figured she couldn’t be that upset, right?”

  “Thinking like a man, but I follow you.”

  That stopped me short. “Why would she want to have sex if she was upset with me?”

  “Oh, Sean, you sweet country mouse.” She just shook her head and gave me that wistful, sad little smile women save for when they know you’re trying to think but not getting there. It was the same smile they have when a baby tries to take a tottering step and falls on his behind.

  “Anyway,” I pressed on, “we made love, but it was...lackluster, I guess.”

  “How so?” She looked at my expression. “I am a medical professional, and your partner of a few years now, and I own a perfectly good set of ovaries. If anybody can help you, I can. But I can’t help if I don’t have all the information.”

  “You understand this is really personal?”

  “I will take it to the grave,” she said. “Cross my heart.” She drew an x with her finger over her chest.

  “Well, normally, there’s a deep connection. We’re usually very...comfortable I guess, but that sounds less exciting than the word I want. Connected. In synch. We read one another’s reactions, and adjust. And she’s always very...present, I suppose is the best way to put it. This time, she seemed like she was just going through the motions.”

  I stopped. Thought for a minute. “Normally, it feels like we melt together.”

  “Aww,” she said. “That’s sweet. But do not let Pete hear you talk like that.”

  “Every action is complementary. It’s like–” I had a flash of insight. “It’s like how you and I work a call. We know what to do without asking. I can tell what you want me to do, and you know what I want you to do. And we just work like a single unit. Now imagine that, but in bed. And more naked.”

  “Oh, now the visuals,” she feigned horror. “But I get it.”

  “This time it was like she was looking for cues. Not like she wasn’t part of it, just that she was trying to be part of it. Not naturally belonging.”

  “So you figured something was wrong. You didn’t say anything? You still got there?’

  “Now you’re thinking like a woman,” I said. “Men can always get there. I felt something was off, but it never occurred to me that she wasn’t her. I mean, how likely is it that your lover is replaced by a double? I assumed she was upset, and it was probably something I’d done.”

  “At least you’re thinking like a smart man,” she said. “It’s always something you’ve done.”

  “So I wondered, but she didn’t say anything. She seemed happy enough, but it left a little nagging doubt. It wasn’t until later I learned the truth.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s so unusual.” She turned to me and smiled. “You two really have sex as good as we work medical calls?”

  “We do,” I said.

  “Then we have to fix this. Can’t let something that good go to waste.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “You know, I think we can get past the sorta cheating thing. I think it’s the whole series of scary people from my past that she’s not real happy about. But that’s not something I have much control over either.”

  “That’s tough to answer,” she replied. “But it’s part of you, and she knew that and stuck with you before. So there’s hope.”

  “Glad to hear you think so,” I said.

  She smiled. “Did you really say you melt together? Isn’t that a cheesy eighties song?”

  “No. That’s a brilliant eighties song.”

  We arrived at the FirstLine Ambulance corporate office. Philips Mills was their biggest contract, but the headquarters was in an anonymous office park in Chelmsford. The bland but scrupulously maintained building contrasted with the dilapidated crew quarters back at the ambulance station.

  I tried not to swagger
too much on my way in. When you wanted a peaceful resolution, best not to walk like Wyatt Earp.

  Marty met us in the lobby. He looked angry, but not triumphant. When Marty knew he had you, he got this smug, greasy smile that cried out for a swift right cross. No smile meant he wasn’t going to enjoy this. That could only be good news.

  “Danet,” he grunted, nodding. “What’s she doing here?”

  “That’s my bodyguard,” I replied.

  He thought about that for a moment, then shrugged.

  “You may as well both come into the conference room.”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked through the door. Nique and I exchanged glances, then followed.

  Kathy from HR was already sitting at the long table, a pile of paperwork in front of her. She wore an expression of distress. Somewhere in the world, a “t” was uncrossed, a time off request was being filled out wrong and an employee was out of uniform.

  As Marty sat beside her, I had a flashback to the night before. Here again, a quick burst of gunfire could make the world so much better. I tried to keep that thought off my face.

  “Did you say anything to Adam Armstrong?” Marty asked Nique. I had expected him to ask me, but I decided to sit back and see where this went.

  “What?” she asked. “No. Why would I talk to him?” Nique’s expression wasn’t innocent so much as it was affronted. She was shocked – shocked I say – at this accusation.

  “Well, it just seems strange.” Kathy shuffled papers for a moment, they leaned together and whispered.

  “Alright,” said Marty. “Did you threaten Adam Armstrong?”

  “I never saw Nique threaten anybody,” I replied.

  “Not her! You!” Marty’s face shaded toward magenta.

  “Did somebody say I threatened him?” I asked.

  The manager grumbled, rubbed his face, stared at the paperwork. “He did. Then he didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Adam Armstrong said you threatened him. He said he confronted you about a dirty truck and you threatened him. Then when we asked him to come to this meeting, he said he didn’t remember it.”

  Huh.

  “So...if I’d threatened him, I would hope he’d remember,” I said. “Must not have been very threatening.”

  “That’s because you’re such a big softie,” said Nique.

  “That’s why I need you to protect me.”

  “Wait,” said Nique, turning to face management. “Are you accusing me of intimidating a witness?”

  Kathy flipped through papers. “It does seem strange that he would deny it after making the complaint.”

  “Look at Armstrong’s record next to mine,” said Nique. “Even next to Sean’s. Sean’s a decent enough employee, but my file is spotless.” She said this with a self-assured conviction that would have made Louis XIV or Napoleon proud.

  “As for Armstrong, he’s not a good medic,” she continued. “He’s lashing out.”

  “I think this kind of baseless accusation is contributing to a hostile work environment,” I said. “But I’m sure Kathy already realizes that.”

  The HR director gave me a look that would pickle an egg.

  “OK,” said Marty. “In light of the lack of any grounds we can establish, this investigation is closed. Get out of here.”

  “So, I should come back to work on...” I ventured.

  “Be back for your usual shift this Sunday,” he said. “Now go.”

  I have always been a fine judge of when to retreat.

  Outside, safely back in the car, she looked at me.

  “What was that all about?”

  “I think Mr Daniels is trying to make me owe him another one.”

  “Why would he do that?” she asked. “Doesn’t he think you owe him enough?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said. “If I lose this job and decide to vanish, that makes it harder for him to collect. So it’s in his best interest to keep me close. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “There are worse things than a guy who keep you from getting fired.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “I just wonder what the bill is going to look like.”

  Chapter 37

  I GOT TO THE HOSPITAL shortly after the call. Daniels met me outside the room.

  “Thank you for coming,” he said.

  “No problem,” I replied. Not that I had much choice. “What can I do?”

  “It’s my wife,” he said. “She had ovarian cancer. They removed her ovaries three years ago. We thought that was the end of it. Now they found more. It’s spread. It’s growing. I need you to stop it.”

  I rubbed my chin.

  “What?” he asked. “You can do it, can’t you?”

  “I can do my best,” I said. “Cancer is tough.”

  “I saw the things you did back at that cabin in the woods.”

  “Trauma is easy,” I replied. “It’s just like carpentry. It’s patching holes and repairing breaks. Disease is more complex. Cancer is her own cells gone wrong and killing her. I can do things to try to shrink the tumors, or slow them. Maybe the treatment her doctors are using, plus what I can do could be enough. I’ll try.”

  “Do whatever you can.” He paused, a look of uncertainty, of fear that he couldn’t control an outcome, and a flash of anger at the unfamiliar powerlessness. Here he was, a man who had wealth and power and supernatural talent, and an important part of his life was slipping away, sliding out of view, with nothing he could do about it.

  It was the most human emotion I’d seen from him.

  At that moment, I did feel a pang of sympathy.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got,” I said.

  We walked into the room. Mrs Daniels lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She managed to look up at us as we entered, somehow found a smile for her husband.

  She was younger than he was, which I had expected. Not that I should be throwing stones. Daniels’ wife was maybe half his age, while I dated women who might be five percent of my age. Her struggle had etched lines in her face, drawn dark circles under her eyes and sunken her cheeks. She was light skinned and blue eyed. I assumed she was a blonde, but her head was shaved. Her body was emaciated. Cachectic. Her smile, however, was soft and warm and genuine.

  “Jacqueline,” he said. “This is Mr Danet. The man I told you about.”

  When he spoke to her, his voice held actual tenderness. I could see real concern in his face. He might be an arrogant prick who played chess with people’s lives, but seeing his general concern for another human being touched me. Because I am basically a big softie. My remaining dislike for him evaporated.

  For now.

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” she said. “Hello, Mr Danet.”

  I took her hand. “Call me Sean.”

  In the brief moment before I released her hand, I could feel the pain, the wasting, the rampaging rogue cells drifting through her, and the scorched earth countermeasures of the medicines that were failing to keep them at bay.

  “He thinks he may be able to help us,” said Daniels.

  “Anything would be welcome,” she replied.

  “I’ll do whatever I can, Mrs Daniels.”

  “Jacqueline,” she said.

  I smiled. “Just try to relax,” I said. “I’m going to have to do a quick exam. I’ll try not to make you too uncomfortable.”

  “Whatever you need to do,” she said.

  I made a show of checking her pulse, palpating the lymph nodes in her neck, behind her jaw, and finally, gently palpating her abdomen, where the contagion had its source. I let some energy seep in to lessen the pain, quiet the agonized messages of the nerves. As good as morphine with no fogginess. Then I took stock of the cancer.

  It was bad. Malignant cells were everywhere. Clustered in the lymph nodes, those were easy to kill. I just coaxed the normal mechanism for self destruction that lives in all cells, but doesn’t really work in cancerous ones.

  That
was fine for those clusters, but there was no way to hunt down every single free floating cancer cell, nor could I do that on a scale great enough to attack the massive tumors in her abdomen.

  I sighed wearily when I felt the sheer size of those. The growth was stealing nourishment from her body, sending tendrils out to choke off healthy organs, sowing the seeds of destruction as tiny malignant cells drifted off.

  OK, I thought, how to best kill that without killing her?

  Starve it.

  I extended my control into the vessels that supplied the tumor. In the same way I would clamp a bleeding artery, I caused the smooth, muscular walls of the arteries to contract, close off, depriving the mass of the rich blood it demanded.

  Some of the arteries, anyway. Too much messing around could screw up her cardiovascular system, lead to a backup of blood and an increase in pressure, straining her overtaxed heart, filling her lungs with fluid. It was a delicate thing, where I’m used to throwing a patch on a hole, lashing ragged ends of torn tissue together.

  I did as much as I dared with the circulation, then I tried to educate her own white blood cells to recognize and hunt down the errant floating cancer cells.

  I heaved a sigh, wiped my brow. “That’s all for today. I can check up on you in a day or two, see what the progression is.”

  “How do you feel, my dear?” asked Daniels.

  “Better,” she said. “Less pain. What could you tell, Sean?”

  “Well, as I assume the doctors told, you, the tumor is large, and has metastasized. It’s beyond simple excision, but we can try to starve it, and build up your immune system to fight the mets.”

  “You’re the expert,” she said. “And I do feel better, whatever you did.”

  “Get some rest,” said Daniels. “I’ll speak to Mr Danet and be right back.”

  He led me into the hallway. “What is your prognosis?”

  “It’s bad,” I said. “That’s just the honest truth. I can certainly ease her pain. And I think I can help her body fight it. Her chances without my help are zero. With my help they’re better. But I don’t want to give you false hope.”