“For money, to materially improve your lives, you were willing to place the lives of others at risk. Whether or not you had a hand in killing them is a matter for another place and another time, but there’s no question in my mind that these patients put their trust in your integrity and professionalism as pharmacists, and yes in your humanity.
“You betrayed that trust in the most egregious way. If this court had the power, I’d sentence you to life in prison for each patient you betrayed. Unfortunately, I have no such power, so I hereby sentence you both to the terms of the plea arrangement previously submitted to the court. Take the defendants into custody.”
Judge Miller rose, and then headed back to his chambers.
“Court adjourned.”
Four policemen escorted the newly convicted prisoners to the atrium at the rear entrance. A police van sat with its door open awaiting the newly convicted. The crowds anticipating this move, pushed their way into the gated yard, and surrounded the van.
“Make a lane for us,” an officer said, as he and another officer dragged Henry and Brian toward the van.
Just inside the gate stood an elderly man wearing a charcoal gray suit and a black felt hat. His hand was in his pocket as he approached the handcuffed prisoners. Nobody noticed as the man pulled the .38 police special. It was the image of that infamous day in Dallas, when Jack Ruby, wearing a dark suit and a felt hat held the pistol in his outstretched arm and shot Lee Harvey Oswald.
Suddenly, the blast of the revolver froze the crowd as Brian Shands grasped at the gushing hole in his chest, exactly at the spot of the ‘X’ on the man’s law enforcement paper target. Brian’s face was fixed in shock—his smirk finally gone.
As Brian sagged to the floor, the police rushed the man as he raised the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger, just as the first policeman reached him and crashed into his arm.
Irving Hodges stared through his tears at the tree branches overhanging the atrium as strong hands turned him to his stomach and applied handcuffs. The small gold chain and locket remained tightly clenched in his fist.
At last, Irv thought, we have a true measure of justice.
Chapter Sixty-Five
I remained at Brier for a week, and then Jack came in one morning with a bright smile. “Time’s up, Arnie. You’re out of here. I want you on anticoagulants for three months so no contact sports and watch yourself shaving.”
A week later, I sat with Lois after dinner.
She held my hand. “How was dinner?”
“I know you worked hard, but...”
“It’ll come back, I know it.”
“I had this overwhelming sense of freedom when Jack sprung me from the hospital. Food’s one thing, but I’ve lost so much more. The complications from my oversensitive nose are nothing compared to losing that talent. In all ways, the world’s lifeless, drab, and boring.”
Lois smiled. “Boring. That’s a hell of thing to say to your wife.”
I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Bad choice of words. It’s not you or the kids or really anything extrinsic to me. I’m at odds with the world, with nature. My perceptions of everything have changed. It’s not only the obvious, the effects on food and drink, or even the loss of a major warning system, it’s an absolute disconnect on a most primitive level with people, loved ones, and the environment.”
Lois held my hand. “Jack says, be patient. It may take a few months.”
I hugged Lois, placing my face into her neck.
“I can’t smell you. I loved the way you smell.”
“I love your aroma too, babe. It’ll come back. Think positive.”
“The medical dictionary calls it anosmia. If you’re born with it, you never can understand that world. For ordinary people losing the sense of smell is a profound disability, but for me, it’s worse. An injury to a hand is painful and difficult for anybody, but it’s cataclysmic for a concert pianist.”
I constantly challenged my disability by opening a container of freshly ground coffee—nothing. Perfume—nothing. Spirits of ammonia, caused an involuntary reflex withdrawal, but I smelled nothing.
I returned to work and remained busy enough to keep myself distracted from obsessing about my nose.
I hugged Debbie Wallace when she returned to my office to resume her care and the ongoing Herceptin treatments. “You look terrific, Debbie, how are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling so much better. Once Dr. Goodman said that the CT scan showed no tumor, everything changed. I don’t know if I’m fooling myself again, but I feel so good. I’m optimistic, and I don’t care why.”
“You’ve earned it…enjoy. We’ll continue the Herceptin about every three weeks. We’ll do regular checkups and periodic blood tests and x-rays, but I somehow know that you’re going to do well.”
“How much longer will I need the Herceptin?”
“Until we know more about this drug and this disease, we’ll continue it indefinitely. I know the infusions are a constant reminder of things you’d like to forget, but it’s a small price to pay.”
Debbie rose and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s happy to see you back again, Arnie. You’ve had more than your fair share of health problems, too.”
“Tell me about it. There’s nothing good about any of it, except for the insight into my patients’ experiences.” I hesitated a moment. “That Horizon Drug fiasco…I feel I should apologize for that whole thing. We trusted them. We knew them as colleagues and friends and they did this…It’s beyond belief.”
“We’re suing in civil court, but I doubt if we’ll see dime one…too many plaintiffs and too little money.”
“Have you heard about Irving Hodges? His wife Beatrice was my patient.”
“I’d like to pin a medal on the man. I’d never vote to convict him. By the letter of the law, he’s guilty, but he’s paid enough. I’d call it justifiable homicide or diminished capacity or whatever it takes to keep him out of jail.”
“If the DA brings this to court, he won’t get a conviction. Let’s hope Kevin Walters puts his plea bargaining skill to better use this time.”
Two weeks from Irving’s scheduled trial date, he complained of stomach and back pain. The jail transferred him to the Highland County Hospital for evaluation. Like most serious diseases, the diagnosis came quickly. Irv had terminal pancreatic cancer.
As in the past, I marveled at the association between depression and fatal diseases in surviving spouses.
I entered the jail ward to visit with Irv. His broad smile and bright gray eyes greeted me as he lay in bed. He groaned with pain as he tried to sit up to shake my hand.
“Thanks for coming, Dr. Roth. Sorry to have to entertain you in these surroundings.”
“It’s wonderful to see you too, Irv. I wish it were under different circumstances.”
“I’ve lived a long time, Doc. Bea’s gone, and I did what had to be done.”
I hadn’t seen Irv so relaxed, so confident, or so at ease with himself and with the world since their last visit before Beatrice first became ill.
“I feel like I need to say something,” I paused. “Something about that whole disgusting matter with Horizon Drugs, Henry Fischer, and Brian Shands.”
“What can I say, Doc? You can’t live as long as I have and not know that evil exists in this world. Thank God, Bea and I had so many rich, rewarding, and satisfying years together. In retrospect, I think I let Brian off too easily. I’d have visited him in jail purely for the enjoyment of watching him suffer, but that arrogant bastard thought that somehow he’d beat the rap. I couldn’t allow myself that possibility. Henry Fischer, for as long as he lives, and I’m hoping it will be a long time, will pay, at least in part, for what he did.”
“I can’t get over the feeling that somehow we should have known what they were doing. If we’d discovered it earlier, we could have spared lives and saved so many from the misery of their diseases and its treatments.”
“You couldn’t have known,
Doc. Nobody could have known. We can’t live in this world without placing trust in people and institutions. We trust that the pilot won’t be drunk in the cockpit, that the policeman or the fireman won’t leave town when we need them, that our clergymen won’t break their faith with us, and that our health care providers want us to get well, whatever it takes.”
As he paused, his eyes filled with tears. “That’s the way Beatrice and I felt about you, Arnie. Our faith had never been better placed.”
I tried to respond, but couldn’t speak. Finally, I grasped Arthur’s hand. “Doctors have many patients. We’re indifferent to some, have a real antipathy to a few, and have real love and affection for the special ones. I’ll never forget you and Beatrice and the gift you gave to me by allowing me to be your physician.”
Thank God it was Friday, I thought, after one of our busiest weeks in the office. We were done, and I was off call for the weekend. After we finished for the day, Beverley sat before my desk with her legs up on the other chair.
“We love having you back, Arnie.”
“It’s great to be back, Bev.”
“You’re more like your old self, and yet you’re not. Are you okay?”
“I’m not where I want to be, but I’m getting there. How’s Tino?”
“He’s doing well. His depositions provided the evidence the DA needed for the case against Horizon Drugs, and they cleared him of any wrongdoing. He’s going to UC Berkeley next semester. I couldn’t be more proud of him.”
“You were right about Tino, Bev. All he needed was a chance.”
“Like the one you gave me, Arnie. I’ll never forget it. I may not have been a wetback, but I was surely wet behind the ears when you gave me this job.”
“Besides marrying Lois, hiring you is the smartest thing I ever did, and next to Lois, our pairing is the longest and most successful relationship I’ve ever had with a woman.”
“Thanks, Arnie, but that’s only because we’re not married. If we were, I would have killed you long ago.” She hesitated a moment, and then, like a question you ask yourself, she said, “What is this all about? What does it mean?”
“You’re getting philosophical in your old age, Bev. To paraphrase Van Gogh, we are adventurers not by choice, but by fate. Life keeps lying to us, giving us the illusion of control, laughing as it foils our careful planning. In the end, mastering our fate may be more important than controlling it.”
Epilogue
Two months later, my nose began its comeback. Like throwing the light switch on a fifteen-watt bulb, I went to bed in the shadows and awaken in dawn’s dim light. The intense red LEDs showed 6:23 a.m. As Lois’s head rested on my shoulder in semiconsciousness, I awaited the buzzing of our alarm. Suddenly, they were here—the first few molecules of coffee.
I sat up in bed, rudely casting Lois’ head off my shoulder. “Thanks a lot buddy,” she said. “I’ll remember that.”
“Lois,” I said, “Coffee…I smell coffee.”
The aroma I recognized was like the taste of a coffee candy, coffee flavor for sure, but nothing like full-bodied Cappuccino or the aroma of freshly ground beans.
Every evening, Lois set the automatic coffee maker to go on minutes before we were due to rise. Before my loss of smell, Lois said that it was the coffee aroma that helped drag her out of bed each morning. Since I could smell nothing, she’d skipped her usual comments about the coffee aroma each morning, although, in the corner of my eye, I had caught her several times, as she moved her nose surreptitiously through an arc of the morning’s ambiance.
“Incredible,” she said. “I’m so happy for you.”
Each morning my nose was better than the day before.
“I’m like a kid in the candy shop,” I said to Lois. “Viscerally, it’s like regaining lost sight or hearing.”
“You’re not going to drive us or you crazy again, are you?”
“Only, good crazy.”
Gradually, I approached the levels of sensitivity that I had before my breakdown.
“My nose is back in full form, Lois. I’m worried about being overwhelmed again, but somehow I’ve learned to compartmentalize it to protect my sanity—the best of all worlds, I hope.”
“I can’t wait to tell Jack and Beth.”
“Except for them, let’s keep this to ourselves, Lois. There’s too much downside to people knowing about my talent. We’ve seen it before in their reactions. I won’t go public, but if they promise me anonymity, I’ll spend time with the nose people in Utah.”
Subtly, I employed my powerful proboscis in caring for patients. I took special care to attribute my diagnostic successes to something other than my olfactory apparatus. Often this was a stretch. At these times, Jack looked at me with a knowing smile, but said nothing. I didn’t know how long I could keep up the charade.
I volunteered twice a month at the local free clinic. Treating sexually transmitted diseases, body lice, and prescribing contraceptives wasn’t all that interesting, but it was a good cause, they needed physicians, and I felt obliged to contribute.
I finished with my thirteenth patient of the evening. I needed a box of gloves for the treatment room, so I waited outside the combined examining and storeroom. A thin teenage girl with multiple tattoos and piercing left the room with her mother. I recognized them immediately, Ellen Kelley and her daughter Brenda, my patients. The older woman carried a sample packet of birth control pills and a prescription.
“Ellen, Brenda,” I said, “how are you guys doing? It surprises me to see you here.”
Ellen reddened as she approached me saying, “I…we were embarrassed…”
“Please, Ellen, don’t be. I’ve seen and heard it all. I prescribe contraception all the time and in circumstances like this, it’s better for all of us if I know what’s going on.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at her feet.
“Don’t be. I’m here to help, not to judge. Come see me when you’re comfortable or when you need a refill.”
“I will,” she said taking Brenda’s hand as they cued up at the end of the long line in front of the pharmacy window.
When I entered the examining room that Ellen had just left, among the multitude of aromas, people, perfumes, soaps, disinfectants, deodorants, etc., one hit me immediately. It was the now unmistakable tangy, musty slightly repellent aroma of breast cancer.
I looked down the hallway at Ellen and Brenda still lined up at the pharmacy, and I knew.
I’m not getting into this again, I thought. Nobody knows. I’d like to keep it that way—yet…
I grabbed a Post-It from the office desk and printed the note.
I walked into the queue before the pharmacy window, jostling those in line. “Excuse me, please.” When I reached the window, I said, “Is Dr. Cass inside?”
“No,” the pharmacy tech replied. “He just left.”
As I returned through the line, I managed to stick the Post-It onto the side of Ellen’s purse.
I watched at a distance from my office doorway. When they arrived at the window, Ellen placed her bag on the counter and noticed the yellow Post-It. She read it impassively at first, and then her eyes widened. She scanned the room, drew her hand to her face, and then folded the note into her handbag. I watched in fear that what I had done wasn’t enough. I stepped back into the office. I couldn’t let this go. Suddenly, there was a soft tap on the door.
“Come in.”
Ellen entered and walked back toward me. “Can I see you in the office tomorrow, Dr. Roth? I need you to examine my breast. I think something’s wrong.”
How long could I continue this way? I didn’t know. Since fate gave me this fantastic talent with so much potential to help my patients, putting it aside wasn’t an option, but neither was my exposure in the tabloids or in the Guinness Book of World Records. I sensed that the unseen molecules of my world would write my future, a script that the critics would review with complimentary olfactory adjectives.
“Arni
e,” Lois said, “can you take Archie to the office with you today? The pest control people are coming in to spray the house.”
“Sure, no problem. He’ll be my company during the commute.”
The Golden Retriever wagged his tail, sniffed at the air vents and when I opened the window, he plunged his nose into the unseen paradise of aromas. The office staff greeted him like a long lost relative. Afterward, I placed him in the small lounge with a bowl of water and a few of his favorite toys.
At 11:30, I approached the examining room nearest the lounge. Archie stood and wagged his tail for me. “A few minutes boy, then we’ll go for a walk.”
When I opened the examining room door, the rancid stench hit me. I shook my head, and then turned to Archie. “Why don’t you see this patient, boy?”
The Sixth Sense (Brier Hospital Series Book 3) Page 28