by R. J. Blain
Interesting. “Prior patient authorization?”
My future mother-in-law raised her hand. “That’s my fault. After we had some fun getting your medical file after the shooting, we signed prior authorization forms allowing any doctor with just cause to pull certain parts of your record out. You’ll want to do the same, but for obvious reasons, we couldn’t handle your file.”
Something about Mrs. Hampton’s tone implied she’d targeted some of the commentary in Dr. Castor’s direction.
I nodded and resumed stuffing as much of the spicy rice into my stomach as possible.
“I swear, some days, I raised a little lady, but others? I bred a starved animal shaped like a human,” my mother complained. “I’m expecting your kidnapper to send me a bill for having to feed you for that long. You probably ate them out of house and home. Maybe I should send a condolence card.”
I had no idea what I’d done to stir my mother’s ire, and I stared at her with wide eyes while I chewed, as she’d drag me over coals if I tried to talk while eating.
“I’m sure she wasn’t that bad,” Dr. Castor soothed. “She’s a lovely young woman with a healthy appetite and free rein to eat as much good food as she’d like. There’s plenty more rice and chicken where that came from, Janette, so don’t worry about a thing. That’s something I love about where I currently live in Europe when I’m not here. Feeding everyone is serious business, although we’re not quite on the same scale as some of my Italian friends. They’re delightful when they invite guests or family over.”
Mrs. Hampton smiled. “Dr. Castor, would you say the cost of the procedures on Janette’s foot would have cost around thirty million dollars?”
The woman snorted. “As billed by the hospitals and insurance companies? Even more expensive than that. It would have classified as a cosmetic procedure, which doubles the bill. But had it been classified as a mandatory operation to restore functionality, thirty million is not far off target.”
“Cosmetic?” my mother asked, her tone rather icy.
“Before the procedure, she could walk. At that stage, hospitals would begin forcing payments as cosmetic improvements rather than functional ones under some of the idiotic insurance rules they’ve passed. It wasn’t going to kill her, so she would have to pay for it if she wanted it.”
Damn. I peeked under the table to regard my shoes with interest. After swallowing, I said, “I really do have the most expensive foot ever. That’s kind of cool.” Amused over the changing of my fortunes, I went for another piece of the chicken, which lacked the rice’s heat but packed a general punch in the flavor and spice department.
Mrs. Hampton smiled, put her purse on her lap, and pulled out a checkbook. “So, should I cut that check out to you, then, Dr. Castor?”
I choked, and only a quick grab of a nearby napkin prevented someone from wearing my lunch. After making certain I wouldn’t inhale my chicken, I gulped it down and reached for my water, wheezing at my close brush with spicy death. Bradley likewise coughed, although he managed to swallow without risk of inhaling his food or spraying someone with his meal.
The doctor smiled and waved her hand. “What makes you think I am responsible?”
Everyone except me pointed at the patio door visible through an entertainment room, which led through the rose garden to the path at the beach. Then, with a smug smile, Mr. Hampton said, “It helps I own the security company that monitors your home. I personally reviewed the exterior cameras on the day Janette reached the library and got confirmation of the situation. I have to say, whomever your illusionist is? They’re exceptionally talented. Had they not missed the one security camera, we would have been left with questionable suspicions and no proof. Of course, that footage has suffered a mysterious accident so it won’t come back to bother me later, along with some other clips you might not appreciate showing up. I overwrote the feed with glitched footage, mimicking a camera issue. Unfortunately, we’ll have to do work on that camera to make certain it doesn’t suffer another glitch.”
“Of course, Mr. Hampton. It wouldn’t do if my security camera were to have random glitches. That’s perfectly reasonable.”
Wow. “I don’t know how you all are managing to keep your tones so damned neutral, but it’s as impressive as it is horrifying, so I kindly ask one of you begin showing some form of emotion before I become even more uncomfortable with the way this conversation is turning out,” I said, and then I leaned to Bradley and false-whispered, “Please don’t tell me your parents can actually afford thirty million dollars.”
“My mother does not pull out her checkbook without meaning it, so she has already transferred the amount for the check into the appropriate account.”
“Mom? Dad? I think we might need to leave the room so we don’t suffer from a heart attack. I think I need some time with my cat.” Ajani, who’d been welcomed into the doctor’s home with open arms, had started shedding on one of the couches, settling in for a hard-earned nap.
“Stay seated,” my mother ordered.
I stayed seated, and I shot Beatrice a desperate look.
My best friend and enemy shrugged. “Sorry, Janette. When Mrs. Millers issues an edict, it is law.”
“Tanya, Mom, or your mother if you’re talking to Janette,” my mother ordered. “Mrs. Millers makes me sound old and whipped.”
My dad coughed but opted against making any comments, which prevented earning my mother’s wrath.
“Your mother is even more terrifying than you are,” Beatrice muttered.
“Has she made you go pick a switch yet?” I asked, unable to keep the amusement out of my tone.
“She cleared her throat at me once, and I decided it was not a good idea to pursue the issue further than that. I do not need a round with a switch to know this.”
“While Beatrice can be rough, she’s smart, and nobody messes with your mom,” Meridian said, and my fellow librarian winced. “She got into an argument with our boss, and she took him out like she was a hungry lion and he was an unattended steak.”
“You can’t tell me something like this without elaborating.”
“He made the mistake of stating he couldn’t imagine a reason why anyone would even dream of spending that much money helping a stranger. That was two days after you contacted Bradley.”
Poor Mr. Tawnlen. “I’m sorry you were abandoned to deal with that train wreck, Meridian. Did they make you do that evil math stuff you like so much?”
“I may have been involved with the general calculations on how much a hospital would charge to do the work on your foot. I’m currently disgusted with the state of our society. It didn’t take us long to realize the healthcare system is meant to weed out the unwanted people from our society. How better to gatekeep than through money?”
“Yes, that is a known problem in the medical industry,” Dr. Castor agreed. “And that’s part of why I’m rather pleased you all came here today. I am hoping you can do what I can’t.”
“Which is what?” Mrs. Hampton demanded, tapping her checkbook against the table. “Are you sure I can’t cut you a check? Because you deserve to be paid, even though I might make you deal with my son’s therapy after that damned stunt.”
“It was the only way I could guarantee she would receive the care she did in a safe fashion. The methods we used are not authorized outside of the military, and with her exemption as unsuitable for the military, she would have been barred from critical treatments. I am of the opinion this was meant to eliminate her. Most doctors capable of doing the work are in the military, and they won’t work on people with Janette’s exemption. Given time, the infection would have likely killed her, even with her specific abilities. Frankly, her abilities are the only reason she survived as long as she did.” Dr. Castor sighed and stood. “Wait here a moment. I will bring some files and some coffee. Janette, I have a spiced hot cocoa I think you would enjoy if you would prefer that over coffee.”
I was willing to bet my foot she’d given it to
me in the past, with the memory of it erased so she could continue her ploy—or protect me from the memories of a long and painful recovery. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
With a smile, she left the room.
“That just threw a wrench in my plans to force her to accept a check,” Mrs. Hampton groused, stuffing her checkbook back into her purse.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“We had discovered the military methods, but I had been unaware those doctors were barred from working on people who didn’t qualify for medical service. It changes a lot.”
“You mean they had to kidnap her to treat her?” Bradley asked.
“Yes, that’s what I think.” Mrs. Hampton eyed her purse like she wanted to fling it across the room, but she set it on the floor instead. “But this makes me concerned. Why would the government want Janette to die?”
We sat in silence, and no matter how I thought about the question, I lacked a viable answer. Why would anyone want me dead?
I didn’t understand it, just as I didn’t understand why a stranger like Dr. Castor would want me to live.
Life never failed to confuse me.
Dr. Castor returned carrying a thick folder tucked under her arm, and she moved my plate away a safe instance before setting the paperwork in front of me. “Since it’s your foot and your body, you get to review and decide what you share with everyone else. It includes more private information, including fertility, general health, metabolic age, and so on.”
Ah. I opened the folder, raising both brows at the lengthy table of contents explaining what I’d find where in the folder. According to the list of documentation, Dr. Castor had examined every last hair on my body in her effort to restore me to good health. “This goes beyond a standard physical, I’m guessing.”
“Just a bit. My plan is to suggest Dr. Mansfield do a thorough exploration of the work and update your medical file while this copy is destroyed. If it’s burned to ash, it can’t come back to haunt us later.”
I hated that the doctor implied it could come back to haunt me later. I began with the overview of my general health. As warned, it included my general fertility information. The flag for predisposed to fraternal twins and triplets caught my attention, and after a moment of consideration, I handed the sheet to Bradley and pointed at the reference. “You should totally go burn that sheet.”
Dr. Castor chuckled. “That was one of the more startling findings, yes. Make certain you read the following paragraph carefully.”
Bradley handed me the sheet back, and I checked the following paragraph, which also flagged me as highly fertile, with an extended conception window due to my body’s general inclination to release more than one egg, doing so across a week-long window.
The finding explained a lot regarding my fluctuating periods. although I’d never varied more than a week or two longer than the average twenty-eight days. “That’s good to know.”
“It certainly is,” Dr. Castor agreed.
I checked over the rest of the page, which declared I was generally healthy, although my status as an introvert had been brought into question, with a flag notating me as a closet extrovert with select people. I pointed at that part when I gave the sheet back to Bradley.
“Yes, this is not at all surprising to me.”
Go figure. I checked the next page, and when I didn’t find anything surprising or new, I handed it over for Bradley to review. While we went over the sheets, Dr. Castor stepped into the neighboring room and lit the fireplace.
“The first page goes away, Bradley,” I stated while sifting through the medical file for anything else indicating I’d potentially cause a great deal of trouble down the road should we decide to have children. I found three more sheets mentioning my predisposition, which joined the first page. “Those, too.”
Everything else seemed fine to share, so after I reviewed just how badly my foot had been mangled, my less-than-stellar reactions to the physical therapy portion of the operation, a list of reactions to certain drugs destined to drive everyone around me insane, and a very blunt description of my failing mental health without my select people around, I handed the folder to Mr. Hampton. “You get it first so you can join me in patient-based anxiety.”
“Unlike you, I’m capable of being a reasonable adult when it’s truly necessary,” Mr. Hampton informed me. “I think I’ll be fine.”
I bowed my head. “I just can’t win, can I?”
“I’m confident in your current health, so I have nothing to be anxious over, but I am amused by your attempt to spread the misery around.” He flipped through the sheets, taking his time with the section dedicated to the methodology of the procedure, which included a great deal of pain and suffering on my part. “This is less than ideal, and I have a much healthier respect for your memory having been wiped of this. Was that to mitigate the trauma, Dr. Castor?”
“Yes. If we’d left her as is, the trauma after the operation would have been emotionally crippling and scarring. We replaced what we couldn’t erase with perceptions of boredom and books, which is far superior to the reality of the situation.”
“Did my reality of the past few months include spicy food?” I asked.
The woman laughed and took her seat at the table. “Absolutely. Honestly, I fed you whatever you’d accept, and it became progressively harder to get you to eat between the physical therapy and your depression. The depression is why I ultimately sent you on home so it could naturally resolve itself. You’re highly driven by friends and family, and while you tried to put on a brave face, it was not working. We gambled, hoping your depression would resolve itself upon reuniting with your fiancé and your family. It seems to have worked.”
“She hasn’t shown any general signs or symptoms of depression,” Bradley said. “She has been more affectionate than we expected, though.”
“That’s because we’ve been very openly affectionate with her. Touch is the language of healing and love, and she’s needed a lot of support. In her case, we’d sit on the couch and read, I would make sure to hug her multiple times a day, and I’d soothe her when the pain wasn’t as manageable as I’d prefer. But simply put, I wasn’t the one she wanted hugs and affection from, and that wore down on her over time. It didn’t help we’d wipe her memories on a daily basis and replace with an imprint of being in isolation. As the pain levels decreased, we continued to maintain the erasures; it was a precaution against unwanted parties digging into her memories.”
“You weren’t able to erase the operation,” Mr. Hampton observed.
“It was left somewhat intact on purpose. Instead of erasing it, my colleague imprinted an aversion to the memories, knowing your family could read organic events. We wanted you to be able to verify the traumatic nature of what had happened to her. Essentially, she’ll mentally stumble upon remembering the operation and refocus on something else. Usually something dealing with books, as that was the easiest way to manipulate her. You, young lady, take your enjoyment of books to a ridiculous decree.”
“I cost you a fortune in books, didn’t I?”
“Well, my home library has never been quite so expansive before, that’s for certain. It was sweetly endearing how you would insist I read your latest favorite. I do regret we couldn’t leave the better memories intact, but we ran too high a risk of you remembering everything, and it was traumatic.”
“You thought it was better if I remembered nothing instead of that level of pain?”
“Yes. It was fairly horrific, and that’s hard for me to say considering my field of expertise. Even with the black market drugs we were able to procure, which are just as good as the hospital drugs, for the record, it just wasn’t feasible to mitigate the pain, not without severe problems later. The first month following the operation was the worst. If it makes you feel better, I did discuss this with you before we began. Had you refused the operation and the therapy, we wouldn’t have done it. Consent is important, and you ran a risk of death for the operation. Y
ou had regrets regarding certain elements, including no contact with your family, but you wanted to hold your own. And once I discussed the financials with you, you did not want to burden anyone with that sort of bill just so you could walk without wanting to scream.”
Huh. I did regret not remembering that. “I guess I’m sorry I created a hellish nine months for everybody, but I do really like my foot right now.”
“I really enjoy that I got to stick it to the government for barring you from getting the procedure. Of course, there are limited people who can do the operation, but without proof, leveling those accusations right now would not benefit anyone.”
“Because I have a habit of interfering with murder and attempted murder?”
Dr. Castor huffed, and then she sighed and shrugged. “Essentially. You’re a heroine in the eyes of the people. You save lives and everybody knows it. How you damaged your foot was made public knowledge, and they know you positioned the car to save your fiancé’s life. That he’s now your fiancé only makes your story that much more sympathetic. We are hoping that the government will view you as less of a threat to their master plan.”
I frowned. “Master plan? What master plan?”
“Those in the medical field have been speculating for a while that hospitals and general health care will become the domain of the wealthy. The idea is that anyone who wants medical care will need to be part of the United States military to access it, unless they’re exceptionally wealthy. We’re of the opinion this serves several purposes.”
“What purposes?” I dared to ask when everyone else remained silent.
“Population control is one. Building a stronger global presence is another. I fear that if the current legislations go through, they will hamper the ability of many citizens to receive critical health care. Cancer patients, in particular, will suffer the most. Patients with chronic conditions will lose access to most healthcare due to their pre-existing conditions. One of the bills will reset health insurance yearly, and anything other than routine care will fall under pre-existing condition rules. Even something as treatable as an ulcer will count as a pre-existing condition, even if the patient has fully healed and shows no signs of developing another ulcer. The military will snap up the talents they want and cure those people and allow the others to die off.”