She reached for a blood pressure cuff on the side table next to his bed and wrapped it around his thin arm.
“Rocky took my BP earlier,” he said.
She lifted the stethoscope from around her neck. “I know. But now it’s my turn.” She pumped and pumped the cuff for a reading.
“It’s high isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe it would help to ditch the cigarettes, Derek.”
“Maybe it would, but it’s not going to happen.” He looked back toward the window again. “There’s not much that I live for now. A couple of those coffin nails a day is not going to matter much one way or another.”
* * * *
Derek watched the tall, attractive nurse leave his room. There was vibrancy and strength in her body movements, a “full-of-life” drive that he couldn’t help but admire. He’d always been drawn to people like her. He’d thought of himself as strong and energetic until his mind started slipping away.
No other way to describe it. Slipping away.
The loss of memory happened bit by bit, until he couldn’t classify even the simplest organic molecular structure, or remember his closest friend’s name. The changes left him feeling helpless and estranged.
He looked at the map on the wall and was grateful for the extra time of clarity Zelint’s AZ-1166 had given him. He knew this particular drug that was being tested had been discovered, synthesized, compounded from a tiny rare plant that he had found deep in the jungle. It brought a sense of ownership, of pride.
He’d lived a life of adventure, of never allowing himself to fall in love or establish a home. A life where he traveled deeper and deeper into Amazonia, always searching for natural plant curatives.
There were months spent in semi-darkness, under the umbrella of trees, months when he rarely saw the sun, where his aloneness brought him face-to-face with his own primal drive for survival—times of horrible hallucinations, that in the end, brought insight into his own tortured soul.
Those were the times spent with the people who lived in the forests, who spoke little or no English. But it was the kind of life that had taught him to finally surrender his trust to strangers, to people who blended with their environment, left few or no footprints on the fragile surface of the earth. His life depended not only on their kindness, but their knowledge. Their humanity kept him alive. He never thought of it then, as he moved deeper into the interior, but if they’d left him, had not healed him the times he’d been bitten by poisonous creatures, he would have died while wandering alone through the massive forests. And that death would have been a lot more painful than the crotch rot that plagued him every day.
He’d planned on a life where he would always be a seeker. Then one day everything went wrong.
Zelint made sure he was placed in the double-blind study, made sure he got the real medication and not the placebo. He was grateful for every moment of clarity the test drug had given him.
* * * *
Gina was at the nurses’ station, typing updates in the patients’ computer charts, when Rocky entered and pulled up a chair next to her. “I don’t see the vitals for the patients from this morning,” she said to the orderly.
“I haven’t put them in the computer, that’s why.”
“What do you have for Derek Kopek’s BP?”
He flipped out a pad, opened it. “One-fifty over one hundred.”
The tension in Gina’s neck was like a rubber band about to snap. “Did you pull those numbers out of the air? “I got two hundred over one-thirty!”
“What’s the difference,” he said, “the man’s gonna check out any minute. Why are you busting my balls?”
“Did you ever hear of medical management? The docs might change his meds; do something to make him more comfortable.”
She watched him bite back a retort.
She tapped a few keys and opened Derek Kopek’s chart.
Strange—Derek started out with his congestive heart failure barely symptomatic. In a ridiculously short time, he’s gone from Stage One to Stage Four.
Scanning further through his history, Gina saw that the admitting MD, Ethan Dayton, had listed Derek’s occupation as a Biologist, with a sub-specialty in herbal medicine.
He wasn’t kidding. He did spend most of his life searching through the Amazon looking for plants that could be tested for potential therapies.
“Did you know Mr. Kopek is a scientist?” she said to Rocky. “That he worked for Zelint, the company running the drug study?”
“Was a scientist,” Rocky said with a sneer. “Now he’s only a dead man.”
“Why are you working with sick people if you only have contempt for them?”
He stood and took a long body stretch. “Same as you. M-O-N-E-Y!”
* * * *
After dinner, Derek sat at his window smoking one of the two cigarettes he allowed himself each day. He knew the tobacco only made things worse—breathing became more difficult and his chest felt as if it was sinking into his spine. But he loved the feeling nicotine gave him. And what did it matter? His time was almost gone anyway. There simply was no other pleasure he was capable of now except inhaling the fumes of a cigarette.
He watched the sun go down behind the boulders. As dusk evolved through its darkening shades of blue, and the sky turned to jet black covered with a smattering of stars, he thought back to his nights in the Amazon.
Deep in the jungles, he never saw the heavens—the wide umbrella of trees in the dense forest gave a different night sky, a different world. It was a place of pungent smells, of a healthy, fertile earth filled with luxuriant growth. He’d been a lucky man to feel the planet breathe around him, engulf him with its splendor.
He could see it all, alive in his dreamy memories:
The copper-skinned woman returned, as she did so many nights, and crawled into his sleeping bag. Her smooth, hot skin trembled as his hand slid across her body and into her moistness. Her strong legs surrounded him then, and even now he could still feel her soft breasts burning through his chest, feel his groin fill with the heat of passion.
He jolted awake. Someone was in his room. After a moment or two, he recognized Rocky, and the other orderly, Pete, standing near the door, whispering to each other.
“What’s the matter, Rocky?” Derek’s voice was breathless, and a sharp pain clutched his chest.
“See you fell asleep smokin’ again,” Rocky said. Both orderlies laughed as they walked to his bedside. “The doc ordered some medication to make you feel better.”
Derek was puzzled, couldn’t make any sense of it. Pete reached down and took his arm, stretched it out straight for Rocky to jab in a needle.
* * * *
The lights were bright when Derek opened his eyes. His chest was heavy and he felt sick to his stomach. Pete and Rocky were lifting him onto a table, an icy cold table.
“What am I … doing … here?”
“It’s okay,” said another voice. “Remember me, Derek? Dr. Dayton?”
Derek looked at the man’s head floating above him.
“Yes. I remember … you. What … am I … doing here?” Was there a vice clamped around his chest? He almost couldn’t speak.
“There are a few last tests I have to do for the study you’ve been on.” Ethan leaned close and spoke in his ear. “We’re both scientists, so I know you’ll understand how important it is to get all the data we possibly can.”
Derek turned his head from side to side, examined the room.
There were large jars of human brains floating in preservatives. The containers were everywhere. He then realized he was on an autopsy table. A scale hung over him, and off to one side, near his head, was a tray of instruments, including a small saw.
I need to go. Get out of here.
He tried to move his arms but they were cuffed to the table. He wanted to fight but an overwhelming weakness left him helpless.
Rocky and Pete both snickered.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get out of here, you two!” Ethan snapped. “You’re disgusting. I’ll call for you if I need you.”
“Why am … I … here?”
“As I was saying, Derek, this is only to get final brain function data. I will be examining your cerebral signals for answers that can only come from living cells.”
“Living … cells?”
“Yes. Serious questions remain—like why AZ-1166 has caused age-related diseases to go into hyper drive in so many subjects.”
“Many … of whom?”
The doctor was obviously annoyed with him. His sunken eyes burned through Derek.
“Study subjects. People like you,” Ethan said.
Derek tried to follow the doctor’s thin lips, but he had trouble understanding the jumble of words.
“I’m going to give you more medication. It will lessen the discomfort.”
“Let me go back to my room … let me go … please!”
“It’ll all be over soon, Derek.”
The doctor reached out, jabbed his arm with another needle and everything turned into a blur. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he saw the doctor was holding—what? A scalpel?
Before he could process the information, excruciating pain tore across the top of his head and a searing burn spread out and raced down his neck.
“STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP.”
The doctor’s face peered down at him again. “It’s all right, Derek. We’re almost there.”
“PLEEEASE!”
Before he could grab another breath, he heard the sound of the saw.
Chapter 15
Searching through the computer records, Harry found the records for all the participants in his unit … they had successfully completed the AZ-1166 study’s requirement. Their status had been reclassified—in remission. In remission? Ethan said these patients were failures, here only for medical treatment associated with having taken the test drug
But why were they even here at Comstock? There were no special treatments that Harry could see. Most of the people here had crippling arthritis and were taking medication for their pain. Couldn’t they do that in a home environment? A nursing home?
He continued scanning through the unit’s charts, then scrolled through all the records, searching for the final questionnaires and documentation for the study. They weren’t in the computer.
Why?
During his and Gina’s interview and orientation with Ethan, the administrator only talked about the patients as having been active participants in the Zelint Pharmaceutical Study of AZ-1166. And they were here now for medical treatment.
The hairs on Harry’s neck did that weird bristling thing, and a sudden chill raised goose bumps on his arms. He could feel Pete watching him.
Again.
The orderly seemed to make it his business to check out whatever Harry was studying on the monitor.
The back of his Harry’s head was burning. The guy was definitely spying on him.
Why?
“Something you need, Pete?” Harry did a fast swing around, stared into the orderly’s eyes.
Pete shook his head and moved to the other end of the nurses’ station.
Not far enough, jerk.
Harry scrolled through the patient census and again clicked on Rhonda Jenkins’s chart.
He brought up the different screens of her medical record. There was nothing currently new charted about Phase III of the AZ-1166 study. But her complete history referred to having been on the test drug, with excellent results. Her dementia had gone into total remission within six months. He read further into her detailed history.
She’d been a marketing CEO for the majority of her working years. Late in life she changed careers and became a medical assistant who specialized in assisting vascular surgeons with office surgeries and treatments. Two years ago she started having acuity problems and retired. It was then she was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. A close friend told her about an ad she’d seen—a new clinical study that was seeking subjects with a dementia diagnosis. Rhonda could become a part of the new study, if she qualified.
Rhonda qualified.
The chart carefully documented her initial physical exam—a healthy seventy-five-year-old woman, with mild arthritis and the usual age-related problems. Nothing with severe pathology that would interfere with receiving the experimental drug.
He skipped to the final entry of that exam.
The patient was provided a packet of information that included informed consent and a list of expected positive results, along with a separate list of potential side effects. Rhonda Jenkins received a full explanation of the goals for the experimental drug designated AZ-1166. She and a first cousin signed the papers.
Harry skimmed through the listed potential side effects: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, headaches, dizziness, insomnia, problems with balance, It went on and on, listing only relatively minor negative symptoms.
Nothing here about the bad shit.
This wasn’t the usual multi-page document that covers everything from an ingrown toenail to spontaneous combustion.
It certainly doesn’t cover the acceleration of age-related diseases. Did they deliberately hide that info from the patients?
Throughout the study, Rhonda had no significant side effects, at least none that were noted in her chart.
Mmmmm! The Rhonda Jenkins on this unit is almost totally blind and her arthritis is very severe. Why isn’t that mentioned here?
He again went quickly through her most recent physical examination. Nothing! Absolutely nothing in the study chart noting that she had become virtually blind or that she had crippling arthritis.
Harry leaned back in his chair, tried to be measured and objective. Gina was usually the suspicious one. She always said she didn’t go looking for trouble, it just landed in her lap. With her New York background, she usually mistrusted people right off the bat. She never took anyone at face value.
Hell, the truth is, Gina always sees the dark side of people. And too often she’s right.
He was glad he’d grown up in California, but it hadn’t been a bed of roses for him either. He’d done a short stint in juvie before he wised up. But he knew Gina’s experiences were even worse. Being a female was definitely not a plus.
He thought about what it must have been like for her growing up on the Bronx streets—gang threats, beatings, constantly living in fear of being raped … or murdered.
She should have been treated like someone special; instead, she’d been forced to grow like a raggedy weed, fighting its way back to life every day.
* * * *
Harry stepped into Rhonda Jenkins’s room. She immediately snapped to attention.
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Rhonda.”
“Oh, Harry. I haven’t gotten used to your sounds yet.”
“You will soon enough.”
He moved to her side and took her hand. Her gray hair was long enough to be neatly pushed behind her ears, and she’d managed to put on lipstick without smudging it. He recognized the scent she was wearing. Gina had recently started wearing it, too—Chanel No. 5.
Rhonda was seated in a chair next to the window. He knew she could still see some light coming in, but he would appear only as a shadowy figure.
“Too bad I won’t get to know you better, Harry. We’ve barely met, but I like what I see … so to speak.”
Harry chuckled.
“Dr. Dayton said they’re going to release me in the next few days. I’m kind of excited. He suggested I call my friend to take me home, but not until he lets me know the exact date. I don’t want her to come all the way from Texas and just hang around waiting for me to get out of here.” She turned away. “I won’t tell her about my eyes. She might not come … might not want to play seeing-eye-dog. Pretty selfish of me, I suppose.”
“She might surprise you. Besides, you seem to get around really well.”
“You mean for a mole.”
&n
bsp; “Nothing wrong with being a mole.” Harry hesitated, then said, “Have you always had impaired vision, Rhonda?”
Her smile drooped. “No, I developed thick cataracts in both eyes within six months of taking the test drug. Still, it was worth it to be able to think clearly again. But the loss of vision happened so quickly … almost in the blink of an eye.” Rhonda laughed weakly.
“Do you plan on having the cataracts removed?”
“When I’m back home, I’m hoping to have that done. Mind you, no one’s saying it will be successful. I guess there’s a lot of damage … they think it’s some kind of response from taking the drug. That’s what Dr. Dayton said. At least the costs won’t be a problem. The study and Medicare will take care of everything.”
Harry pulled up a chair next to her. “Still, it’s gotta be hard on you.”
“It is.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. Harry snagged a tissue from the box on the table next to the bed. He gently dabbed her cheek.
She pressed her hand against his. “You seem like a very kind man, Harry. I’m glad we met. I would have liked to have spent more time with you.”
“You’ll be happier going back to your own home.”
“That’s true. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I see from your chart that you worked not only in the business world, but in the medical field, too. I would have loved to hear about your experiences.”
“It was hard work,” Rhonda said, “but I loved working with the doctors … the patients. You learn a lot about people when they’re sick or suffering.”
“That’s true,” Harry said. “It’s a humbling experience to lose your health.”
Rhonda looked toward the window again. Her face had turned very pale. “If you don’t mind, Harry, I think I’m going to sit here and close my eyes for a while and try not to think about anything.”
Harry stood. “I hope I haven’t upset you, Rhonda … you seemed happy until I dropped in to bug you.”
She waved her hand at him. “No, no. It’s not you. It’s me. I tend to look at things on the dark side.”
Harry laughed. “You sound like my fiancée.”
“If she’s your fiancée, I’m sure I would enjoy meeting her.”
Bone Pit: A Chilling Medical Suspense Thriller (The Gina Mazzio Series Book 3) Page 9