Buck Fever

by Robert A Rupp

  “That is all the hair I remember you having,” Dingman said. Porter nodded.

  “Shit, am I...am I being treated for cancer?”

  “No, but I think you have encountered some memory loss. What year is it?”

  Sulkin stared at the doctor. “It’s 1984; the Tiger’s won the World Series. Right?”

  “You’re off by more than thirty years.”

  “What? No. I remember going to class yesterday. I had a burger for lunch. I studied the night before for a chemistry exam. It’s fresh in my mind.”

  “You are a mortician for a funeral home near West Branch. Jeb Porter and I visited with you in the past two weeks along with a newspaper editor, Bob Sanguini. Remember?” Dingman said.

  “How can that be? Are you saying I have amnesia?”

  “Perhaps a form of amnesia, but...” the doctor said.

  “But?”

  “But, there is chance you might not regain all of your previous knowledge and experiences.”

  “What...what am I going to do now? How old am I? Let’s see...I’m, no...no...no. You’re telling me I’m over 50 years old?”

  “Would appear so,” Dr. Grace said, glancing through papers on a clipboard next to the bed.”

  Sulkin moved his hands across his face down his neck and over his body. He looked down at his left hand for a ring.

  “I don’t appear to have a woman worried about me; I guess that’s a plus.”

  “Hmm,” the doctor said, focusing on a statement written in by a nurse earlier.

  “What? Am I married? What does it say?”

  “Nothing you need to be concerned with now. Please get some rest. Take these pills and we can talk later. Maybe more of your memory will return then.” The doctor handed Sulkin two large blue pills and a bottle of white liquid.

  ~ ~ ~

  “That has got to be a shock to the system, eh?” Dingman said, as he, Porter and the doctor walked through the hallway toward Kottle’s room.

  “His talk about marriage is puzzling. Frankly, I thought he was gay the first time we met,” Porter said.

  Grace smiled.

  “Is that what was written in his profile?” Porter said.

  “Can’t say; that’s privileged information.”

  “Hah, he’s in for a real surprise, or, maybe he’s not gay anymore. Maybe the infection knocked it out of him.”

  “I think the good doctor wants you to drop that train of thought,” Dingman said, also smiling.

  “Yes, let’s move on.”

  Chapter 55

  Katie Kottle sat up in bed, hands cupped over her mouth, crying.

  “Shit, she’s having a meltdown. Let’s get in there,” Porter said as he waited for the doctor to put his hand on the doorway display. Dingman held up his recorder and pushed the record button.

  “Are you okay?” Porter said, walking toward the bed. The doctor tugged on Porter’s white uniform and moved in front.

  “How are you feeling, my dear?” Dr. Grace said, gently pulling Kottle’s hands back.

  “I remember; it was six months ago. Jeb and I had dinner, and I didn’t feel good, so I left the restaurant without Jeb and went back to my apartment to rest. I laid in bed thinking about that fateful day when the car with that man approached me. But, I remember thinking that I wasn’t alone. Another girl my age was there and...” She cupped her hands to her face again and wept.

  “Her memory is returning,” the doctor said.

  “Ironic. She gets her memory back and Sulkin loses his,” Porter said.

  “That is the unique effect of this disease. It impacts each person differently.”

  “Wait, I remember you called me later that evening and said that someone called you several times, but hung up the phone without talking,” Porter said. “Could that have been Rachel?”

  “Oh, my God, Rachel...the woman on the phone said her name was Rachel. She told me that a man named Gunter had kidnapped her, and she wanted me to call the police. She said she was tied up and held captive in a room with lots of Barbie dolls. I thought it was a stupid joke,” Kottle said, whimpering.

  Dingman slowly lowered the video camera, shaking his head. The doctor walked to the other side of the bed across from Porter and stared at a computer monitor.

  “I assumed there would be a simple explanation to all this,” the doctor said. “You’re vital signs look good. I think you can go home in a couple of days.” He turned and patted Kottle’s shoulder as she buried her head further into her arms. “Here take these pills, you’ll feel better.”

  Kottle took the pills; chewed them slightly and washed them down with white liquid from a bottle given to her by a nurse earlier. “God, that tastes awful. I’ll be glad to get some real food in me again.”

  “In due time. The pills and liquid will curb your appetite for now.”

  “It is getting late. I say we call it a day and get an early start again tomorrow morning,” Dingman said.

  “You’re not leaving me here alone tonight are you?” Kottle said, straining to get the words out.

  “You’re in good hands, don’t worry,” Porter said as he and Dingman left her room.

  Kottle slowly brought the covers up to her chest and lay back onto the pillow. “Don’t be too long!”

  Chapter 56

  “Gentlemen, please plug your video cameras into the back of the computer like this. During playback, the computer will attempt to establish whether a voice is male or female. When prompted, you must enter the name of the person by voice. The computer will then extract a complete conversation based on the person talking. It will take about fifteen minutes to complete, then you can leave,” the nurse in the ready room said.

  Dingman and Porter plugged their devices into the computers as directed. Within seconds, they were prompted to identify voices. They worked between them to select a name from a drop down list.

  “It’s requesting another selection during our first visit with Katie. I selected Katie for the first part of our conversation, but not for the part where she is describing being in Reno,” Dingman said.

  “I get it. The computer thinks Rachel is talking. How about that,” Porter said. “I think the doctor is in for surprise.”

  “Hah, you might be right,” Dingman said, as he selected “unknown” from the list of names and each computer finished and printed out a text report of all the conversations.

  “This is amazing,” Porter said, reading his report.

  “What do make of this?” Dingman said, pointing to the last page of the report. “It says ‘unknown,’ but should be Katie talking. See, Katie says, ‘God that tastes awful...’ and later when she asks you not to go, it says ‘unknown’ is talking.”

  “Rachel? Could she have slipped into Rachel’s thoughts at that moment? Shit, this is scaring me. What if she bounces back and forth between herself and Rachel? What if—?”

  “Her voice sounded stressed, perhaps confusing the computer. Let’s give her time to get well and take it one day at a time.”

  Porter nodded as they entered the changing room to remove their white uniforms and shower down.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Your badges are clean, no sign of infection. You may leave the building now. The doctor has asked that you return in the morning, but do not need to change clothes. You can communicate with him from the observation booths in each room,” the attendant said.

  “Great, now how do we leave without a car?” Porter said.

  “Pillbock is putting us up at the Hilton. He even sprung for a free meal,” Dingman said.

  “What, no clothes change tomorrow?”

  “You will be fine. Just wash your tightie-whities and socks in the sink tonight. We can take the People Mover over to the Hilton,” Dingman said, pointing to the two-car train rolling on overhead concrete and steel tracks that travel over Detroit streets near the building.

  Chapter 57

  Sister Mary Agness awoke, hearing sputtering sounds near the room entrance. Moonlig
ht from the window on her right side illuminated a vague presence entering the room.

  She screamed, but no sound escaped her throat.

  Who are you? She struggled to make sense of the ghostly form now at the foot of her bed. It is an animal, a horned beast...the devil, she thought.

  The hovering presence snorted, shaking its head.

  A deer...with big antlers. She recognized the shape, and tried to yell for help. No sound. Her larynx was stuck open. Slushy air moved back and forth over her vocal cords as she breathed.

  The animal came closer by the side of the bed. She could see into its eyes. She recognized those eyes. Father? Father Fellorday? Is that you?

  She leaned forward exposing her breasts. The apparition lowered its head and charged forward.

  Her right hand groped the computer display near her head. She pulled out a tube with a connecting steel rod from the display monitor, grasped it carefully and swung it forward toward the beast.

  Once, twice, again...again...again...again...again, and one final jab. The beast slowly disintegrated as she moved her hand forward. The steel rod dripped bright-red blood.

  Air rushed from her lungs, then pain. She wiped the steel rod across the front of her hospital gown and tossed it to the floor. She pulled the covers up to her neck and lay back on the pillow. Each breath caused increasing pain. She stared at the ceiling and closed her eyes as one final rush of air escaped from her body.

  ~ ~ ~

  A male night nurse, back turned away from a series of display panels with room labels, talked on a cellphone. He quickly hid the phone as a female nurse entered the nurses’ observation room.

  “That better not be a cellphone. You know the restrictions,” she said.

  “It’s an MP3 player, I—”

  “What’s going on in room ten? She has redlined and the display monitor is blank! Didn’t the alarm go off?”

  “I...I...turned it off. I was told by security that they needed to do a line check due to several unexplained power surges in that room.”

  “You idiot; you need to watch the monitors. Call the doctor. I’m going in there.”

  The male nurse punched buttons on a phone console as the other nurse left the room carrying a needle and several vials of liquid.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dr. Grace stood by Mary Agness’ lifeless body, holding the tube attached to the steel rod that the nurse handed him.

  “You found this by the bed?”

  “Yes, she must have pulled it out of the monitor and stabbed it into her chest. Eight times to be exact. I checked her vitals, but she was gone when I got in here, so I didn’t give her the needle.”

  “I would think the alarm should have gone off when she pulled the monitor cord out. How did this happen? You should have been able to stop her.”

  “I...well, Bob turned it off, and I...I was checking on other patients.”

  “Turned it off? Why? We trained for this repeatedly. He better have a good explanation, or...WHOA!”

  Sister Mary Agness’ right hand clasp tightly onto the doctor’s left forearm.

  “How is she alive with eight holes in her chest?”

  Dr. Grace pulled his left arm forward releasing Sister Mary’s hand onto the bed. The fingers flexed repeatedly and her arm quivered. The motion abruptly stopped seconds later.

  “It’s just a muscle spasm. I believe the disease is keeping parts of her brain active.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Move her to the operating observatory. We need to do an autopsy.”

  The nurse nodded, walked to the room entrance and held her hand up to the display, turning off the ion generator.

  “It won’t turn off; it’s starting to spit and crackle.”

  “Hmm, another power surge. I witnessed one earlier today. Please have someone check it. Take your hand off and put it on again. It should stop.”

  The nurse obliged. The ion generator stopped.

  Chapter 58

  Dr. Grace waved from behind the glass partition in the waiting room.

  “Good Morning, gentlemen.”

  “Had a good night’s sleep, eh?” Dingman said standing next to Porter on the other side of the glass.

  “Not me. I have been here since five this morning. We had a problem with one of the patients. Appears to be a suicide.”

  “What...what…who?” Porter said, suddenly taking interest.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s Sister Mary Agness; she apparently impaled herself in the chest with a stainless-steel connecting probe from one of the diagnostic machines near her bed. I’m getting ready to do an autopsy if you two would like to join me. You can watch from the balcony above the surgical observatory.

  ~ ~ ~

  Dr. Grace glanced up ten feet as the two reporters looked down from behind protective glass.

  “You might want to look away,” he said, as he readied the small circular saw near Sister Mary Angess’ skull. He had carefully separated the skin and hair to reveal white bone.

  Porter winced.

  “I have witnessed autopsies before, but this is especially intriguing,” Dingman said.

  The clawing sound of a whirring blade against bone continued for several minutes and stopped. Dr. Grace put the saw on a metal tray next to the operating bed and forcefully pulled the skull-bone cap away revealing a bright red brain. It pulsated near the frontal lobe.

  “What do make of that?” a nurse said.

  Porter slowly turned his head to see.

  “The man is a true artist: surgeon extraordinaire,” Dingman said, focusing on the doctor’s motions.

  “Gentlemen, as I suspected, the infection is keeping the brain alive. Not in the sense of being sentient, but more like keeping tissue from dying.” He continued to poke at various places in the brain. The body responded with tremors in the arms and legs. “The nervous system appears to function at some level.”

  “Was Moses Carpenter infected the same way?” Dingman asked.

  “His brain showed some redness in the frontal lobe, but nothing like this. Plus Carpenter suffered normal Rigor Mortis; this corpse shows no signs of that.”

  “Please explain,” Porter said, taking notes.

  “Usually, within four hours after death, chemical changes in the body cause the muscles to seize and become rigid. Another chemical change after approximately thirty-six hours causes the muscles to become soft again. The Sister’s body has not gone through this cycle, suggesting that an enzyme from the infection is keeping the muscles soft.”

  “Or alive?” Porter asked.

  “Not alive as in being active; that would require a fresh supply of oxygenated blood, which clearly does not exist.”

  The doctor continued probing the brain and voicing findings into an overhanging microphone.

  “Now onto the rest of the body,” he said, as he carefully removed a sheet that covered the Sister’s upper torso.

  “My God, does that look familiar to you?” Porter said.

  “Goodnight Toronto, the eight holes look similar to those on Lickshill’s body. They are symmetrical. Tell me Doc, do the top ones go in a slight angle down and the bottom at a slight angle up?” Dingman asked.

  “Yes...yes they do. How did you know?”

  “See, like deer antlers cocked at an angle, entering the body.” Dingman raised his hands, trying to represent antlers with three fingers and thumb.

  “The pattern is intriguing, but I assure you there is a simple explanation. I can perceive how raising her arm and forcing the metal probe downward would create the top holes, and then as her arm got tired, she pulled the probe from a lower position creating the bottom holes.”

  “How do you explain the symmetrical pattern? What are the odds that two people affected by the same disease would end up with such a striking similarity in cause of death by an outside source?”

  “Perhaps the infection can pass some memory or an event through the blood to another animal or human. Insects and ani
mal have instinct memory passed on from their parents,” Porter said.

  “The possibility has crossed my mind. It’s a leap requiring suspension of my beliefs, but then again, science is always right. Well gents, I need to complete this, so I’ll meet you back in the waiting room,” the doctor said.

  “I think that is our cue to leave, eh? Mind if we visit a few of the patients while you finish?” Dingman asked. The doctor looked up and nodded, then busily hovered over the body as the reporters left the observation deck and returned to the waiting room.

  Chapter 59

  A nurse pulled the curtain back from Kottle’s bed as Porter and Dingman watched from inside the observation booth.

  “My heart is racing. I’ve got this feeling Rachel is hiding behind the curtain,” Porter said.

  “Stay objective,” Dingman warned.

  “She’s sleeping; her face looks normal, no weird half-moon mole that I can see.”

  “I suggest we not wake her and visit Montagno instead.”

  Dingman waved to the nurse, and she pulled the curtain forward. The two reporters turned to exit into the hallway.

  Kottle suddenly stammered incoherently from behind the curtain.

  “Did she say, ‘Gunter’?” Porter said, jerking his head back. “I swear she said, ‘Gunter.’” The nurse shrugged.

  “I did not hear anything. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Next thing we know; you will be in one of those beds.” Dingman pulled Porter back into the hallway.

  ~ ~ ~

  “What’s the scoop regarding Montagno? You talked to his wife,” Porter said, as they walked the hall toward Montagno’s observation booth.

  “She did not know much other than the police found him lying at his desk with two pencils in his neck. She did say he was having nightmares of running with deer and had gained a weird ability to add up numbers in his head,” Dingman said.

  The two reporters entered Montagno’s observation booth and encountered Dillon Lacarter.

  “Hello, there. Any change in Mr. Montagno’s condition?” Dingman said.