UNIVERSAL CURE
By Christina M. Schumacher

Page One          Page Two

     "Honey, shut off the alarm," he mumbled.
     The insistent beep, beep, beep had awakened him from the soundest sleep he'd had in weeks.
     "Honey," he mumbled again, and reached over to give her a shove.
     "What th..."
     She wasn't there. Nothing was there, except air and space where her side of the bed should have been.
     What is that painful pulling sensation in my hand? he wondered. He wiggled his fingers causing the stinging to flare even more. Slowly, he opened one eye, only to have the lid slam shut as if on its own as the bright light attacked without mercy. Beep... beep... beep... The sound was driving him mad.
     "Carol, are you going to shut off that damn thing?"
     Why do I sound so nasally and why does my throat feel so parched? He tried to lick his lips with a tongue that felt three times its normal size and could feel the dry cracks that had formed on their surface.
     Must have forgotten to fill the humidifier, he thought, as he reached a hand up to rub his eyes.
     There it is again. Something is stinging and pulling on the back of my hand. And, what is this squishy plastic thing on my cheek? He tugged it gently feeling it pull on his nostrils. Beep... beep... beep...
     "Will somebody turn off that damn alarm!" he shouted, or at least his mind shouted. His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper, and weak.
     Placing his hand above his eyebrows to shield his eyes, he tried again to open them. First one lid came up, closed briefly, opened again, then the other followed suit. Everything appeared blurry, and the stark whiteness made his eyes ache. Quickly, he squeezed them shut again, then opened them both wide, blinking rapidly. Beep... beep... beep...
     His eyes swung toward the source of the sound, comprehending suddenly that it was not an alarm clock he was hearing. Too rhythmic and slow. With wide eyes, and mouth open, he stared at the box up and to the left of his bed. Its green glow sent a sickly ghoulish reflection to the I.V. bag making the liquid inside appear to be watered down pea soup.
     "Ahhh, Mr. Garner. You're awake."
     The voice came from the tallest woman he'd ever seen, standing just inside the door, wearing a doctor's white coat. He hadn't heard her come in, nor had he seen movement as he was so caught up in that damn incessant beeping. He wished he could have seen her enter, though, as he could have used a good laugh seeing her try to duck under the header. His heart had begun to gallop, speeding up the sound of the heart monitor, understanding from her garb and the equipment around him that he wasn't home in his own bed after all. Did I have the heart attack they predicted? If so, why don't I remember?
     "So, how are you feeling?" she asked, cheerfully.
     Stepping to the side of the bed in one quick stride, she checked his I.V. bag, then reached a long arm above it. Suddenly, the beeping sound ceased. He sighed loudly.
     "Carol?" he croaked.
     Picking up the small blue pitcher on the bedside table, she poured him a glass of water, then adjusted his bed to a partial sitting position to allow him to drink it.
     "I sent your wife home to get some rest while you were sleeping. These hospital chairs," she gestured to a vinyl-padded low back chair in the corner of his room, "aren't exactly made for overnight stays."
     Taking small, almost lady-like sips of water, Phil Garner swept his free hand in a wide arc over the room.
     "You're wondering why you're here?" she asked, her huge smile showing almost all of her pearly whites. He wished she would stop smiling. She reminded him of one of those vampire movies he'd seen on late night television. I'm just here for a friendly chat and all of your blood. It won't hurt a bit. God, even her incisors are sharp! This has got to be the get well ward of hell. He felt his stomach begin to churn.
     "You had a heart attack, Mr. Garner. A very severe heart attack, but it appears you're fairly stable now."
     She said that like she were telling me that we were going for ice cream or something. And, look at her face. She's smiling, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. Those eyes are cold and empty like a walking, talking zombie.
     Handing her the half-empty glass, he tested his voice, cleared it several times, then spoke.
     "So, you're telling me I'm going to live, right?" Not bad. Still a partial croak, but nothing a few ahems won't take care of.
     She chuckled at his question, then suddenly the chuckle turned into a full force roar of laughter as she bent over slapping her hand over his. It was then that he noticed her hospital name tag. Dr. Jessica Drakoola, M.D. How's that for irony, he thought, shuddering. His nose wrinkled slightly. She smells like an old musty closet.
     "Of course you're going to live. No one dies prematurely anymore."
     Her voice had an irritatingly shrill rise and fall on certain words as well as a touch of sarcasm. She elaborated a bit more, obviously enjoying herself.
     "Have you been living in a cave for the last twenty years, Mr. Garner? We have clones now, remember? Even something as traumatic as your heart attack can be fixed. We only need to give you a new heart." Each new sentence was accented by laughter.
     She's crazy! She seems to actually think this is some kind of picnic!
     Somehow he just couldn't seem to grasp the humor in what she was saying. Of course he knew they had cloning now, but they still had to cut open his body, take out his heart - killing him, basically - and put in the new heart. No worries of rejection, but they still didn't have a cure for infection or pain. It certainly didn't sound like a picnic to him.
     "Isn't there another course of action we could take? Things seem to be working pretty well now," he said, gesturing to the now silent heart monitor.
     Rocking back on her heels, she let out another howl of laughter.
     "You are quite a card, Mr. Garner! Of course we must replace your heart. The one you have is irreparably damaged and, if we left it, there'd be no telling how long it would last. There is a brand new heart just waiting for you, so why not take advantage of it?"
     This had to be the most unprofessional doctor he'd ever encountered, although in the last few years, he'd come across more and more like her. Cloning seemed to have taken the seriousness out of any illness, or so they seemed to think.
     "Kind of like changing a tire on a car now," one doctor had told him when discussing surgery options for his problem heart several months earlier. "Quick and easy."
     He'd had enough of her laughter and smiles. This was serious to him and he was scared. If she hadn't turned down the sound on the monitor, he was sure that it would be beeping erratically, just as his heart felt inside him. It was time to put a crimp in her gold plated world. He breathed deeply several times, almost expecting to feel some kind of pain, but none came.
     "Well, I guess if it must be done, then it must..."
     She interrupted, smiling broader than he thought humanly possible. "Now, you're using good sense!"
     "But," he continued, as though she hadn't spoken. "I want to meet the donor of my new heart. I want to meet my clone."
     Her body sagged visibly and her mouth gaped open. Her movements were so exaggerated that he had to force himself not to look up to see if their was a puppeteer controlling her from somewhere above him.
     "Mr. Garner... sir." The humor was completely gone out of her voice. "That's not possible. Hospital policy strictly forbids it."
    

Home
Angie Christie
Campfire Radio
Classes
DVD's
E-books
EVP
Fiction Books
Investigation One
Investigation Two
Links
Loved Ones
MP3 Interviews
Non-Fiction Books
Online Store
Paranormal Groups
Photos
Poetry
Submissions
Videos
About Us
Contact Us

Copyright (c) 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012  The Night Watchman - All Rights Reserved