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Overview
Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940000068410 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Double Dragon Publishing |
| Publication date: | 07/15/2003 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 986 KB |
Read an Excerpt
L.J. Blount
Outside fluffy flakes of snow tumbled lightly to the ground. The white blanket it laid was pure and untouched. A wave of lights reflected upon the fresh virgin snow. A rainbow of orange, green, red, and blue. Gold and silver garlands snaked up light poles. Decorative candy canes hung stretched across a quiet street in rows of red and white. The snow, it continued to fall, floating delicately among the lights and decorations, and the sounds of Christmas songs could be heard faintly amidst the glory.
Zak Tran sat up in bed in a cold sweat. The pain in his abdomen was unbearable. He held his breath as the sharpness increased. It was a twisting pain, the kind that gnaws on you as if you are being eaten alive. Zak crawled out of bed, stopped to double over before making his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could. By the time he reached the toilet, he had vomit trickling from between his lips, with some finding its way onto his nightshirt.
He hung over the toilet for several minutes, making sure his stomach was empty before he would rinse his mouth to extinguish the taste. Grabbing the half-full bottle of mouthwash, he stopped to examine himself. Blood-shot eyes, dark bags hanging beneath them. He was unattractive in his opinion already; the added baggage only made him homelier. He smiled -- his teeth bore specks of vomit that had clung to the enamel. He frowned and took a mouth full of mouthwash -- before reaching his toothbrush he noticed the string of puke that soiled his coffin-blue shirt. His frown grew deeper as he brushed his teeth and changed out of his nightshirt.
He stared again at his sunken face, hollowed eyes staring back at him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt good, or the last time he was happy. This was his gift two Christmases ago, his diagnosis of cancer. It wasn't until it was in stage four before they discovered it. A little known cancer of the T-Cells. He didn't concern himself with the specifics, only that he was given a few months to live. That was two years ago.
Zak made his way back to his bed, in slow arduous steps. Plopped down on his bed, not bothering to right himself or make himself comfortable. There was no need, he wasn't going to sleep again that night.
Zak watched Dr. Gibbons with a doubtful eye.
"Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran."
Zak ignored the doctor and finished buttoning his shirt. Another Christmas to celebrate my pain, Zak thought as he twisted the last button into place. He grimaced -- be it ever so slightly, it was enough to draw the good doctor's attention.
"Are your hands giving you discomfort?"
Zak sighed as he sat. Always the same bullshit, "Does this hurt, or that. Tell me about the pain you're feeling." But they never yielded him any relief. "Yeah doc, but nothing like the pain in my abdomen." He replied.
Dr. Gibbons gave a thoughtful nod. The same he did every visit. Zak looked off to keep himself from getting angry.
"You know," Dr. Gibbons began, "I can't give you anything for the pain in your abdomen. I can give you a prescription for an anti-inflammatory that might help your hands."
Zak watched the smile on the doctor's face spread again. It was like a viral infection moving rapidly across his vapid face. His nose crinkled and his eyes drew in tight. "You know they upset my stomach, just like the pain meds."
He smirked as Dr. Gibbons stopped his scribbling and looked off as if in thought. "That's right," he said in a disappointed fashion.
Zak grabbed his coat and reached for the door when Dr. Gibbons repeated his original observation. "Looks like you're gonna kick out another Christmas, Mr. Tran."
How un-doctor like, Zak thought as he turned to give Dr. Gibbons a flash of a grin.
He left the office without making his usual follow-up appointment. They would call him with a time and date, every two months like clockwork he was in Dr. Gibbons' office having his lymph nodes poked and pushed on. His blood drawn, of which he never received any reports. And finally, the chest X-ray, which made very little sense to him, since his cancer was eating him away in his abdomen.
It didn't matter, because at that moment in time Zak Tran decided he was never going back to see Dr. Gibbons or any other oncologist for that matter. To Hell with it, he thought. All I want is something to ease the pain.
It was then that he noticed it. Had it been there every day for the past two years? Had he been so preoccupied being pissed off that the sign he rested his back on held the key to relieving his misery? There on the bus stop bench, the one he had traveled to and from Dr. Gibbons' office for nearly three years now, was an advertisement for pain relief. Not an ordinary sign for pain relief, like you might find for aspirin. This was a special pain reliever, home remedy and guaranteed to take your pain away or ten-times your money back.
He thought it a gimmick at first, but then convinced himself he had nothing to loose. Zak jotted the address down, with every intention of visiting "Juanna's Remedies," on Baker Street today.
He made it as far as Baker Street before the pain got the better of him. Zak sat down and propped himself up against a trash dumpster. The pain was terrible, much worse than yesterday. Perhaps the worst it had ever been. He thought for a moment, between agonizing shocks. Perhaps I'll die here now, finally. His grunts were coming quicker and louder as he leaned up against the dumpster. The people that did happen by Baker Street ignored him or made it a point to avoid him.
He was not alone, however -- a voice called to him, one he likened to an angel. He looked up and he saw her, an elderly woman. Her wrinkled faced showed a life that must have been hard, and like his, lived far to long. Her eyes though, they were lively and showed much concern. He stared at her a moment longer, watching her aged lines with his stare before she spoke to him.
"Do you need some help young man?"
Zak tried to force a smile to be polite, but all he could do was grimace. "I-I am in..." He could squeeze no more out.
"Pain dear. I can see that. There is nothing more obvious than the pain that is eating up your insides."
"Juanna..." Zak slumped deeper into the rubbish he sat atop.
"Oh, she's not going to be able to calm your pain young man. She's all talk and new age. You need some real down home remedies."
Zak looked up queerly at the old woman that held out a bottle in her trembling hand. "Take it," she said.
He did as she said, but couldn't extend his arm too far. Each time it left his cramping abdomen, the pain would increase causing him to draw his hand back.
"Here," the old woman knelt beside him, "allow me." The old woman held Zak's head in her arm and gently poured the contents of the bottle into his open and willing mouth. Zak watched her as she stood, and about the time she had straightened herself up as much as she could, the pain was gone.
He sat for a moment, basking in the wonderment of the miracle. He stood, brushed the debris off his pants and began to thank the old woman. "Ma'am, I don't know how..."
"Hush now." She said, holding up an arthritic hand to halt his continuing. "You just be thankful and praise Jahobe tonight before you sleep."
"Jahobe?"
The old woman shook her head. "It is where that there cure came from. Jahobe is great and wonderful. Here, you take one more just in case the pain returns."
Zak took the small bottle from the woman's hand and thanked her again. She waved a hand as if to shoo him, be he a pest or something and carried on about her business. Zak watched the old woman as she slowly walked down the sidewalk.
The apartment was unusually warm that night. Comforting, Zak thought. He hadn't any pain and the chills that usually shook him were gone as well. Everything seemed that much more pleasant, even the stale dusty air was a pleasure for him to inhale, of which he did often and deeply.
He made himself comfortable in his bed, a warm smiled filled his face as he thought a good night's sleep for once.
Thoughts of the old lady crept into his mind. He remembered her telling him to thank Jahobe before he slept. His recollection was fleeting, however, as he basked in the painless evening. It was the first such evening in nearly three years. "Yeah, I'll make another Christmas." He said aloud, answering Dr. Gibbons' observation.
He lay down, head on pillow, body straight, not leaning towards the edge, readied for a quick run to the bathroom. Instead, he sank into his goose down pillow and his mattress ready for a relaxing night's sleep. His warm smile faded as he slipped into a deep sleep.
A light mist rolled in as Zak exited the building. The parking lot was darker than usual and he noted that three of the four lights were out. The only working light that remained was the one he parked under. Lucky, he thought, as he made his way through the darkness.
It was uncanny, the sound of his shoes as he made his way over the asphalt. They made a clamoring that suggested there were a hundred of him marching through the parking lot in cadence. He looked around and noted no one else. He knew he was the last one out of the ward, having shut down the building and setting the alarm before he left. Still, it was unnerving. He approached his lightning yellow Lancer and deactivated the alarm. His car shimmered in the mist, like frost beneath a luminous moon.
He didn't notice them until he opened the door. The small creatures that danced at the rear of his car. He looked closer at them, two, no three as they bounced around like circus clowns. He moved from the door, leaving it ajar as he did. He wanted a better look. He moved slowly so as not to scare them off, then he realized that it was he who should be frightened. He took a step back, keeping an eye on the small, black balls of fur. Each looked up at him, one at a time in some kind of sick rhythm as the stopped their antics. He couldn't see their eyes. They were sewn shut with a fleshy-like substance. Their months were the same grotesque display.
He walked backwards, keeping an eye on the creatures. They remained as they were, standing as if waiting for something. He stumbled, falling over two other creatures that had crept up behind. He fell hard, in front of his open car door. He felt much like screaming, but nothing exited his agape mouth. Quickly he entered his car, shut the door and turned the ignition. Nothing. He looked up, out his windshield to see three of the creatures dancing on his hood, and one of the creatures held his distributor cap in its hand as it danced fancifully.
Zak woke in a cold sweat. The winter sun shone through his bedroom window. He had slept through the night, but not as comfortably as he'd liked. The dream, the creatures flashed through his mind, causing him to shudder. He was leaving work as he recalled. The car he didn't own yet, though he had designs on buying it. Maybe I should choose another color, he thought as he dismissed the dream.
He dressed, tossed on his jacket and went across the street to the diner. He smiled and felt a spring in his step. The packed snow crunched under his feet as he jogged across the street, avoiding the small bit of traffic as he did. Outside the diner he stopped, tipped his head back and glared up at overcast skies. He smiled, inhaling deeply, then blew out his breath in a long steady stream. He watched his crystal breath roll though the air in a sparkling plume. He smiled again, and winked at the couple who happened by.
He entered the diner, not in his usual "Leave me alone," manner, rather one that suggested he was ready to take on the world. He chose to sit smack in the middle of the diner, instead of hiding in a corner booth. As he sat and waited for his waitress, he took in the sights of the diner. People were scattered everywhere. Some in conversation while others read the paper and sipped their coffee. There were a few families -- the kids ate their pancakes or colored on the kid's menus provided. Many things he never thought to pay attention to before.
The waitress was coming, and Zak sat up straight and put on a warm and inviting smile. "Julie," he began, as she was his favorite and the only one at the diner who ever really paid him any mind.
"The usual?" She replied.
"Nope, today I would like a sausage and cheese omelet, side of bacon and a large cup of OJ." He said rather proudly.
Julie smiled in surprise, "Would you like some toast or pancakes this morning?"
He stared up at her for a moment. He'd never really noticed that she was a rather attractive woman. She was kind and helpful as well. He smiled at her, and she returned the smile with a slight turn of embarrassment. "Pancakes, Julie, I would like the pancakes."
"Very well," she said, turning on her toes and sauntering off to deliver his order.
Breakfast sat well with Zak. He savored the taste of the sausage, bacon and the OJ. He took special delight in the pancakes, which he smothered in strawberries and maple syrup. He also took a special interest in Julie, who spent much time at his table exchanging small talk and smiles.
As he left the diner, he was sure to give Julie one last glance. She looked away and smiled, embarrassed by his attention. He thought for a moment about going back in and asking her out, but thought better as he had a few things to take care of before he could consider such a move.
Instead of going back to his apartment as he would normally have done, where he would have spent the rest of the morning laying in bed, absorbing the pain and cursing the doctors, he walked along the street, looking into the windows of the small shops that lined his way. He also thought about the liquid he got from the old woman, and how it was the first thing he had ever taken that didn't turn his stomach. A miracle cure, which was more than he had ever hoped for.
At the end of the block he spied it. The lightning yellow Lancer. The one from his dream and the car he had been saving for. He had the money for the down payment and the credit to finance, but never bothered to follow through because of his cancer. Now, however, with the pain gone and the cancer as well, what was stopping him?
Zak Tran moseyed across the street and eyed the car up close. He admired the clean finish, even beneath the gray sky. The lines were sharp and nicely molded. It had the racing gear, spoiler, pinstripes, tires and even a moonroof.
"She's a beauty." He heard someone say.
It was a salesman. "I want her." Zak rubbed his hand over the cold paint and smiled.
His new lightning yellow Lancer shined. Snow had begun to fall as Zak looked on proudly at his new car. The thought occurred to him that he would have to return to work, and he would. His boss had been more than kind to him, allowing him to take a leave of absence, and promising him a job whenever he felt up to coming back. His savings were gone, now that he'd purchased the car, and he hadn't earned a paycheck in over two months. His pain was gone, even if it was only for a day. He was convinced that his cancer was cured by some miracle from the wrinkled old woman, and he did have another bottle of the remedy. He decided then that he would return to work tomorrow and finally get his life back on track.
Zak returned to his apartment and tossed the keys and his keyless entry pad on his nightstand. Opening the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer and turned on the television. He flipped channels for a while, moving from one Christmas show to another, settling on 'It's a Wonderful Life.'
He couldn't get over the feeling. The relief to be able to live a day free of pain. His thoughts kept wandering back to the frail old lady and how she so willingly helped him. He was fortunate in that respect, he figured. Through it all, there was always someone who was kind to him; his boss, Julie at the diner and now the old woman.
The television faded into the backdrop as he made himself comfortable in his chair. He took a long, slow drink of his beer before setting it down. His thoughts, they flew through his mind in a blaze. He felt, dare he think, happy at that moment. Content and most pleased with the sudden change of events. He thought this, as his eyes grew heavy.
Copyright © 2003 by Various