This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
© 2015 The Designed, LLC
Cover art by Laura Gordon at bookcovermachine.wordpress.com
ISBN: 9781483548838
∼This book is dedicated to Scott and Mark, my biggest fan and critic.∼
Chapter 1
Rho opened his eyes and tried to focus on the whitewashed brick wall to his right. His sense of time had become muddled, and he suspected that he’d lost some days altogether. Initially, he’d held on to a vague hope that he’d be able to mark time by the moon—which he occasionally glimpsed through the paper-thin curtains—but he soon understood that even that small endeavor was impossible. He was rarely conscious long enough to establish the time of day, and a bright morning could give way to the darkness of midnight in the blink of an eye. The sun slipped through the window during the day, but in the pitch black of night the only light emanated from the vitals monitor and the dials on his IV. As his eyes followed the small tube that ran down from the IV bag to the needle that pierced his right arm, he noticed that the white wall was splashed with vivid magenta and tangerine hues. At least he could be certain that it was morning.
All his life, Rho had prided himself on his powers of recollection. Now, any observations he’d made were difficult to remember. He tried to go over what he knew. Every time he awoke he was lying in this small room, and the soreness of disuse was creeping into his muscles and joints. As far as he could tell, he hadn’t been moved from the bed. His mouth was dry, and he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. He’d been here for what he considered a long time—far too long to stay alive without eating or drinking—and he realized that the IV bag must contain nutrients and a very strong sedative. Two-man teams sometimes unintentionally roused him when they were checking his vitals and replacing the IV bag. And based on the colors on the walls and the slant of the light, it seemed that they only appeared at sunrise and sunset.
Rho looked over at his left arm. His port was connected to tubes running to and from an extraction machine. The machine whizzed periodically, sounding as harmless as a hair dryer, but Rho knew better. He’d heard about others being drained to death. It wouldn’t be the strong sedative or foggy reality that would end him. The greedy extraction machine that siphoned the Lucid from his blood was the real threat.
Lucid was the street name for the complex hormone scientifically known as Lucidin. It had quickly come to define Rho’s life, and it was why he’d been captured in the first place. Lucid makes controlling autonomic functions—such as heart rate and blood pressure—as easy as controlling breathing. But that was just one of the properties that made it so coveted. Lucid was a weapon as much as anything else, and Rho knew it could be his salvation…as long as they didn’t take every last drop of it from him.
Yesterday, they’d extracted too fast and Rho’s body had given up its fight to live. Death claimed him, but only for a minute. His captors brought him back to life with an electric jolt from a defibrillator. Rho’s death was unpleasant but quiet, and he thought that if his jailors had any respect for him at all they would’ve let him die. He’d heard one of the men—presumably a doctor—conclude in a gravelly voice that if they were going to preserve him for a while longer they’d have to drain him more slowly and reduce his dose of sedative. Like an elephant hunted for its tusks, he was going to die because of his captors’ insatiable need for Lucid.
The decision to slow extraction and reduce the sedative afforded Rho extended moments of alertness—and a small reserve of Lucidin. He turned his head to the vitals monitor. A little heart in the corner was blinking in rhythm with his heartbeat while a line graph displayed the peaks and dips. Two numbers divided by a line showed his blood pressure. Utilizing the Lucid that the extraction machine had yet to rob him of, Rho lowered his heartbeat and blood pressure. His goal was to keep his vitals hovering just above unconsciousness until the morning team had come and gone. This gave him something to focus on besides the past, the dismal-looking future, and his growing concern that his brothers would suffer the same wretched fate.
A two-man team arrived just as the sunrise was giving way to a sunny, cloudless day. The doctor looked at the readout of Rho’s vitals, and the other man walked over to the extraction machine.
“Damn! He’s doing worse,” announced the doctor in his gravelly voice. “We’ll have to slow the extraction and reduce his sedative a bit more.”
“What? Are you serious?” screeched the assistant. Lowering his voice, he said, “We already did that yesterday.”
“Yes, we did. But if we don’t do it again we could lose him…too soon.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. No, I don’t,” said the assistant as he removed the vials of Lucidin from the extraction machine and delicately placed them in a case.
“He can’t harm us when he’s in this state,” the doctor assured him. “Anyway, the longer we keep him alive, the richer we’ll be. You like that don’t you?”
“Fine, if you insist. I’ll do it,” agreed the assistant.
Rho felt a pang of joy—his plan was working. He had to concentrate to keep his heart from kicking up a notch. After replacing the IV bag and adjusting the extraction machine, the men left.
Rho took a long breath and sighed with relief. Unlike most prisons, his had no bars or locked gates. The drugs and fatigue were enough to trap him in his own body—but not for much longer. He would make his escape today. His captors were unlikely to lower the extraction and sedative dose any more than they just had, so he had to make his move. He would do it tonight, when the second team came to check on him.
Today was the first day in a long time that he was aware of each and every moment. He darted his eyes across the room. A small seagull was preening itself on the windowsill. One of the guards had once asked why there weren’t bars on the window. The answer was that the drop would likely kill Rho, and even if he survived the current would pull him under. Occasionally he’d heard people speaking in French, and he figured that he must be somewhere along the French coast.
Knowing that he could die while making his escape, he savored the hours. Part of him wanted to reflect on his life, but he pushed those thoughts out of his mind as soon as they arose. Those thoughts too closely resembled grieving, and he wasn’t about to grieve the life that he was fighting to save….
The sunset was particularly beautiful. Mauve and azure hues playfully painted his room, as though Mother Nature wasn’t aware of the suffering he endured. Maybe she was aware of his suffering—and glad to see it. After all, he was an affront to her.
Rho heard voices as the evening pair opened the door to his room. Of all the teams, Rho was most familiar with this one. These two talked the most, and the young man had once taken a phone call in the room, but he was swiftly reprimanded by the old man. The young, unsure little attendant asked a lot of questions, and although the old man seemed to be aggravated by his companion’s inquires, he always answered.
“The morning crew said he was doing poorly,” the old man said in a sure, deep voice.
“They turned down the machine again. He’s not giving us as much Lucid,” noted the young man as he retrieved the vials.
“From the look of his vitals, he’ll only last a few more days.”
“He’s going to die, isn’t he?” asked the young man. Despite his current job, he wasn’t the heartless kind.
“The world will be better off. He’s dangerous. They’re monsters…all of them. Don’t let his angelic looks fool you. He’s the devil.”
Rho wasn’t sure if the last part was true, but the part about him being dangerous certainly was.
The young man put away the vials of Lucidin. He was clearly troubled by Rho’s situation, and he didn’t respond to the comment. As he leaned over to change Rho’s catheter bag, Rho jerked, causing urine to spill out.
“Oops!” exclaimed the young man.
“You need to be less clumsy,” the old man scolded.
“It’s all over the place. I’ll have to clean him up.”
“Yes, you will!” barked the old man as he walked around the bed and unfastened the leather restraints that bound Rho’s arms and legs. “Get fresh sheets and clothes out of the hall closet…and a sponge and soap,” he yelled as the young man hurried out of the room.
The old man disconnected Rho from the vitals monitor and extraction machine and began to undress him. This was the opportunity Rho’d been waiting for. He didn’t need a machine to sense the old man’s heart. It had a stent and it wasn’t strong—not that it mattered. Rho willed it to stop. The old man grasped at his chest, giving Rho a haunted look. A moment later, he fell dead to the floor.
The young man dropped everything as he stepped inside the room. Without giving Rho much thought, he mumbled a curse under his breath and rushed over to position the old man for CPR. Rho knew that the young man was strong and stressed. His lungs were taking in deep breaths…until Rho stopped them from contracting. The effect was akin to drowning on dry land—like a fish left to flounder in the sun—and he was soon slumped over the old man. It was unpleasant for him, but unlike the old man, he would live.
Rho struggled to sit up. His muscles had atrophied from lack of use. Crawling out of the bed was painful, but he managed to get the phone from the young man’s pocket. He sent a text message and then quickly deleted it before return the phone to its pocket. Rho whispered a prayer, even though he wasn’t sure if people like him deserved a God. Then he pulled himself over to the window, opened it, and jumped.
Chapter 2
One month earlier
Raleigh heard the shower down the hall being turned on. She knew that Lana, her older sister, would be in the bathroom for the next half hour. Her older sister and brother were both back from college to attend Raleigh’s graduation ceremony tomorrow, and the siblings were once again sharing the upstairs bathroom. Raleigh wasn’t as annoyed about it as Regina, her younger sister who spent hours in the bathroom applying her makeup. In anticipation of the shortage of bathroom time, Raleigh had bathed the night before.
Today was the last day of school, and Raleigh had been hard-pressed to get enough sleep. Her stick-straight brown hair was matted after a restless night, but it easily brushed into place. Raleigh’s unofficial school uniform was jeans and a T-shirt, but since it was the last day of school she decided to put on a pair of khaki slacks and a lavender camisole with small white beads across the top.
She’d turned eighteen just last week, but she still had the thin, gawky limbs of a young teenager. Her mother was curvy, so she blamed her father and his lanky relatives for her bird-like limbs.
Heading downstairs, she knew that her mother was cooking breakfast. Raleigh smelled omelets, and that meant that her mother was happy. Pancakes were the clear sign that her mother was unhappy, or she had bad news, hence the need to cook comfort food.
“Is my graduate ready for the day?” asked her mother. “I’ve made you an omelet.”
Raleigh plopped down on one of the high-back stools around the square kitchen island.
“Onion, ham, and green peppers,” said her mother as she slapped a perfect half-circle omelet onto a plate.
“A Denver omelet,” said Raleigh, relieved. Normally her mother forced spinach on her whenever possible, and an omelet was the ideal way to do it.
“We do live in Denver,” said her mother, pushing the plate across the marble countertop to her daughter. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Raleigh wasn’t near enough awake to handle her mother’s good mood. And she knew the peppiness would no doubt annoy Regina, who seemed to be set off by just about everything these days. Raleigh had been the reason for more pancake breakfasts than omelet breakfasts, and she decided to humor her mother. She reached into her school bag and grabbed some papers.
“Locker clean out and book return all morning,” she announced, placing the papers on the counter. Her locker was already mostly cleared out, and she knew it wouldn’t take long to finish the task. “At lunchtime we have a practice run-through for tomorrow, and we’ll be let out early, at three.”
“So you’ll be home at three thirty,” proclaimed her mother, already thinking of ways to fill her daughter’s day.
“No, it’ll be later than that. Uncle Patrick wants me to stop by the hospital.” Raleigh knew that her mother would ask no questions. At least twice a week Raleigh visited or spoke to her mother’s brother, and her mother never wanted to discuss it.
“The run-through today should be fun. Ben and Lana told me they got the rest of their yearbook signatures at their run-throughs.” There was a long pause before her mother finally asked, “Are you going to be wheeled on stage?”
“Mom, I can walk.”
“I know, but if you faint it will be a lot easier to get you off stage if you’re in a wheelchair.”
“I’m not going to be wheeled on,” Raleigh insisted, even though she knew passing out was a very real possibility. There was no way to predict if she‘d lose consciousness tomorrow, or not.
Her first fainting spell occurred on stage in front of a large audience. If she fainted tomorrow it would be like things had come full circle. It happened when Raleigh was twelve and running for the seventh grade student council. As she was attempting to convince the students to elect her—on the basis of her proposed lunch menu changes—something very peculiar happened. A boy in the front row felt an itch on his nose. This alone was nothing special, but what was strange was that Raleigh felt it too. It was as if her nose was itching, only it wasn’t. When he scratched his nose a moment later her suspicions were confirmed. Then, Raleigh somehow knew that the girl next to the itchy boy was wearing shoes that were pinching her little toes. The whole auditorium was filled with students with minor aches, hungry stomachs, or cold skin if they were sitting too close to drafty doors. Raleigh had a moment of profound clarity about what she was experiencing…just before she crumpled to the floor.
At the time, the episode was attributed to speaking anxiety or a small breakfast. She wasn’t a fan of public speaking, but she wasn’t so much frightened by it as she was uncomfortable at having to project her voice loudly enough for the microphone to pick it up.
Everyone discounted the whole thing until it happened again three days later. Raleigh fell into a pattern of passing out up to five times a week, and it could happen anywhere. Stress and adrenaline seemed to precede the blackouts, so at first she was sent to a see therapist. The therapist in turn sent her to a neurologist who, finding nothing wrong, sent her to an endocrinologist, and so on. Over the years, she’d seen all sorts of specialists, from oncologists to acupuncturists, yet no one could offer a definitive diagnosis. She’d grown accustomed to hearing things like “her symptoms aren’t in line with any syndromes,” and “with the exception of her blackouts, she is perfectly healthy.” Everyone agreed that there was no recognizable cause. Still, not knowing the reason for her fainting didn’t stop it from happening.
The stress of having a sick child had taken its toll on her family. Raleigh’s mother fanatically held on to hope. Her father was supportive, but she knew that he‘d long ago given up on finding a cure, or even a treatment. Of course, he would never admit that. Ben was leaving home as the drama began, but Lana and Regina had both been around to experience the consequences. As their parents rallied around Raleigh, her sisters got less attention and they both rebelled. Lana began to contradict their mother constantly, and Regina moped around in indecently skimpy and tight black clothes.
The disease transformed Raleigh too. Burdened by the stress she felt she was putting on her family, she strove to be the perfect child. Never once did she stay out late or get a bad grade.
Although Raleigh didn’t have an explanation for own her fainting spells, she began helping other people by assisting doctors with early diagnoses. She honed her sensing skills over the years, and now she could feel anything from cancer to a runny nose coming on. Cancer had a very distinct feel for Raleigh, and she’d made her first diagnosis in passing. The lung cancer that was killing the man felt different from healthy tissue. The cells felt hungry, motivated to get blood, divide, and spread. Slow-dividing cancer was harder to sense, but it still felt wrong. Her uncle Patrick and his colleagues at the hospital would regularly have her point out potential problems in their patients, but this was only ever discussed in hushed voices. The mere notion of what she could do was so fantastical that speaking of it inevitably led to thoughts of how unfathomable it was. Raleigh had once made the mistake of telling her therapist about her talent. His response was that she was “delusional.” She knew she wasn’t, but the whole concept was so crazy that she thought surely anyone who believed it had to be a little insane, and she became sensitive about others even mentioning it.
Raleigh was excited to graduate, but she certainly didn’t want to be wheeled on stage. She was a very plain girl who was constantly trying to fade into the background. And unlike Regina, she didn’t need gobs of makeup or scandalous clothes to make an impression. Her regular fainting spells were enough to make her stand out.
“Is that the program for tomorrow?” asked her mother, noticing the cream-colored pamphlet tucked under Raleigh’s schedule.
“Oh yeah,” said Raleigh, taking another bite of omelet which was colder than the last. “They gave it to us so we could make sure our names are spelled right.”
“Let me see that,” said her mother, reaching for the program and looking up her daughter’s name. “Well, they spelled both Raleigh and Groves correctly. They did make a mistake though. Is there still time to correct it?”
“No. Changes had to be in last week. What did they mess up?”
“It says you’ll be going to CU in the fall.”
“That’s not a mistake,” Raleigh replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She was hoping her mother would drop it.
“You aren’t going to the University of Colorado…or any college.”
“I am,” Raleigh said firmly with a chunk of omelet still in her mouth. Her breakfast had become inedible and she put her fork down. Raleigh wasn’t a rebellious teen, but she wanted her mother to know that she was serious about this. She’d caused her parents too much unintentional grief, and defying her mother was not something that she was comfortable with, but she’d made up her mind.
“Of course…I didn’t mean to make it sound like that. What I meant to say is that you won’t be going next fall. You’ll go next year, or the year after…once they cure you.”
The year after. The phrase mocked Raleigh. Her dreams had been pushed just out of reach for too long, always with the promise of being fulfilled after the mystery illness was cracked. Raleigh wasn’t sure what was more suffocating, having the disease or the intense search for a diagnosis and cure.
“Mom, it’s never going to happen.” Raleigh had believed this for years, but she’d never had the heart to say it out loud to her mother. “I’m not getting better. The best I can do is live my life as best as I can…despite my blackouts.”
“Don’t say that!” her mother squealed. Beth Groves was a woman who believed that there were no riddles too hard to solve. She felt that if people put their minds to it, they could accomplish anything. Concerning her daughter, she was convinced that they just hadn’t stumbled upon the right doctor yet—the one who would know what was wrong with her.
“I’m eighteen. I can do whatever I want…” Raleigh started, but she realized that she sounded like Lana and decided not to belabor the point.
“College is expensive,” responded her mother. “Your siblings have the money we saved for them, but most of your college fund was spent on doctors. We may be able to raise enough to cover part-time tuition in a few years…at a nearby community college. That would be more practical anyway. It would be considerably cheaper, and you could still live at home.”
“I got a full ride.”
This was Mrs. Groves’ worst nightmare. It may have been the only time in history that a parent was heartbroken to learn that their child got into college and was having it paid for in full. She stood for a moment over the frying pan, collecting herself and trying to come at the argument from another angle. Theodore Groves, Raleigh’s father, was the attorney in the family, but he could never hope to rival his wife as a debater.
“Oh, I see,” Beth Groves finally said, unable to think of anything better than saying no a second time. “Well…we’ll discuss this tonight.”
Raleigh slid off her stool, and she felt her mother’s blood boiling. Her mother tended to have a knot in her stomach when she was aggravated, but her stomach was unmistakably churning now. Raleigh collapsed to the floor. The protective bumpers her mother affixed to the edges of the counter served their purpose, and she didn’t knock herself too badly. Beth Groves walked around the island shaking her head. The display was frequent enough to no longer be upsetting.
“You go right ahead and prove my point,” she whispered under her breath as she looked at her unconscious daughter.
“Well,” said Raleigh as she was coming around, “I hardly ever pass out twice in one day. So I guess I’m covered for practice today.”
“What sound logic,” her mother replied with a grimace as she helped Raleigh to her feet.
Raleigh grabbed her bag and headed off, wishing that she hadn’t passed out until she was in the garage. She quickly fastened on her bike helmet and pads. The only other kids who sported a helmet and elbow, wrist, knee, and shin pads were under the age of six and dressed by their parents. The precautions may have seemed like overkill, but they weren’t. Raleigh had fainted a few times while riding her bike, and she’d gotten some pretty nasty scrapes and bruises. Some people used to snicker at all her safety gear, but that quickly tapered off. The other children had either been told by their parents, or figured out on their own, that Raleigh was up against some pretty big obstacles. She fainted so often that it was no longer a spectacle, and nobody liked to make fun of a truly sick kid. What people were likely to discuss or laugh about, however, was her neon yellow and orange visibility vest that screamed for attention. But the bike was her only realistic form of transportation to school, as driving was obviously not an option, and walking took too long. So, uncharacteristically for a teen, Raleigh was prepared to sacrifice her image to avoid giving up her small bit of freedom.
Fueled by the episode with her mother, Raleigh made it to school faster than usual. She looked up at the high school as she locked her bike and realized that this was the last time she’d be entering it as a student. A lot of the other seniors were hanging around outside, and she exchanged smiles with a few of them.
They were all eager to leave, but Raleigh was less enthusiastic. She enjoyed school for the most part, and she wondered if the sullen mood that suddenly came over her was premature nostalgia or anxiety over her uncertain future. Her friend Mike intercepted her before she made it to her locker.
“Ralls, are you coming over for the cookout tonight?” asked Mike. His parents planned their graduation party a day early to celebrate the last day of school, rather than the graduation.
“Sorry, no,” said Raleigh judiciously. “My mom wants me to go straight home after my meeting with Dr. Moore and Uncle Patrick,” she added, not wanting to offend him.
“Dr. Moore?” he replied, raising his eyebrows.
Raleigh felt the muscles in his neck tighten at the mention of Dr. Moore, the oncologist. From the look on Mike’s face, Raleigh guessed that he was thinking about his aunt Susan. Two years ago, Raleigh had sensed ovarian cancer in his aunt. She’d told Mike what she suspected and handed him Dr. Moore’s business card. Over a very uncomfortable dinner, Mike told his aunt Susan that she needed to see an oncologist and gave her the card. Predictably, his aunt didn’t believe him and asked if he really thought his friend could feel such a thing. Mike said he unequivocally believed what his friend said. Susan didn’t think it was possible, but she humored her nephew and saw Dr. Moore anyway. Her cancer was caught early, and her prognosis was good—thanks to Raleigh.
“Susan is fine, I’m sure. This has nothing to do with her, or any other patient. It’s about me,” Raleigh reassured him.
“They think it’s cancer?” asked Mike, trying to keep his voice calm. Cancer had been struck off the list of Raleigh’s potential culprits years ago, and he was troubled at the idea that the disease was being revisited.
“No. I’d know if I have cancer.”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t have a clue. All I know is that they said they have someone they want me to meet.”
“You guys better grab a bag and get to cleaning out your lockers,” interrupted Emily, Raleigh’s best friend and Mike’s girlfriend. She handed each of them a bag for trash and a bag for recyclables. “Raleigh, I found that gray sweater you lent me last February at the bottom of my locker.”
“I wondered where that was,” said Raleigh, glancing around. The students who’d spent too much time loafing outside were rushing to clear out their lockers, and she and Mike were among the last dawdlers. “Everyone is so happy to be leaving.”
“Of course they are. College is going to be awesome,” said Mike, shoving a stack of loose-leaf papers into his recycle bag. Emily gave him a pointed look, and he corrected himself. “I’m sure that you’ll still have fun here…if you don’t go.”
“I’m going,” Raleigh announced. “My mom found out this morning and we fought about it.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to fight with your parents,” said Emily, trying to picture what that must’ve looked like.
“It was more a heated disagreement.”
“Did you tell her that I’ll keep my eye on you?” asked Emily.
“I’ll let her know,” said Raleigh, even though she knew her friend wouldn’t have the time. “But I don’t think it’ll be enough to calm her.” Raleigh gave her friend a small smile. At six-foot-two she was the tallest girl in the school. If Emily’s height hadn’t been enough to get her a place on the basketball team, her speed and excellent shots would’ve been. Many of Raleigh’s favorite memories were of her and Mike decked out in silver and turquoise—the school colors—cheering Emily on from the sidelines until their voices gave out.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’re right,” Emily nodded. She grabbed her books and took off to return them to the proper carts.
As Raleigh watched everyone scurrying around with excitement, it hit her just how much she didn’t want high school to end. Boulder’s only half an hour away, but it’s still going to be hard, she thought. Knowing that her own parents doubted her ability to handle this next stage of her life made her feel worse. Raleigh decided that she couldn’t afford to second-guess her decision. If her parents sensed doubt in her, they’d find a way to make her stay. She wanted freedom more than anything else—more than safety, more than family, and more than success. Going to college was a form of freedom, and she knew that she had to go no matter what.
The run-through was taking longer than expected, and Raleigh realized that she didn’t even know all the people in her graduating class. Some made it to very few classes, and some hung with different crowds.
“It’s odd that it’s the last day, and for the first time we’re all aware of each another,” Raleigh whispered to Mike. “I feel like this place is more of a home to me than my house, but I don’t know most of these people…and they don’t know me.”
“Everyone knows who you are, Ralls” grinned Mike.
Chapter 3
Not many people cycled to the hospital, and the few physicians and nurses who did had a special place to lock their bikes in the back. Raleigh was usually the only person who utilized the front racks.
As she walked up to the automatic doors, she marveled at how different it was from the first time she’d been there. The whole place had been redone two years ago, and now it looked fancier than most of the hotels Raleigh had been to. Despite the improved ambiance, a patient would never be fooled into thinking that this was some sort of vacation spot. There was no getting away from the unmistakable hospital smell, or people whispering in corners giving their loved ones updates—sometimes in tears, sometimes in relief. Raleigh decided that the renovations must’ve been for the benefit of visitors.
The third floor of the oncology wing was the nicest of all the floors. They had large fundraisers every year, and they always used some of the money raised to add little touches for the patients. There was a calming little waterfall, a fancy coffee machine that was intimidating to use, and a sitting area that looked a lot like a living room.
Raleigh walked over to the doctors’ offices. Dr. Moore’s door was half-open in anticipation of her arrival. She knocked, and the three men in the room stopped their conversation as she stepped inside.
“Raleigh, good to see you,” Dr. Moore acknowledged her warmly.
For an oncologist, he was remarkably upbeat, jovial, and quick to laugh. Raleigh didn’t think she could keep up such a pleasant disposition being around cancer patients all day. Then again, he didn’t feel their cancer…but the pain was often unmistakable on their faces.
Raleigh’s uncle walked over and gave her a small hug before introducing her to the very small, round man with terrible heartburn.
“This is Dr. Orman.”
“Hi,” said Raleigh. She reached out to shake the man’s hand and noticed his stubby fingers.
“It’s a pleasure meeting you,” replied the peculiar little man as he zealously shook her hand. “Please, call me Henry.”
“Why don’t we all take a seat?” said Dr. Moore, gesturing to the chairs facing his desk.
Patrick and Henry sunk into the modern-looking leather seats, leaving the one in the middle free for Raleigh. She wondered how many people had learned their fate while sitting in one of these comfy chairs. If you were sitting here, you already knew that it was bad news. The question was, how bad? For a moment, she thought that maybe she shouldn’t have been so quick to tell Mike that it wasn’t cancer. As she sat down, she looked at her uncle. If there was bad news, she wanted it to come from him.
“Raleigh, we hope you don’t mind that Henry’s here. He’d like to perform some tests on you,” explained her uncle Patrick.
“Are you a neurologist?” she asked, scrutinizing Henry. Patrick was convinced that she had a nervous system problem—due to her stark clarity and rich sensory perceptions before the blackouts—and she was hoping Henry wasn’t an oncologist.
“No, I’m in research,” Henry quickly clarified. “I’m a biochemist, and I think that I may know what causes your blackouts.”
Doubt filled Raleigh like a long-drawn breath. Henry’s statement was a bold one, and she’d it heard before. It certainly didn’t inspire the optimism in her that he’d imagined it would. The only thing that tempered her skepticism was the look on her uncle’s face. Unlike his sister, Patrick was conservatively pessimistic. He didn’t tell Raleigh that things would get better when he didn’t know that they would. Patrick was taller and slimmer than Raleigh’s mother, but they both had the same slightly large nose and golden-blond hair. If it weren’t for those similarities, Raleigh would never have thought that they were siblings. Now her uncle Patrick’s face had a look of not exactly hope, but curiosity. It was something. Her eyes drifted over to Dr. Moore.
“Do we think it’s cancer?” Raleigh asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
“No, no,” Dr. Moore chuckled. “I should’ve told you that the moment you walked in, sorry. I contacted Henry, and I’m here so that you can use the equipment. As you know, over the years I’ve been on the lookout for any diseases that could explain your condition, but that’s been fruitless. So I decided to focus on your talent instead…your ability to sense others.”
The last sentence hung in the air as though he’d just admitted that fairies exist. Raleigh had been working with the doctors for a long time now, but no one ever really discussed her abilities. The patients were usually just thankful for her help, and they were all happy to leave it at that.
“I’m not delusional,” said Raleigh, feeling like she did in that therapist’s chair.
“Oh, I know! We believe you,” Henry jumped in to assure her. “You are not alone in your skill. My colleagues and I spent most of the eighties researching people just like you. People throughout history have been capable of the same thing, but most of them could only sense others to a much lesser degree. It is, of course, hard to believe that anyone could do this at all, unbelievable almost. Many of the people who claimed to have such abilities were dismissed as quacks or witches. Even in the face of solid evidence, others have mostly chosen not to believe.”
“Really?” Raleigh asked, feeling a little bit vindicated.
“Yes. We found a tribe with many members who are able to feel others’ ailments. The ability seemed to be passed down from generation to generation, and we located a genetic basis for it. We also identified a hormone that they produce endogenously, that‘s to say their bodies make it, and we named it Lucidin. The hormone does two things. It provides heightened awareness and control over the body, and it allows communication using only brainwaves. To think of it another way, Lucidin creates the ability to open a direct line into another person’s mind. That’s what allows the sensing of others. From there, we began testing other people who claimed to have the ability, and we expanded our research. We found that there are some isolated, random cases of people who produce Lucidin without having the genetic markers we found in the tribe. These people do not inherit the ability from their parents or pass it on to their children, they are solely affected.”
“So, I may be one of those isolated cases?”
“Yes,” Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Very few people produce it, but it would definitely explain what you can do. Also interesting is that approximately fifty percent of humans have Lucidin receptors in their brains. But only ten percent of those with receptors have the volume necessary to sense others.”
Raleigh looked at her uncle and Dr. Moore. This all seemed too good to be true, but they certainly looked convinced that Dr. Orman was on to something.
“I’ve reviewed some of the data,” said Patrick. “It’s pretty impressive. If I didn’t know you I’d assume it was fabricated, but I think it can explain what’s been happening to you.”
“Raleigh, we’d like to test you for Lucidin and Lucidin receptors,” said Dr. Moore. “We have a test that can check your blood for Lucidin, and there’s a marker that we can inject that will bind with the Lucidin receptors in your brain and allow us to see them. I’ve done the test myself, but I only have a few receptors.”
“Dr. Moore falls into the fifty-eighth percentile,” Henry revealed.
“I do,” Dr. Moore nodded.
Raleigh looked at the three men waiting on her answer. She’d undergone quite a few diagnostic measures like MRI and PET scans, she’d been poked and prodded, she’d been put on medications and taken off, and she’d been asked all manner of personal questions. Did they really think she was going to say no to a simple blood test and scan?
“When can we do it?”
“Right now,” said her uncle with a smile.
Dr. Moore took Raleigh’s blood and the four of them walked down to the imaging lab.
Raleigh was thinking about what she’d just learned. Henry knew of people like her. That in itself was something to feel hopeful about. But she wasn’t prepared to give the hope bubbling up in her free rein just yet, and she was doing her best to contain it. A nurse administered a small vial of the fluorescent marker that binds to Lucidin receptors, and she helped prepare Raleigh for the brain scan. The nurse mistook her fidgeting for concern and assured Raleigh that the procedure wouldn’t hurt.
The three men watched the monitor as the scan progressed. There was at least a fifty-fifty chance that Raleigh would have Lucidin receptors, but she was more interested to know just how many receptors she may have—to account for her odd talent. She wanted to yell at the three men to tell her the moment they saw anything.
“Remarkable!” Henry announced as they left the imaging lab. “We must test her blood immediately.”
Patrick and Raleigh waited in Dr. Moore’s office while the other two organized the scan results and ran the blood test.
“Did you see anything?” Raleigh asked her uncle as she picked at the hem of her shirt.
“Raleigh, I’m not sure what, exactly, it means, but I think it’s safe to say that we have our answer.”
That statement coming from anyone else would’ve meant very little, but from her uncle Patrick it meant the world. Now all they had to do was wait and see what Henry, the Lucidin expert, made of the results.
“Uncle Patrick, do you know much about Lucidin?”
“No. There really isn’t much to know. There were some articles about it in the eighties and nineties, but not in any credible journals. It appears that only a few tight-knit communities are still studying it. Most people probably discount all this as impossible. I know I would if I didn’t know you.”
Their conversation stopped as soon as the door opened.
Raleigh was surprised that Dr. Moore and Henry were back after just a few minutes. Sometimes her blood had to be sent off for analysis, and she knew that tests and their results often took time. Patience was a virtue that she’d acquired over the years, and it had occurred to her that perhaps that’s why medical staff call their clients patients.
Dr. Moore had a goofy grin that belonged on a boy a third his age, and Henry was practically shaking with excitement. They turned Dr. Moore’s computer so that Raleigh and Patrick could see the results.
“Raleigh, you are truly amazing,” said Henry, looking at her in awe. “I’m going to show you three images…” he started as he bent over the keyboard. A cross-section of brain with a few colored dots illuminated near the middle appeared on the screen. “This is Dr. Moore’s brain scan after receiving the marker. About half the population has no receptors, and Dr. Moore has a smattering of them. So, as I explained earlier, he falls in the fifty-eighth percentile. The next image is from someone who falls in the top fifth percentile.” Henry pressed the right arrow key and an image of a brain with considerably more coloring replaced the image of Dr. Moore’s brain. “As you can see, the volume of receptors is substantially more. Now, we’ll look at yours.”
Raleigh gasped as the next image appeared on the screen. It looked like someone had scribbled all over her brain with a fluorescent highlighter. For years, doctors had insisted that her test results showed that she was a healthy, normal person. Now, finally, she had a result that disproved them all.
“Wow,” was all she could say as she looked at her uncle who was nodding happily.
“This result alone is impressive,” said Henry. “Normal people simply don’t have anywhere near this many receptors. You’re in your own league. But what’s even more impressive is the quantity of Lucidin in your blood. As I’ve told you, it‘s the rare person who makes any at all, and you make on the order of a hundred times more than them. It’s phenomenal really. Statistically, a person like you shouldn’t even exist.”
“What about the blackouts?” Raleigh asked with a sigh of relief.
“With this much Lucidin overwhelming your system, I’d be surprised if it didn’t cause an overload. Think of it like a power surge…a bright flash followed by darkness.”
“That explains my intense clarity beforehand.”
The puzzle pieces were falling into place, and the excitement in the room was palpable. Raleigh felt like she was finally comprehending a concept in math. The problems were befuddling in the beginning, but now everything made perfect sense.
“Is a treatment possible?” Patrick asked, bringing them all back down to earth.
Raleigh’d been so swept up in the diagnosis that she hadn’t even considered that there may not be a treatment. What if there wasn’t one? She thought her heart might break.
“Yes,” said Henry slowly. “This is a very rare thing that she has. Lucidin is valuable stuff. What it allows humans to do is extraordinary. You know Raleigh, so you can imagine the potential. The percentage of the population that makes Lucidin is practically nil, and of those, none of them necessitate extraction. However, there are a few…” Henry sat on that last bit. He looked as though he wanted to say more about it, but didn’t. “Nonetheless, there are extraction machines, and Raleigh would probably need extraction every few days, if not every day. The machines are hard to come by, but I do have one.”
“Can we get your machine here?” Patrick inquired.
“No. It’s old and cumbersome, and the last time I moved it I nearly broke it completely. It took weeks to fix, and I had help. There are newer models, but they’re difficult to get. I’d have to wait until I was contacted by the proper people to see if I could get one. Every now and then I hear from someone, but that’s becoming less and less frequent.”
“We can’t contact them?” Dr. Moore asked, determined to get hold of a machine.
“You have to understand, Lucidin has a tarnished past,” said Henry diplomatically. “Those who were involved in the early research were pushed out of their fields, humiliated, and exiled. Circumstances have driven a lot of the players into seclusion, and anyone still involved with Lucidin is secretive. Twenty years ago it may’ve been different, but they certainly don’t advertise today.”
“Can we take Raleigh to your machine?” asked Patrick, knowing that his sister would be horrified if the answer came back yes.
“Yes, of course. She is more than welcome. I live with my sister and wife, Sabine, in her hometown. We have an apartment above our lab. Raleigh could live with us for free…in exchange for the Lucidin.”
“Thank you, Henry. That’s very kind of you,” Patrick said, relieved.
“It’s the least I can do. Raleigh is very special. Anyway, she may enjoy helping out around the lab. When I acquire a newer extraction machine we can send it home with Raleigh.”
“So, where do you live?” asked Raleigh, wondering if there was a nearby college that she’d be able to attend part-time during her treatment. She dreaded finding out that Henry lived someplace like rural Nebraska, with fields and farmland separating her from anything interesting.
“Liege, Belgium.”
Raleigh remembered from her geography classes that Belgium is the small country just north of France. About the only things she could tie to it were Waterloo and that the capital is Brussels. Beyond that, she knew nothing else about Belgium. She knew that all her mother would know about Belgium is that it’s far away—much farther than California, and Ben had gotten a lot of flak for going that far. Her uncle Patrick was thinking the same thing, and he gave her a worried look.
“How soon could you take Raleigh?” Patrick asked.
“As soon as she’d like.”
“Great. We’ll talk to her mother and make the arrangements,” said Patrick as he stood up. He wanted to get the blessing of Raleigh’s parents before they went any further.
Everyone said their goodbyes, and Patrick and Raleigh left Dr. Moore’s office. He picked up hard copies of the different brain scans for Lucidin receptors, and she went to unlock her bike. Patrick drove around to the front of the hospital and mounted Raleigh’s bike to the back of his Jeep.
As they drove to Raleigh’s house, an unexpected late afternoon rain began to fall. For most of the ride, the only sound in the car was the din of raindrops pelting the roof.
“You do want to go, don’t you?” Patrick finally asked, turning toward Raleigh.
“Yes, of course I do,” Raleigh replied. She definitely wanted to live without blackouts.
“The other option is that you stay here and we’ll start your treatment when Henry hears from those people and can get another machine.”
“That could be a while.”
“Yes, it sounded as though it could be.”
“I could go to Belgium and see how good the treatment is.”
“If you were my daughter you’d be on the first flight over. You’re not though, and your mother won’t want you traveling that far.”
“I’m eighteen. It’s not her call.”
“Will you at least let me do the explaining?” laughed Patrick as he parked in front of Raleigh’s house.
Lana’s scrapbooking supplies were scattered across the table in the Groves’ kitchen nook. Patrick moved everything so he could lay out the brain scans beside each other—to give the full effect. He used his doctor’s voice and small words as he explained everything to Raleigh’s parents. Neither of them said a word during Patrick’s presentation, but Raleigh’s father kept looking at her. He was wondering if they would finally be able to stop his daughter’s blackouts.
“Beth, Theo, I think this is what we’ve been hoping for,” said Patrick.
Raleigh’s father was smiling and her mother was dumbstruck. A moment later, Beth started to cry. She hugged Raleigh and whispered that she’d always known that they would find a cure, and that she’d never given up hope.
“So, Raleigh’s ability to sense disease is not just a delusion,” Theo stated. “I’ve known it all along.”
“Theo, the important thing is that Dr. Orman can treat the condition,” said Beth. “Patrick, you did say that there’s a treatment?”
“Yes,” replied Patrick. “Raleigh’s condition is very rare, and it will require daily blood filtrations with the help of a special machine.”
“How expensive is that?” Beth asked.
Despite her earlier conversation about Raleigh’s depleted college fund, Beth didn’t give the impression that money would stand in her way. Raleigh knew her mother would work an extra job if it meant Raleigh getting the proper medical attention.
“It’s completely free. There is one small hitch, though,” said Patrick delicately. “Dr. Orman can’t move the machine, but he’s offered Raleigh room and board while she stays with him for treatment.”
“How thoughtful, but she can still live here,” replied Beth as she affectionately moved Raleigh’s hair behind her ear as if she were still a young child. “I can drop her off in the morning, or Theo can take her in the evening if that’s more convenient for Dr. Orman.”
“Dr. Orman doesn’t live in Denver,” Patrick said smoothly. “He lives in Liege, Belgium.”
“It’s just north of France,” Raleigh announced, picturing her mother trying to remember where Belgium was on a map.
“I know where Belgium is,” her mother retorted, even though she only knew it was in Europe. “Raleigh can’t move that far away. We’ll have to find a different solution.”
“Beth, it’s a very rare condition,” Patrick reminded her. “That’s why it’s taken so long to diagnose. Dr. Orman is the only person we know who can treat Raleigh. I really think this is too great an opportunity to pass up.”