Still Life

Something that should never happen, that's what happened.

Always to me...

I wrote a story titled "Undone" some months ago, and it won a couple of contest here, so I decided to submit it to three different magazines. The Story Teller picked it up, and I accepted their offer and sent out withdraw letters to the two other magazines I had submitted to.

The next day, a letter from the Victory news arrived in my mailbox with (Thank God) a lesser offer. This is something that has never happened to me before. Not only that, but I have books on writing and the publishing industry that state this will never happen, so not to be concerned about it!

         Sigh...

Well I felt bad having to turn down the Victory news, they having sent me such a nice letter of acceptance. I sat down and wrote this tale specifically to fill there now vacant column space. I completed it in one sitting, and sent it off to them. I figured that if I sent them something, it would make amends for my 'withdrawl after acceptance'.

Surprisingly, they accepted the story, sent me another rather nice letter in the mail, and this story was printed in thier 9/06 edition.

Now for a stranger tale:

Still Life

         “Mike, I need to begin getting things together as it concern’s Sandy’s estate. I know we talked about this last year, but it’s time to get things on paper.”

         He could tell in Lucas’s voice, even over the phone, that something had changed, a corner had been turned, and it was a darker path now before him. “So, things aren’t going very well?”

         “She is not responding to any treatments, and her doctors have pretty much given up hope.”

         “How do you know that, Lucas? You’re not a doctor; did they say that to you?”

         “You could tell in his voice... That and the self-administered morphine drip he prescribed for her.”

         Mike was a lawyer, not a doctor, but he knew what this meant. “How bad is she, Lucas? Can she read and sign her name?”

         “Some days are better than others…” He replied and even over the phone, Mike could hear the strain in his voice. Sandy was a wonderful woman, one of those one-out-of-a-million girls who could love passionately, looked as if she had stepped off the cover of a magazine, and made more money than Lucas. It was going to be a terrible loss for him, and Mike as well.

         “Why don’t I stop by with the papers, and you can have her sign them when she can.” He offered.

         “That would be great, I don’t like leaving her alone, not now.”

         “It would be my pleasure, Lucas. You know that.”

         “You’re a friend, Mike. Thanks.”

         “When was the last time you had a good meal, amigo?”

         “I don’t really remember.”

         “I’ll stop by around six, and bring something for dinner.”

         “I’ll see you then... Really, thanks.”

         Mike placed the phone gently in its cradle, his thoughts rushing him in a deluge of college memories. He had met Sandy first, dated her for a time, fallen in love with her, but it was not the same for Sandy. She treated him kindly, tender with his ego, but eventually let him go. It was a powerful blow, and his grades suffered for two semesters because of it. When he introduced Sandy to Lucas, and they hit it off almost immediately, it had been therapeutic knowing that it was his closest friend that would win her heart, and that he would treat her as well as Mike.

         Now that their relationship was ending, but with such finality, he had become a stir of emotion, of guilt and glee, relief and self-loathing. How close it had come to him being the one to lose Sandy in such a bad way, how much he wished it was him instead of his close friend, but glad he would not suffer as Lucas. Mike had seen his mother to the grave and from the same ailment. He had experienced the tragedy of pain and suffering brought by this wicked end, had orchestrated the right things to say to ease a loved one into the darkness of death. It was going to be a hard time for Lucas.

         “Jesse!” He shouted for his secretary. A studious and efficient woman whose real name he could just not pronounce.

         “Yes, Mr. Kramer?” She asked from the door of his office.

         “We put together some papers for Lucas and Sandy Monk a few weeks ago. Can you find those and put them with my briefings?”

         “Sure…”

         “Also, if either of them call, they are to be patched through now matter what I am doing.”

         “It’s not going well then?” She asked softly. Jesse was one of those people who genuinely cared for everyone, and often times spoke to Jesus on a stranger’s behalf.

         “No, it’s not Jesse. Thank you…”

         She bowed her head a bit and turned to leave, but before escaping she stopped and turned back. “I know, Mr. Leonard, you have no real faith, but I will say a prayer for her, if you don’t think they will mind.”

         “That would be nice...”

         “I know someone, well I don’t know them personally, but they might be able to help.”

         “Are they a doctor?”

         “I think so…”

         Mike placed his Monte Blanc on the paper he was signing to dedicate a bit more attention to Jesse. “How can he help?”

         “I don’t know, I never met him, but my cousin had that heart trouble, remember I told you about him last year?”

         “Yeah…” He said patiently.

         “Well, they called this guy, and he came and did something or another, I don’t know what, and no one will tell me, but he survived.”

         Mike immediately pictured a witch doctor dancing some voodoo dance around a stricken child; to him it was not much more than praying to the iconic image of a man nailed to a cross. “Is he a faith healer or something?” He hoped he did not sound incredulous.

         “I don’t know, really. I can get his number for you if you like.”

         “Sure, just drop it in the Monk file before you put it in my briefcase.” He replied, more out of the interest of ending this conversation and returning to his billable hour. “Will you call Diego’s and put together a dinner for three, take out, at say 5:30?”

         “Anything in particular you would like? I can get you a menu…”

         “No, you choose. You know what I like, but make sure it is not too spicy. Also, get a hold of Beverly’s Beauty and arrange a house call for the Monks, a makeover or whatever you think Sandy would like, spare no expense.”

         Jesse smiled at him, “She will like that…”

         “I know my mother did.”

* * *

         When Lucas answered the door, Mike was shocked at how disheveled he had become, and so quickly. He was drawn and bitter looking, unshaven and obviously had not slept for more then a few minutes at a time. The man looked run out and worn through, a condition he could not fault him. “Hungry?”

         “Mike, it’s really good to see you man, come on in.” Lucas stepped back to allow him entry. The house was moderate, not burdened with the flashy or gadgetry of modern time, an influence of Sandy, Mike knew. She was such a simple woman, never feeling the need to impress anyone with more than her beauty, wit, and abundant charm. Lucas, left alone, would have the house lit with tiny blue, red and green lights on every sort of gizmo he could get his hands on. For Sandy, he curtailed this need, and suffered little for it.

         “Where’s Sandy?”

         “She’s up in bed, having a good day today…”

         Mike brought the food into the large colonial style kitchen, and placed the plastic bag of Styrofoam trays on the table. “Can she come down and eat with us, or would that be too much?”

         “She could, but she just fell asleep. I think I would like her to sleep a bit if you don’t mind.”

         “No, man, not at all… How are you getting along?”

         Lucas drew out one of the kitchen chairs at sat hard. “It’s rough. I haven’t been to work in almost a month; the guys at the shop said it was no problem, and to take all the time I needed. Sandy is being wonderful…” His voiced trailed off into his thoughts.

         “I am having a beautician stop by tomorrow, sort of a surprise for Sandy.”

         Lucas looked up at him, and he could tell he was close to a point where men don’t normally go. “That’s really nice, man. She will like that.”

         Mike retrieved some plates from the cupboard, silverware from a drawer, and began to serve up the dinner he had brought, already past the warm stage and sliding quickly into the cold and congealed.

         “Did you bring all those papers?”

         “Yeah, they are in the folder there, ready to be signed. Sandy needs to sign in a couple of places as well, so I will leave them with you until she is, you know, of sound mind…”

         Lucas dragged them across the table with a doleful arm, and flipped them open as Mike began portioning out small cuts of steak and yellow rice. He thumbed through the pages, “You have a copy of her will on file, right?” After asking the question, Lucas’s face twisted into an admirable attempt to keep from crying in front of Mike.

         “Yeah, I do. Don’t worry about the legal side of all of this; you know I will make sure everything is in order. You keep your mind on Sandy, and I will take care of the rest.” He reached into the last bag and drew out a bottle of tequila, the good kind with the worm still at the bottom, and twisted the cork top off. “You need a glass?” He asked but passed the bottle to him at the same time.

         He took the bottle by its slender neck, and up ended it, taking a long pull. “No, I’m good…” He replied and sent the bottle back. “What’s this?” he held up a small yellow square of paper.

         Mike plucked it from his hand and found the name Steven Carter with a long distance phone number. “Oh, I almost forgot about that. Jesse said this was a doctor that helped her cousin when he was sick. She said you might want to give him a call and see if he can help Sandy. For all I know it’s a faith healer or a witch doctor.” He shoveled a spoon full of yellow rice into his mouth.

         “At this point, man, I’ll try anything…” Lucas mused aloud and tucked the small sheet of paper back into the folder.

         “It’s up to you, but I say toss it. She is a bit of a religious fanatic.”

         “I’m open to just about anything, if it can help her.”

         Mike could see in his face how desperate he had become. Imagining it was his Sandy, it was not hard to see why. “Do you need any help around here? You know, like a nurse or a maid, anything to take any load off of your shoulders?” He knew Lucas would object, but felt obliged to offer him any kind of help he could imagine.

         Lucas smiled up at him from his slouched and defeated posture. “No, Mike, I can manage.”

         “How about just for a couple of days so you can get some sleep?”

         “If I had an army of servants in here, I still wouldn’t sleep. Sometimes, I doze off when I can, but I don’t want to lose a moment with her now.” He pulled on the tequila again, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “You don’t know how precious they are until, well, you know.”

         “Have you contacted a Hospice? They can help with this kind of thing.”

         “No, this is for me to take care of, and Sandy. We don’t want strangers in the house when the time comes. I appreciate the offer though, and the make-over thing tomorrow is more than
enough help.”

         Mike took this as a hint that he should not be there either, “Well, I have to meet with a potential client for drinks, so I will have to be off. Can I look in on her before I go?”

         “She is asleep, but I don’t see why not. Try your best not to wake her.”

         “Sure; you try and eat something…” Mike said and stood as Lucas took another pull of tequila.

         He climbed the steps with a light foot, and approached Sandy and Mike’s bedroom door. He eased it opened, still holding to the perfect silence, and looked upon she who was soon to die, and was amazed. Even with the sallow features of a cancer patient, and the unforgiving drugs coursing from the IV, she was simply radiant and alive, not looking close to any end. His heart lurched, and for the first time since he had received the news of her condition, Mike feared he may begin to cry. Not simply for the loss of a dear friend and one-time lover, but for the beauty the world was going to have to go without, the soul of pure good that was near escaping the grasp of medical science, that and the bald fact that the world would remain ignorant of its own loss.

         It was this very moment, and ones like this, that fortified Mike’s disbelief in God; any God. This woman could inspire poetry or painting, sculpture or song, and had even brought Mike to a point of celibacy. The God that others believed in, regardless the names they gave him, if he truly were for the good of mankind would not let this treasure of a woman slip into the unforgiving oblivion that was Mike’s afterlife. Nor would this deity call her to his side, for she was much too precious to the damned that walk the earth. He closed the door and left the house without another word to Lucas. He would understand, and right he now cherished the moments of solitude afforded him by chance. That and Mike was at the point were he would be inconsolable, and found it a difficult task to drive while his eyes blurred then released tears for the lost Sandy.

* * *

         Lucas heard his wife calling his name gently, asking him for him in that musical soprano voice. It nudged him, motivated him to swim up from the darkness and come fully awake. Then the tequila reminded him of what he was about with its wicked hazy vision and diamond splinter headache. “Lucas?” The gentle voice called again, and he yanked the small radio from his hip. “Hey there, Chick-lit; you need something?”

         “Hi…” She drew out in an almost sensuous way, but she was not as cruel as that. “I’m a bit hungry actually.” Her voice was still a blessing to hear, even over the single speaker of the cheap walkie-talkie.

         This excited Lucas, always did when she said she felt hungry. The chemotherapy had forced this basic need from her body, and any food he could get into her just might postpone the inevitable conclusion, which was his to suffer. “I’ll bring you something up right away. Mike was here, and he brought some Diego’s with him.”

         “Why didn’t you wake me? I would have liked to have seen him.”

         “He could not stay long, I’ll be right up.”

         He filled a plate with more food than she would need; more a continued sign of his devotion to her than a waste of food. He was compelled to over-achieve, in this one thing; she would want for nothing if it was in his power to provide it. He rushed the plate through the microwave, grabbed a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator, and mounted the stairs to deliver it.

         “Hi…” She drew out again as he opened the door. It never failed to warm his heart, something much too rare at this moment in his life.

         “Hey there, how you doing?” He asked in a soft voice.

         “I’m good, sweetie. What do you have there?”

         “Oh, some steak, yellow rice, beans, that sort of thing.”

         “Sound’s great. What did Mike stop by for?”

         “He brought over some papers to sign, you know, just in case.”

         “Lucas, you know it is not ‘just in case’.” She sounded like his third grade teacher, strict but in an unbelievably soft way.

         “I, my dear Sandy, have not given up hope, and will not, either.”

         “Yes, I know. Do I need to sign something?”

         He placed the tray over her, and sat on the bed beside his hearts only commitment. “Yeah, but that can wait. Try the steak, if you think you can hold that down, it’s really tender.”

         “How’s Mike?” She asked as she picked up a fork with a weakened hand.

         “He’s worried. You know how he is. He loves you almost as much as I do.”

         “I love him too. You stay close to him after, you know… He will help you get through everything.”

         “Eat…” Lucas ordered with arched eyebrows. She smiled up at him, and took a careful fork of beans to her mouth. “I spoke to a Dr. Steven Carter today. He said he thinks he can be of help, but that it will be very expensive.”

         “What kind of doctor is he?” She said around the rice.

         “I didn’t ask, actually. He said he can not cure you, but he can prevent you from, you know.”

         “Oh,” Hope invaded her face, “How does he propose to do that?” She asked with a mild voice.

         “Once more, I don’t know.” His hand found her thigh, which he squeezed gently, “He has a device or something, but he said it is irreplaceable and can only be used a few times. I asked him to come and pay us a visit.” He smiled through the sleepless months of worry.

         “Lucas, I don’t want you to spend too much money, he could be a shyster or con artist or something. The doctor warned us about this.”

         “It’s worth a visit, don’t you think?” He was having trouble keeping the exasperation from his voice; his nerves were not just worn but frayed like old rope.

         Sandy looked at him, and without any consideration for herself, she mourned this poor man’s loss, his grasping at the inconceivable with his last bitter fibers of strength. Her chest ached not with the raging cancer, but with her love for her husband. “I suppose it is, sweetie.” She smiled as best she could, and the fork fell from her numbed fingers.

         “Let me…” He said quickly, and took responsibility for the fork.

         After many silent mouthfuls of food, she indicated that she was full. “Did you give him any money?”

         “No, Sandy, I haven’t.” Lucas lied to her in a pleasant voice.

         “Do you really think he can help?”

         “He sounded more like a prick than a doctor, but you have to have something up your sleeve to be that cocky.”

         Sandy smiled at him again, deciding to allow him his flights of fancy, as long as he did not put what little money they had been able to save into a con man’s pocket. The cancer was no longer specific, having spread through many of her organs. She knew she was going to die, and there was nothing to be done for it. It was her job now to make sure Lucas, her tender husband, could make a life for himself after she was gone. That started with money, and he would need whatever they could save, even if she had to go a bit sooner.

         Then the pain took her, and she flexed beneath its onslaught. She fumbled for her button, that magic pain removing button, and clicked it down over and over until she felt the warm rush of morphine surge across her body, and washed her into oblivion with its numbing wake.

* * *

         When the knock finally came at the door, Dr. Carter was already two hours late. Having refused to give Lucas his cell number, he was forced to wait, and when he answered the door Lucas was seething. “You said ten; we have been waiting for hours!”

         The dour little man looked at him with heaping pounds of disgust. “Would you like me to leave? There are others who can use my help…”

         “No.” Lucas said after a pause, and stepped aside to let the man into his home. He was young, younger than Lucas had expected of a doctor who claimed he could help the terminally ill. He wore expensive jeans and a designer shirt, heavy height augmenting shoes, and jewelry that could only be described as gaudy.

         “We must discuss the agreement, Mr. Kramer. My time is short; as I am sure you can guess.” He bustled into the living room with some tall thing under one arm, draped in a concealing brown cloth. All Lucas could tell was that the thing had a wooden tripod. He sat properly on the couch, and set this thing to one side with gentle hands. He drew a length of paper from his coat and sat it on the coffee table. “Please read this and sign it, quickly. The treatment will only take a moment, and I have a flight to catch. Hurry now.”

         Lucas came into the room and picked the lengthy parchment up. He read it briefly; finding a dollar sign that stopped his breath. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?” he shouted.

         “Yes.”

         “I can’t afford that!”

         “Very well, I must be going.” He stood and retrieved his contraption, stuck his hand out and waited for the contract to be returned.

         “Wait! Don’t rush me!”

         “Mr. Kramer, if you can not afford this, there are others that can.”

         “Wait! Damn you! I thought you were a doctor!” Lucas was ready to wind this guy’s clock and ring it twelve noon.

         “I am a doctor, a doctor of sociology.”

         “You’re not a doctor?”

         “Once more, I am; not a doctor of medicine, a doctor of sociology.”

         “This is a scam!”

         “No… Listen I don’t need that, keep it.” He said curtly and turned to leave.

         Lucas reached out and grabbed the man by the shoulder. “How can you play with people like this?” He spun the little man around. “If you can’t help, why are you doing this?”

         “I can help, I assure you. If you had an education above the fourth grade, you would have read in the contract that if the treatment does not prove to be effective, you will owe nothing. If however, it does, you have the option of paying a one time lump sum or make payments over five years.”

         Lucas let the insult slide past. “Alright, slow down. How does this treatment work?”

         The little Carter man stared at him for some moments before continuing. “It places the illness in stasis, or perhaps the soul, I don’t know which, nor do I care. It will not cure her, but will prevent it from getting worse. In the case of cancer, she has the likelihood of recovering on her own, if not, as organs become available; they can be transplanted until all the cancer is gone. Either way, I could care less, and is entirely up to you.”

         This man was so bitter, Lucas found himself wanting nothing more than to strangle him right there, well except to see his Sandy cured. “Can I have my lawyer look this over?”

         “Once more, I could care less. However, my flight leaves in three hours, and I fully intend to make it. That gives you; let’s see, about twenty minutes. I shall wait on the couch.” He sauntered over and sat himself on the couch like an evil gremlin attempting to hide in plain sight.

         Lucas tried to focus on the paper, read through the swirling words, but his anger was clouding him. His education had brought him up to high school, and then a couple of years at college, but this contract was written with such complicated wording, such disregard for those not lawyers, that he could not make much out of its contents.

         “We are running out of time, Mr. Kramer. Are we going to do this or not?”

         Lucas felt his hand gripping the pen in a painful way. He wished desperately that Mike would suddenly appear, like a lawyer genie or something. He tossed the paper down on the table, scribbled his signature across the bottom, and initialed next to the payment option. He stood and looked down at Mr. Carter. Once he treated his wife, he just might pound the snot out of him anyway.

         “Very good, here is your copy.” He replied in a flat and monotone voice as he tore free a pink copy of the contract. “Where is the dying person?”

         Bile threatened to spill over the rim of Lucas’s neck. He took a moment to collect himself, but broke that when Kramer looked at his expensive watch. “Up here.” He said dangerously, and climbed the steps with the little evil bug in tow.

         He eased the door of Sandy’s room open. It had long since become Sandy’s room, ever since she had become bed ridden. “Sandy?” He whispered softly.

         The little insect scurried into the room without waiting for a response, and began to open the tripod and set it a few feet from the bed. Lucas found himself gnawing on his tongue. “Sandy?” He said a bit louder.

         “Let her sleep, she wont need to be awake for this.” The man ordered and continued his work under the brown cloth.

         “What are you doing?” Lucas finally asked.

         The little man froze beneath the cloth for a second. “I am setting up the camera…” He said as if Lucas should already know that.

         “Camera?”

         “Yes…”

         “What do you mean camera? I thought you had a treatment thing under there.” Lucas was beginning to feel as though he was being taken again.

         Kramer poked his head out from under the cloth, “In 1867, an English explorer by the name of Franklin Montgomery began traveling to distant civilizations of the South Pacific.” He quoted in a lecturers voice, “ He brought with him this camera, a Dubroni, and began taking pictures of the natives, who after seeing the photos thought that Montgomery was stealing their souls. I am sure you’ve heard this story, or one like it?”

         “Yes…”

         “Well, it was not true, of course. It did not steal their souls, but they attacked and killed him for his thievery, and worked their dark magic on the camera in an attempt to release the souls trapped within. Montgomery’s man servant eventually stole the camera back and escaped back to England where it sat within his estate, and eventually in a museum for some years…”

         “What does this have to do with my wife?”

         “Nothing really, other than the fact that these spells or incantations they placed on the camera gave it certain properties. Now, when a picture is taken, that person is almost frozen as they are when captured by the camera. I have performed some studies on the thing, but only have a few dry plates left. I have attempted to have more made, but can not seem to find a manufacturer who can reproduce them, at least with the same properties, and they are much to precious to allow their study. There are only three left, and in a few moments, there will be two.”

         Lucas could not comprehend what he was hearing. This man was claiming to be able to freeze a person as they were on film, or the dry plate thing, and prevent their dying of cancer. He had just signed over a quarter of a million dollars, most of which he did not have, to have his wife’s picture taken. “You have got to be joking.” He said in the same dangerous voice.

         “No, my little minded fellow. In a few weeks time, you will see.”

         “You are going to take my wife’s picture, and she will not die from her cancer? You want me to believe this?”

         Kramer looked at his watch again, and then back at Lucas, “In a few weeks, you will take her to the doctor. He will do his evaluation, as he has done before, and discover a miraculous halt to the cancer’s growth. It will not go into remission, mind you, but it will no longer spread. You will see.”

         Lucas’s desperation began to allow him to find credibility in this unbelievable hope, this chance for Sandy to not just live longer, but possibly survive it. “This has worked before?”

         “Yes. I have photographed six other cancer patients, and they are all still alive, as well as a young boy with a congenital heart problem who was waiting for a donor. Now do you want me to do this or not?”

         “Yeah…” Lucas said before thinking. He was making this decision on raw emotion, and chose to consider the consequences later.

         Kramer disappeared under the cloth again, and after a few moments, Lucas heard a loud mechanical click, followed a few moments later by another. “That’s it.” He said as he drew the plate from the side of the antique camera. “Take this plate, her photo actually, and keep it safe. If it becomes damaged in any way, this will not work. Put in a safe or safety deposit box or where ever you keep important things.” He hugged the legs of the tripod again, and lifted the camera up and over his shoulder. “Good day to you.”

         Lucas simply watched the man walk out of the room and down the steps, still lost in a haze of black magic confusion and witch craft wonder.

         “Who was that?” Sandy’s voice was a mere whimper from the depth of her pillow.

         “No one, chick-lit; are you hungry?”

         She did not answer, having already allowed herself to grasp the currents of her morphine and back into the painless oblivion.

* * *

         “It’s simply miraculous…” Dr. Gruber said.

         “What’s that?” Lucas asked, feeling chills rush him when the doctor had used the identical phase as Kramer.

         “There has been no growth, no spreading at all.”

         “What does that mean, Doctor?” Sandy asked with hazy eyes.

         “Well, nothing really, I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. The cancer seems to have stopped spreading. This doesn’t mean it is in remission, it’s just made no progress since your last ultrasound.”

         “Could it indicate remission?” Sandy asked.

         “Well, yes, but again, I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up. All I can say is that it did not get any worse.”

         “Are you O.K. Lucas?” Sandy asked, more concerned with him than herself.

         “I’m fine…” He was actually chilled to the bone. It was what he had hoped for, paid so dearly for, it just seemed the stuff of miracles, but reminiscent of something evil. He sat and
listened to the rest of the conversation with half his heart, a heart heavy with the shadow of guilt.

         When they returned home, Lucas got his precious Sandy to bed, hooked her to the self administered morphine, and she clicked herself to sleep. He studied her for some time, tracing the face of a woman who should have been committed to marble, the wonderful although depleted feminine shape, and tried to reason his brooding feeling of guilt. He had done right, he had kept her from dying, and if she could just replace a few cells, she could drive this cancer into remission. This was the prayer he made that day, the first since he was a boy and still believed in something greater than he. The staleness of his faith had been renewed with the doctor’s visit, and he found it a small point of light in his engulfing darkness.

* * *

         “Mike?”

         “Jesse, I’m with a client…”

         “Yes, I’m sorry, but you asked that I interrupt you if Lucas or Sandy called… She is on line four.”

         Mike had not heard from her in months, “Oh, yes, thank you. Mr. Delany, if you’ll excuse me a moment…” He yanked the phone up to his face, “Sandy?”

         “Mike?”

         “Hey there…” He said softly, “How you hanging in there?”

         “I need your help…” She whispered. Mike detected a bit of urgency in her voice, that or desperation.

         “Anything, you know that…”

         “Did you know about eight months ago, Lucas had someone come here and do something to me; doctor he said…”

         “No.”

         “While I was asleep, he brought someone in the room and he did something to me, I don’t know what, but, how do I say this?”

         “Just say it Sandy.”

         “Mike, I should have died already…”

         “And we are all overjoyed at how well you fighting.” Mike cut her off; he was becoming frightened by the direction of this conversation, and the utter desperation in her voice.

         “Mike, I should be dead…” Her voice raced upwards in pitch, and he could hear her begin to cry.

         “Sandy, tell me what’s going on.”

         “I can’t take this suffering, the morphine doesn’t work well anymore, and this damn thing won’t give me enough, and the doctors refuse to do more, oh my God, Mike, I need to die!” She hissed in a whisper.

         “Sandy!”

         “You don’t know…” She trailed off into sobbing.

         “Do you want me to call your doctor?”

         “I want you to kill me…”

         The horror of what she just said surged through him, threatening to force his lunch out and onto his desk. “Sandy…”

         “Please Mike!” She pleaded, still choked with her crying. “If you really love me…”

         “Sandy, I…” He felt himself close to tears as well. “I couldn’t.”

         “Mike… Please…”

         “Sandy, I got to go, I’m with a client.” His voice broke.

         “Don’t let this go on… Help me!”

         “Sandy… I…” He hung the phone up, not to be rude, but for the raging emotions. He loved this woman, and knew how she suffered. When Lucas told him her cancer had not progressed, and for so long now, he thought perhaps that she would beat this thing. But she had been ravaged now for a year or more. He could not comprehend the pain she was in, the quality of her life being only the places morphine used to take her. “Mr. Delany, I am going to have to reschedule this…”

         “I can’t! I need this signed now.”

         “Then I will hand you over to another partner. I have to go.”

         “Damn it Mike! I came to you for a reason…”

         He did not wait to hear the rest of it, and slid out the door like a mindless zombie, his thoughts a whirlwind of moral conflicts and the responsibility of his love for a woman not his.

* * *

         “Mike… What are you doing here?” Lucas looked like a man long lost in the wilderness, like a mad hermit. His hair had grown longer and become a tangled mess of confusion. His clothing appeared unwashed and unchanged, and his face was scraggily unshaven.

         “Hi, Lucas, I came to see Sandy. Is she awake?”

         A look of defensiveness crossed the man’s eyes. “Why? Don’t you think I am taking care of her? She has lived for months longer than the doctor said she would, isn’t that proof I can care well enough for her?”

         “Lucas, of course not; I just wanted to visit an old friend who is sick.” Mike replied in an even tone, shocked at how unstable his friend appeared to be.

         Lucas glared at him for a moment longer, and then his anger seemed to melt from him. “I’m sorry, sure. She is up there watching television; go on up.” He stepped aside to let him in, and as Mike passed him, he could smell the pungent odor of the unclean and recently inebriated. “I’ll be napping on the couch if you need me.” Lucas added, and oozed back towards the kitchen in an uneven shuffle.

         When Mike opened the door to Sandy’s room, the stench of uncaring washed over him. Sandy was awake, lying in her bed, the TV droning on about some news report. She rolled her head over with effort, and smiled weakly at him. “I knew you would come…” Her eyes welled full, “Oh God, I knew you would come…” She released herself to the soft crying.

         She was no longer the vibrant Sandy he had known, but a weary skeletal corpse of a woman, her skin a blotchy pattern, her eye sunken impossibly deep. She was bathed in sweat, the result of the unending pain. She had the small red button in her hand, and was clicking it ceaselessly. In Mikes shock, he trailed the small clear tube upwards to the bag of morphine, and found the small plastic governor now flooded with the clear chemical, but still only allowing an occasional drip to be released and into her vein.

         “Sandy?” Was all he could think to say as his mind came to a rock like conclusion, his morals annihilated by the corpse of the woman he had never stopped loving and the obvious madness of the man claiming to be caring for her.

         “Help me, please…” She worked out and around her sobbing. “I hurt so much…”

         His mother had asked the same thing of him, asked that he put an end to her suffering, but his conviction was to tender, still in its teen years, not resolute enough to bring such a conclusion. This time it was different.

         Sandy should have died months ago, and her continued existence was not only a damnation of herself, but was pushing his dear friend Lucas into madness. He approached the bed, and leaned over to kiss her. “I never stopped loving you Sandy.” He whispered as he worked the governor lose, allowing a rush of morphine into her ruined body.

         “I never stopped loving you, Mike. I am glad we were friends…” She trailed off as the morphine took her to that mysterious place. He placed his hand gently over her mouth, and pinched that once sculpted nose closed. She did not struggle or fight, but sighed through to wherever she had gone like a whisper from a bygone lover.

         He held her for many minutes, much longer than was needed to force the life from someone, and he cried like he had when his mother went screaming to her place. This time, for Mike, it was a much kinder passing, but to him it hurt with the same ferocity.

         He left, not wanting to speak to Lucas. In the coming weeks they did not speak much either. Lucas had come to the conclusion that Mike had been the cause of Sandy’s death, even after the autopsy listed it as organ failure due to an acute progressive cancer.

         There had been a couple of phone calls, all with accusations, but Mike was satisfied to hear his voice, and know that Lucas’s mind had not been entirely lost. His friend, as Mike still and always considered him, would be able to carry on, even without Sandy.

         He had not been invited to the funeral, a private gathering of family and other friends, all aware of Sandy’s condition, all expecting the event some time ago. Mike stopped by the gravesite afterward to pay his respects and toss a single white orchid onto the casket before the backhoe covered her up. Sandy had loved orchids, and Mike had always thought that a fitting flower for a woman like Sandy; sometimes rare, always wondrous in their designs, but in all simply a flower.