Plague (7 page)

Sam walked out of the hospital into the parking lot and hailed a cab from a line of three that were waiting for passengers. While she was thinking about it, she scheduled a time tomorrow on her calendar to go rent a car.

“Where to?” the cabbie said in a thick, Hawaiian accent.

“
1572 Kalakaua Avenue.”

They pulled away from the hospital and onto the streets. It was overcast today and she usually responded poorly to bad weather. She had been
troubled
by seasonal affective disorder since she was a child. On snowy
or
rainy days, she would sometimes get so depressed she couldn’t function. Her mother had tried to get her on antidepressants but since it only occurred during bad weather, Sam refused. She figured a better cure was to move
somewhere with a
temperate climate.

“Where you from?” the cabbie said.

“Montana originally.”

“Lots
a cows.”

“There are definitely lots of cows, yeah.”

“What you doing here?”

“Visiting some patients. I’m a doctor.”

“Oh yeah? You know my wife have diabetes and they said that she losing circulation to her foot. Will they have to cut off her foot?”

“Ten years ago I’d say yes. But in this day and age they shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I think. But doctors say they may have to.” He chuckled. “She loves cream and butter mochi. You had this yet?”

“No, what is it?”

“Very very good dessert. You have to have it. But don’t go to restaurant. On the streets you see, um, merchants, and they sell. Much much better.”

“I’ll have to try it.”

They rode in silence a few minutes and then the ca
bbie would ask another question
about diabetes or
about
his cousin who’s getting migraines or
about
the thousand other
medical concerns
she
was
asked
about
every
day. It often surprised her how much need there was for medical doctors and how few the medical schools were actually training.

She arrived at the address and asked the cabbie to wait for her. He turned off the meter and said it was for answering his questions and then pulled out a magazine and began to read. Sam stepped out of the cab and saw a
two-story
house with concrete steps leading up to the front porch. The steps and pavement leading to them were cracked and weeds were growing out
of
them.

Sam walked to the front porch and
, as she knocked on the door,
noticed the stains on a
rocker that was placed outside.
From inside she heard some motion,
things being moved, and
then
she heard a toilet flush. A woman came to the door and opened
it, peering over
the chain that connected the door to the frame.

“Yes?”

Sam could instantly smell the marijuana smoke coming from the home.

“Mrs. Lane?”

“Yes, and who are you?”

“My name is Samantha Bower. I’m a doctor with the Centers for Disease Control. I’m one of your husband
’
s physicians.”

“Oh, hang on.”

She closed the door and slid open the chain before
opening the door all the way
. “Is there news?”

“No, I’m sorry
.
Clifford is about the same
,
last time I checked. I was just wondering if we could talk for a few minutes
.”

“Sure, come inside.”

The home was messy. Books and dishes and clothes were left out, like they had been too busy to clean up, but the entertainment center with the large screen television and state-of-the-art stereo
was
spotless. On the walls were posters of rock climbers, snowboarders, explorers
,
and surfers. A golden retriever sat on the couch, eyeing Sam suspiciously.

Suzan sat on the couch next to the dog and began petting it, running her fingers through his fur as she put her sandaled feet up on the coffee table. Sam sat across from her on the love seat. She saw the burnt remains of a joint in an ashtray. Suzan saw that she had noticed and panic gripped her face for an instance before it faded away.

“You’re not gonna call the cops, right? Doctor patient privilege and all.”

“Technically you’re not my patient, but, no, I don’t care.”

“It’s medicinal. I got a medicinal license from California and the chief of police here don’t care if you smoke if you got a medicinal license from another state.”

“It’s really non
e
of my business, Mrs. Lane. I’m just here to see if there’s anything I can do to help your husband.”

She looked down
,
biting her lower lip as she gripped the dog’s fur tighter and then let go. “He’s a good man. He ain’t never hurt anybody in his life.”

“I have to ask you some sensitive questions, Mrs. Lane.”

“Suzan.”

“Suzan, I have to ask some questions that are going to make you uncomfortable. Is that all right?”

“More uncomfortable than my
soul mate
dyin’ in the hospital?” she said, a little annoyed.

“I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it that way.”

She took a deep breath and leaned her head back on the couch. “I know you didn’t, sweethea
r
t. I’m sorry. I’m just beside myself, you know?”

“
I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now
but I want you to know
,
Suzan
,
that
I
—we—are doing everything possible to make your husband well again.”

“I believe you. So, what’re these questions?”

She pulled up a
note-
taking
program
in her iPad. “Has Clifford ever had a blood transfusion?”

“No.”

“Has he ever done any illegal drugs?” They both smiled and Sam blushed. “I’m sorry. I meant has he ever done any intravenous drugs?”

“No. Well maybe when he was a kid, like sixteen or seventeen. He had some crazy years.”

“Did he ever tell you whether he shared needles or anything like that?”

“No.”

“How many sexual partners has he had in his life?”

“In his life? I have no idea. I think he said nine or ten, but you know how men lie about that.”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

“Twelve.”

“When was the last time you and
Clifford had sexual intercourse?
”

“Um, some four weeks ago. Somewhere around there.”

“Have either
of you
ever had an extramarital affair?”

There was pain on her face and she glanced away. “Yes. I had an affair about three years ago. With a younger man
; nineteen
. You’re still young and don’t think this way, but when you get to
be
my age
,
the attention of younger men is very
flatterin’
. It lasted about a month.”

“How old are you if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“How many sexual partners do you think the man you had an affair with had?”

“No idea. I don’t even remember his last name.”

“Have you or Clifford ever had any sexually transmitted diseases?”

“Yes.”

She waited a moment but got no response. “What type?” she finally said.

“I had chlamydia twice. He had herpes.”

“Right before he
got sick, did Clifford begin
spending time with anyone new in his life?”

“Why? You think he was having an affair?”

“No, not that. Just curious about
new friends
or social clubs.
Anywhere he might be exposed to new peop
le he wasn’t exposed to before.”

“No, I don’t think there was
anythin’
like that
.”

“His chart just said he
’
s
self-
employed. What
does
he do for a living?”

“Tour guide.”

Sam looked up from her iPad. “
W
here?”

“South America.”

“When was the last time he was there?”

“About a month ago. Peru, I think. An Amazon tour.”

“How many people were with him?”

“I don’t know. W
e never talked much about his job unless something weird happened.”

“When he came back, did he mention anything? Specifically anything about not feeling well?”

“No. He did say some other guy had gotten sick and he had to leave the tour early.”

“Sick with what?”

“Malaria.”

Sam took a few quick notes. “This is an unusual request, but is there any
way I can look at his electronic data? I’m interested in his Facebook, Twitter
,
and email.
If he had a blog or
a
Tumblr I’d like to see that too.
”

“Oh
,
Clifford hated computers. He didn’t have an email address. He said they were corrupting and taking us away from nature.”

“Suzan, is there anything else you can tell me that you think could help?”

“He lived a hard life and I know people judge him for it. I can see it on your face. And don’t deny it
—you
nearly pissed your pants when I
said
he might’ve had a drug problem
. But he’s a good man. He takes care of anyone that needs it. Someone broke their leg on one of his tours and he walked over a hundred miles to get help for h
im. That’s the kind of man he i
s.”

“I appreciate you telling me that.” She stood up. “I better get going. We’ll call you with any news.”

“When can I see him? They told me on the phone that I wasn’t allowed to see him anymore.”

“That’s j
ust a precaution,” she said. “If it is a virus, we need to expose as few people as possible to it and only those that are necessary.”

Suzan rose and began walking toward the front door
.
T
he dog followed her, rubbing against Sam’s leg. She bent down
to pet
it and rubbed
his ear a moment
.

“Please tell him,” Suzan said, “that I rescheduled his next two tours. He was worried about that. Tell him they’re rescheduled and he has two months to get better before his next one.”

Sam realized that no one had told Suzan her husband was unresponsive. Or they had, and she wasn’t processing the information. Sam had seen cases of denial so extreme that people had come to the hospital to pick their loved ones up to go home days after they had been informed they had passed away. The mind had many barriers to protect i
t from harm, and most of them occurred without the conscious part of ourselves even being aware of them.

As she left the house and walked to her car she took out her phone and noticed a message. It was from the hospital. She listened to it and heard Amoy’s voice come on the line.
It was a simple message; only one sentence:

“
Clifford Lane i
s dead
.
”

CHAPTER 9

Duncan Adams went home directly after work and took a long, hot shower. He let the water run over him
until
his skin grew water-logged and then he quickly soaped himself, shampooed
,
and conditioned, and then began his routine of lotions and body creams. His father had died of skin cancer
so
he had developed a detailed
skin-care
routine.

After he had finished, he dressed in jeans, a
T
-shirt
,
and a sports coat and headed out the door.

He checked his watch as he drove down the interstate and noted that he was twenty minutes late. It would take him ten minutes to get to Circle Lounge Bar and that, he figured
,
was perfect.
A
date
would be
waiting for him there. His friend Hank had set him up in the past to no success but assured him he would fall in love with the woman he was going to meet tonight.
However, i
t was a double date and there wasn’t a doubt in Duncan’s mind that he was just
posing
as wingman so Hank could date her friend. But still, a date was a date and he
’
d had a long dry spell in the romantic arena.