Friday, April 28, 2006

Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV--–THE COLONY
JULY 12TH, 2003


The chopper rocked back and forth on the launching pad, waiting for Quentin Forsythe to board. It had been a month later, right down to the day, where Quentin Forsythe had decided to embark to Natas, Africa, otherwise known as hell on Earth. This would be his penultimate trip, the last stop on his merry-go-round of impoverished countries. He was going to set up a lab deep inside this colony and hammer out a solution to resurrecting the region.
Making his way across the tarmac, Forsythe shielded his face from the wicked kickback from the helicopter. He alertly loaded his rig into the chopper and hopped in. His calm fingers clasped the seat belt snugly around his waist and faced the pilot.
“All ready back here Rick,” Forsythe acknowledged to his old friend.
“Then let’s get ready to rock and roll,” said the chubby pilot whose stubby fingers glided over the controls with precision. Rick flipped on the CD player and blasted AC/DC and throughout the chopper. Within moments, Forsythe was headed into the belly of the beast, the heart of darkness, and hell on Earth.
“Once I drop you Quentin, there will be no contact for six months,” Rick yelled back to Quentin.
“Why is that?”
“Rebel forces have overtaken the region surrounding your area, making it impossible for constant radio contact, never mind the frequent delivery of medical supplies.”
“Well, I have all that I need with me,” said Forsythe. “My laptop full of data, medicine, astronaut food and plenty of water. Did the primary drop of supplies arrive?”
“Yes, but in what condition I don’t know.” Rick flew the bird over a gorgeous waterfall embedded deep within the continent. “Almost there. Anyway, those rebel forces scour and steal everything and anything they can get their hands on.”
“Survival of the fittest.” Forsythe bit off the wrapper to his stick of Juicy Fruit. He crammed the gum into his mouth and began to chew to counter with the raising pressure outside.
“You’re going to have to play it smart, safe and try not to get yourself killed down there.” Rick eased the helicopter into a slick turn.
“I do have some help down there,” Forsythe said with some eagerness. “A small collection of doctors and nurses ready to assist me in any way possible.”
“It’s going to be a culture shock,” Rick said through a worrisome face. “I’ve dropped off many doctors that haven’t survived the colony.”
“The colony? Is that your name for it?” Forsythe grinned.
He stroked his grizzled white beard, while adjusting his silver frame spectacles.
“The devil’s playground,” added Rick, trying to seduce Forsythe with some new names.
“I should hire you as my public relations director for my next charity dinner.”
“Seriously doctor,” Rick firmly said with concern. “I’m not pulling your dick on this one. That place down there, scares the living shit out of me.”
“How so?”
“Once last year when I was dropping supplies, I saw things.”
“Things?” Forsythe dabbed his sweaty brow with a white handkerchief.
“I saw trees sway violently, screams in the dead of night, and it fucking scared me.” Rick’s eyes adjusted to the upcoming Natas. “Five minutes and we’ll be there.”
“Screams? Christ Rick, medical operations are routine in an impoverished area such as this one. In fact, I’ll probably perform fifteen of them in one day. Those screams are their only way of expressing themselves.”
“All I know are those screams were deeper than pain, like when something grabs hold of your soul and smashes it into pieces.”
“You’re such a fucking pussy.” Forsythe peered out the chopper at the swaying trees.
“And then there’s Dr. Rodney Norris.” Rich guided the bird into a smooth landing.
“Yeah, I heard about him. I received a case file from Tarpis Mental Hospital concerning his vicious suicide. He did his tour of duty out here, back in 2001. Sadly, weeks later he was committed to the mental hospital,” Forsythe recollected Norris’s demise.
“And then a week after that they found him with his neck sliced open, blood everywhere. His entire fingers and toes were curled inward, legions spread all over his gaudy skin, and nearly blind. Norris had also suffered from an acute mental disease, brought on by his time spent inside the colony. Further autopsies revealed several of his key organs had begun to liquefy,” Forsythe added his instrumental insight. “Just sounds like a bad case of leprosy to me,” Forsythe added to the conversation. “That disease does thrive in impoverished areas across the globe.”
“Then why were those doctors baffled?” Rick asked.
“Fucking amateurs probably,” Forsythe responded with a wry grin. “I’ll find out what’s going on down there.”
“Good luck.” Rick shook Forsythe’s hand and watched the doctor depart the chopper. “That fucker’s dead as dirt out here.” Rick flipped the switches and started the whirlybird up again, kicking up dust and debris.
Again, Forsythe shielded his head from the flying matter. Once Rick vanished into the dense forest, Forsythe opened his eyes and glanced around his new home for at least the next six months.
Scattered makeshift huts housed the fortunate, while the filthy, dirty, disease infested ground became the final resting place for the rest. Forsythe grabbed up his gear and immediately he stepped over a trio of children huddled together, obviously malnourished and stricken with disease. Gnats and other assorted insects feasted upon their thinly veiled skin. Their small white bones bursting throughout everywhere, tiny rib cages visual to the naked eye, and the boys’ eyes were sunken into their heads. Forsythe kept walking without blinking and eye. He couldn’t save them, much as he wanted to, Forsythe kept pace and headed straight into the belly of the beast.
The heat was an unbearable threat, causing streams of sweat to escape from Forsythe. His quickly fading body finally sauntered into town. The outskirts were a paradise compared to what he witnessed in the heart of the colony. Women carried jugs of feces upon their heads, looking for a place to dump it. In such areas, this was their daily job, usually for a meager dollar, perhaps even less. The men were burying bodies by the dozen in a nearby field, some family, some friends; others were just lucky to have someone bury them.
“Quentin Forsythe, you old bastard!” A voice beckoned from behind.
Forsythe turned around and faced off with an old colleague of his. “Bobby Adams, you son-of-a-bitch!”
The two men grinned and swapped handshakes. Bobby grabbed up his friend’s gear and carried it off to a nearby hut.
“About time you arrived.” Bobby looked around. He had an athletic frame, sported a short orange-red hair, and his dry skin had a spattering of freckles.
“Really?”
“Leprosy had shattered this place, along with HIV and the minimal food supply.” Bobby entered the hut. “You’ll stay here, and work from inside here. This area’s the only safest place left in the entire colony.”
“You used that term as well. Rick, my pilot, also referred to this place as a colony.” Forsythe let his backpack collapse to the ground, as he unzipped his jacket and found a chair to sit down in. “So what’s the story?”
“As you know, this place ranks high on the list of poverty stricken areas. Natas, Africa lives up to her name.” Bobby paced around nervously. “Another problem that we’ve encountered is the rapid loss of our nurses and fellow apprentices.”
“So how many doctors do we have?” Forsythe asked with agitation.
“You’re looking at them,” Bobby said wincing his eyes. “I’ve been able to teach one or two of the healthy citizens here how to do basic shit. You know, like taking blood, administering bandages, blah, blah, blah.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a much-needed cigarette. “Do you mind?” commitment motioned over to Quentin.
“Its your bloody lungs,” Forsythe smote him.
Bobby eagerly lit up the cracked Kool cigarette and enjoyed its rich full flavor. “Thanks, I needed that one.” Bobby flicked the ashes into the air, watching them fall harmlessly to the ground.
“So we’re fucked then?” Forsythe slammed his fist into the wooden chair, easily splintering the armrest into two pieces.
“Did you bring any supplies?”
“What I could to survive for a few months, because Rick won’t deliver anything else for another six months.” Forsythe looked around the room. “I made a commitment and damn it, I’m going to keep it!” Forsythe shot out of the chair and started to roll up his sleeves.
“What are you doing?” Bobby asked surprisingly.
“Getting down work. Are you going to fuck around in here and tote on your damn peace pipe?” Forsythe angrily responded. He had no time for this shit. This wasn’t a vacation for him; it was a fine line between life and death.
“Edgy aren’t we?” Bobby shot back as he flicked the cigarette off into the distance.
“Are you feeling okay? You’ve always seemed calmer back in the States,” Forsythe for a minute offered some solace.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been stuck here without help ever since Carla died from a fever, two months ago.”
“I understand,” Forsythe grabbed Bob’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Give me the tour, and then we’ll get things started around here.”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll try and get Judas Sturgis down here with that girl from the charity benefit and help rebuild this place.” Forsythe thought fondly of his old student.
“How? Do you have a cell phone?” Bobby wanted to know.
“Some little shit named Miracle smashed it to bits.”
“Why do you call him that?” A grin came across Forsythe’s face.
“Because a miracle he’s still alive.”
“Health wise or you’re just being a comedian?”
“Actually, both. You name it and that poor guy’s been ravaged by it. Whether it was tainted water, bad hygiene, food poisoning, or even the ultimate death sentence for him.”
“HIV?” Forsythe already knew the answer.
“Poor bastard caught it from his mother, never had a chance. You can’t let yourself get connected to people here, once you give them a name and face, you’re setting yourself up for a lot of hurt and pain.”
“I take it you cracked and gave this boy an identity?”
Bobby took a breath in, swallowing a few tasty mosquitoes in the process. “Yeah, I gave Miracle a name, and now I’m faced with either taking him to the States for treatment, or watching him die a gradual, horrible, fucking death that I can’t save him from.”
“That’s the double-edged sword,” replied Forsythe. “Where’s the bulk of work done around here when it comes to surgeries and operations?”
“Right over there,” Bobby said as he pointed due east.
A medium sized, patch-worked building, if one could call it that, with animal skin flapping in the breeze for doors, brought alert to Forsythe.
“I’ve been in some places, but this takes the cake.”
“I know you only do these tours for your public relations campaign, but here you will do work Quentin. Natas is not a dog and pony show, where you fly in and fly out again in a matter of days.”
“Excuse me?” Forsythe alarmingly approached Bobby. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Never mind.”
“I’ve been in places where you could only pray for death, my shallow friend.” Forsythe blasted back.
“Okay, okay.” Bobby started to back off.
“I’m pissed that you think that this some sort of vacation for me. I’m not the fucking mayor running for election, running around and kissing babies and shaking hands. I’m here to save lives, and that’s my only purpose.” Forsythe clutched Bobby by the shirt collar. “I’ve tutored you since you were crawling around in your shitty diapers you little piss-ant, so hear me when I tell you this,” he said glaring into Bobby’s weak eyes. “You’re either going to part of the solution, or part of the problem.” Forsythe threw Bobby down to the ground. “Who told you this crap?”
Bobby got back up and dusted himself off. “Judas Sturgis did.” Bobby managed to drive some sort of nail into Quentin’s heart. Forsythe had always held a fondness for Judas Sturgis. His only son died from complications stemming from an onslaught of seizures. In Forsythe’s mind, Judas replaced his son, a fiery, intelligent man of power and desire.
“Do you really expect me to accept that piece of shit for an answer?” Forsythe cleanly responded, sidestepping Bobby’s little verbal jab.
“Believe what you want old man,” Bobby reiterated as he brushed past Quentin. “We have work here to do, so let’s do it and then part ways once and for all.”
“Fine by me,” Forsythe followed Bobby into the operating room. Insects feasted on the bodies inside, those waiting for medical attention. Trying to find comfortable Beds were a luxury, most of the people used the ground for comfort. Many had nourishment problems, others were stricken with fevers and disease, while others were missing assorted limbs. “What the hell?” He asked Bobby once he noticed the maimed people all over the place.
“Rebel forces swept through here last week, killing many of the residents here, as well as one of our doctors.”
“For what reason?” Forsythe asked.
“Because they can, will, and shall.” Bobby turned around to face Forsythe. “By the way, watch your step if you venture outside the colony.”
“Why?”
“Well, if the native animals won’t find out, then the land mines planted by the rebels will.” Bobby raised his eyebrows.
“Why land mines?”
“The rebels are also fighting a war against the South African government. We’re caught in the middle of a damn war!” Bobby reached for another cigarette, but he was clean out of inventory.
“I’ll watch my step,” Forsythe replied. He turned around and faced the wounded. “I don’t know if you can understand me,” his words were cut off by a rogue sounding voice from behind.
“I understand you,” the voice grumbled from behind, his fingers flicking off the safety on his handgun.
Forsythe heard the safety click off and wondered who was behind him. “You do? Well, fuck me in the ass, I’m glad somebody does around here.”
“My name’s Reese Dantu, head of the rebel army, and you just made the worst mistake of your life.” Reese glowered as he raised his weapon.
****
Reese was a smallish man with dark skin and chipped teeth. His body frame hidden well behind faded green combat fatigues. His arsenal of weapons was very impressive. Reese was not only equipped with a sleek silver handgun, but several hand grenades traipsed across his chest. This was an iconic image favorable to the Rambo movies, where a half-naked Sly Stallone gallops around the globe saving the world from certain disastrous situations. Reese spearheaded the rebel forces, and this little incursion was that of a selfish matter.
Quentin Forsythe turned around and mocked the intruder. “Infamous? I haven’t heard of you.” Forsythe grinned.
“Quentin, shut your trap.” Bobby hinted at his friend. “This guy has power beyond the stars. He won’t hesitate to cut you down where you’re standing.”
“Whatever.” Quentin looked at Reese. “Reese?”
“Commander Dantu!” Reese stamped his average sized feet against the ground. “I demand respect!”
“So, what’s the problem?” Quentin wanted to know.
“I need a doctor for one of my men. He stepped on a landmine, and blew off his left leg, along with his right foot.”
“Well, Bob here is a good doctor,” Forsythe tried to play Reese off onto Bob. “He can help you in whatever way necessary. I have patients that need my help.” Forsythe started to walk away, but was cut off by a sinister ticking noise from Reese’s mouth.
“I don’t think so.” Reese raised the gun higher, aiming it directly at Quentin. “You will help me, no questions asked.”
“Who the fuck are you to demand things from me?” Forsythe was going about this all wrong. He never thought Reese would act on any of his threats. “There are two doctors standing in this room, and I will give you Bob to assist you in any way.”
“Correction my friend,” Reese said as he shifted the direction of the handgun. “There’s only one good doctor standing in this room.” Reese cocked his head slightly to the right, squinted his left eye, and pulled the trigger.
BANG! Reese’s mouth mimicked that wicked sound.
That hard shot cackled through the air at a blistering speed.
Bob’s eyes rolled back into his head, completely taken by surprise. That one shot brought him limply to his knees. A steady stream of blood gushed from the gaping hole in the center of Bob’s forehead. A few moments would pass before Bob harmlessly fell face first into his dirty grave.
Quentin’s fingers clenched tightly, he dug his left foot sharply into the ground and jetted towards Reese. The sudden force of the impact caught Reese off guard. With a hard body slam, Quentin took down Bob’s killer, without any hesitation.
Reese released his tightened grip on the gun, as it sailed across the dirt crashing into an array of jagged rocks. Reese unloaded with a swift uppercut to Quentin’s left eye socket, sending the middle-aged philanthropist sprawling backward, several feet away.
“Do you want to lose that cocky little head of yours?” Reese asked of his attacker. “Do you realize you’re fucking with the wrong person?” His tone started to detour into a mad man driven by an inflatable ego. Both men were enthralled by each other. Which one would crack first? A battle of egos and wits had begun.
“Kiss my American ass!” Quentin snarled back as he wiped away the soft trickle of blood from the corner of his eye. “I’m here to save lives, by the looks of things, it seems you’re into taking them!” Quentin barked as he started to rise to both feet.
“Do you understand why I killed that man?” Reese pointed to Bob’s immobile corpse below.
“Out of sheer arrogance and insanity?” Quentin asked bitterly, still reeling from the sudden death of his colleague.
“That man,” Reese said as he spat upon Bob’s body. “That man took my money, skimming a share of my profit! I can tell you this old man. Nobody takes what belongs to me without facing proper consequences, fatal or not.”
“What are you implying?” Quentin was a bit frazzled. That hard blow had fractured his eye socket, and the migraine that ensued was enough for Quentin to beat his against the rocks.
The small crowd slowly matriculated back into their makeshift homes, or walked towards the bug-infested river to take a drink, or even worse, to the bathroom.
“Bobby here, was my inside trader, so to speak. I brought the supplies and he provided me with both cash profit and medical assistance to my fallen rebel army.” Reese reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a limp Cuban cigar. “It’s a tough job trying to overthrow the government with a decimated squad of men.” He finished off lighting the cigar and blew a few rings of smoke into the hot, hazy, atmosphere.
“You killed him over a shady business deal?” Quentin disliked stuffy, egotistical, arrogant cocksuckers who threw their weight around just for shits and giggles.
“And now, you and I will endorse our lucrative agreement,” said Reese as he gushed with a fortuitous grin.
“Or else?” Quentin quickly asked with clenched teeth.
“Well, you’re in a unique situation my friend,” Reese displayed those chippers yet again. His seedy little eyes whirled about with an unbridled fervor.
“How’s that Reese’s Pieces?” Quentin questioned this walking poster board of lunacy.
“If you agree to my terms, then I’ll let you reside here free of charge, practice your medicine on these people, trying to save whatever ones you can, and live out your disgusting life.” Reese started to pace back and forth in front of Quentin.
“And if I don’t,” Quentin made the decision to question Reese Dantu’s judgment, and found himself in a world of trouble.
With a whispering click of his mouth, Reese motioned over one of his men. The towering man sauntered over and immediately stopped between Quentin and directly before Commander Dantu. “Yes, Sir?”
“Ah, do you see that enthusiastic flair for recognizing my proper authority?” Reese looked over at Quentin.
“Damn, I blinked. I must’ve missed it. Could you show me again?” Quentin fired back with unbridled sarcasm.
Reese cocked his head to the right and within an instant; Quentin Forsythe found himself on the wrong end an ass kicking. The solider quickly darted around and cracked Quentin in the face with the butt of his rifle, sending the old man crashing down to
his wobbly knees. The muscular man then wrapped his fingers around the small trigger on his rifle and aimed directly at Quentin’s temple, acting with an unnerving deftness.
“I’ll ask you again,” Reese blew another cloud of smoke into the misty haze. “Do you see the enthusiastic flair for recognizing my proper authority?”
“You have my undivided attention Commander Dantu,” Quentin slowly released his grip on the war of egos and sullenly became a beaten man. It was never this bad. These conditions were horrid, and this peckerneck and his band of rebel yahoos only complicated the agenda, instead of assisting in any way possible. All Quentin could think about now was Bob’s family back in the States. How do they get a proper burial for their befallen? He quickly found out the dark answer.
“Burn the dead body,” Reese turned to address his men. “Leave me with the old man, we have some parameters to discuss.”
Quentin closed his eyes and thought of happier times to ease him through the burning of his old friend. That burning stench of human flesh seemed to cling into Quentin’s nostrils. His stomach churned with unpleasant sounds, before hot vomit raced through his esophagus and splattered all over the dingy ground beneath him.
“This man defied me!” Reese barked out to the skittering crowd. “If you fail me in any way, this will be your fate as well!” Reese’s troops let off a succession of wild gunfire into the air. Softly, the errant bullets sailed back down somewhere within the deep realm of the jungle.
Quentin scratched at the small pebbles on the ground, trying to find the strength to stand back up. He wouldn’t have to wait another second, as a brute force caught him from behind and forced Quentin into a nearby camouflaged tent.
Quentin was hurled across the inside of the tent, flying into a small stack of sleeping bags and lanterns. Painfully, he rolled over and found another round of blistering words escaping from Reese’s lips.
“Now that I have your undivided attention, I’m in need of a good doctor, one that will assist me in my political agenda.” Reese unfolded his feet on a rickety wooden chair.
“In what way?” Quentin’s head was throbbing with that fucking migraine that Reese delivered to him, courtesy of a nasty uppercut.
“I will guarantee you protection under my leadership,” Reese said with a slick persuasion.
“From?” Quentin’s fingers tried to massage his temples, but it was to no avail.
“Many more fragmented rebel forces are scattered about these areas, looking to loot and vandalize,” said the pompous Reese.
Quentin had no idea if this was truth or not. He had to play into Reese’s courtyard, especially if he wanted to start saving lives within the colony. “You have my unsolicited assistance, Commander Dantu.” Quentin bowed his head in complete pain, although Reese thought it was out of respect for him.
“I will aid you with medical supplies, food and clothing,” said a confident Reese.
“And in return?” Quentin’s eyes started to blur, a definite sign that he had suffered at least a mild concussion.
“For you to help my men first and foremost, before these people here.” Reese flicked open the tent and looked around.
“I mean let’s face it doctor, they’re practically dead anyway. Leprosy, AIDS, malaria, intestinal infections from eating their own shit, and they’re worth saving?”
“I don’t know if I can turn my back and ignore these people as you have. I find it irrational and sadistic to solely concentrate on your men twenty-four seven.” Quentin did it again, whether it was the headaches, or his bad habit to buck the trend,
he went and pissed off the daring Commander, yet again. Quentin obviously didn’t say what that little dick wanted to hear.
Reese snapped his head back towards Quentin, with a vicious snarl. Reese had a very short attention span and an even shorter fuse. His hand quickly whipped out his trusty handgun, the same one that gunned down Bob just a few short moments ago. “I like your grit and fire old man, but you’re starting to annoy me again. Sure, I can stampede through another area and round me up an efficient doctor or two, but that would be another day or so, and I kind of like it here right now. I really want for us to be on the same page now, but I feel you’re failing to comprehend my authority, and that saddens me. It’s very clear to me that you still haven’t learned your lesson,” Reese spoke with a fiery voice as he coldly stared down Quentin, and squeezed the trigger.
Quentin felt his left shoulder jerk back with a hammering force. He could feel the bullet tear through his shoulder blade, splintering the bone into pieces.
Reese simply smiled through this small judicial exercise. “Maybe, just maybe, old man, by the time you’re done recovering from your injuries, you’ll come to realize that no one fucks with Commander Reese Dantu,” snarled the evil Commander, as he unloaded round after round into the staggering Quentin Forsythe, until, finally the old man collapsed onto his back, quivering for mercy.

Friday, April 21, 2006

Chapter III

CHAPTER III
Cause and Effect


“I’ve never been here before,” Katy whispered to Judas as they sauntered into the small street café. Brushing off the wet rain from the umbrella, Judas led Katy to a booth fit perfectly for two.
“It’s certainly a great place to let your mind wander.” Judas motioned for the waitress.
“Listen, Quentin thinks the two of us can work together and accomplish certain goals,” Katy said as she looked over at the skinny waitress. “I’ll have the cappuccino please.”
“And a double-shot of espresso, please,” Judas also ordered his drink. “I need the caffeine.” Folding his hands upon the green table, Judas looked directly into Katy’s eyes. “Do you honestly believe him?”
“I suppose so.” Katy shifted in her booth, as she feverishly itched her right heel with her left heel. “He must have some kind of competence in our abilities.”
Judas wrapped his coarse fingers around the arriving whitened mug of espresso. “I’ve learned a great deal from his leadership and invaluable wisdom.” He took a refreshing sip. “And what about you? How does he know you? I’d be naive to think that Quentin’s enamored by your five minute solution plan earlier tonight.” Judas was never one to sugar coat the truth.
“I find it hard to explain myself,” Katy responded as she dipped her waiting tongue into the cappuccino to test its immediate degree of hotness. “He must have some inner intuition about our budding partnership.”
“I didn’t say we’re partners,” Judas said with a sly grin. “I just wanted to ask you out on a date for some coffee. It’s a helluva lot better than hanging with those stiffs back at the convention.” Judas again enjoyed another taste of his steaming espresso. His masculine face drew wrinkles once the liquid touched his lips. “Shit, that’s hot!”
“I don’t understand why we couldn’t pair up and head to Natas as part of Doctors Without Borders.” Katy’s eyes followed the random assortment of sporting events that had graced the high definition televisions inside the café.
“If I go, it’s alone. I can’t make that clear enough. I work entirely by myself, no added luggage.” Judas’ black eyes surveyed the buzzing café. One of the large screen televisions off in the far corner behind Katy, was displaying an Arena Football game. The Dallas Desperados and Colorado Crush were battling it out. Several young men and women were engaged in casual conversation enjoying their coffees and donuts while they linked up to the Internet, via some new wireless machine.
“So let me get this straight. I’m extra baggage?” Katy asked with an angry tone.
“I just don’t want to be responsible for another’s life. These places are horrid enough to work in Katy. I know this first hand. I went to Nigeria last year for a six-month stint. If the poverty doesn’t destroy you, then the lack of food, drink, resources and rebellious armies will break you in half.”
“But, as a team, we can overcome those obstacles and fight poverty and replenish their resources with this five-step plan of Quentin’s.”
She brought up his name again, much to the chagrin of Judas. If only Katy had known Judas’ deep rooted hatred for Forsythe.
“Is that why you want to come? To instantly change everything for the better? Katy, it’s a long and tiring process, where one step forward usually results in three steps backwards.”
“Quentin seems to have a handle on everything.” Katy’s innocent inclusion of Quentin’s name finally had set off Judas’ simmering feelings for his mentor.
“Let me clue you in on your precious Quentin,” Judas snarled as he finished off his espresso, smacking his charred lips. “He flies into these areas to enhance his public relations image. He stays a few weeks, does some medicinal work, then hops aboard one of his private jets and comes back home. And now the greedy fucker wrote a book about his global experiences.”
“If that’s all true, then why do you look up to him?” Katy attempted to rope in Judas’ demeanor. “Your facial expression tell the story of a man whose jealous with Forsythe’s accolades.
“All his shortcomings aside, the man’s a medical mastermind. He blows my mind when he saves lives with his cutting edge medicine. I repeat, that man’s a damn genius.”
“But?” Katy asked with reservation.
“He recruits young enthusiastic people like yourself to sign up on these field missions, working your fingers down to the bone for free, and then hand over all your data to him so he inflates the numbers and gathers further donations for his righteous cause.” Judas clenched his teeth with anger. “I just want him to realize what those places truly are.”
“Which is?”
“These impoverished places need the right people to turn everything around and not some greedy businessman flying in for routine handshakes and glamorous awards dinners.” Judas again felt anger disrupt everything inside him. His stomach churned with a burning acid that eventually sent a fire rampaging through his esophagus.
“It’s cause and effect?” Katy responded back with an alert question.
“Yeah, something like that. Whatever Quentin finds to be the cause, in this case Natas, Africa, the effect will be another medal stuck in the brim his feathered cap. The man always looks to personal wealth, and public admiration before anything else.”
“So why are you signed up?”
“I want to be the difference, the man that does indeed positively change everything for the better. I don’t want to be remembered as the greedy business man that wanted frequent global recognition that he continually made public relation stops amongst these downtrodden areas.”
“Then, let me go with you and together we can find a way to make a positive mark in the world, and in the same time, stuff it down Quentin’s pompous throat,” Katy said with a recharged attitude. Judas had managed to steer Katy into his line of thinking. “Although, he doesn’t come across to me as the arrogant, greedy, seeking glory type of guy.”
“I’ve known him for several years. Trust me when I tell you this. Quentin Forsythe will stop at nothing to ensure his place among his peers. If that means using eager doctors to propel his program into the stratosphere, then so be it,” Judas responded with defiance. “He must be exposed for what he really is.”
“That would be our cause?” asked a dubious Katy.
“And the effect would be the relief of showing the world what a son-of-a-bitch he really is.” Judas bit harshly into his lower lip. “When he tutored me back in ‘93, I was a bit naive to fall under that mighty Quentin Forsythe spell. I just had lost my wife Penelope, and I needed a healthy distraction.”
Katy felt some remorsefulness for her new friend. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not. She suffered for many years from cancer, eventually passing in the spring of 1992.” Judas squinted his eyes and thought fondly of his late wife.
“No children?” Katy inquired.
“Sadly, I don’t have any. I’ve always wanted children, especially a son,” he responded with faint hope. “We even had a name picked out and everything.”
“What was the name?” Katy wanted to know.
“Jourdan Hawthorne. That name belonged to my father, the late Jourdan Hawthrone Sturgis.”
“Was your father involved with P.A.L.S.?”
“Not one iota,” he said while rapping his knuckles against the table. “My old man was a stubborn bastard who worked in construction and haughtily provided for his family, and forged an everlasting bond with his son.”
“How did he die?” Katy automatically asked. It was the pure vanilla question that was always a safe bet.
“We never recovered his body,” a bitter Judas replied. “He went off flying his private plane with his brother Randolph, when they lost control and crashed into the Indian Ocean.”
“That sure is an odd place to fly a plane,” Katy surmised.
“I believe he was on the way to see me while I was in Southeast Asia providing relief work.”
“Well, my parents are happily married and live in Trenton, New Jersey.” Katy looked at Judas with compassion. “I have one sister, Jeanette. She’s married and resides out in Lincoln, California.”
“That’s really nice.” Judas feigned interest. He motioned the waitress over for another order. “I’ll have an Irish Killian’s.” Judas unclenched his jaw and returned back to the conversation. “All I want for Christmas is world peace and Quentin Forsythe to get what he deserves.” His jittery fingers wrapped around the ice-cold bottle of Irish Killan’s. Judas brought the sweet aroma to his lips and enjoyed the elegant, lingering waft of alcohol.
“Do you always drown your problems in either coffee or alcohol?” Katy noticed Judas’s certain emotional tick over the last hour and a half of their conversation.
“Only the good problems.” He enjoyed the smooth taste cascading down his throat. “The problems that grab you right by the balls and refuse to let go.”
“I understand, even without your colorful analogies.” Katy jotted something down on the crinkled yellow café napkin, then slipped a firm twenty-dollar bill and the napkin into Judas’ open left hand, closed it shut. “This date’s on me.” Katy looked into his hurting soul. “If you want to talk more, my number’s scribbled down on the back of the napkin.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Judas pocketed the money and the phone number. “Thank you.” He returned the favor and scribbled his own number down for her as well.
“No sweat. I really want for us to get to know each other and make a difference here.” Katy slid out of the booth’s confines, stood up, and slipped Judas’ number into her pocket. Katy wrapped her overcoat around her slim frame. Her beige pantyhose clung tightly to her wet legs.
“Let me walk you back outside,” he said with a smile.
“It’s okay Judas.” She turned down his offer. “You finish your beer and enjoy the rest of your day. Don’t hesitate to call me.” She touched his arm in a friendly way.
Judas simply nodded his head in agreement. His thoughts were already somewhere else. He turned to find Katy walking out the café doors and mingling into the swarming crowd of people, until she disappeared into the rainy mist.
Judas emotionally sat there in the booth staring into some dark abyss. Maybe he did erase all of his concerns with the romance of alcohol. But, his mission was clear: bring down Quentin Forsythe. He started to hatch a plan inside his head. The foundation for all of this to be successful started with Katy and Judas joining forces. That was the only sound idea Quentin had that night. All that other bullshit about caring for those sick people, what a crock of shit. Quentin indeed was a medical genius, but he utilized those talents for the betterment of his own selfish endeavors. Quentin used his powerful name to engineer a foundation that scours the world helping impoverished countries. But, does he involve himself for any length of time? Fuck no.
Vehement and naturally pissed off, Judas polished off his beer and looked up at the television screen. The football game had receded into the local news which had a feature story on Dr. Quentin Forsythe, and his speech earlier tonight. The news station had culled images from Quentin’s rising speech and ensuing book signing. Judas even caught a brief glance at Katy in the crowed during the story.
A young, beautiful reporter had shoved the microphone into Quentin’s face after his speech, yearning for an exclusive cover story. Not to be outdone, he happily responded to her crazy questions and used the media to further his own greedy name.
“This benefit tonight hopefully will eradicate poverty worldwide.” Quentin’s voice resonated with a cool assurance.
“How so, Doctor Forsythe?” The smitten brunette reporter asked back.
“A few bright doctors tonight came up with some solid plans to help me reach P.A.L.S.’s goal of wiping out poverty.” His crooked smile seemed natural, those beady eyes glimmered with fiery passion, and his voice boomed with manipulative reasoning.
“Jesus!” Judas slammed his fist into the table. “Man, I used to like you,” he bitterly stated while he watched the painful interview. Judas had a recurring bout of acid reflux that had returned and stormed through his chest sending a burning wave of pain throughout. Judas, in defensive logic, clutched his heart and teetered toward the table. Squinting his eyes, Judas tried to regain his lost focus.
“Do you think that Natas will be your ultimate challenge?” The same sexy reporter force-fed the answer to Quentin. It was all an ego boost to the aging doctor.
“Absolutely,” Quentin spoke with deft confidence as he looked deeper into her green tinted eyes.
Her legs were wobbly from his powerful stare. She seemed at a loss for words. “I...,” she stammered into her next question.
“Let me offer a congratulatory thanks to one of my esteemed students,” he added while his eyes shifted back to the red light on the camera. “Dr. Judas Sturgis, if you’re listening, please take a few bows for your wise contributions tonight.”
The newscast seemed to grow fuzzy to Judas. The picture kept skipping like a record. Quentin’s words became coherently louder than before, ringing inside Judas’s eardrums.
Judas aggressively clutched his left arm, his fingers curled painfully backwards. He frantically and unsuccessfully clawed at the table trying to regain his lost balance. Judas fell sharply off his chair and crashed hard to the floor below. A tiny piece of his front tooth sailed across the café, sliding under another table. The Killian’s spilled over the marbled tiles, running perfectly into the waiting grooves. The waitress raced over to lend a hand, but it was too late. Judas’ body had twitched a few more times, before those heavy eyelids closed and his breathing declined into a shallow rhythm.
A small crowd of people curiously gathered around the helpless, fallen doctor, as the owner of the café quickly dialed for an ambulance. Their eyes watched him like hungry vultures, captivated by this type of unique situation. The entire room spun in a wild pattern of circles, as Judas Hawthorne Sturgis faintly felt his soul escaping from within his grasp.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Chapter II

CHAPTER II
June 12, 2003
Columbia University, New York City



Dr. Judas Sturgis uncomfortably stirred in his seat. The tightly cramped arrangements were beginning to gnaw at his minimal supply of patience. Judas waited impatiently for his mentor, the esteemed Dr. Quentin Forsythe to approach the stage. The annual Doctors Without Borders fund-raiser which had poured money into its newest endeavor, P.A.L.S., had successfully brought together an electric group of people year after year. Citizens from all across the country with various views and opinions, came to share their thoughts, and raise money to help protect those areas in the world where help was needed the most. Dr. Quentin Forsythe was the leading man behind this program. Not only did he head the esteemed global program, but he also spent numerous years leap frogging across the globe aiding in the medical relief of those certain impoverished countries. His rebellious career had spanned nearly four decades, and at fifty-eight years old, he was priming himself for one last trip. Next on Quentin’s agenda was the small colony of Natas, Africa. Natas quickly became classified as a maximum poverty society. A single dollar a day was the current statistic of survival. If a family lived on a dollar, it was considered lucky, if not a miracle. The basic shelter, shoes and maybe one article of clothing the most they accrued. If that wasn’t enough, Natas was the breeding ground for many infectious, if not deadly diseases, due to insufficient health care, dirty sanitation, and minimal education in protection against such radical diseases.
Dr. Judas Sturgis glared ahead at the towering, enormous blue screen that hung from the ceiling’s rafters right behind the speakers’ podium. The screen displayed in giant white letters, tonight’s guest.
“Dr. Quentin Forsythe, Founder of Doctors Without Borders,” Judas mumbled to himself.
Judas’ anger was starting to become evident as the long wait for this event had stretched over the better part of a year. He had studied under Forsythe many years ago at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, and he wanted to see the legendary doctor at the speaking engagement tonight. Judas had to book this prestigious reservation last year when he read about it in the medical journals.
The massive auditorium was filled to the brim with students, philanthropists; curious citizens peaked by the topic, and fellow doctors. Everybody was dressed to impress. The classy men wore synchronized black and white tuxedos. A light cherry red cummerbund had completed the matching ensemble. Meanwhile, the ladies opted for the long flowing white gowns that cut right below the cleavage line, and finished it off with an array of expensive silver or golden jewelry.
Fidgeting again in his seat, the thirty-five-year-old Judas Sturgis edgily checked his golden white Rolex watch. The numbers had indicated it was indeed eight o‘clock on the nose. Forsythe was scheduled for seven thirty, right after the dinner buffet and nightly entertainment. Before Judas could run another one of his fingers through his jet black hair, the lights dimmed and silence overcame the eager crowd.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the announcer bellowed. “Doctors Without Borders, in association with P.A.L.S. wants to welcome you to our 41st annual convention, with our founder, the legendary, the fantastic, Dr. Quentin Forsythe!” The announcer built up his voice until the very end, leading the audience into a thunderous applause of appreciation for Quentin Forsythe’s entrance.
The lights flicked back on, and there he was standing with brimming confidence behind the black podium. Snapping the microphone into position, Quentin Forsythe began his prepared speech.
“Good evening ladies and gentleman, my name‘s Dr. Quentin Forsythe,” the husky voiced doctor formally introduced himself. “Thank you for coming, and even more importantly thanks for all of your donations.” His wry remark tugged at Judas’ deepening dislike for his mentor.
A shower of applause again erupted throughout the speech.
“Anytime now,” Judas mumbled with a quiet resonance.
“We are gathered here tonight for one reason and one reason only,” Forsythe said as he turned to face the blue screen behind him. “I’m here to announce that my latest crusade will take me into the belly of South Africa.” The pictures popped up onto the screen.
Forsythe clutched the small hand-held clicker for the projector’s slide show inside his left hand. His left thumb calmly rested on top of the small red button. This was the state-of-art power point presentation that all the doctors had previously learned at a convention in Ottawa back in March.
“What you will see here tonight will shock you, devastate you, and inform you.” He clicked the first slide onto the giant screen. “This place is called Natas, and yes for the quick witted, it does spell Satan backwards.”
A quiet laugh strolled through the audience. But not Judas, he wasn’t laughing. This was no laughing matter.
“I’m not here telling jokes,” Forsythe started to become frustrated with the lack of maturity encased within the crowd.
“This place should be called Satan, for all the poverty, disease, and hell that these poor innocent souls are exposed to day in and day out.” Another flick of his thumb sent a picture of a malnourished eight-year-old boy across the screen. “This boy’s bones continually stick through his skin. And, to make matters even worse, this chap’s eyes have depressed into his head, the lips are dried and bloody, and his chance for survival is a meager 2 percent.”
Silence had befallen the once vocal crowd. The horrendous images became galvanized in their optical nerves.
“I don’t fully understand why the United States doesn’t get sufficient funds into these countries.” Forsythe continued along in his volcanic speech. “This picture here,” he said pointing to the stack of dead decomposed bodies outside town. “This picture here, shows you how terrible this conflict truly is. These people are dying by the day. In fact, after my calculations, ninety die every month, twenty a week, or to break it down further, three people die every day,” Forsythe seethed at these numbers. “We need to launch a program where a series of qualified volunteers will travel to these depressed areas and help fortify a health plan that works, and continues to work over time.” Forsythe continually dabbed his forehead with the back of his hand. “Listen. I’ll be honest with you. No political bullshit. There’s a simplified plan to resurrect these regions. Will it happen tomorrow? Not a chance. However, if we all act now, by the year 2025, we can eliminate poverty and disease in most if not all these areas. How do you say this is even possible?” Forsythe finished his thought with a question directed at the audience. “Well, let me ask you the audience.” Forsythe scanned the crowd. “The gorgeous lady down in the front row with her arms crossed.” Quentin observed the crowed. “Miss, what’s your name?”
“My name is Katy Madison,” The young woman said as she stood up. The bright spotlight shifted instantly to her. The twenty-eight-year-old medical professional offered her take on what might be a possible solution exercise. Her short brown hair highlighted her hazel eyes. Katy had a fair complexion. Her athletic build seemed very daunting to the sexist collection of men that gathered around the room. She was also very intelligent. Katy was the supreme consummate professional.
“And do you have an inkling of what it might take to reestablish these impoverished sections?” Forsythe looked down upon the eager woman.
“I would bring in qualified doctors and educators to solidify a plan to educate these regions. Statistics say there’s only one doctor for every five thousand people. How can they get proper treatment with that kind of disparity?” Katy offered her opinion.
“Excellent,” Forsythe winked at Katy. “Miss Madison has come up with a solid start to our plan. Can anyone follow her lead?”
“I can certainly try my hand at this,” Judas said as he also rose to share the spotlight. Judas was one to hog the spotlight, not share it.
“In what way, Dr. Sturgis.” Forsythe squinted at him. “Wait a minute. I know you.” He shook his finger as if he suddenly remembered the man’s face.
Judas was surprised Forsythe had in fact remembered him. It had been roughly ten years since the two were paired together, Forsythe as the resident doctor, and Judas as the resident. “You do?”
“I never forget a face, or such an invaluable talent.” Forsythe said with a professional courtesy. “We met at Columbian Presbyterian Hospital. I think it was back in 1993.”
“Yes it was. I’m impressed,” Judas, said with a glowing ego.
“I’m grateful to have you here tonight, Mr. Sturgis,” Forsythe added. “Please share your thoughts with the crowd.”
“Well, picking up on what Miss Madison inferred to, I think that if a proper sanitation and water treatment program were implemented, that would help eliminate many of their diseases. This program would not only be inexpensive, but foolproof.”
“What another excellent idea!” Forsythe beamed with delight. He was always happy to see such vibrant minds in the audience. Forsythe also had written about these points in his latest best-seller.
Judas sat back down, extremely satisfied with the way the night had gone so far.
“I’d just like to take up a few more moments of your time before we adjourn.” Forsythe showed a few more shocking pictures before he segued into his closing speech. “So what have we learned here tonight? Well, I can tell you that such areas need people like you to continue your precious donations, invaluable time and endless effort. As for experienced folk such as Miss Madison and Mr. Sturgis, their knowledge and drive are always a welcome addition and important factor in turning this tide against poverty.” Thunderous applause again showered the speaker.
“The dining hall has some lingering entertainment, dessert, and I’ll will be there signing my new book, where all proceeds directly go to our cause.” Dr. Forsythe wrapped up the night and headed off stage, mingling with the scattering crowd of people.
Quentin Forsythe had quietly settled himself into a hard plastic chair behind one of the banquet tables set up for his book signing engagement. His masculine hands frenetically signed copy after copy of his New York Times best-selling novel, Living in Poverty. After a furious fifteen minutes, Judas Sturgis made his way up to the tiring humanitarian.
“Dr. Forsythe?” Judas acknowledged him.
“Judas, my son, how have you been?” Quentin looked up from signing the book. His glimmering blue eyes met with Dr. Sturgis’s baby browns.
“I’ve learned a great deal from you.” Judas glanced down at Quentin. “Ever since we met back in 1993 when you took me under your wing as your protégée.”
“I’ve always enjoyed our time together. Your mind always displayed a keen knack for medicine.” Forsythe clasped the book shut and handed it back to Judas. “Will you be joining our cause in Natas?”
“I am on the rotating schedule,” Judas affirmed him. “I personally can’t wait for the opportunity to work with you again.” He lied through his teeth. Judas was always able to pull off bullshitting another during any conversation, and come out smelling like a dozen red roses.
“Well, the chances of us working alongside one another is quite slim,” Forsythe said with a dejected look.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll be spending only a short period of time in Natas, before I return back to the States for another circuit of seminars.”
“Oh I see, well then, whatever I can do to help this region recover from poverty.”
“That’s the spirit!” Forsythe beamed. His body shifted in the seat, ready for the next person. “Judas, it’s been my pleasure, best of luck in whatever you do.” The two men exchanged handshakes and then parted ways.
“And who exactly do I make this book out to?” Forsythe felt the book between his fingers without looking up at the next person.
“Katy Madison, Sir,” her soft voice echoed in Forsythe’s ears.
“Ah, the young brilliant mind from earlier tonight.”
“I suppose so Dr. Forsythe.” Katy glowed with embarrassment.
“You know, I think you should talk with that gentleman over there.” Forsythe pointed out Judas standing across the room by the punch bowl.
“How’s that?” Katy curiously asked.
“Well, I taught him everything he knows, and he’s a handsome chap. In addition, I think the two of you would play off each other with fantastic results.”
“Eh, I don’t know,” Katy replied half-heartedly.
“Katy, you have some of the solution and Judas has the other half. It makes perfect sense to me. Are you signed up for any relief work?”
“Actually yes, I am the rotating schedule,” Katy responded with a smile. “I’ve always wanted to do this since I was a little girl, that is, helping others.”
“That’s very hard to find.”
“What is?” Katy asked.
“Someone that possesses an enthusiasm for this particular field of work. It keeps you grounded and focused on the real task at hand, and not the greed of taking the donations and running away from the problems.” Forsythe eagerly chatted up a storm with Katy. He was in awe of her raw desire to fight poverty. It had become a fading quality in recent years.
“Thank you,” Katy said as she bid a goodnight to Dr. Forsythe.
“My pleasure.” Forsythe watched Katy as she walked away and head straight toward Judas.
“She’s a smart girl,” Forsythe replied as he welcomed the next guest to the white table. In a matter of moments, a sea of anxious people swarmed to Quentin Forsythe.
Judas was ready to call it a night when Katy approached him with acute reservation.
“Can I help you?” Judas turned to his approaching guest.
“Are you Dr. Judas Sturgis?” Katy asked biting her nails in an anxious reflex.
“Perhaps, well, yes of course I am,” he teased her. “You’re the young lady from earlier tonight. What was your name? Ah yes, Katy Madison. Am I correct?” Judas impressed Katy with his solid memory.
“Dr. Katy Madison.” She corrected him.
“My mistake, I’m truly sorry. What can I do for you?”
“Dr. Forsythe suggested we get together and bounce our ideas off each other.”
“Coffee?” Judas responded with an offer.
“Coffee?” Katy was puzzled.
“We’ll chat over some hot coffee. I know a great place right around the corner.”
“Sure, why not,” Katy replied back.
Judas took the chivalrous route and led the way to the revolving doors that exited out of the university.
Outside, the dark streets were abuzz with furious activity. Rain had started to come down hard upon the pavement. Judas snapped open his black mini umbrella and offered shelter to Katy.
“Shall we?” Judas escorted her out the doors and into the warm summer rain.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Chapter I

CHAPTER I
Dr. Rodney Norris
September 19, 2001



It was never supposed to come down to this. Dr. Rodney Norris never thought his life would take such a horrible turn for the worse. Eight months’ prior, he was stationed in Natas, Africa, associated with the global program P.A.L.S. {Physicians Assisting Lacking Societies}, where he dedicated his energies to helping those in dire need of medical attention. But now, Rodney Norris was the patient with the incurable disease, the one who bit his fingernails off with a rabid impatience at finding the cure.
He sat rocking aimlessly back and forth on the ripped, lumpy mattress coughing up a misty concoction of blood and mucus. He found himself withdrawn from society for the last several weeks. Norris frequently experienced acute pains that rampaged with reckless abandon throughout his failing body, fiercely consuming every muscle, nerve and tissue the virus could find. Slowly, his brain resigned to the continual onslaught of the irreparable condition known as Leprosy. Once a proud doctor, Rodney Norris was now confined to the walls of Seattle’s Tarpis Mental Hospital, a fragmented man desperately clinging to sustain his own survival.
His frail body continued to rock with a quiet discern. His bent frame crunched up, with his back butted up against the hardened white bricked wall. Norris’s mangled, decimated, curled up fingers clasped his weakened knees in their vise-like clutches. Rodney’s sunken eyes looked around the room, trying to locate a focal point to restore any shred of his escaping sanity. Leprosy, a common disease in South Africa, had masterfully ravaged Rodney’s body at such an alarming rate, beyond anything ever seen before.
Norris had spent the last eight months buried in the small town of Natas, Africa, aiding in the restoration of the impoverished colony. A widespread Leprosy epidemic had brought Dr. Norris into the fray to help those inflicted with the painful disease. Norris assisted with the grueling daily operations, educating the natives and restoring the failing structures. His game plan was a direct derivative of Dr. Quentin Forsythe’s program on how to rebuild these impoverished areas, using a flexibility of viable options.
None of that mattered now, as Dr. Norris wasted away inside the mental hospital. Once a proud family man, with a doting wife and loving children, it had all completely unraveled. His thoughts were far and few in between. The doctor’s family rarely stopped by for visits. The sight of their beloved patriarchal figure slowly decaying before their eyes had impacted their fragile psyches.
“Nurse!” His deep voice bellowed for medication. Rodney Norris ceased his rocking motion in bed and turned to stand up.
Rodney excruciatingly planted his disfigured naked toes onto the cold white tiled floor. A towering six-foot-two man had unexpectedly regressed into a five-foot-ten man filled with desperation and angst.
Rodney’s usually vibrant jet-black mane had transformed into a unique whitish gray, no doubt from the intense stress brought on by the Leprosy. His suntanned complexion retreated into a paled, red-spotted epidermis. Rodney slowly moved his freckled body toward the door as his vocal chords again sounded for medicinal assistance. Bones aching from several days of rocking in a constricted fetal position, Rodney had no energy left to muster. He emphatically stretched out his hand for the door, wincing with every twitch of his distorted fingertips.
A very young nurse walked by his door, paying not one iota of attention to the increasing clawing sounds coming from inside the room. Norris repeatedly dragged his nails up and down the aged wooden door, peeling away slivers of wood underneath his gnarled nails. The result was a collection of tiny splinters cramming their way into his soft skin. Norris didn’t even recoil at the slight discomfort this had caused, for it was a welcomed reprieve from the intensity of pain he had endured previously.
The nurse’s nonchalant cavalier attitude was shattered when Rodney slammed his body into the door a number of times. The succession of violent jerks eventually caught the lost attention of the passing nurse.
“Dr. Norris,” she said with a motherly tone. “You’re going to wind up hurting yourself.”
He wanted to tell this bitch of a woman where to stick it. However, the incapability for speech and muscle control had left him at a dangerous standstill. Another round of primitive actions flooded his crumbling mind, causing the nurse to conjure up her own fleet of doctors. One of the doctors unlocked the wooden door and charged at Rodney, throwing him down onto the cold floor. Rodney cut his chin in the short-lived melee and chipped a collection of his front teeth, sending the yellow fragments of bone skittering across the floor. Another doctor firmly held down his hands and feet, while a steady flow of medicine entered Rodney’s veins through a sharp prick of a needle. His entire body writhed around trying to escape the process. The eventual cloud of darkness consumed him and his world fell into a medicated tailspin.
The last few hours ticked away as Rodney Norris started to awaken underneath the soft glow of the moon. His muscles crying to burst apart from the intense disease. Rodney’s skin had become yellow and jaundiced, while his impeccable 20/20 vision manifested into a cloudy haze. Rodney gathered one last final thought and with a sudden quickness, acted upon it. Methodically, he shuffled across the room and headed for the tall golden lamp. Using a strong forceful shove he managed to knock the lamp to the floor and shattered the white light bulb.
A large fragment remained rocking on the floor, and Rodney lovingly retrieved the glass shard, and headed back for the bed. Taking the shard of glass to his jugular, Rodney managed one final word. “Mandy,” his weak voice filled the air with his wife’s name, repeated several times, before he gathered up the strength to slice his own throat.
“Did anybody check on our new patient?” Tony Tasker asked his crew. The head of Tarpis Mental Hospital gathered the keys to Dr. Rodney Norris’s room and brought an army of doctors with him.
“It’s been about twelve hours since his last episode,” the young nurse responded with vigor. She had a crush on Tony and noticed that he also wanted to get into her pants. She was a blonde bombshell nursing a broken relationship. Her philosophy was simple when it came to men: screw as many as you can and love every minute of it. And by all means, never get involved in any meaningful relationship with a man. It only leads to eventual heartbreak.
“Kendra, thank you.” Tony slid past her in a dominant sexual way, inserting the red key into the patient’s door and turned it harmlessly to the left. Tony charged into the room. Upon entry, Tony’s body convulsed forcing the doctor to spill his guts all over the place. He clasped his mouth with both hands trying to keep the warm sensation at bay until he could make to the nearest garbage can. But, he never made it. His feet gave out from underneath him, forcing him to slide across the floor in a sheet of Rodney’s blood.
Tony noticed Rodney’s limp body lying wilted upon the bloody mattress. Tony presumed Norris was dead and free from the ghastly illness. His eyes were still left open, as they seemed to watch with glee as Tony skidded across the bloodied floor. Rodney’s fingers were left dangling from the bed caked with blood, while his neck had a stubborn gouge across it.
“I don’t know what happened in here,” Tony adjusted himself and stood back up to face the other doctors. His green scrubs were drenched with Rodney‘s blood. “This man should’ve never been left unattended,” he growled with a feeling of power.
“Tony, he was clamoring around before,” Kendra acknowledged her lover. “I brought several doctors with me and they administered a steady dose of medication into his system, in order to subdue his sudden outbursts.”
“Damn it, I could’ve saved him,” Tony bellowed as he silently closed Rodney’s eyes with a quick glide of his fingers. “This man was an esteemed patron of medicine and you treated him like another routine patient.”
The listless body of Dr. Rodney Norris emanated the horrifying ramifications of exposure to such a devastating virus.
“I’m sorry,” Kendra said trying to manage the awkward situation.
“You ought to be!” Tony brushed past her and clamored to regain his senses. “Frank, help me properly prepare his body for burial and an immediate autopsy.” Tony looked into the direction of the newly hired intern.
“Who will look over the autopsy?” Frank questioned Tony.
“I’ll send for the world renown Dr. Quentin Forsythe.” Tony scurried down the hallway and burst into his office. His demeanor was curt and quick as his fingers hastily flipped through the shoddy black Rolodex attempting to locate Quentin’s number.

The Colony/Updated Chapter Breakdown

I now offer you the blogged edition of my new novel "The Colony." The novel centers upon a team of doctors who must find a way to save one of their own from a decimated colony in South Africa after a sinister new virus is unleashed. Doctors Judas Sturgis and Katy Madison embark into the colony to find their missing colleague Dr. Quentin Forsythe, who supposedly has found a cure, but has gone missing. They will witness the horryfying wake of this unstoppable virus. It's a race against the clock when the U.S. Military led by Capt. Nathaniel Logan arrives on orders to quarantine the whole area, and a fractured rebel army arrives with their own dark agenda. Can Dr. Sturgis and Madison hold everything together and find out a way to save the colony?

Your First Breath Will Be Your Last
The 3rd Novel From Horror Author Jason Gehlert

Chapter Breakdown:

PART I
Dr. Rodney Norris {Sept 2001} 4/6/06
COLUMBIA U {June 2003} 4/13/06
Cause and effect 4/20/06
The colony {July 12, 2003} 4/27/06
Alethea 5/4/06
Lost prophet 5/11/06
devil’s disease 5/18/06
Nathaniel logan 5/25/06
The 4th horsemen 6/1/06

PART II
Day of reckoning 6/8/06
Firestorm 6/15/06
Judas’s mission to Natas 6/28/06
the master plan 7/3/06
the cave 7/7/06
Reverend Kimball maddock 7/14/06
the infected 7/21/06
the return of commander Dantu 7/28/06

PART III
ground zero 8/6/06
the church 8/11/06
off the deep end 8/18/06
standoff 8/25/06
escape from the colony 8/25/06