Death if a Healer

 CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 The poor are the best customers, because God will be their paymaster.  

 Herman Boerhauver 

 (1688-1783)

 Chaz Cova's vintage Italian bistro, for years a preferred mid-day hangout among the insular corporate elite, was prominently situated on a conspicuous granite-bluff that overlooked the windy St. Paul River.  As Jake's attorney hastily stomped across the place's ice-patched parking-lot that first Friday morning of the New Year, time and again potent arctic gusts stole her breath, ineluctably pointing to a protracted, Canadian winter ahead.  The generally sufferable weather in the Twin Cities had heretofore spun frigid, with several substantial dumps predicted to soon be residing one upon the other.  Shannon had returned an opportunistic call from Howard Crane, soliciting her consent to an informal luncheon engagement.  

 "I'm indebted that you agreed to meet with me.  I considered your father a good friend.. and he was certainly one hell of an attorney!..."

 Dressed casually in denim blue-jeans and a fleecy woolen sweater, Shannon M. presented a sharp contrast to Howard C's urbane tailored look, complete with choice Scottish cashmere and lightly-tanned, Argentine cowboy-boots.

 "I'm sure the circumstances of his sudden death were a real shock to your family.  I can tell you from first-hand experience.. doctors these days are under tremendous stress.. More and more, it seems, they are simply loosing it.  I know Jake Gibson at one time was considered one of the finest surgeons in the world.. but when my poor ex-wife was killed.. Well, something must have just snapped!..."

 As Howard proceeded to ramble, promiscuously, through a wanton string of conjectures, Shannon merely sat back, acquiescently in her chair, blandly staring in his general direction, without nodding in agreement or even in response.  

 "Anyway.. I'm pleased that you thought it worthwhile for us to get together.. It must be very difficult for you to represent someone who's been implicated up to his neck in your own father's death. I'm totally amazed that there's still a sentiment of sorts around town.. that somehow he's innocent.. that for some inexplicable reason he's been framed.. and that there's a massive, silenced conspiracy under foot to get rid of him!..."

 The conversation continued to be strictly a one-way street.

 "I know he's still got a hand-full of supporters at the University Hospital.. who, by the way, are really hindering our efforts to implement cost-effective methods of managing a modern teaching-hospital!" 

 Shannon persisted in only addressing her galling lunch-date with scornful, fleeting glances, as she directed her principle consideration towards the placement of an order with a particularly youthful waitress, who had just approached their table.  

 "A diet coke please!.. Also, could I order the special house-salad, please.. with spicy chicken.. Thanks-a-lot.. I appreciate your service!"  

 As he placed an order over a wrathy frown, Howard's commands weren't meant to be nearly as accommodating.  

 "Get me a martini on the rocks!.. onions only, no olive!!. And since we seem to be in a kind of a big rush here, bring me the house Cobb.. diced not sliced.. heavy on the bacon, but be sure and keep it easy on the avocado!" 

 Without soliciting his companion's permission, Howard retrieved from his shirt-pocket and fired-up an aromaticLatino-cigar, as he continued a litany of poignant declarations.   

 "I think you should be aware.. I've given a sworn statement to the prosecuting-attorney.. and I am also prepared to testify in court, to the fact that Dr. Gibson boasted to me.. while he held me at gunpoint inside my home.. that he was the one who shot your father to death!"  

 The ongoing, barefaced silence across the table had finally become a frank annoyance to Howard.

 "You know Shannon.. I think it's certainly in everyone's best interest that this whole sordid matter be cleared up as quickly and easily as possible.  We certainly don't need another extended media-trial.  I was hoping that I could convince you to at least advise your client about this.  I know in past interactions.. at times he hasn't behaved very responsibly.. I really pray that he doesn't plan to drag the entire profession through that kind of mess again.  As a way out, I for one would be willing to encourage the district-attorney to negotiate some sort of plea-bargain!"

 Ms. Massitor struggled with snowballing distaste for the raucous scoundrel seated directly across from her, as she tried desperately to maintain her strategy of wistful listening.  Finally, with tremendous mitigation, she caught sight of a tray of drinks, being shuttled from across the room and rapidly coming to her rescue.  Solicitously, she reached towards the floor beside her chair and nonchalantly elevated a slender, black hand-bag onto her lap.  

 After clanking down two ice-water filled glasses, in addition to the ordered beverages, a veteran matre'd rejoined.  

 "Mr. Crane sir.. We have a telephone-call for you.. I'm told it is quite important!"

 As a bewildered Howard rose from his well-off position to be ushered to the waiting-call, Shannon nervily shuffled around inside her purse, searching for a peanut-sized, plastic vial.  As Howard disappeared beyond a corner, she assiduously reached a mit forward, directly took hold of his martini, and purposefully positioned the robust glass in front of her; before she covertly dispensed the crystal contents of the uncapped vial into the glacial liquid.  With a few quick stirs, the clumps of white-powder instantly dissolved; posthaste, she replaced the wieldy beverage back to the front of Howard's seat.  Then, furtively glancing about the room, she assured herself that her actions had gone undetected.  

 A few moments later, Howard gruffly returned to his chair.

 "Unbelievable!.. Whoever it was hung up when I answered.  I really hate that crap!"

 With that, he hastily slurped a few hankering gulps of his martini and settled snugly back into his chair.  Shannon grasped that she had the rare opportunity to yank a scalawag's strings, right in front of his face.  

 "Mr. Crane.. my dad was indeed a great man!.. Unfortunately, not many people were able to recognize that before his death!..."

 Howard's driveling nod was superseded by a couple more flagrant guzzles from his glass.  

 "In this world that we live in, there aren't many men who are willing to put their lives on the line for what they believe in.. My dad was certainly one of those people!..."

 With the cavalier flip of an onion into his mouth, Howard's ongoing smirk depicted only a pretense of agreement.  He quaffed a copious mouthful, flushing the pungent white condiment down with gelid, tainted liquid.

 "You know.. I've looked very carefully at the case against Dr. Gibson.. and I've given this whole thing a lot of thought.. Certainly a great deal of very formidable evidence has been brought up against him.  At first.. in terms of putting together a defense.. I wasn't at all sure what to do.  I even thought about recommending to him that he plead innocent by reason of.. Well, something like temporary insanity!.. Then again, I wondered if perhaps, he should plea-bargain as you suggested.. But you know, the more I've looked at the situation in its entirety, the more I've realized.. there's really only one right thing for him to do!..."

 Inclining the condensation-covered glass once again against his insatiable mug, Howard lustily consumed the final few ounces of clouded liquid that remained among lingering ice-cubes and garishly clanged it back onto the table; then, commandingly, he waved at their fawning waitress for one more.  

 As his suddenly vociferous luncheon-guest continued her spiel, Howard keenly fondled his empty glass, as though he urgently needed something awash.

 "Other than my dad.. I've never come across a better man than Dr. Gibson.  You know.. I don't think his case will ever even come to trial.. because you and I both know that Jason Gibson is completely innocent!.. He had absolutely nothing to do with my father's or anyone else's death!!..."

 Shannon gladly revealed a stern and ironclad squint, as she bent her arms forward across the table and glared disgustedly into Howard's astonished yet miotic pupils.

 "I believe someone connected with Expercare was responsible for my father and Jake's wife being killed!.. and I think that someone was you!.. and would you like to know something else, Mr. Crane?!.. I believe I can prove it!!!"

 The unexpectedly blatant nature of Shannon's accusations momentarily rocked Howard back into his chair.  With his temples flaring as a result of very foggy vision and behind a strenuous but uncontrollable clinch occurring between his jaws, for a few seconds he flamed back in the direction of his luncheon date.  Then, precipitously, he arose from his chair, ambled a few lumbering steps away from the table, and while firmly clutching his abdomen, abruptly collapsed to the floor behind a shrieking bellow.

  The ambulance-crew arrived so promptly that a close-at-hand observer would have imagined that they were stationed just across the street.  A prostrate, barely responsive restaurant patron was transported with sirens whooping and lights flashing to the emergency-room at the University Hospital.

 A special program of advanced-instruction in the emergent care of elderly stroke patients had been initiated that very week for the emergency-room staff at the just re-lettered Expercare University Hospital.  Posthaste, after the acquisition, the assertive dean of the medical-center, Everett Salig M.D., had taken it upon himself to implement his randomized steroid study--something demanded of all hospitals in the corporate chain, nationwide.  

 "Nurse, would you kindly draw the curtain, so that we might provide this unfortunate patient some privacy!"

 Surrounded by the recently chaired Fassad and a dozen or so upper-echelon ER physicians and staff-members in long white lab-coats, Salig held court as a fellow in Emergency Medicine rapidly performed the routine sequences of a thorough neurological-examination; an unresponsive and, by all appearances, antediluvian and decrepid gentleman had just been brought in off the street.  

 "Both of his pupils are pin-point.. less than one millimeter.. and barely reactive.  He has total, areflexic paralysis of both upper and lower extremities.. and there's no response at all to commands or painful stimulation.. Clearly he seems trapped, irreversibly, in a deep coma.  His respirations are even becoming somewhat labored.  I think this old chap is nearly ready to check-out.  I give him only 24-48 hours, at most!"  

 With that brief, but to the point diagnostic analysis, Salig removed from its jacket a CT-scan that had accompanied the patient and without bothering to verify its authenticity, inserted it, with a genteel flip of his wrist, onto a nearby view-box.  He then solemnly addressed the attentive group of doctors and nurses.  

 "My lord!.. Look here!.. There's been a gigantic hemorrhage into the deep white-matter core of the brain-stem.  Surely, all of the vital consciousness-centers have been permanently damaged!  Clearly, there's very little change, if any, that this poor fellow will ever recover!" 

 As Salig finished his grim colloquy, a nurse's-aid apart from the group--who had been veraciously attending to the dying patient's essential needs--fecklessly turned and clumsily bumped against him, in the process splashing a chafe of warm, frothy urine onto the front of his immaculate white-coat.    

 "Oh Dean Salig!.. I'm terribly sorry!.. I..."

 "You stupid!!.. No, excuse me.. I'm sure it was an accident.. It's not a problem.. It's quite alright dear."

 With that the dean of the entire medical center disgustedly slipped each arm, in turn, from his brine-stained lab-jacket; then gruffly, he dropped it into the arms of the mincing LPN, his menacing look anticipating the snappy retrieval of a fresh one.  

 As she hurriedly pushed her way through the drawn curtain, one of the physicians in the group, at Salig's furtive command, turned his back to the others and reached his hand into the very back of the deep bottom-drawer of a nearby emergency drug-cart; he retrieved a labeled, glass med-vial.  Without garnering any unwanted attention from the group of instructees still exchanging ideas in front of the films with the eminent gentile, he then quickly reached inside a shallow top-drawer and grabbed a 12-cc syringe and 20-gauge needle, before hastily drawing up the contents of the disposable 10-cc container.

 While George Black, M.D--a newly-appointed consultant to the medical-staff--was so occupied off to the side, Salig continued to address the group.

 "As you can see from the films, this is the ideal candidate for our Steroid Randomization Study.  According to the protocol, eligible patients must be elderly and moribund, with an acute life-threatening illness..."

 Salig went on to explain many of the details of his ongoing, multi-center study.

 "Data collection has been underway for almost five years... Double-blind randomization is accomplished through my office here in Minneapolis as soon as the patient is admitted and pertinent data has been entered into the computer-network.  Once all the necessary info has been processed.. such as age.. admitting diagnosis.. neurological status and the like.. the mainframe automatically provides the physician on the frontline with the appropriate vial letter and number..."

 Quite surreptitiously, Black slipped a syringe and other injection paraphernalia into the empty right hand of Salig, who then held up in the air with his left hand a red-numbered vial--precededly by the letter F--for all to see.

 "As ER workers, your job is to simply administer the drug according to the prescribed dosage regimen.  I would strongly suggest, however, that a designated emergency-room physician personally monitor each patient for a few minutes after the initial dose.. to take note of any untoward side-effects!" 

 With that, Salig stepped over to the side of the barely breathing patient and promptly uncapped and inserted the needled syringe that he had just been handed into his slowly dripping IV.  Rapidly plunging the opaque, plastic syringe, he sent a bolus of a slightly-discolored substance, initially through lengthy, clear-plastic tubing and anon, into the distressed man's venous-system.  Then, with a saddened, almost reverent expression, he decisively withdrew the bevelled prong, detached it from the syringe, and apace, disposed of both in a bright-red contamination container, permanently affixed atop the close-at-hand life-saving cart.

 With an impassionate shrug of his shoulders and a haughty rub of his palms together, Salig displayed to those in observance that it was all just as simple as that.  Commandingly, he then motioned for the bulk of the group to proceed onto the next case, as he snapped open the shower-like inclosure with a stern flip of his wrist.

 At that instant, the previously motionless and nearly forsaken olden patient unexpectedly stirred; his lax eyelids began to rapidly flutter and both corners of his heretofore inert mouth repetitively twitched.  Just as the procession of doctors through the peeled screen was being waved gallantly onward by their fearless leader, the platoon's attention was straight off seized by a muffled but jolting sound, coming from their suddenly re-energized patient.  

 "Yuuu.. sun.. ov.. a.. bith!..."

 Intrigued, Salig promptly halted the exodus and took a few trepidatious steps back to the patient's side, to better position himself for what he anticipated to be a terminal sequence of agonal respiratory excursions.

 "You.. son of a bitch!!..."

 Flabbergasted and startled at what he thought he had heard, an unnerved Salig wandered even closer to the latched bed-rail; leaning forward, he placed an ear adjacent to the ostensible old bean's parched osculators.  At that moment, as if a part of a surreal drama, the previously prostrate, seemingly moribund stroke-victim suddenly sat up on his stretcher and placed both of his hands solidly around Everett Salig's brandished neck.    

 "You lousy son of a bitch!!!.. You tried to kill me!!!"

 With his might and mobility rapidly returning, the  reinvigorated patient lunged at Salig, grasping his neck in a deadly choke-hold.  At the same instant, in an all-out panicky retreat, Salig spontaneously rammed the brunt edge of his forearm forward, thrusting it bluntly into the unprotected gut of his aggressor.  In a further impulsive attempt to break the dire hold on him, the horrified doctor punched his resurrected patient soundly across the side of his head.  

 "What the hell is going on here!.. What are you trying to do?!.. And what in the crap are you talking about?!!" 

 The frankly terrified cluster of emergency-room personnel huddled into the far corner of the still segregated cubicle, as Everett Salig--dean of the entire medical-complex--and his uproarious patient struggled vehemently and exchanged angry shouts, both at the very top of their lungs.  Full tilt, the privacy-drapes were thrown fully open as a number of additional emergency-room staffers and others nearby made a timely response to the rackety commotion.

 "You set me up!.. You tried to kill me!.. I'm gonna strangle you, you son of a bitch!! I'm gonna kill you!!!  I've know for sometime that you were going to double-cross us and publish all that data!.. I got Massitor and I'll get you too!!!"

 The ferocious patient was clinging to the front of Salig's collar with a firm hold as the force of the rabid combatant's entanglement bounced the unlocked stretcher frantically about.

 "What in the hell are you talking about?!.. I have no idea what's going on here!!.. Who in the hell are you anyway?!!"

 Salig persisted to forcibly repel his doggedly adversarial patient, walloping him about the jaw and face, in the process, dislodging a wagged, curly wig and patchy, full-length beard.  In so doing, Salig was finally able, with Fassad's help, to break completely free of his aggressor's hostile hold; swiftly, he and the ex-Iraqi retreated a few trepidatious steps away. 

 With that, the exceedingly irate and fully exposed patient--his naked rump attached to the black vinyl stretcher with only a small bit of his lower-torso covered by a jumbled, white bed-linen--angrily ripped the IV from his antecubital-vein; in turn, he flung the artificial hair-pieces in Salig's direction, as he initiated another overly aggressive movement in the doctor's direction.  Only then, did Everett recognize the identity of his patient.  

 "Howard??.. Howard?!.. Howard Crane!!.. What in God's name are you doing here?!.. I don't understand?!.. What's going on???.. The scan showed a massive hemorrhage.. I was only following our agreed..."

 As those words hit home, Howard's orbicularis oris and oculi immediately widened, and then painfully spasmed; remembering his luncheon-date, he ceased his militant posture.  

 The fiery glares of the two indignant antagonists remained pasted on one another for a few seconds; then, at virtually the same instant, both came to a breakneck realization of their scandalous predicament.  Like a couple of blameable kids caught red-handed with their dirty mitts in the cookie-jar, in unison, their necks wrenched to timidly survey, one-by-one, the contemptible and censurable looks of those who had been standing around, observing the whole heinous spectacle.  By then, a profound silence and ungainly inertia had embellished those in attendance--only interrupted by the same gauche nurse, who determinedly stepped over to the stretcher and offered her patient a patch of sterile gauze with which to cover the seeping IV-site on his forearm. 

 Almost on cue, Shannon Massitor worked her way through the maze of white uniforms and coats to take an upper-hand position adjacent to Howard's stretcher, on the side opposite Salig.  After purposefully displaying and flaunting a hand-held video-camera, prominently retained within her grasp and line-of-sight--she gloated thru the view-finder, making impassionate eye-contact with both stunned combatants; then, quite commandingly, she turned away and exited the room.  

 In concert, a pointed Midge Stone stepped thru the stunned assemblage to the emergency-cart, and confiscated a handful of intact, steroid vials and the red-plastic disposal-container filled with contaminated needles and syringes; with a scornful and incriminating glare at the same two, she likewise departed in a tizzy.  

 With that, the gathering in attendance, by then including a conglomeration of house-staff, students, clerical workers, and other bystanders sluggishly began to dissemble as they muttered, disheartenly, among themselves.  Before too long, Howard and Everett, along with Fassad and Black, were left to backwardly eyeball each other in the midst of a ghostly silent and altogether deserted emergency-room cubicle.

 The prevailing atmosphere the next morning in stately Courtroom A of the Criminal Justice Building was one of great expectation.  The front several rows of the gallery were filled to capacity with family, friends, and Jake's closest associates, including his mom and dad, a generous sampling of his siblings, Midge, Vince Wilson, and most importantly, Jeanne Brooks.  A special hearing had been scheduled to discuss bail for the county's most notorious murder suspect, and his attorney had an impressive list of additional facts and a lot of propounding information to present--all directly pertaining to the criminal-charges pending against her incarcerated client. 

 The eagerly awaited hearing was called to order over the fervor generated by the soaring enthusiasm of the indicted prisoner's well-wishers.  As he sat pensively listening to his all-time favorite attorney paint an incredulous picture of far-reaching conspiracy, malicious corruption, and deceit--surrounding a certain, supposedly reputable, health-care conglomerate--Jake retraced in his memory the multitude of stints that for most of his life had monopolized his time and talent, as he ascended from the hind-end of his revered profession to its neocortical hierarchy. 

 As a lowly, junior medical-student doing a three-week rotation on the Orthopedic Service at Minneapolis City Hospital, he was feeling very bored late one night while stuck in the hospital on-call; with nothing better to do, he had happened by the operating-room.  An elderly patient was about to undergo placement of a burr hole for treatment of a chronic subdural fluid-collection.  The resident-in-charge, who was preparing to undertake the uncomplicated procedure, had immediately noticed the flappable underling as he came in, and in short order, began to issue commands.

 "Hey stud!.. You don't look very busy at the moment.. Why don't you go ahead and scrub in on this case.. I might be able to us an extra pair of hands!"

 At the time, he was quite enthused at the rousing prospects of not only observing, but actually getting to assist in, his first ever brain-operation.  His steps to the wash-basin and back were bounding with youthful enthusiasm; he could hardly believe that he was actually standing in pristine surgical garb, alongside an esteemed neurosurgery resident.  

 Just then, beneath a violently twirling tornado, the attending neurosurgeon, one Rupert Ratcheton, swept across the midwestern plains and into the room.

 "What are you two clowns trying to do in here?.. Why haven't you got a hole in this poor man's head yet??.. You know, you are the two dumbest-looking assholes I've ever seen in my life!!..."

 The lanky and as yet unbaptized subaltern was drawn by the unbelievable crudeness and droll, unimaginable insincerity of the attending's remarks to offer his unique brand of a flinching grin.

 "What the f... are you smirking at!!.. Are you some kind of f...ing idiot!! Do you think I'm joking around here?!!"

 "No sir.. I..."

 "Just keep your silly-ass mouth shut!.. You dumb shit!!.. You've got nothing to say that could add anything to what's going on here! I'll remind you in the future to speak only when spoken to!!.. When I ask a question.. give me a f...ing answer!.. Otherwise, just stand there like the big dumb-ass you are, and do what you're told!!"

 On command, the goaded med-student stood manikin-like, with his eyes and ears wide open, and his unschooled mouth and unseasoned visceral sphincters held very tightly closed.  Meanwhile, the speechless resident alongside struggled, unsuccessfully, to control the conspicuous shaking of his hands, as he attempted to place the skull perforation at exactly the right spot on the side of the patient's head.  His strained efforts to keep the rapidly turning, electronically-powered perforator from spinning off his mark, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed. 

 "You are one goddamn, stupid, worthless, f...!.. Hasn't anybody taught you anything?!.. This is goddamned unbelievable!!.. I don't believe I've ever seen anybody in greens as clumsy as you!.. Are you all thumbs!?.. You know.. you don't even belong in the OR!.. You're a total f...ing idiot!!.. I don't know how you ever expect to make it through this training program!  What a total f...ing disaster!!!"

 Incessantly, for the ensuing 45 minutes, the loud-mouthed, nitpicking attending continued to stand over his heavily burdened resident, repeatedly berating him to get the job done, while at the same time ranting and raving at him for each and every move.  With nearly every hypercritical word, the "more feeble-by-the-minute" resident and his rapidly languishing confidence were all the more zapped.    

 As he eyeballed the proceedings in disbelief, the student's innermost skin had quickly thickened, and his heavy outer armor had became nearly impenetrable.  For quite a long time after that very simple operation had been successfully completed and all involved had hastily exited the premises, the humble student--eventually turned capable surgeon--was still able to vividly picture and astutely hear that overly abusive hazing; another surgical-trainee had been totally humiliated and demeaned as though a drill-sergeant was trying to toughen up a green recruit, so that in the future he would be capable of inanely facing up to any sort of cold-blooded assault.

 Between repetitious winks in Jeanne's direction, Jake reflected, with repeated shoulder shrugs, over that very first exposure to the great field of brain-surgery; he surmised that the magnificent and all-powerful idealism of his youth had never really attained full bloom, though he had always thought its roots were firmly and rightfully planted.  As he doodled on a perdurable, occipital-lobe scratch-pad, his intricate looping designs and crocheted configurations cast a modern art impression of a foolish man's innermost emptiness, wastefulness, and meaninglessness.  The idealogue had somehow managed to find his way through the complex, hierarchal maze--from callow, twittering medical-student to heralded full-professor; but from where the accused presently sat, he seriously questioned whether the sacrificial journey was worth the steep price.  

 Jake's caviling self-analysis was interrupted by his attorney's glowing rendition of her client's brilliant career and renowned accomplishments.  With each backslapping, overly generous, and self-serving word, the focus of attention found it easy to reject the image of a triumphant crusader being ceremoniously hoisted into the air by his battle-scarred troops; he was much more comfortable identifying with a weak-kneed teenager playing hookey from school and making his first ever visit to a local nude-beach, unfortunately on a cold and rainy day.

 Shannon Massitor's summation soon came to a hasty conclusion.

 "Your honor.. I am submitting a series of sworn-statements from a number of very influential people.. who have attested that the dramatic facts I have brought to the court's attention this morning are.. indeed.. totally accurate!"

 After a balding, but primly goateed, judge with an Ivy League accent had briefly scrutinized a series of file-folders, complete with properly-notarized documents, he unceremoniously summoned the poised prosecuting-attorney and his aspiring team to huddle at the front of the bench.  The defense-attorney stood attentively, but defiantly, at her position, professedly ready to respond to any additional request for consultation that might be initiated by either party.

 As he continued to passively observe the protracted proceedings from his seated position, Jake gnawed at his breakfast-deprived stomach and at the profundity of unfulfilled expectations simmering in his soul.  He truly yearned to hold within his heart that feeling of utter Aesculapian blissfulness, seemingly only obtainable in reaching out one's hand in compassion to a fellow human-being, without any expectation of receiving anything at all in return.  He couldn't escape the notion that for a long time, that empyrean sensation had alluded him; more than anything else at that resigned moment, he wished for the freedom to resume his quest to experience the ultimate peace and satisfaction of a true healer.

 "Dr. Gibson.. Sir!.. Would you please stand?"

 The judge's overly courteous and solemn request brought the defendant promptly to his feet.

 "Sir, on behalf of this court and the people of the state of Minnesota.. I would like to sincerely apologize to you for the inconvenience it seems we have caused.  It is becoming clear to this court that the accusations against you, may indeed have been in error!.. After discussion with the district-attorney, I have decided to release you to the recognizance of your attorney, Ms. Massitor.. pending further investigation into this entire matter!"

 The well-stated verse had barely been issued by the judge's well-circumscribed mouth, whereupon the brunt of the courtroom erupted into a chorus of festive hurrahs and congratulatory alrights.  The man-of-the-hour was beset upon by his joyous followers, and enmass they paraded from the courtroom.

 On the spur of the moment, mom and dad Gibson invited all those present back to the house for a casual brunch and cordial conversation.

 Holding court in a corner of the living-room, within his dad's favorite, padded-recliner, Jake had a whole battery of questions for his mischievous attorney and abetters.  

 "How were you guys so sure the ambulance would take Crane to the university emergency-room.. and not shuttle him away somewhere else?"

 A familiar voice sounded out from across the room.  

 "I think I can answer that one, man!.. Did you know that you can rent a fully-equipped ambulance.. and crew.. for only a few bucks a day?.. I found one advertized in the yellow pages.. right next to the attorneys' want-ads!!.."

 Jake's squint towards Shannon Massitor was an indication to Kevin, his qualmish brother, that he wasn't buying it.  

 It was up to the Q-Bird to rectify his answer.  

 "Ok!.. Well, let's just say its nice to have friends in high places!.. They were parked and waiting outside the restaurant the whole time!!"

 Jake's familiar smirk let into another query.  

 "So what kind of illegitimate pharmaceutical did we dispense this time?"

 On cue, Midge let go one of her characteristic, shit-eatin expressions.  

 "Poor Mr. Crane!.. He somehow got hold of some very bad.. very deadly nightshade!.. and you know how terribly upsetting to the system to much belladonna can be!"

 Jake's detained and tenured sigh was a feeble attempt to conceal an underlying chuckle, brandished beneath the guise of professional integrity; in the end, though, he had to give in to a cackling guffaw as credit to the nurse's ingenuity.  

 "All right, one last question.. How could you guys be certain that Salig would give Crane a cholinergic antidote.. and not administer a dose of his hemlock, as he obviously intended to do?"

 Jake's final inquiry had been anticipated by his attorney.

 "We switched the drugs in the crash-cart beforehand.. but we also had to be sure that he didn't have a vial of the deadly poison stashed in one of his coat-pockets.  It wasn't difficult to find someone to volunteer to dump some fresh pee on him.. to get his coat off his back.. As a matter of fact, if you must know, the urine was mine!"

 Jake's chuckle was even louder.

 As the afternoon hours stilly passed one to another, Jake basked in the inveigling warmth and settling relaxation of family and friends.  Standing in the hub of his boyhood habitat, the doctor relived the essence of his nurturing.  While loosely joking around with and facetiously poking fun of those he had for his entire life felt the most comfortable being around, he commenced, ever so slowly, to set himself apart from the personal and professional, self-imposed agony and defeatist attitude of the last few months.  

 With the relished events that had taken place on practically a daily basis around the old stomping grounds, there wasn't a worry or care as a youngster that couldn't be overcome by some sort of a game:  half-court basketball up at the school-yard, pepper on the backyard lawn (usually with his dad handling the bat), hockey or kickball on the street in front, even touch-football on the ball-field behind the house; those were the remedies for everything and anything that might ail a kid's soul.  

 The reinvigorated spirit and genuine hope that flows so naturally from the belief that a resolution to any and all of life's conflicts is realistically possible soon pressed Jake to challenge his brethren to step outside.  Fortunately, mom had kept boxes and boxes of old clothes in the attic, such that something suitable was found for absolutely everyone; even Shannon, Midge, and Jeanne willingly shed their proper attire to don time-worn blue-jeans, outdated sweatshirts, and age-old sneakers, for a daring football-game in the snow.  Jake's happy-go-lucky sisters, Ann and Carol, also dug out an old sack of oversized pink and green handkerchiefs that years ago had been used by the kids as strategic pocket-flags, to keep the action "touch" only.  

 With each pair of feet slipping, sliding, and skidding, each set of legs dashing while darting, and each group of hands grabbing and grappling--but then loosing their grip, the sloshy foot of sopping-wet snow created a sloppy but commensurate battlefield.  As a fervid sun began its steady, late-afternoon descent and the sore and saturated, but cheerily restored, overgrown kids headed back inside for the warmth of a flaming log-fireplace and simmering hot-chocolate--complete with marshmallows--Jake lingered for a few moments with Jeanne.  

 As they playfully tossed the soft-rubber football, back and forth--lost in the inexplicable freedom of the moment--instinctively he grabbed her around the waist and plunked her into a snow-bank--one shivering body suddenly came to rest directly atop the other.  Finding himself totally alone with her, their munificent hearts not more than a few beats apart, Jake shared with his decade-long secret-lover a spontaneous but passionate kiss. 

 "Oh shit!!"

 Impoverished by didactic constraints and a sudden vacuum in intellectualization imposed by the spontaneity of the situation, Jake and Jeanne were left to respond to their long repressed passion and to each other by way of that simple exclamation.  Thereupon, they hastened to pick themselves up, dust the loose clumps of snow from their doused clothing, and straight off head inside to rejoin the others. 

 Though thrown together by untoward circumstances, Shannon and Midge had quickly become good friends; so much so, that Jake's advertent attorney had posed to his homeless nurse-friend the extended use of a quest-bedroom at her place.  After exchanging their borrowed duds and lighthearted farewells, the two insistently giggling women walked in the direction of Shannon's rental-car, parked along the street apart from the others.  

 As he stood on the frigid porch in his wet-stocking feet, shouting plans to meet them first thing in the morning, Jake was summoned by his mom to return inside to take an impatient telephone-caller.  

 "Hello Jason.. this is Vince Wilson calling..."

 Jake was quite astonished, but nonetheless very pleased to hear the boss's distinctive twang on the other end of the phone; he wanted to express appreciation for his mentor's unexpected presence and support in court that morning.  He looked forward to a long-overdue, congenial exchange with his prodigal father figure.

 "Jake.. I'm calling because I'm very concerned about things.. I just hung up the phone after a conference-call with Everett Salig and Howard Crane!..."

 For a fleeting moment, Jake's sense of intellectual vindication soared together with his adolescent spunk--just revisited; surely, he was about to be told the villains had all resigned and left town. 

 "Salig's one haughty son of a bitch!.. He totally denies the episode in the emergency-room yesterday afternoon ever happened!.. And for Crane.. Well, what can you say?.. His line is always the same.. He blames everything on you!.. Unfortunately, he's still in command and as far as Expercare is concerned, it appears to be business as usual.  I've got a terrible gut-feeling that those at the helm will do anything.. anything at all.. to never allow what happened yesterday to embarrass them publicly!..."

 Jake passed over the notion to interject his current thoughts on the two madmen or his philosophy about gut-feelings; he decided to simply listen awhile longer.

 "Jake.. this whole thing has really got me concerned!.. Salig distinctly alluded to... Well.. he made an inference that something dire was going to happen.  He made it very clear that I should be sure and steer far away from you for the next few days!..."

 As another fistful of forewarning words passed by Wernicke's area, there were so many menacing concerns confronting Jake's sensorium that he hesitated to respond, wondering which to address first.

 "I don't think it's necessary to discuss the implications of all this on the phone, Jake.. but I just felt it necessary to alert you.  You need to be very careful!.. and those helping you!..."

 Startling those affectionately chatting nearby, all-at-once Jake let loose of the phone, and in an outright panic, raced through the living-room, heading towards the front of the house.  Nearly ripping the light-weight, wooden front-door from its hinges, and all but shattering a glass storm-door against it, he traversing the front-porch just as a deafening explosion engulfed the two-door, powder-blue coup, that had just begun to pull away from the curb.

 The horrific force of a gigantic, white and yellow ball-of-fire knocked Jake to the ground, as most of the windows along the face of the house were shattered.  Climbing back to his feet and continuing an unflinching charge to the locus of the inferno, he was soon halted by extreme heat, which had already sacrificed the ice and snow for meters around.  

 "Noooooooooooooooo!"

 Though utterly deafened by the over-powering intensity of the volatile explosion, Jake's maddening scream was as stentorian as an outburst from the depths of human horror could possibly be.

  Though the last of the fire-trucks, arson-investigative and bomb-squad vehicles, and police-cruisers had pulled away sometime ago, Jake remained immobilized on the front-porch.  His ensconced, bloodshot eyes and cockeyed thoughts had defected to a place far away, as he sedately rocked in an old rickety lawn-chair with a lamb's fleece blanket wrapped tightly around him.  One by one, he exchanged temperate hugs and impassioned parting gestures with those he had grown up with, fully conveying to each of them, without an utterance, that they likely wouldn't see each other again for a very long while.

 After a spell, only the brisk evening air and Jeanne remained to encounter his hermetic, expressionless eyes.  Then, as he shivered in response to renewed, vitriolic inversions of a Northern wind, a treasure-chest of doomed affection was unsuppressibly opened; Jake found himself enshrouded in a puerile expression of deprived adoration.  

 "Oh Jeanne!.. Oh Jeanne!!!..."

 Jake's entire body but especially his lips shuddered as he wailed.  Jeanne ascended from her solemnly seated position just across from her fond friend and assumed an intimate place at his side; soberly enclosing an arm around his neck, she pressed his bobbing head onto her shoulder. 

 Trembling moans yoked by uncontrolled sobbing were evidence of the profoundness of sorrow--like perpetually seeping water it had, in the cosmic order of things, ultimately found its natural outlet.  Jeanne held wide open her heart as a buttress for the man whose sentiments she most treasured and adored.  Embarrassed by the quantity of slobber being smudged on her sweater as it sluiced from the angles of his eyes, nose, and mouth, Jake vainly attempted to regain some measure of composure with repetitive swipes of his nasolabial folds with the dorsum of a wrist.  

 "I always thought I had a handle on things.. no matter what... I never imagined that..."  

 Jeanne was well aware that a mountain of painful redemption remained.

 "It's okay my love!.. I'm here now!.. It'll be okay.. Trust me!"

 In response, Jake lost any semblance of control as he simpered and bawled deep within the heartened clutches of his sole true love.    

 A light touch of snow began to powder the best of friends as a heavily passionate man succumbed to the full-weight of his inamorata's compelling influence.  Without exchanging an added word, Jeanne gingerly coaxed her passion to his feet and led him to her mini-van, strategically placing him in a front bucket-seat, the warm blanket still encompassing him.  As she drove directly home, her esteemed passenger stared all the while submissively ahead, unconsciously focused on the imperious, arced panorama provided by the obnoxious pair of flailing wiper-blades, concurrently sweeping away the agglomeration of peacefully settling, innocent white flakes. 

 After escorting him to an all but cozy place on a slightly spongy couch in the den, and setting up some rather hot water for tea, Jeanne hastened to enkindle some sort of flame in a wood-burning stove.  

 She sat beside him for hours that evening and night, struggling to expel the hideous dread that hung like a dead-weight on his enthusiasm for life.  Jake's deadpan gestures to her emotive expressiveness openly pointed to the unmistable fact that he desperately needed more than a bounded embrace from the woman he had silently craved for the greater part of his life.  The inflexible burden of failure that he held forth had become insufferably stifling; so much so, that his free-will would send no qualms of conscience her way that night.  

 To the blush of an unrestrained full moon and several inches of passively falling and endlessly drifting snow, Jeanne shared the substance of her immeasurable feelings for Jake, that for so many years had been rigidly confined to his imagination; and he did likewise.  Fully exposing to each other for the first time the undeniable depth of conjoint hopes and dreams, the life-long lovers to and fro discovered that night the essential meaning of, and their real yearning for, unfeigned happiness in life.  

 It turned out to be a whole lot longer drive than either of them had expected; though, for an entire weekend alone in a luxury bungalow, on an unblemished beach at Seaside, it was well worth the wait.  What a marvelous time it turned out to be, walking hand-in-hand each daybreak to the rousing sound and enticing aroma of pounding surf--the delightful sight of chortling gulls below a hazy, early-morning sun granting revivification to each new day.  Outstretched on the beach beneath an unfolded umbrella, her head lying affectionately upon his lap, she added to the unbelievable beauty of the setting; and what with the number of carnal peregrinations they were compelled to make throughout the day, back to the privacy of their room, it was fortunate, indeed, that he had reserved an intimate roost close at hand to the sand.  

 Reluctantly, only a few hours of time together remained; in the morning they would be forced to return to reality.  Unthinkingly it seemed, after making love a last time, she left his bed to go for a solo moonlight swim.  He had awoken, thank God, just in time to catch sight of her departing shadow; hence, as she dashed, uncovered, towards the rows of folding waves, he was able to stay hot on her trail.  

 As they slashed and splashed their way through the first series of breakers, she was just in front of him; so too, till both were barely able to touch the sand on the bottom.  Just before she dove, he reached for her, anticipating a firm hold of that hand or the steadiness of her waist; but instead there was only emptiness compassing; and then, as if by design, he couldn't even feel the bottom.  

 CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 I divided my life into three parts:  In the first I learned my profession; in the second I taught it; and in the third I enjoyed it.  

 John Bland-Sutton (1855-1936)

 With a weary, wide-eyed grimace beyond necessitous explication, yet with unqualified delight to have finally arrived at his long-awaited destination, Salomao enduringly clutched that cherished savior's hand into his.  He had journeyed well beyond two-hundred miles, sluggishly traversing the perilous mountains and marshlands of the rain-forest on foot; through dense, at times impenetrable, brush, along bromidic, serpentine trails, and across scabrous creek beds cut in ancient ferrous rock, he had ferried his most precious cargo all the way to Belize City.  

 The eight-and-a-half year-old, starry-eyed and dark-skinned cutie had recently developed terrible difficulty in walking; even more problematic in terms of her father's protracted trek across the back-country, almost overnight her balance and coordination had become so disrupted and disjointed, that unaided, she could hardly sit, much less stand upright.  The sectarian healer in their primitive and remote village had recommended to the apprehensive papa that he hustle his pride-and-joy as quickly as possible to the provincial city, so she might be diagnosed and treated by the famous American medical-man. 

 As he circumferentially and circumspectly examined the set of diffident and apprehensive eyes with a dimly lit, but venerable funduscope, the commiserately bearded and wrinkled third-world doctor, with greyed and wavy hair, seemed in no way surprised to discover tremendously swollen and hemorrhagic optic-discs.  Together with typical signs of midlinecerebellar compression, the classical presentment of markedly increased intracranial pressure pointed him squarely towards the obvious diagnosis:  the unfortunate youngster before him was suffering from severe obstructive hydrocephalus caused by a sizeable posterior fossa mass.  

 Though he hadn't had a single opportunity to relax his chronically tensed, orbital muscles for even a second in over 36 hours, there were lots of reasons, that soggy but commoving spring afternoon, for Dr. Jake to exhibit no evidence at all of sleep deprivation.  Loosely applying his distinctive anglophilic version of the Kekchi Indian dialect, he addressed the child's wholly unkempt and rankly reeking, but receptive, father.  

 "Your little one is very ill!.. She has something wrong inside the brain.. There is bad trouble in here!" 

 With his dominant hand in a determinate waggle, Dr. Jake effectively detailed the area of concern at the hind-portion of the child's overly round cranium, palpating circa her silky, black, waveless hair.  

 "A great deal of fluid pressure has built up.. It is necessary that I take her for operation.. and this needs to be done right away!.. The surgery will be quite dangerous, but we must try!.. Or she will very likely die in only a short time!"

 As he continued to backwardly, yet palpably, explain things to the short and stout, bushy-mustached, sugar-cane farmer, Dr. Jake situated a confidant and supportive hand upon a tremulous father's firm but shifty shoulder, and with the other, consolingly grabbed hold of his trembling arm.    

 "Don't worry my friend.. We'll find a way to pull her through!"

 Salomao was a member of one of the ancient Mayan tribes that for centuries had farmed the marshy plains of north central Guatemala, depending solely upon the fertile Central American land for their subsistence of corn and sugar.  He was one of only a handful in his primeval clan of indians who had ever been inside a big city.  It was painfully obvious to Dr. Jake, without even having to ask, that the piteously-clad tribesman had absolutely no place to stay; in fact, he figured that the desperate nomad had likely toted a great many of his earthly possessions on his back, bartering them for food along the way, just to survive the arduous journey.

 "Your little one will probably need to remain here for at least two weeks.. While she is recovering, you are welcome to take rest at my place."

 Dr. Jake was well aware that the outlander had undertaken a sizeable risk in just coming to Belize City.  Members of his lineage were considered defiled outcasts by the present ruling class; so, even if he had within his grasp the needed resources for room-and-board, very likely, there would be no person or place willing to assume the cultural risk to take him in.  

   Though he survived in very meager surroundings, occupying only a puny, cell-like cubicle on the subterranean floor of the Catholic-run orphanage adjacent to the hospital, Dr. Jake steered the aquiline-nosed clansman to share his quarters without even a second thought.  He took faith that one more needy creature, like so many before him over the last dozen years, would be welcomed with wide-open arms by the merciful Sisters of St. Mary, and caringly embraced. 

 "Very likely.. the operation will take a few hours.. I will return just as soon as we have finished!"

 Even by impoverished third-world standards, the impecunious facilities of the main hospital for a region of several million people were significantly lacking, and disgustingly inefficacious as well.  The mud-stained, hospital building--crudely constructed of undressed stucco--had originally been built by the standing British army a half century earlier; but then, in a 60's civil-war power-struggle, it was completely abandoned and left to rot.  Eventually taken over by missionary sisters in the mid 1990s, the as-a-rule abundantly occupied edifice was chock-full of equipment and supplies passed down from member hospitals in the SSM Healthcare-Network--the only surviving non-profit chain of its kind that still spread virtually across the entire States.  

 The good-hearted black habits toiled as fruitfully and energetically as they possibly could to keep the decrepid place manicured, but there was only so much that even angelic caretakers could do with worn and peeling paint, mildewy loose and dropping plaster, exposed often sparking electrical wires, and corroded, leaking plumbing.  A scant row of windows present along the barrack-like facade of the haggard edifice had been largely shattered years ago; subsequently boarded-up, the inside working-environment of the gratuitous facility was ever damp and dreary, nearly devoid of any semblance of brightness or cheeriness.

 On top of that, stray animals roamed freely along the ground floor of the building and through the corridors; as such, it wasn't at all uncommon for hospital-workers to be abruptly forced to sidestep piles of feces and pools of urine as they navigated bed or wheel-chair confined patients between wards.  In terms of sophisticated, up-to-date equipment, the hospital's sole prized-possession was a first generation--circa 1980--CT-scan, which for years had been kept operational only through the miraculous and mammoth efforts of one of the younger nuns; besides theology and philosophy, the perpetually jovial Sr. Susan had studied computer-sciences in college and had developed a keen knack for practical engineering and electronics.  

 The cloistered, operating-room section of the hospital was the only palatable place in the entire dilapidated place.  Another of the industrious and ingenious nuns had somehow commandeered a bunch of cases of miniature ceramic-tile, and over the years had decoratively finished off the walls, floor, and even ceiling of the surgical area, into an artistically attractive, and perhaps even more significant, squeaky-clean rococo mosaic of local animal life, including the prized jaguar. 

 Nurse Irene, a fair-skinned, and notably unpretentious, wheat farmer's daughter and former critical-care nurse--transplanted from the Great Plains--was poised as always to begin passing the gas.  In search of high adventure, she had been on her way to catch up with a group of friends and a pre-arranged scuba tour of the Barrier Reef; while traveling throughBelize City, she had inadvertently come upon that dirt poor and needy hospice, nearly a decade ago.  Her attraction had been so strong that not only had she missed the ferry to San Padro, but she hadn't as yet returned to her beloved Kansas, not even for a visit.  

 Adeptly placing and gingerly securing a large bore, resterilized and re-honed IV needle into an appropriate-sized vein along the simpering child's forearm, the dishwater blond also applied, with well-worn adhesive tape, a set of recycled cardiac-monitor leads; only then did she proceed to slowly drip volatile, liquid ether slowly onto the absorbent cloth-window of a black rubbery-mask encircling that innocent face.  Without elaborate records and labyrinthine forms to record in-ink as she worked, the stand-in, but nonetheless cracker-jack, anesthetist was able to keep close tabs on the vital, electrical blips flowing hazily across an aged cathode-ray tube, and on the sedate child's rate and pattern of breathing--her only reliable methods of monitoring the essential depth of anesthesia.  

 Despite absolutely no formal training in anesthesia, it was Irene's dire responsibility to assure that each and every patient was kept satisfactorily, but safely, asleep for the duration of the cranial procedure, without benefit of the sophisticated monitoring equipment commonly available in developed countries--without even a simple endotracheal tube or mechanical respirator.

 Favoratively scrutinizing the country-gal in action--loud Reggae music and all--Jake inspired a bit easier; happily, there was one less item on that never-ending list of his to worry about.  Over the past four or five years, covering several thousand cases, he could not recall a single significant anesthetic complication or even adverse reaction--an unbelievable statistic that certainly was directly related to an extraordinary nurse's remarkable ability to put very sick patients to sleep, and then to safely wake them up, without reliance on fancy devices or special equipment.  

 With the effortless assistance of Dr. Austin, the surgeon's right-hand man, the peacefully benumbed, puny preadolescent was securely positioned on the operating-table on her side, as though napping comfortably on a bench in a park--her head held snugly in place within a donut-shaped foam cushion.  As the befreckled and auburn-haired surgical-assistant applied the finishing touches that would ensure the necessary comfort and absolute safety required of such a prolonged position, he exchanged a broad grin with his boss who was inspecting the proceedings; by his low-key gestures, the doctor-in-charge assured his staff that he was satisfied that all the horses were properly positioned in their gates and ready to go.

 An energetic, Buffalo University, senior medical-student, Austin had shipped out to that obscure and remote place for what was planned as a limited, six-week extenship; but, like so many others over the years, who had come to experience the altogether fulfilling enjoyment linked with helping human-beings in need and expecting nothing in return, he found it totally impossible, once exposed to the undeniable inner-beauty of that environment, to return home.  Though delinquent in fulfilling a required, formal year of post-grad internship training, he had closely apprenticed under Dr. Jake's watchful eye for several years, and had rapidly become an excellent practitioner in his own right.  

 The nape of the swarthy child's neck and a section of protuberant skull just above were prepped by Dr. A.; in the process, a small bit of overlying hair was shaved away with a rusty disposable razor, and then over a ten minute period, the area of interest was cleansed by wiping it briskly with a series of small, cottony sponges, saturated in absolute alcohol.  In synch, Dr. Jake also scrubbed; his hands and forearms to the elbows were rhythmically galled over a scuffed and dented, stainless-steel basin, as he firmly applied a chipped and faded wooden scrub-brush and a lop-sided bar of fresh, homemade soap.  With the robot-like passage of each needle-like bristle across the sensitive areas of his forearms--where the epidermis was already visibly erythematous and painfully denuded by the recent frequency of that practice--the surgeon's perdurable eyes and straight-forward thoughts were drawn to the multitude of tiny colored squares arranged so incitefully on the walls around him; before too long, he was ensconced within constellations of familiar shapes and figures.  

 As if entombed inside a revolving kaleidoscope of feelings, Jake's global sensorium and hallowed sense of purpose, seemingly  harmonious when viewed in the same light, reverberated through a spectrum of diverse perceptions.  With the passage of only a minute fraction of a millennium, the timeless, all encompassing utopia into which he had escaped to find redemption for his earthly calling was irrepressibly transfigured; and then dramatically, it seemed to just fade away.  In its place, an amalgamation of suppressed sentiments and resurrected disquietude, compounded by total neglect over the last quarter of his life, imperilled the sturdy posture of his stance beneath its suddenly unbearable weight.  

 "JJJeannneeee!!!.."

 With the wonderfully resonant sound of that whispered name once again upon his lips, all life forces inside the dedicated missionary doctor seemed to become de-energized, then deranged, and soon disrupted; the impenetrable, one-man machine that had been solely passing, so relentlessly and self-assuredly, in the direction of righteous destinations had suddenly and unexpectedly come to an impromptu halt, leaving its self-appointed operator anxious, abandoned, and afield, somewhere along an all too familiar intersection.  Undeniably in a flash, the utter effortlessness over the last 12 years of simply working away the totality of his feelings was wiped away.

 The consecrated healer tried his best to ponder what good deeds he might accomplish next; but the precipitous and dramatic awakening of repressed affection filled each inhalation with the irresistible seduction of her fragrance.  Aroused by the unresolved emotions that remained entranced within his heart and soul, his eyes slowly opened to an alpine meadow in full bloom, his wearied body recumbent upon a gently sloping hillside, his head upon her chest both inspired by the idealic freshness of her aroma mixed with pure mountain air.

 At that instant, Jake Gibson--healer extraordinare--came to the realization that after locking his feelings away somewhere and throwing away the key, he had abandoned his legacy and those who meant the most to him, without ever intending to look back at what he had given up.  Except for very occasional cards and letters scribbled back-and-forth, since his hasty departure from the States, he had attempted no heartfelt communication with anyone back home, including his inamorata.  

 "Dr. Jake!.. Are you alright?!.. You've been scrubbing your hands for almost 20 minutes!.. Are you awake?!.. We're waiting for you to get started!.. Are you sure you're okay??!"

 Caught off guard at being snared red-handed in the midst of an untimely, emotional transgression, Jake combined a guarded grin and repentant nod.  As he promptly began rinsing the soapy residue from his hands, dipping them repeatedly into a final water-filled but scummy basin, he comprehended that his prolonged respite from the sociopathic realities of American free-enterprise and his unbounded love for a singular woman had ended.  The turmoil that had plagued him for so many foregone years had finally resurfaced.

 Nurse Nicoala, the clinic's Panamian scrub--whose ancestors had initially helped to construct the canal, and since, scuttled commerce and thrill-seekers back-and-forth from the Gulf to the Pacific--had already completed the arduous task of carefully cleansing-by-hand and sterilizing in antifreeze the needed instruments.  Poised atop the footrest of a lengthy, overhead table--hand constructed by local, dilettantish iron-craftsmen--the light-complected and shapely stunner--even in surgical attire--tried to keep herself busy.  Precisely, she positioned groups of harshly tarnished and deeply scratched and indented instruments into trim, clear-cut rows.  Showing the excessive wear-and-tear of thousands of prior uses, the decades-old tools were blemished and unwanted relics, passed down from past generations of surgeons; still and all, the relinquished antiques retained a reverent place of distinction atop the altar of that backwoods, but masterful, operating-team.  

 With her poised and attentive body language, Nikki reflected the fundamental premise that, to a tee, each and every member of that cracker-jack team held forth--their skill and extra-added effort would make up for any lack of sophisticated equipment, fancy devices, or luxurious surroundings.  Gritty inordinate determination, an absolute obsession against failure, and undying passion to provide the best care possible were the trademarks that added up to the last chance at life for a majority of their patients.

 After briefly struggling to don a ruffled and discolored, green cloth-gown--spattered with a fascinating patchwork acquired over the years--and a pair of recycled, latex surgical-gloves--no longer size-8--Dr. Jake conscientiously draped the back of the little one's head, securing the perimeter of his intended area of approach with faded and tethering, but nonetheless exactly-folded, sterile blue-towels.

 "Nikki.. I want to ask you something!.. Something that might sound strange.. especially coming from me.. What's a good description of love??..."

 Without permitting time for a response and to the amazement of the operating-team, Jake supplied his own answer, as he began to utter aloud.  

 "OK.. Well.. How 'bout I describe my definition for you!.. Let's see.. Love!.. Yeah, first and foremost, love is a feeling that's insurmountable and all encompassing!.. It grabs complete hold of your heart.. your soul.. even your mind.. and redirects all of your energy towards it!.. On one hand it makes you feel omnipotent.. wise.. all powerful.. unflappable.. imperturbable.. totally unbeatable!.. While on the other, it amazes you at your own frailty.. your submissiveness.. your dopiness.. your narrowness.. the ease with which you can become totally overwhelmed!..."

 As he spoke, Jake was handed an oft-applied scalpel, and expediently, he began to execute in precise layers the scalp incision.  Then suddenly, but not at all unexpectedly, an ineptly-mounted, overhead spotlight in the room flickered several times, before everything went completely dark.  

 "Okay!.. Who forgot to pay the electrical bill?!.. I was hoping, just once, we could make it through an entire case!"

 Without answering the surgeon's facetious comment, a young novitiate, in attendance as an extra pair of hands, pushed open the door to a mechanical-room off the OR and prepared to engage the usual alternative.

 "Sister, thank-you for your excellent help!.. Now, darnit!.. Where were we?.. Oh yes, we were just beginning to discuss the topic of love.!. What it's like to be in love!.. Love indeed!!.. That special feeling that makes you want to run into the middle of a muddy field, barefoot.. for no other reason than to simply scamper about while jumping and swinging your arms wildly into the air!.. Or better yet.. on a damp and rainy day.. like today.. that notion that makes you want to skip work just to stay home, inside, listening to classic old 45's.. while snuggling under a cozy blanket, in front of a warm fire.. then later, over a bottle of wine, sharing a favorite romance novel by candlelight!..." 

 Before Jake had finished venting his heart-felt speculations, several salvoes of stentorian bangs and knocks, a few hushed but holy expletives, and finally the ever-heightening drone and eventual methodical hum of an engine starting and finally running, choked away the sound of his voice in the acoustically-remiss chamber.  Sr. Sheila, along with her waggling, auburn hair and well-arrayed Irish sprinkles, had swiftly rallied to the cause; as always, everything was under control.  The intrepid notion that there wasn't any impediment on earth that could keep them from accomplishing the task at hand was inherent in the character of that covey of self-anointed crusaders, whose leader absolutely refused, despite unimaginable obstacles, to be denied.  

 "Great job as always sister!.. For that, you deserve a very special reward!!.. How 'bout an enchanting rainbow?!.. You know, each time you catch sight of one, it adds another color to your life!.. Just like getting inside the soul of someone you love!.. That one-and-only special person who makes you happy just to be alive!"

 In that most hostile of environments, Dr. Jake had always insisted upon his staff that they be meticulous in their every thought and precise in their every movement; as a result, his continued rambling had captured their full attention.

 Under intense scrutiny, he defined and exactly incised the layers of the child's scalp--each in turn--with nary the loss of but a few drops of precious, irreplaceable blood.  Then, with an ergonomic poessicity of effort--not to mention a time-honoredhand-perforator and forearm-powered Gigli-saw--he skillfully opened the lower-most portion of the child's hind-skull. 

 Under the constant, nearly ear-splitting, oscillating groan of the aged generator, an operating microscope--circa dinosaur-era--was carefully coaxed into position; and to the absolute delight of his coworkers, the master-surgeon of the bush was, once again, back in his element.  The repetitive, momentary interruptions of incandescent power brought about by the trace presence of sewer-water contaminating the fuel oil that powered the generator was little more than a whimsical glitch in the system.  

 To even the closest observer, Dr. Jake's gleeful whistle as he carefully worked within the round beam of light was a clear indication that, though still as woefully inadequate as ever, that place was, from their leader's perspective, as magically fulfilling as ever.  No ridiculous certifications were necessary; no cacamany detailed forms had to be submitted in triplicate; no insurance companies were up in arms, requesting additional information; no cold-blooded attorneys could be seen slithering about outside in the mud.  It was simply his small band of compassionate human-beings caring for yet another, utilizing the totality of their collected knowledge and ability to do the best job possible, without any anticipation of renumeration; he had taught them to love their work, expecting nothing more than the appreciation and respect of those being cared for in return.

 Though it took more than a couple tedious hours of intense effort and a liter of sweat, the formidable neoplasm--that had aggressively invaded the roof of the fourth ventricle--was identified and completely extirpated.  As Dr. Austin painstakingly sliced away a few microscopic pieces from the excised tumor-mass and prepared a representative, stained-slide for diagnostic tissue analysis, his mentor wandered aimlessly about the room mumbling to himself.

 "God knows it's loving another that sets the pace of the heart.. that forces the soul to yearn.. and the mind pause for no particular reason!.. For those lucky enough to be in love, each and every day consists of pure and utter joy!.. In the end, it's love.. and only love.. that gives a fortunate partaker something wonderful to look forward to.. each and every moment of life!"

 Before too long, Jake stepped over to the corner of the room, and under an ancient monocular microscope, scrutinized the pathological slide.  Jumping all at once into the air, he startled everyone in the room with his jubilance; he had identified what appeared to be a cystic juvenile astrocytoma--a tumor type that carried with it an excellent prognosis for total cure when simply treated by complete excision. 

 Beneath nature's stentorian broadcast of yet another, rainy season sprinkle, Jake tied, in sequence, the hand-threaded sutures that Austin applied; all the while he continued to verbalize to everyone, and to no one.  

 "What is it about love that enhances the distinction between the aura of the seasons?.. between the hymns of birds?.. between the majesty of celestial objects?.. between the shadows in a masterpiece?.. between the chords of a symphony?.. between the passions of emotion?..."

 Jake's acute and chronic fatigue--intermingled with an overwhelming feeling of self-satisfaction and a restored appreciation for the wonders of being in love--underscored for him that, at that moment, he was passing through the pinnacle of his professional life; for the operating-team, it signaled that their commander needed some critical sleep.  As his fingers spun perfect square-knots, the surgeon rehearsed in his mind the joyous words that he planned to deliver to the little munckin's dad about the excellent prognosis; at the same time, the members of the operating-team contemplated how they would tell the man-in-charge that, forthwith, he desperately needed to take some time off.  

 Just as a handed-down, but clean dressing was being applied to the wound, and the child began to grapple and cough as she ascended from the depths from her sleep, Sr. Kathleen, head of the local order, came banging upon the OR-door.  She motioned through a cloudy glass-window for someone inside to walk over and speak to her.  While fussily removing his gloves, one finger at a time, and carefully untying each strap of his sterile gown and mask to preserve them for recycling, Jake stepped over to the door and swiftly pushed it open.  

 "Sister, I've got great news!.. Everything went very well here!.. The tumor looks completely benign.. and I think we got all of it out!.. The kid should be okay!"

 Jake expected the nun's prissy dark shawl and unblemished, puritanical face to brighten with those encouraging words, but the diehard saint from Connecticut continued to cast a dismal glance.

 "Sr. Kathleen.. Is everything okay?.. What's the matter with you?.. Has something happened?.. You look like you just received some terrible news!"

 The usually robust and excitable, life-long missionary continued to cast a melancholic look, as though she had lost her best friend.  

 "Dr. Jake.. I'm afraid there's good news.. and there's not so good news!.. I just received a couple of long-distance calls from the States.  One's from Dr. Julia.. It seems she has decided she wants to come back and work with us!.. Permanently!!...

 The other's from your mother..."

 Instantly, Jake's buoyant spirit was knee-deep in self-proclaimed blame as he desponded over the notion that he hadn't spent more time with him mom before she...

 "Don't worry!.. Your mom is fine!!.. Apparently an old colleague of yours requested that she contact you.. someone named Vincent Wilson.. It seems a good friend of yours back home is very ill..."

 For a hesitant moment, Jake pondered the improbable coincidence that, out of nowhere, familiar names from back home were popping up one after the other, when for years he had successfully kept them totally out of his mind.  Still, a deadening notion that something must be awry descended upon his mentation with a chilled emptiness that precluded any immediate response.  

 Though Dr. Jake had never, not even once, mentioned her name, those who for years had shared his work, his life, and his dreams understood perfectly well that, at his deepest roots, their champion was the kind of man who cherished the love of a certain woman with the same passion that he adored living.  They had watched in awe as time and time again their eagle had ascended to incredible heights, tantalizing his followers with the powering majesty of his wing spread; yet, a subtle yet nagging hint of cached melancholy was ever so evident in his soaring--as he invariably alighted to a forlorn branch.  

 Sr. Kathleen uttered the collected thoughts of those around.

 "Dr. Jake.. it's time for you to take a vacation.. to go home for a visit!.. There's someone back there who needs you.. and I think you need her!"

 "Sister, I can't just pick up and leave here!.. There are people here who..."

 "No!.. Listen!.. You know the work here will never be finished!.. And no one man can be expected to do it all!!.. Just remember.. in our hearts, each of us carries on the vision that you have brought to this place!.. You ignited an everlasting flame that burns in each of our souls.. You found a way to turn even the most burdensome of undertakings into no big deal!.. You've taught us the value of hope.. You made us believe that it is indeed possible for a person without limbs to sculpture.. an aphasic man to sing.. and a quadriplegic to master ballet!" 

 "I know but who's gonna?..."

 "Would you stop your worrying about us!.. Dr. Julia will be arriving here, next week!.. She can't wait to get started.. You taught her well!.. She's destined to be another great missionary surgeon!!  She can handle things.. until you find your way back!"

 As the intercontinental, stealth transport took firm hold of a persistently snow-covered runway, Jake, though centripetally glued to his seat, thoroughly sanctioned the notion that he had never really been away.  Even as he entered the passenger-terminal and found himself amongst an amazing throng of travelers--moseyed en mass along a massive, automated, mobile platform--the native Minneapolitan blushed with a sense of happiness at finally being home.

 "Please form a single-file line to your right!.. and have your passport ready for inspection by the immigration authorities!"

 The frequently repeated, straight-forward instructions, being coarsely broadcast from somewhere above, further suggested that not much had changed. 

 "Please insert your passport credentials into the slot!"

 Jake was anxious to offer an added explanation as he followed those orders; he halted after only a syllable or two, however, when he recognized that he was addressing a fully-uniformed manikin, poised like a sentry behind the check-station.

 "Your authorization is out of date!.. You cannot proceed forward, until the required credentials have been verified!.. Please step back and await further instructions!"

 "Yes sir.. I realize my passport has expired.. It's been a long time since..."

 Jake's attempted overture was cut short by the same message repeated again in a monotonous voice.  Hesitating another retort, he quickly realized he had no option except to follow the dummy's instructions; it wasn't long before a pair of compactly uniformed, obviously heavily-armed, security-guards approached.

 "Dr. Jason Gibson sir.. Please follow us!"

 As he walked through the international concourse--sandwiched between the officers--heading in the direction of the main-terminal building, the adventist was struck by sudden animadversions of that place; inundated by multitudinous glittering signs and directives--impersonal and digitalized high-tech--he found it difficult to believe that he had ever been there before, in contradistinction to his arrival only a few minutes earlier.

 Posthaste, he was led into a secluded inspection-room, adjacent to the immigration-department offices.

 "Dr. Gibson.. According to our records, your passport has been invalid for well over a decade!.. In addition, when you fled the country, without warning, back in '95.. it seems there was an enforceable bench-warrant out for your arrest!.. I don't see where that was ever rescinded!"

 Jake's total lack of hesitation in his response was a solid indication that he knew full well that issue was going to come up.

 "Listen!.. You must realize that I wasn't simply running away from legal problems!  Please understand!.. I left for a multitude of reasons!.. You see, the profession I'd been in love with since I was a kid.. The one that my grandfather practiced, and my dad taught.. The discipline that I was committed to for years.. In fact, the one and only thing in my entire life that ever made sense!.. It was all literally crumbling beneath my feet!.. And I felt totally responsible!.. I just couldn't deal with it all anymore!!.. So I had no choice but to simply pick up and leave!"

 "Yes Dr. Gibson.. We know where you've been and what you've been doing.. All of that is listed in your data-bank.. And we've got no problem with any of that.. But there's still a matter of the unresolved warrant!"

 Jake had no desire to fight the same old battle.

 "Okay.. so where do we go from here?"

 "I just put out a call to the Federal Attorney.. a Mr. Chang.. He'll have to clear all of this up, before we can let you back into the country."

 Not quite an hour had passed before a sharply dressed attorney of diminutive stature slipped into the room.  

 "Dr. Gibson sir!.. I rushed over when I heard you were here!.. My name is Peter Chang.  You probably don't remember me.. it was so many years ago... My little sister is Bridget?"

 Almost instantly, Jake could envision the sibling, as though he had operating on her just yesterday.

 "You saved her life!  My family still thinks you are a real, honest-to-god, hero!  I've waited for years to shake your hand..  Do you think I could get you to autograph something?"

 A very small-for-her-age, twelve-year-old, Bridget Chang had suffered a series of small strokes that had threatened to cause great disability.  Carrying a diagnosis of Moya-Moya Syndrome, her father--then a state senator--had ferried her around the country, from one medical-center to another, trying to find someone who would treat her; but to a man, all the experts told them her condition was untreatable.  Empathizing with the desperate nature of the family's situation, Jake had devised an ingenious procedure to reconnect new blood vessels from her gut to those that, for some unknown reason, were prematurely closing throughout the brain.  No one had given the operation any chance to succeed; no one except Jake and Bridget's family.  

 Before the surgeon could ask for a follow-up on his patient, he was quickly brought up to date.  

 "Bridg just delivered her fifth child, and she's doing just great!.. My parents still talk about you a lot.. and I'm sure when I tell them that I ran into you, they'll kick my butt for not calling them!.. I'm sure they would want to come down here and give you a great big hug!.. You know, my dad is campaigning for President.. If I can ever do anything to repay you...."

 I didn't take a whole lot longer for Jake to receive his stamped, immigration credentials--albeit temporary--and for him to pass through the final, customs inspection-station.  All that was required of him was a sworn affidavit that he not engage in the practice of medicine without prior written authorization; in addition, his passport renewal required to leave the country again was contingent upon satisfactory resolution of all prior legal entanglements.

 An impressive crowd of people had eagerly gathered in the reception area of the old terminal building, anxiously awaiting the arrival of family and/or friends.  Jake exchanged incognizant looks with a great many pairs of wandering eyes--peering impatiently through a series of full-length windows while trying to locate and make contact with an anticipated face.  Painstakingly, he pressed his way through the rackety commotion, all the while imagining that first glimpse of Jeanne's electric smile and his own special welcome home.

 Without baggage to claim, he made a beeline for the local-transit curb; he had in mind to promptly secure a taxi to whisk him home.  As soon as a futuristic-looking black-and-yellow had pulled up, and a rear door spontaneously opened, he slipped himself onto the back-seat.  In so doing, straight off his homesick nostrils could almost detect the delighting aroma of his mom's scrumptious kitchen, especially the heavenly tartness of her fresh-baked apple, cherry, and rhubarb pies.  Hisolfactory hallucinations were quickly interrupted, however, by an appeal for a destination, coming from the front-seat.  

 As the cab had already pulled away, Jake instinctively leaned forward to yell instructions through a slot-like window that sequested the driver from his passengers.  In so doing, he was absolutely astounded to find the front-seat devoid of a human-operator, occupied rather by a surreal, 21st-century contrivance--an elaborate robot manning a dashboard-mounted computer-terminal, complete with joystick and 3-D display. 

 "Holy Criminy!"

 Sitting by then on the veritable edge of his seat, Jake frowned with sober misconceptions at what was transpiring. Another computerized-monotone, blaring from the front of the vehicle, reassuringly extolled the passenger to "sit back, relax, and have an enjoyable ride."  The pre-recorded message, however, provided the first time rider very little reassurance.

 "I wonder how in the hell this thing is steered?.. and powered??"

 Jake came close to choking when his self-intended query was promptly answered.  

 "There are special infra-red sensors built into the white lines along the road, that continuously feed tactical information into our on-board computer system.. Your destination has already been entered, so the vehicle will automatically take us there.. This vehicle is powered by electricity.. Fossil-fuels and their byproducts are no longer permitted inside the continental United States!"

 Harboring no expectation that further speculations would elicit responses, Jake grumbled to himself, possessed as he was by intrigue over the prodigious sophistication of the entire set up.  

 "I wonder what happens if somebody.. or something.. happens to get in our way?"

 "That cannot occur, as the command geographic data-bank is continuously updated.. The main-frame operating system knows exactly where each automobile is at every moment!"  

 "I guess that means there are never any accidents?"

 Once again, Jake was thrown off guard by the speedy response to an unintended query.  

 "Well.. Uh.. No, not really!.. There are still a few accidents.. Every so often, a turn-of-the-century vehicle finds its way onto the road.. but it is illegal!"

 Jake's broad, spontaneous smirk was a clear indication that despite tremendous technological advances, a simple ride along the freeway had not really become a whole lot safer.  

 For Jake, the familiar, haphazardly cracked, concrete walkway leading from the street to the front-door was still the most settling gangplank on the face of the earth; as always, he bounded two sections at a time.  Without the slightest hesitation, he yanked open the perpetually creaky screen-door, and apace, came upon his mother, positioned exactly as she had always been in his fondest memory.  Plainly adorned in her oldest sweater, and solidly affixed to her favorite wooden-rocker, she was resolutely pitching to-and-fro, her full attention directed towards yet another intricate needlework on her lap.  In less than a millisecond, a doughty but homesick son lost full memory of the length of the forlorn journey from which he had finally returned.

 After a much needed tub-bath--complete with big white bubbles--and the frothy but afflictive removal of a multi-year shadow, the bulk of the ancestral tribe promptly assembled, including nieces and nephews seemingly grown-up almost overnight.  A jubilant evening was spent by all, getting quickly reacquainted in a climacteric attempt to relocate the lost years behind them.  Though the complections of those gathered had taken on more than a spattering of creases, to a tee, each was enamored with the youthfulness of spirit that had always made their hours together far more significant than their times apart.  

 The conversations that evening, perhaps out of necessity, remained focused on family and fond memories; not a single utterance was directed at the tragedies that had so vehemently attacked Jake's life-line, and at arm's length touched everyone else in the family.  The sole reference to past calamitous events was a personal request made by Jake to his brother Steven to look through an old shoe-box of seemingly worthless stock-certificates and other documents that Martha's mother had kept since her daughter's death; after Harold and Ann had sole their home and entered a retirement village, it had been passed onto Jake's father for safekeeping.

 Later that evening, once everyone had departed, Jake approached his parents with a serious concern.  

 "Nobody had anything at all to say about Ben and Jeanne tonight.. It was as if everyone was trying hard to avoid bringing them up.. You know, I got your message about Vince Wilson.  What's that all about?.. Who's ill?..." 

 Jake's thumper desperately wanted to avoid hearing a worst-case scenario; his mom and dad hesitantly looked in each other's direction, manifesting the issue between themselves as to who would be the one to respond to his questions.  

 "Has something happened that everybody is afraid to tell me??."

 Finally, his father spoke, though clearly quite reluctantly.

 "Son.. Nobody's kept much in touch with Ben or Jeanne, especially over the last few years.. But we happened to run into Dr. Wilson at the symphony, recently.  He told us that Ben had recently been in and out of the hospital.. Also, it appears Jeanne is quite ill.. From what we heard, she's still in the ICU.. suffering from an inoperable brain-tumor."

 The weather spattered, red brick and white stone edifice had changed so much on the inside since his last visit that Jake barely recognized where to go.  According to an electronic volunteer providing information in the lobby, the neuro-unit was still located on the fifth-floor, but none of the unscented hallways or modernistic patient quarters looked at all the same.  As he sifted through one strangely unfamiliar, sterile corridor after another, his attention was attracted to the individual patient rooms, which had come to resemble smarmy hybrids--somewhere between well-appointed guest-rooms in a southern mansion with brightly flowered sheets and fluffy pillows, and fully degreased, high-tech work-stations, complete with star-wars monitoring-equipment overhead.

 After he passed the surrogate mothering wing down the hall from the genetic engineering and cloning ward, Jake turned one final corner, and approached what he was certain was the same room that he himself had occupied on another nerve-racking occasion.  As he slowly pushed the door open, his anxious eyes met Jeanne's spontaneously overwhelming smile.  

 With his pericardium fighting not to allow his heart to jump out of his chest, he rushed to her side and forcefully wrapped his agog arms around her.  As evidenced by the magnitude of his sobs, Jake relished that moment; at long last, he was again close to the person who had meant the most to him for the expanse of his adult life. 

 "Jeanne!.. Jeanne!!.. Oh God, Jeanne!!!"

 Jeanne wept as well beneath the tears that his absence had kept bottled up inside her for so many years.  

 "Oh Jake!.. I've missed you so much!.. It's so good to have you back home!"

 As the best-of-friends remained irredeemably linked, a madam--clad in what appeared to Jake to be space-ship garb--came steaming into the room; she was clearly of mind to interrupt, at once, their exchange of feelings.

 "Sir!.. I must ask you to leave!!  Visiting hours here are very restricted!.. Besides, visitors are not allowed to have close contact with clients!.. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to..."

 As Jake turned his face towards her, the dutiful but somewhat snippy nurse-maid stopped short, having recognized in mid-sentence, the identify of the alien visitor.  

 "I can't believe it!.. You're.. You're Dr. Jason Gibson!!"

 Without releasing his climacteric grasp of Jeanne, Jake assuredly nodded his head.

 "I've seen your portrait.. downstairs.. in the hallway.  My mom used to brag about you a lot.. before she.. Well, before she died.  She used to tell me stories about how you taught her when she was a nursing-student.. many years ago."

 Graciously, Jake elevated himself from his intimate position beside Jeanne; still retaining a hand in hers, he stood to face the caregiver, and in so doing, perused her attire and ex-cathedra name-tag.  He was genuinely surprised at the informal yet scrupulously fashioned manner of her insignia-laden outfit--seemingly more appropriate for someone interacting exclusively with inanimate, technological devices. 

 "Moore?!.. Yes, of course!.. Your mother was Mary Kaye!.. We worked together for years!.. In fact, I remember your parent's wedding like it was just yesterday.. As I recall, I was the one who introduced them!.. Your father was a patient of mine, and your mother helped nurse him back to health.. I remember bouncing you on my lap when you were just this tall!.. I am so sorry to hear that your mom has passed away!"

 Jake pressed that special

 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

 A contemporary has rightly said that the only deeply religious people of our largely materialistic age are the earnest men of research...

 My religious feeling is a humble amazement at the order revealed in the small patch of reality to which our feeble intelligence is equal.  

 Albert Einstein

 (1879-1955)

 Upon initial scrutiny, the intricate appearing COBRA encumbered the apotheosis of medicine's ingression into the new millennium.  With its clattery, piston-driven gadgetry, elaborate composite of revolving levers, and multitude of mobile fluid-joints--all hovering menacingly from the ceiling--the contrivance had the appearance of the ultimate, radical robot.  It dominated the entire breadth of the expansive operating-room, the immaculate floor-space beneath divided into numerous, diminutive tomb-like operating chambers, each containing a black operating-rest and attached, benumbed client. 

 Sporadically peering through one or another of the glass-encased port-holes scattered along the periphery of each tightly-sealed cubicle, hords of identically-apparelled, operating-team members--each assiduously attentive to his or her computer work-station--sat diligently manning complex arrays of controls.  The specialists situated along the flank of each contamination-free, surgical-stall were clearly the anesthesiologists.  They were personally directing the administration of intravenous medications and airway gases by the overhead labyrinthine arms, as simultaneously, they monitored innumerable physiological functions on brightly colored bar-graphs and series of digitalized read-outs.    The attending brain-surgeons and their paparazi--whose work-stations, for some strange reason, were farthest from their respective patients cranial compartments--commanded the most intricate control-benches.  Seated behind impressive, high-resolution, multi-dimensional video-displays, each neuro-doc, using finger-responsive gloves, was commanding the intricate control mechanisms that were directing pairs of sleek robotic hands to exactly maneuver.  Donning 3-dimensional, laser retinal displays, the charge-operator and assistants for each case were able to visualize, in tremendous detail, the entirety of the operative-field; all the while in unison, their actions were translated by the microsurgical surrogate--aloft and some 25-30 feet away--into highly precise, operative manipulations--measured in microns.

 To add to the sophistication of the set-up, each operative cubicle was entombed in an individual super-conductor, such that a vast array of spectrographic scans were being constantly made available.  A throng of skittish nuclear-radiologists and followers were bouncing their attention back and forth from one breached patient to another, their combined efforts producing honed, high-resolution images that were sequentially projected into the appropriate surgeon's field of vision.  Momentarily gazing into one of the monitors at the detailed pictures--a topographic surface view of the operative-field for orientation, narrow and wide-angle views through the operating-telescope at a variety of magnifications, preoperative 3-dimensional MRand functional MR images, electrophysiologic images, and dynamic MRA images--Jake was astounded at what was available to each surgeon for interactive fine-tuning of his exacting spatial manipulations.

 A number of other specialized work-stations were also scattered about, at which additional components of each patient's vital metabolic function were being intensely monitored by organ-specific personnel, mostly at the nurse-practitioner level.

 The sum total of the high-tech environment that he witnessed around him left Jake spell-bound; he had no choice but to marvel at the quantum-leap that had been achieved inside his specialty, and the truly remarkable level of readily attainable perfection within an arm's reach for that generation of "skies-the-limit" cutters.  At the same time though, he concealed a quivering grin from his providential colleagues--who uncannily resembled impetuous adolescents, attempting to skillfully exploit virtual-reality arcade games.

  As he hung around for a while taking it all in, Jake was ever more taken back by the striking isolation and tergiversation of essential human-feelings exhibited by the vacuum-like milieu.  Totally alone in an airtight, thoroughly-isolated environment, the ailing objects of everyone's attention had fallen full-victim to the cold and harsh hands of elaborate, but inanimate machines.  Comforted during their final moments of earthly consciousness prior to surgery solely by piped-in elevator music and the warbly sound of a detached voice, the despairingly ill and languishing human beings around him seemed desperately in need of a simple warm and gentle touch; instead, they were totally in the hands of breathless, pulseless, and spiritless operators.  

 "We don't allow any possibility of infectious agents.. or any, even minute, slip-up in technique.  Everything that is done here is strictly regulated.. under our total control.. precise to the hundredths of a micron.  There aren't any surprises in this OR!.. Our operational programs are designed such that no errors.. or standard-deviations from the norm.. are permitted.. ever!" 

 Watt's final salvo was like a mortal dagger to his visitor's empathetic heart.    Laggardly walking back to the Neuro-ICU at other end of the Medical-Center, Jake contemplated where he would find fitting enough words to present to Jeanne the notion that, indeed, she was not considered an acceptable candidate for surgery.  The adorant hub of his life had been rejected by the prevailing medical establishment--his contemporaries were not prepared to assume the rudimentary operative risk existent since the early days of Cushing and constitutional to most life-saving procedures on the brain.

 Before too long, his pace came to a screeching halt, as he had, inadvertently, come upon a long forgotten plaque--timeworn and painted over, but still prominently attached to the door of a patient-room on the cardiac-wing.

 "Dedicated in loving memory of Elizabeth Hofmeister."

 His intercostal muscles still tingled over the memory of that wonderfully unsophisticated woman, his maternal grandmother, whose unschooled charm, good-natured strength, and pure-and-simple love for her family had, since he was a kid, been a source of tremendous pride and inspiration.  With a wink in her direction, he came to an unalterable conclusion; he could never accept the ludicrous notion, especially in an era of elaborate equipment and sophisticated techniques that a plain-old meningioma was incapable of being extirpated.  

 Dilatorily taking the long way back to Jeanne's room for old time's sake, he passed, fortuitously, through the housekeeping department; immediately, he recognized the name, Antonio Bonner, stenciled in dark letters across the window of a door.  Stopping on a dime and impatiently knocking, he was taken back to another memorable, and also nearly forgotten, occurrence.  

 A mammoth, for years largely unoccupied, storage-area--located just down the way in the basement of the main hospital building--had been hastily converted into a cryptic, but somehow reasonably pleasant, anatomy laboratory for yet another of the many teaching programs.  A number of leading brain-surgeons from around the world had traveled to Minneapolis just to attend that particular brain dissection course--designed to instruct the newest techniques for resecting certain types of meningiomas.  

 The supremely cooperative subjects of the hands-on workshop were benevolent individuals from around the Minneapolis metropolitan area, all of whom had made prior arrangements that, upon death, their bodies would be donated to science.  Instead of rehearsing complicated and unfamiliar techniques in the operating-room, the participants of the course would be afforded the unique opportunity to refine their skills in the only way that made sense--first and foremost in the laboratory.  Along those lines, each surgeon-student was supplied with an intact, freshly-thawed, cadaver head.

 For better tissue-preservation during the week-long course, the precisely-beheaded craniums were chilled down at night in a couple of oversized, upright refrigerators, brought in especially for that purpose.  The housekeeping department, quite expectantly, had been issued warnings to stay clear of the "brain coolers," thoughtfully positioned in a far corner of the temporary morgue.

 Late one night, however, an inexperienced, housekeeping attendant--putting in his first night alone on the job--was conscientiously mopping up the floor of the surreal place.  Quite by accident, he happened to bump his wooden mop-handle against the locking mechanism on one of the jumbo ice-boxes; and low-and-behold, the door immediately flew open.  A horrific assortment of cadaver heads--each separated guillotine-style at the lower neck, each individually wrapped in a zip-lock, freezer bag, and each partially dissected--rolled off the shelves, and with repetitive thuds, bounced their way across the concrete floor.

 When last seen, the skinny housekeeper--who had a fidgety, spooked expression on his face anyway--was spotted running down University Avenue past the front of the hospital, mop-handle still in hand, all the while prominently displaying the whites of his eyes and repeatedly screaming unintelligibly.  

 A robust, perpetually gregarious--though thickset of late--man of African heritage, sporting distinguishable, deep grey side-burns and a dramatically receding hairline, disgustedly kicked the flimsy portal to the front of his desk open.  Standing erect in the doorway, with his mouth so wide open that the gold in the back of several incisors reflected into his visitor's face, the director of custodial-services sounded absolutely shocked.  

 "Sweet lord of the living!.. That's twice in my time now that you nearly scared me to death!.. My oh my!. Are you a sight for these sore eyes!..." 

 A pair of nearly lost acquaintances exchanged a tight, sturdy handclasp, and then a bubbly, enthusiastic hug, before the recently promoted "Mr. Clean" invited Jake into his confined, but tidy office, to sit and catch up on old times.    "Guess you catched wind, huh.. 'bout what happen' to that there old Professa' Salig?..."

 AB's visitor lost most of the creases in his face over the repeated sound of that name.  

 "That there man done messed with one fella' too many!"

 "What do you mean?"

 Jake's response remained devoid of any expression.  

 "My God, t'was quite the deal!.. First thing one mornin' the big-olde doors to that there main-elevator.. Well, they done popped themselves right open on the neuro ward up there.. and lying there inside.. plumb face down.. right about in the middle of one great big-olde pool of blood.. Well, there was none other than that good doctor hisself!.. Seems some mean olde boy done punched out his face.. real good!..."

 As evidenced by a contorted expression of incredibility at what he was hearing, Jake focused more intently on the content of his buddy's words.

 "Sweet Jesus as my witness!.. That be the truth!.. It's been told the nice doctor done took to the hospital that day a whole lot sooner than usual.. and musta' smarted hisself off to the wrong boy!.. From what the poélice put together, he likely found hisself a shortcut.. right along this here corridor.. and got hisself into a major.. alte.. altca... into a fisticuff.. with one of our younger bucks.. from down in this here department.. A lowly wax-stripper on one of the early mornin' crews.. I believe, the boy was pro'bly just doing his job while hanging out with his own special kind of vibes.. and then that Sir Everett musta' came down on him with his jive.. I don't imagine he was into our kind'a rap much.. But, that didn't give him no permission to force hisself all over that poor boy's private stuff!.. Something he pro'bly didn't take too kindly to!.. Well, the rest of that there story, you can well picture!"

 Jake's look was stuck in a disbelieving mode, as for one last time he uttered that loathsome name.  

 "Salig.. got himself punched out by a custodian?"

 Halleluia!.. Lorde' Moses!.. Can you make your poor eyes see it?!.. Too bad, though.. Surl'y caused a raucous 'round here.. Even cost my supa'visor his job!.. That's the only reason you see my lowly name on that there door!..."

 Jake continued to revolve his head around a scornful grimace.

 "That poor man.. he was never the same!.. Even with months in that rebilitation up there gone by, he couldn't member nóthin, or even talk hisself right.. and when he looked on you.. Well, he be just like a zombie!.. His eyes all crossed and shit like that.. They finally shipped him off to some kind'a cond'alescent center.. up East there, someplace.. It was all a cry'n shame!.. Tell you what though.. weren't many of us 'round here too sorry to see that jack-ass go!.. That be for sure!!"

 "Gosh.. That sounds terrible!"

 Jack's disclaimer was notably far from earnest and not at all resounding.

 The amicable, former co-workers continued to good-naturedly reminisce about a host of past interactions, until all of a sudden, Jake rose to his feet beneath an advancing brainstorm.  

 "Hey my good man!.. I just had a thought!.. Do you happen to have access to those display-cases outside the operating-room?"

 On his way to and from the OR, Jake had recalled walking past an exhibit of antique neurosurgical-devices, many of which he had developed and put into common usage during his tenure on staff.

 "Sure as can be!. I be the man!.. I done got me sets of keys to most everythin' that be locked up 'round here.. 'cept them big old coolers down there in that old place of yours!"

 Jake shared his friend's wide-eyed, shit-eating grin; for him, though, the look was more than coltish, as cardinal information was being expeditiously processed.  

 "One more thing... Do you know where I might find my old main man... Vince Wilson?"

 "Yeah.. that be 'bout right!.. Let me think on this now.. Huh!.. Yeah, your man's got hisself an office 'round here someplace.. I do believe he's still a visitin' professa' or somethin' like that in the clinic.. You know, he went and retired on us just close to the time you left us.. It's my understandin' that he still comes in.. couple a days a week.. Folks say they catch him in the hallway, ev'ry so often."

 Former Chairman Wilson had been quietly put out to pasture a couple of blocks from the main campus, in a deserted bank-building converted into shoddy offices.  As he rapped determinedly on the designated door, Jake exercised his facial muscles via a reflection in the glass, with the enthusiasm of a naughty adolescent plotting a dastardly but impassioned deed.  Seated at his desk with his back to the doorway, the mentor for a generation of neurosurgeons in Minneapolis perfunctorily beckoned the knocker to enter.  Energetically, Jake swung the door open, and gaped inside; amazingly, the cantankerous senior-citizen, cursing into the phone with a whiny, Southern twang, hadn't seemed to change one bit.  

 For years after, all the residents around at the time had sarcastically referred to that particular day as "Black Monday."  Apparently, on the spur of the moment the hospital bureaucracy had made an administrative decision to revitalize, with a fresh coat of paint, the unsightly call-rooms, uncannily situated on the 13th floor.  Only problem was that nobody had bothered to notify any of the resident-surgeons, beforehand, so that they would have an opportunity to clear out their things.  Returning from a weekend off, the surgery trainees had discovered, to their dismay, that most of their personal belongings had been strewn, quite unceremoniously, about the hallway just outside the call-rooms.  

 The lengthy, cloistered corridor adjacent to the locked sleeping-rooms looked like a tempestuous twister had ripped through it, with storage-cabinets and nightstands knocked onto their sides, desks and chairs turned upside down, Tvs, radios, and alarm-clocks haphazardly tossed about, and various other private things--including articles of clothing--indiscriminately scattered. The first-year neurosurgery resident had been one of the first to search through the rubble, retrieving a few treasured textbooks, a banged-up alarm-clock, and a handful of other personal effects, before he scampered straight to the boss's office.

 His retribution was to triumphantly stand behind his chief, listening in on an irate call to the administrator's office--one of Vince's many infamous, impromptu, piping-mad, cussing sessions with those in charge.

 "Dr. Wilson.. It's Jason.. I'm back..."

 "Jason!.. I can't believe it's really you!.. I never thought I'd live to see the day you'd come back home!"

 The boss's zealous greeting both enthused and comforted Jake. The dedicated career teacher and his star pupil embraced with the fondness and undying loyalty exhibited only by genuine partisans.  By and by, Jake felt obliged to speak his heart.

 "Vince.. It's really good to be back.. standing right here.. in front of you!. I really don't know what to say though.. after all that happened!.. I kind of feel like I somehow disappointed everyone.. especially you!.. I only wish that..."

 Vince Wilson initially listened without so much as a hint of expression on his face; but then, to Jake's gratification, he demanded to speak.  

 "Jason.. There's no need for that!.. It's okay!.. You did what you thought was right!.. I suppose, all of us could look back and say we wish we would have done things a bit differently.. I for one should probably have stood up to Crane and Salig.. and the others like them.. a whole lot sooner than I did.. But I honestly thought they had the resources.. and willingness.. to take the department.. hell, the entire medical-center for that matter!.. to a higher level.. I wanted us to gain recognition around the world.. I only wanted us to be the best!!..."

 Jake kept locked inside the proud motion that his doubters had come full circle.  

 "But then, that's not quite what they had in mind!.. was it?!.. We were all made the fools by what was going on.. Well, all of us I suppose except you!.. Jason, you can take great solace in the fact that you saw what was happening and had the courage to speak out.. Unfortunately, no one would listen.. until it was far too late!..." 

 Jake merely listened as his head-master continued to conscionably speak. 

 "As professionals, we somehow came to overlook the plain-and-simple facts of what is fundamentally right and wrong.. We lost sight of our primary duty as physicians.. to be standard-bearers for society.. We should never have compromised on that, not even for a moment!.. For centuries, we were acknowledged as unflappable advocates for the rights of common man.. And in return, we were bestowed their trust and admiration.. But then, we just let it all slip away!!.. Oh, to be able to return to the good olde days!.. Things were all so simple back then!..."  

 That portion of Jake's heretofore untarnished professional amour propre glowered at what he thought he'd never hear again.  Vince Wilson's unlimited support in the early years, and later, his ireful defrocking had been a source of tremendous strength, then great anguish.  The wonderfully capacious smile that he exchanged with his mentor at that moment couldn't have made his sentiments anymore evident.

 "You know Jason, a lot has changed since you've been gone.  The entire profession has undergone a catastrophic revolution!.. Everything's a whole lot more complicated now!.. Of course, you were always one to be able to find a way to cut right to the core of complex and difficult matters!.. And on top of that, you had the gumption to speak your mind!.. Quite a rare entity back then!!.. And in today's world?.. Well, what can I say?.. Doctors with any kind of real balls have become totally extinct!!..."  

 Jake responded with a puzzled look.

 "After what you brought to light about Expercare, nearly all of the for-profit chains were placed under federal control with a host of new regulations.  Howard Crane and a bunch of his cronies were indicted.. Of course, none of them ever ended up serving a single day in jail!.. In fact, Howard landed completely on his feet.. Actually now he's president of the National Health Consortium.. the organization that sets policy for just about everything n medicine.. Hell, he's even a consultant to the President on health-care matters.. Just last week he was in London.. Supposedly, he's helping to reorganize their state-run health-system.. I guess, over there, organized medical-care for a price is an entirely new concept!!" 

 Jake found himself forcefully rocking his head; nonetheless, he found the gumption to respond.  

 "Guys like him are never held accountable.. no matter what horrific deeds they do!.. Kinda' makes me glad that I've been away from health-care capitalism for a while!"

 The boss's face lit up as he began to respond.

 "Hudley's another one!.. He sold his stake in Expercare before all the turmoil and ended up a multi-millionaire!.. Then he got really smart and got out of medicine entirely!!.. You won't believe this, but he actually became a famous chef!!.. Of all things!.. For quite a few years now, he's been running a gourmet cooking-school in Chicago.. He's even got his own syndicated radio and TV programs!..."  

 Jake reflected his mentor's beam.

 "Now as far as Fassad.. Well, his fate wasn't quite as fortunate!.. He finally got caught lying about one of his mistakes.. It seems he operated on a young woman for a micro-adenoma and ended up blinding her.. In fact, he apparently missed thesella entirely!.. Then, he tried to hide it by falsifying records.. claiming it was the resident who had botched everything up.. Well, when the lady's husband finally caught wind of what was going on, he was so upset.. he pulled out a pistol in Fassad's office.. and shot him!.. Killed the poor bastard, right on the spot!..." 

 Instinctively, Jake's face lost its wrinkles.  Though it hadn't been requested, retired Professor Wilson had one more morbid story to add.  

 "Another one who may have gotten what he deserved was your nemesis.. George Black!.. From what I heard, he got caught up in the middle of the computer-chip armageddon.. You know, Y2K??!.. Remember back in 2000??!.. Well, it seems somebody hacked into George's stocks-and-bonds portfolio and totally cleaned him out, on the spot!  Since he'd pissed so many people off over the years, he didn't have anybody to turn to.. His creditors were threatening to put him and his family out on the street!.. Rumor has it that the poor sap did himself in.  Slashed his own femoral artery.. right at home in the bath-tub!"

 Jake slowly nodded with a straight face as he listened.

 "We really messed things, Jake!.. All of us!!.. Heck, we made it easy for the government and high-technology to take control!.. Actually, I think chiropractors make more decisions than we do these days!.. At least they still treat people by putting their hands on them!!..."

 As he continued to be the listener, Jake was hypnotized by the boss's Southern drawl and his down-to-Earth way of thinking, much as he had been as his apprentice.  He couldn't help but savor a few of those unforgettable moments as Vince Wilson's chief-resident; thereupon, he spun out a few dragging syllables of his own.

 "Wellll!.. Thiiings were a whwhwhole heck-of-a-lot more fuuun in the good olllld days!.. Mem'ber those monnnnster boots you used to wearrrr in the oppperatin' room?!"

 Jake and his slightly kyphotic role-model shared a mutual grin over the hilarious image of the fearless leader's green operating-pants tucked inside oversized, knee-high, white galoshes as he triumphantly strolled through the OR, as though at any moment he was expecting to encounter a sudden gush of high water. 

 "'Member the time the 'Troopa' dropped that piece of t'uma down ya' booooot?"

 Jake nearly roared at the portrait of the pin-headed intern, Milton Troop; while hastily transferring the specimen to a container, he had accidently deposited a big frothy piece of meningioma into one of the boss's infamous rubbers.  Many a hearty laugh had been shared over the years by those mimicking the look of disbelief on the boss's face as he stood statue-like, in the middle of the operating-room, staring down inside his boot at a blood-smeared, golf ball-sized piece of mushy tumor, lodged snugly against his silk sock.  

 "You know, I still think that damned fool did that on purpose.. just to get me pissed off!"

 The proff had a noteworthy story of his own to relate.  He reminded his favorite disciple of the night that a certain frantic chief-resident had stormed into the OR, in a full-head-of-steam to perform an emergency craniotomy; unfortunately, the OR linen-shelves were bare of essential scrub-clothes.  With no patience to spare, the headstrong trainee decided to don the only thing available--a cutesy, nurse's scrub-dress.  Throughout the duration of the procedure, those in attendance had a particularly difficult time containing their chuckles.  

 "I still have a color polaroid of that somewhere.. I really think you just wanted to show off those lovely hairy legs of yours!"

 Jake tittered over that episode and other fond memories of the great comradary shared through the years with the leader of the neurosurgery-staff; then, his thoughts took on a more somber tone.

 "Chief.. A very good friend of mine is up in the neuro-unit with a sphenoid meningioma.. That moron Watts is her surgeon!.. He claims it's inoperable!!..."

 The retired chairman poked and scratched the back of his persistently full, though fiercely time-worn head of hair, as he was confronted by yet another round of his protege's denouncing comments.  

 "Hell, we used to take those out without even batting an eye!"

 "Yes, I know Jason.. But you must remember.. a lot has changed since then!.. For one thing, it's not the good old 'let's open 'er up and see what goin' on in there' days anymore!.. Now a days, surgeons are totally dependant on fancy gadgets.. You know, these guys don't even pass gas unless the flow-chart says it OK!.. And then, an operating-device has to guide them to the sphincter!!.. Hell, most of them have never, ever taken an anatomy class or touched a cadaver!.. Remember, its been nearly two decades since the geniuses in charge did away with your father's department in med-school!!..."  

 As the Professor-Emeritus of Neurosurgery continued, Jake's mentation took off in the direction of his father.  

 "Unless that confounded machine says proceed.. they just don't know how to respond!"

 Paul Andrew Gibson, PhD. had forsaken his adolescent dream to pursue family-practice alongside his father; instead, as fate demanded, he became one of the premier medical-educators in the entire world--a professor who could illustrate with both hands, virtually laying out, in vivid living color, the entire internal structure of the nervous system.  His marvelous lectures of brain-anatomy had made the blackboard literally come alive, for three generations of physicians.  A compendium of Golden Apple awards were evidence that a brilliant teacher had, indeed, found his true niche; maybe not the one he had dreamt about as a kid growing up, but certainly the one that had been demanded by a higher power.

 Jake's umbrage was riding tall in the saddle.

 "Well, I don't know how those idiots can call themselves surgeons!.. Aren't there any real doctors left??"

 Having blurted that out, Jake's volatile tongue aroused a cynical flicker in his former boss's wink; in the ensuing exchange, a diabolical scheme began to take form.

 "Listen, I'm pretty sure I can get one of the nurses in the neuro-unit to turn her back for a few hours.. I also found out how we can get our hands on some of the old instruments and equipment."

 The beaming former chairman, who had vested his entire career in the university philosophy, had something of his own to add.

 "Yeah, and I'll bet my old buddy Doc Schweiz would give us a hand?!.. I know he's got some ancient anesthesia stuff hidden away somewhere!.. If we can count on him to pass the gas?!.. And last I heard, my old scrub, Karen Jacobs, is still alive and kicking.. You know, she's up in her 80s!.. but I'll just bet she'd love to scrub for me one last time!..."

 At that point, the boss's frolicsome comments took on a much more somber tone.

 "Jason, you are aware of what you're risking in doing this?!.. You are really sticking your neck out!!.. Those of us that have been put out to pasture.. We mean nothing.. We may get a slap on the wrist.. but that's it!.. You on the other hand!!  Those in charge haven't forgotten what you tried to do to them.. and what you stand for!.. You can rest assured they still have their eyes on you!.. And you know, they'll destroy you for what you are about to do!.. This time there might not be any place else to go to!  Your career as a surgeon will be over!!"

 Late that night, a silent observer would have been shocked and dismayed to witness the unprecedented drama unfolding in OR-1.  Maybe it was the adulterated stillness stemming from a most unusual starting time for an elective case that added to the heap of tension in the air; or perhaps, it was the darkened, abandoned work-stations and deactivated mechanical robots, standing at attention while hovering top and center over the seemingly prehistoric barbers and their sweaty togas.  

 By all rationale, the breathtaking anxiety inherent in such a risky and illegitimate undertaking should have provoked visible evidence of trepidation on the faces of those in attendance; yet no one appeared to lose even a drop of sweat.  The unusual skeleton-crew performed as skillfully and fastidiously as ever; their conversation incontrovertibly charged with eager anticipation of what was to be accomplished.

 Just like clock-work, at the top and bottom of every hour a singular uniformed sentry--apparently assigned special all-night duty--traipsed by, earnestly shining a laser-light through the full-length glass-doors at the entrance to the operating-theater.  Without really saying so, those inside sensed that there hung in the early morning air an indescribable need for reassurance on the part of their contemporaries in charge; still, from the centuries-old view of Asclepius and his modernistic disciples, as it had not been for many years, nothing at all was out of order on that particular eve.  A humanistic, virtuoso physician and followers had, once again, become totally synchronous with their environment.

 After hastily shaving--with a straight-edge--the dominant temple of that most beloved noggin, the surgeon-in-command discarded the wavy clumps of auburn-tinged hair with only an unqualified blurp to his senior-assistant, positioned to his right.

 "Well, what the heck!.. It'll only be a couple of weeks before she grows it all back!"

 His unflappable utterance reflected a surprisingly collected attitude about the present, unthinkably stressful situation; unmistakable reassurance had come from his cherished patient, only a few moments earlier.  

 "No matter what happens, Jake.. Remember!.. You are my knight in shining armor!.. I am so proud of you!.. And I will always love you!"

 Without a simple suction apparatus or standard respirator, the eerie silence in the cloistered room was interrupted only by repeated thrusts of the anesthesiologist's arthritic fingers on a primitive insufflation bag inflating an attached mask, and the occasional thug, rap, or clang or an instrument being passed or the bipolar pedal pushed.  As they performed under a venerable Zeiss with monocular sidearm, the stellar operator and his elderly, but still capable, assistant were uplifted by a resolute conviction that charged each crucial manipulation with a delicate sense of righteousness.  Not a single muscle-twitch was wasted in their action; as in the creation of a bestirring masterpiece, each and every distinct movement followed a designed purpose.

 As he toiled to separate the tumor from its attachments, the wearily assertive surgeon's thoughts were stolen only once--by the memory of a nearly identical tumor--one that years ago had left an indelible mark on his sensorium.  It was the very first case he had observed in Professor Kardesch's operating-room.

 The famous professor of neurosurgery was diligently working his way around the margins of a complex parasellar meningioma; in the process, he flaunted his expertise in the direction of those in observance.  Carefully scrutinizing each delicate movement displayed on the video-screen, all were totally enthralled by the exactitude of the professor's movements.

 Suddenly though, the professor seemed to transgress, and almost unbelievably, appeared to cut straight across the optic chiasm.  At first, all watching were certain they were mistaken at what they thought they had seen; a surgeon of the professor's stature would never make such a ghastly mistake.  For a few additional seconds, the professor continued his exalted discourse around his work; but then, suddenly, the room was enveloped in absolute silence, as the professor himself finally realized what had happened.

 At that moment, without warning, the man-in-charge sprang from his stool, and while shouting in a smorgasbord of languages, heatedly snatched a pair of delicate, irreplaceable forceps from the nurse's table and twisted them into a bizarre form, before he violently tossed them to the floor.  While continuing to ramble on, furiously, in an unintelligible dialect, he hastily exited the premises, leaving a startled understudy no choice except to close the operation, with most of the tumor still in place.

 For the briefest moment, Jake relaxed his hands from the operating-field and peeked around a make-shift anesthesia screen at his patient's peaceable face.  As he marveled at that heavenly cast, he finally came to understand the true meaning of perfection.  Since his stimulating time with the professor, he had been veraciously driven to seek perfection in everything he attempted; yet, despite all of the vigor that he'd exploited over the years, he'd never been able, by  his own estimation, to attain it, to even come close to it.  

 At long last, he understood why; the excellence he so coveted was reachable only in the eyes of the beholder, not in the visage of an achiever.  Pacifically asleep beneath him was as nigh to perfection as he could ever hope--that woman's inner-beauty was reflected in the brilliant sheen of her curly brown hair, the bantling softness of her skin, the delicacy of her lips, and the majestic contour of her waist and hips.  He realized that he would never sense that degree of fulfillment in himself or his work; it was something only to be admired in the persona of someone loved.

 Perhaps in accordance with the rules of nature, the tumor encountered that night was unusually nasty--one of the most difficult types.  It had crept along the lateral fissure to implicate the base of the skull in its growth; in the process, critical cranial nerves and vitally important blood-vessels to the dominant part of Jeanne's brain had been gravely encompassed.

 Long after the operation had ended, as he had so many times in his life, Jake sat restively by his patient's bedside as an orange glow was just beginning to make its appearance in the darkened sky.  

 "Ben!.. Is that you??.. My God!.. How are you doing?!.. I..."

 His startled response was directed to a familiar figure in a dark overcoat, suddenly inhabiting a shadow in the doorway.  As he tried to grapple with his protracted, self-imposed exile from an old friend, his uncontrollable feelings for the woman lying in bed, at his side, could be stymied no longer.

  "Ben!.. Ben my friend!!.. There have been so many times that I've wanted to sit down and explain.. to let you know what was going on.. to make you understand how I feel.. But I didn't think I could make the words come out right!..."

 On an emotional rollercoaster, he propelled his convictions into a steep, exhilarating, downhill rush.  

 "I just love her, Ben!.. And I always have!.. She is the most special person to me!.. I've always found it so easy to talk to her.. about anything!.. And no matter what, she always finds a way to make me feel good.. about me!.. The only way I can describe the feeling that I have for her is to say I am truly in love with her!.. I am so sorry that..."

 His attempted ordination was inordinately repositioned by words that Ben, too, for a long time had wanted to express to his best-friend.

 "Jake, there's nothing for you to apologize for!.. I know what you're trying to say!.. Don't you think I know what it's like to be in love with her!.. She's been my whole life!.. And there's nothing you can say.. or do.. that would change the fact that if I had the occasion to do the whole thing over.. under exactly the same circumstances.. I would jump at the chance to marry her again.. She has made my life complete!" 

 Though he had planned to recite similar declarations of affection for that special woman, the listener's sentiments were distracted by a waspish, mumbled somewhat dysphasic utterance, coming from the direction of the bed.  

 "BBBBen?.. JJJJake!... You're bbboth.. here!.. Tototogether!!"

 Two life-long buddies approached their conjunct object of affection, one from each side. 

 "How are you feeling, babe?"

 Ben took his wife's hand inside his and softly kissed her on the forehead, just beneath her splendorously wrapped hairdo. 

 "I feel pretty gggood!.. I'm a lllittle bit groggy, but I really don't have much headache.. Wew!  Am I glad that's done with!.. It's like a huge weight.. has been lifted off my mind!" 

 The sparkle in Jeanne's eyes twinkled at her unintended pun.

 "That's because you have a great surgeon, honey!.. One who really cares a lot about you!"

 Ben's emphatic declaration led his wife to glance somewhat hesitantly and awkwardly in her surgeon's direction; he, in turn, felt less untoward in that unadulterated interaction with his two best friends than in any since the day they were married.  

 "You're did a beautiful job on me!.. Thanks, bub!"

 The doctor's quivering dimples demanded a spontaneous encounter with his patient's unattached hand.  For a few moments, an improbable triangle of lovers remained mutely attached to each other, as they exchanged gleaming expressions of affection; finally, the fulcrum's heart opened up.

 "Do you know how wonderful it is.. to wake up to the two men.. I adore most in my life!.. I don't know what I'd do.. if I ever lost either one of you!"

 Ben peeked over at his friend as his wife spoke, apparently compelled to shrink eye-contact.

 As he reflected on those unsettling words, the odd man-out reaffirmed with a grimace what his animus had known for a long time--he would always love that woman, no matter what.  

 "Ben.. have you spoken to Jason about your.. heart problems?"

 His lack of response was answer enough.

 "Well, you need to tell him exactly what's been going on!.. I'm sure he'll have some ideas.. on whwhwhat wwwe should do!"

 As she stuttered through the last few words, Jeanne yawned involuntarily and reflexly closed her eyes.  

 "Okay, babe.. Why don't you try and get a little rest.. Jake and I will go somewhere we can talk.. We'll be back in just a little while."

 Without exchanging a word, the best of buddies for several decades walked side-by-side down to the empty lobby.  Ben directed them to a isolated set of chairs, selecting a pair that was as distant as possible from the scores of shifty, electronic eyes permanently mounted overhead.  

 Over the next hour, Ben described for his old pal his recent health history, and a great deal more.  He had been one of the key scientists involved in the ARMADILO project.  

 "Remember the 'Information Era' of the 80s and 90s?.. Well, it's long gone!.. The World-Wide-Web was replaced in'04 by ASTARA.. That stands for Astro-Stereometric Telepathic Autogenous Reasoning Apparatus.. We're living in the age of the programmed response!"

 His companion sat across from Ben expressionless, taking even his facetious words in.

 "It was a natural progression!.. Computer memory evolved so rapidly in the late 90s that the amount of electronic data basically became too much to manage.. Way more than what ordinary people were prepared to handle!..."

 As Ben spoke, he occasionally peeked up at the video-camera closest to him.  

 "You see, ASTARA monitors and regulates.. from minute-to-minute.. most everything that goes on in this country.. From flight data control to those automatic tellers on virtually every single street-corner.. From the entire federal budget.. to my lowly debit-account.. It even controls relocation vouchers, permits for marriage licenses, and birth-authorizations!!..." 

 Ben added animation to his gestures as he continued.  His listener responded with simple head rocks.

 "Most people still look at it as a step in the right direction.. because it makes everyday life much easier..."

 He added a grimace to his head roll.  

 "No matter how sophisticated though.. computer-systems still require an operating-program which.. no matter how much those in charge swear otherwise.. to some degree is biased.. Data analysis is meant to take on the slant of the methodology used by the programmer!.. And when you take into account corruption and greed.. the hallmarks of our corporate driven society!.. Well, you can easily imagine what's happened to an individual's ability to make decisions for him or herself.. In many ways, I think we're much worse off than we were centuries ago!..." 

 The surgeon responded to Ben's commentary on modern society with a loud, churlish grunt.

 "Precisely the same thing is true as far as the damned ARMADILO is concerned!.. Jake, the damn thing doesn't work as advertised!.. It's incapable, in humans, of detecting anything at the molecular level.. The best it can do is pick up lumps and bumps.. abnormalities at the multi-cellular level!"  

 As he disgorged the last few sentences, Ben's mouth had nearly gotten down to a whisper. 

 "It's really no better than the high-resolution MRIs of the late 90s.  It was supposed to be the answer to everything.. And they spent a ton of money developing it!"

 Ben again glanced about to be certain no one was listening in on their conversation.  

 "Supposedly for the last two years they've been working out the glitches.. Of course, even a decade ago we had the feeling.. those of us on the inside.. that it would never be able to do what they originally claimed!"

 Once again a certain doctor's ire was being steamed by clear-cut corruption.

 "I don't get it!.. If the damn thing doesn't work.. then why don't they just..."

 He stopped himself in mid-sentence, as he had figured out that answer before; nonetheless, his chum filled in the blank.

 "For years, it's been promoted as the device that will someday revolutionize the entire practice of medicine.. for generations to come.. You know, it would be far too embarrassing for the National Health Consortium to admit that they took a major wrong turn..."  

 As he had years before, the former professor of brain-surgery silently condemned those responsible for destroying his profession.

 "I should know!.. I worked on the damned thing for nearly 15 years!.. On the bench, it functions just fine.. In a plain-old laboratory rat, it can make all kinds of biochemical diagnoses.. But out in the field.. in humans.. it's another story!..."

 The tone of Ben's words had reached the point of being barely audible.

 "But, it even goes a lot deeper than that, Jake!"

 A distinct change in the shade of the listener's mug was an indication that he was really getting fired up over what he was hearing.

 "A couple of months ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with tightness in my chest.. I really didn't think it was anything serious, but Jeanne made me go for a check-up.. They diagnosed a mild heart attack.. And I was told there were no significant changes on my Cardiac ARMADILO..."  

 A couple of sunglassed skates in business-suits had taken positions on a bench next to them; furtively glancing in their direction, Ben motioned towards the elevator.  Once they were back upstairs just outside Jeanne's room, he continued his discourse in the hallway.

 "Jake, there were a dozen of us who worked on this project from the get go.. It was our responsibility to oversee the operation of the test-centers around the country.  You know, there's one here at the university.. and a number of others scattered around the country..."

 Ben's confidant had the notion to counter what he was hearing, but thought the better of it as he continued to listen.

 "In the early years, we used ourselves as guinea pigs, Jake.. to standardize the damned machines!.. I guess I had one part of 

Death of A Healer

The Screenplay

by Paul Henry Young

based on the novel

FADE IN

EXT. CITY PARK - - SUNRISE

A sandlot ball field surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence.

DR. JASON GIBSON, in his middle 50’s, sits alone on a weathered wooden

bench, his wrinkled face shadowy, his surgical scrub- shirt wet with

perspiration, his graying hair BLOWING in an autumn breeze.

Around him dust and leaves SWIRL...

He is watching a group of young boys begin to play catch. The repeated

THUD of baseballs inside the boys’ leather gloves is interrupted only

by their youthful SHOUTS...

Dr. Gibson's eyes are fixed on the kids, he is lost in his thoughts.

Hidden inside his hand is a small wooden cross...

A brilliant sunrise casts a glow across the futuristic University of

St. Louis Hospital tower and St. Louis skyline (circa 2015).

University of St. Louis Hospital Tower and St. Louis skyline (present

day).

INT. UNIVERSITY OF ST LOUIS HOSPITAL, PRESENT DAY - - MORNING

Hospital corridors BUSTLING with people coming and going: doctors in

white coats, nurses in uniforms, clergy in black collars,

administrators in expensive suits, patients in hospital gowns being

pushed about in wheelchairs and on carts...

Dr. Jason Gibson, 38, dimpled baby-face, deep blue eyes, and brown

curly locks is hurriedly working his way through the crowded hallways,

x-ray jacket under arm. He is repeatedly hailed in passing by

colleagues who clearly hold him in high esteem, but he smiles to no

one, very focused.

He looks up at the time on a wall clock, - 7:25.

After many turns and stairs, repeated doorways, long corridors, he

comes to a pair of large glass doors with big white lettering,

OPERATING ROOM-NO ADMITTANCE.

He hesitates for a moment, then POUNDS a control button. The doors

BANG open. He disappears inside.

INSIDE THE OR DOORS

Jake Gibson removes his white lab coat to reveal green scrubs.

He steps out of penny loafers into white clogs.

He shuffles down the OR corridor, struggling to tie a mask around his

clean shaven face.

He passes several operating rooms and colleagues SCRUBBING their hands

at wash-sinks. Each turn his way respectfully as he passes.

He comes to a set of doors labeled, NEUROSURGERY OPERATING ROOM - 1.

Again he stops, then pushes the door open.

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

MARTHA RAE CRANE, head OR nurse for the University, KICKS open and

passes through a rear door, leaving it SWINGING LOUDLY in her wake.

She holds her hands out in front of her petite frame as soapy waterdrips to the floor from her forearms.

JAKE

Morning Martha. How’s it goin’ today?

MARTHA

Good mornin’, Doctor Gibson.

Martha’s mask hides a down home country face with its ready smile. She

slips herself into a wrinkled but sterile green gown and size six

brown rubber gloves.

MARTHA

I’m just fine...Everythin’s in place and ready to go.

Martha begins to arrange the surgical instruments... Above her OR

lights burn brightly, the stainless steel instruments gleam.

Jake steps to a row of view boxes, on a wall, and begins to position

the set of x-rays. One film FALLS to the floor, then another, as he

SLAPS them up on the view box.

Martha raises an eye from her surgical instruments to Jake's

uncharacteristic behavior. She steps down from her elevated position.

MARTHA

What we have goin’ on today, Doctor Gibson?

Jake adjusts his surgical mask starting to get moist and itch from his

breathing.

JAKE

Prob'ly be a tough case to do... Look here, a couple

of pretty dangerous lookin' aneurysms.

Jake points with an outstretched index finger at a pair of

spherical white blobs on the films.

JAKE

I’m not even too positive which one bled.

We better find it though and fix it, or-

He looks anxiously to Martha.

JAKE

Ya' know, we better get this thing just right or-

Several medical students walk up to inspect the films.

Jake begins to instruct them on the findings...

Martha slips back to her instruments.

The anesthesiologist, deep grey hair exposed beneath his cap and noseout above his mask, is drawing brightly colored medicines into

syringes from glass vials. He methodically TAPS the air out of each.

All the while he cradles a wall phone against his shoulder...

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

Wow! Really... Rumor has it they’re negotiating with

Expercare to acquire the hospital... Maybe we ought to

get another ten thousand shares?.. Yeah, ten.

He injects a bright orange drug into the patient’s IV.

The patient stares at the orange substance as it slowly runs through

the clear plastic tubing and into his arm...

Just then, the OR doors are THROWN open by DAVID HUDLEY MD, unkept,

overweight, and perspiring resident surgeon. He gets annoyed looks

from Martha and the anesthesiologist.

Jake turns from the x-rays and makes eye contact with Hudley and then

the patient, just as his eyes are closed by the injected drugs.

ER AMBULANCE ENTRANCE - - EARLY EVENING

Dressed in street clothes, Jake comes upon a seizing patient being

hastily unloaded from an ambulance backed up to the door.

JAKE

That Malone?.. The attorney?

One of the paramedics nods his head.

PARAMEDIC ONE

Yup. None other than the infamous Mitch Malone.

PARAMEDIC TWO

Ya' seen those ads of his?

He nods again.

JAKE

What the heck happened?

PARAMEDIC ONE

Complained of a severe headache... Collapsed. Right

in the courtroom.

PARAMEDIC TWO

Probly’ cross examinin' some poor neurosurgery sap.

He laughs to Jake.

PARAMEDIC ONELooks like his pupils are blown.

Jake leans over the stretcher and forcibly opens the patient’s

eyelids.

JAKE

Good God! Must have had a huge bleed.

Jake sets his briefcase alongside the patient and helps push the

stretcher into the ER...

ER- URGENT TREATMENT

With a large scissors, Jake cuts off the patient’s vomitus stained

white shirt and pin striped suit pants.

He gags to the smell of gastric contents.

JAKE

Where’s Hudley? He should be here.

The nurses in the room shrug their shoulders.

NURSE

Paged him. Never answered.

Jake

As usual.

With an annoyed look, Jake starts an intravenous in the patient's arm.

The patient reacts with uncontrolled spasms of his arms and legs.

Orderlies struggle to restrain him on the metal bed...

A blond-haired woman rushes into the room. Malone’s wife, BETHANY, in

her fifties, trim and robust, expensively dressed, cantankerous, not

to be denied. She stops at the foot of the bed.

MRS. MALONE

Who’s in charge here? What are you people trying to

do, kill him? This's my husband... Where the hell’s

the doctor?

Jake side glances down the bed but continues his work.

One of the nurse’s turns to address her.

NURSE

Ma’am. You’ll need to wait outside. We’re all very-

MRS. MALONEDon’t talk to me like I’m some frigin idiot. I know my

rights. My husband’s a very important attorney and

don’t think for one damned minute I don’t know what’s

-

Jake drops what he’s doing and steps between her and the bed.

JAKE

Ma'am. I'm Dr. Gibson. Everything possible's being

done for your husband. We're just about to-

MRS. MALONE

About to what?

Jake looks into her dark eyes.

JAKE

Well first, a CAT Scan of the brain. And if he’s

suffered a hemorrhage around the brain surface, like I

think he prob'ly has, then we’ll order a blood vessel

study, called an angiogram, to find the source.

She eyes him over.

He begins to usher her out the door.

JAKE

Now please take a seat in the waiting room and

I’ll be out as soon as-

Some of the tension leaves her, then arrogance firms her up.

MRS. MALONE

So you're the one in charge? You don’t look

experienced enough to... OK, just remember, I’m not

some dumb broad off the street.

She turns to leave, but turns back at the door.

MRS. MALONE

And I don’t want any frigin med students working on

him. Practicing on him like he’s some kind of slab of

meat.

Her pointed finger and attached gold are emphatic.

Jake and the nurses in the room stand motionless, watching her

leave...X-RAY DEPARTMENT

X-rays sequentially DROP from a film developer...

Jake is retrieving and studying the series of angiogram pictures on a

large row of view-boxes. Light twists through the images.

DAVID HUDLEY MD walks up to the films, out of breath, hair in

disarray.

JAKE

Where ya' been, David?

HUDLEY

Nobody beeped me. Sorry... What we got?

Jake keeps his attention on the films, while rubbing the back of his

neck and frowning.

JAKE

Couple of berries. A giant basilar bifurcation... And

an 8mm left PComm. Any idea which one bled?

HUDLEY

Guess it could be either one. How's it matter?

Jake’s face colors.

HUDLEY

Look, nobody beeped me, all right?

Jake keeps his anger down.

JAKE

OK. OK. Which one more likely ruptured?

Jake continues his attention on the films.

HUDLEY

I’ve been running the whole damned day... A guy can't

ever finish his dinner without getting constantly

paged.

JAKE

David…

HUDLEY

You know, this should be a damned med student case

anyway. This dirtball’s got no chance at all...And look who it is. Malone, for Chris sakes!

JAKE

David…

Still facing the films, Jake deeply massages his throbbing temples.

HUDLEY

I can’t see any reason for me to waste my time on this

fucking piece of trash...

Jake finally takes his eyes from the films to Hudley.

JAKE

David. That’s enough...Just get him up to the ICU. OK?

Hudley turns to leave.

JAKE

And by the way, I already gave him a dose of steroids.

So don't order anymore tonight...OK?

HUDLEY (WALKING AWAY, JUST LOUD ENOUGH FOR JAKE

TO HEAR)

Whatever. What a total fucking bunch of shit this

is...

Jake forcefully yanks one of the films from the viewbox.

NEURO ICU

Groups of doctors in white coats are making morning rounds...

Jake enters Malone’s room, head down, studying the chart.

Malone is in his hospital bed, the head of the bed tilted upward. He

is conscious, looking around the room.

Malone’s wife and daughter, both fashionably dressed, are sitting on

the side of his bed. His daughter is rubbing the side of his head.

David Hudley is seated in a bedside chair.

Jake looks up to see Malone, surprised. He FLIPS the chart closed.

JAKE

Holy Cow. You're awake... Incredible!

He retrieves a penlight from his pocket. Checks Malone’s pupils.

JAKE

Absolutely amazing...Hudley gets up and abruptly leaves the room without a word.

Jake’s eyes follow him to the door. Then he looks to Malone’s wife and

daughter.

JAKE

OK... Well, we better go ahead as we discussed last

night. We need to get the one aneurysm clipped before

it bleeds again... I’ll make arrangements with the OR.

We prob'ly can get started right away.

Mrs. Malone

Dr. Hudley said that's the thing to do.

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

The anesthesiologist gives the nod.

Jake attaches the sharp pins of a vise-like holder to Malone’s skull

that will prevent unwanted movement during the operation.

A circulating nurse hands him an electric shaver. In seconds, silver

and gray hair are placed in a sandwich bag and taped to the front of

the chart.

The anesthesiologist turns to his students.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

For the mortician... Just in case...

SCRUB STATION

Jake is scrubbing his hands and arms at a stainless steel sink just

outside the theatre as he goes over the operation in his mind...

A youthful medical student appears at his side.

MEDICAL STUDENT

Dr. Gibson. My name’s Timothy Knoxman... sir.

I’m a fourth year assigned to this case by Dr. Hudley.

I’ve never been involved in a brain operation before

and-

Jake’s eyes move to his name badge and back to his scrubbing.

MEDICAL STUDENT

I’m really looking forward to this case. You

know my great aunt died from a blown aneurysm

and my grandfather, well he-

Jake turns to face him.

JAKE

Tim.

MEDICAL STUDENTSir?

JAKE

Lesson one. I need some quiet time. This is going to

be a touchy one. Scrubbing's a good time to go over

things.

MEDICAL STUDENT

Yes, sir.

Jake’s eyes crinkle above his mask.

Knoxman quietly rejoins the observers.

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

Jake and the operating team, fully gowned and gloved, stand around the

patient’s head. Hudley positioned at Jake’s left and Martha atop the

footrest of the overhead instrument table at Jake’s right. Sterile

drapes shield anesthesia. Sets of OR lights gleam overhead. Behind

them, medical student observers are lined up on a wooden bench.

After eye contact with Jake, Martha hands Hudley an immaculately

whetted, stainless steel scalpel.

Hudley begins the cut, breaching layers of scalp. A couple of

bleeders SPRAY down the front of his gown. Bright red blood squirts

from the cut tissue edges and streams from the wound. It TRICKLES

into a large black trash bag attached to the sterile drapes beneath

the attorney’s head.

Jake’s eyes again find Martha’s. He stomps his foot and sighs.

JAKE

OK. Let’s have the drill.

Martha SLAPS the drill into Hudley’s hand.

Jake maps the placement of the opening. A quartet of nickel-sized

holes is BORED through the attorney’s calvarium, near the junction of

the left forehead and temple...

Then Hudley connects the openings with an air-driven craniotome. sound of the skull being sawed SHRIEKS in the room. The

Bone dust and

tiny droplets of bleed SPATTER the surgeons...

Jake watches as Hudley LOOSENS, PRIES UP, and lifts away a portion of

the attorney’s skull bone. About the size of a sand dollar. He

watches it slip from Hudley’s grasp and tumble towards the terrazzo

floor...

Reaching out his hand, Jake catches it, then hands it to Martha. They

look to Hudley and stare incredulously.

Hudley looks back to Jake, then quietly takes a seat with the others.

Martha guides the cumbersome operating microscope into place. Jake’s

special sitting stool is placed beneath him. Overhead lights are

dimmed slightly. Video monitors are illuminated and positioned near

the observers.

With Martha beside him, Jake begins the journey into a man’s brain.

He works through less than a one inch gap alongside the attorney’s brain.

He employs long forceps. As he works, he instructs those watching.

Jake

I'm retracting the frontal lobe slightly, so we can

get a better look at things.

The observers carefully watch.

Only the anesthesiologist is unaffected. proceedings, reading a newspaper...

He turns his back to the

Jake

OK. There's one of the aneurysms.

Jake focuses the microscope with a mouth switch, his hands free to

work the delicate instruments.

He asks a nurse to lower his seat.

JAKE

I'll take the temporary clips. I don’t think this's

the one that ruptured... We’ll get it clamped now

anyway.

The anesthesiologist takes a look over the anesthesia curtain.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST (TO MED STUDENTS)

He’s going to temporarily block a main artery... that

supplies blood to the patient's brain. Might actually

be a good thing though, in this case.

He grins.

Jake grimaces.

Martha places two gold-embossed clips, one at a time, into Jake’s open

right hand. He exactly positions them, one on each end, along the

pulsating blood vessel.

Martha motions for the circulating assistant to YANK the string on the

electric timer mounted on the wall.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST (TO MED STUDENTS)

He's only got thirty minutes.

He motions his thumb downwards.

Jake’s heart is THUMPING as he works quietly...

Green gowned figures watch, tense...

The clock TICKS...

Jake

Come on baby...

Inside twelve minutes, Jake applies a permanent titanium clip aroundthe first aneurysm’s neck. Temporary clamps are released.

Jake

Now let's see what happens if I...

He punctures the wall of the blood-engorged sac with a tiny needle.

It immediately collapses with only a feeble spurt of blood.

Jake

One down.

Jake gets up from the commander’s seat and stretches his shoulders and

neck. His upper back muscles appear very tight. He tries to restore

circulation into his buttocks and feet.

JAKE

Okay. Now the big one.

He reseats himself at the microscope.

The anesthesiologist turns again to the medical students.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

The second aneurysm's the one that's ruptured. And

it's sealed with only a very thin blood clot... And if

it were to be disturbed... prematurely... POOOOSCH...

Jake overhears, but his eyes stay focused.

JAKE

Get word to the patient’s family...Things proceeding

nicely.

Then it’s before him. An ominous pulsating blister.

JAKE

Oh, my God...

Beads of perspiration pop out on Jake’s forehead...

Jake

I don't think I've ever seen one so ready to-

The aneurysm is so large and its walls so thin and translucent that

streams of heme can be seen on the monitors flowing inside it.

The observers in the room collectively gasp.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST (TO MED STUDENTS)This's a moment of truth... A few fractions

of a millimeter either way, and one very famous

attorney will live a full and normal life... blood

sucking... or-

Martha motions for a “Do Not Disturb” sign to be hung on the door.

The thermostat in the room is lowered.

Jake

We're gonna try and get around this thing...

Jake carefully dissects around the aneurysm.

The observers watch in silence; afraid to cough, sneeze, or move...

The ongoing silence is broken by an ugly THUD. One of Hudley’s OR

clogs has fallen from his foot.

Martha glares.

Jake turns to a nurse to wipe his forehead.

JAKE

Okay. Think we’re ready for a clip.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST (TO MED STUDENTS)

Watch this carefully... A spurt of blood and-

Jake swallows behind his mask.

Martha firmly places a clip into his hand. With an exact snap of the

wrist he closes its blades gently around the neck of the aneurysm.

SCHWOOSHSHSHSHSH... It ECHOES around the room...

The sound of SUCKING blood. And lots of it.

JAKE

Shit! Sonovabitch!!

GUSHING blood fills the entire wound opening and begins to POUR from

the head, running off in different directions. It saturates the

drapes... It pools on the floor...

Jake’s heart POUNDS mercilessly. His sweaty hands tremble.

JAKE.

More suction! Goddammit, I need more suction!!

The green gowned figures watch in horror...

Jake positions a suction device against a cotton swab at the leak

point. He tries to suppress the bleeding enough to visualize the size

of the break and how best to fix it.

Blood SPURTS, hitting the side of his mask.Jake

I can't see the sonofabitch.

Martha passes another swab.

JAKE (SOFTLY TO MARTHA)

Got a feeling this clip's too damned short...

Hudley is paying very close attention.

JAKE (LOUDER)

All right, give me the next longer clip.

Martha places an empty applicator instrument squarely into his hand.

Jake first slowly releases and then completely removes the first clip.

Bleeding dramatically increases...

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

Blood pressure falling!

The anesthesiologist stares up from the patient.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

Sixty systolic. I’m going to start a unit of blood.

JAKE (WITHOUT LOOKING UP)

Hang on. Don’t give him any hemoglobin just yet.

Martha plops a proper sized clip into his open palm.

JAKE (TO HIMSELF)

Come on, baby..

JAKE (LOUDER)

Almost...almost... Just a little bit more. Come on,

come on... Okay...Good... All right! Yes!

He slowly lets close the spring-loaded blades of the clip to re-

embrace the neck of the aneurysm. The bleeding immediately stops.

He leans back, sucking in on his mask...

JAKE.

Thank you, Lord!

Carefully. Jake inspects the blood-filled balloon.JAKE

Okay. Everything looks good.

Eyes watch him over surgical masks...

JAKE

Parent artery's intact. clip... Think we got it.

No branches trapped in the

Jake looks at the clock, 4:30.

Martha was already placing a tiny needle into his hand.

Jake punctures the aneurysm at its dome. It immediately collapses

beneath a gentle leak of its contents.

Like kids after school, the operating team loosens up with talk about

spouses, kids, hobbies, movies and vacations...

The anesthesiologist tells lewd jokes, some about his wife, some about

other patients who had gone through.

Jake backs away from his headquarters at the microscope and with a

flip of his mitt motions for Hudley to take over.

Then he salutes as he pushes the operating doors open and disappears

down the hallway...

DOCTOR’S LOCKER ROOM

Jake stands limp next to his open locker for a few minutes. There are

droplets of blood on his operating shirt and on the side of his

forehead. His cell phone is pressed into his shoulder. While he

waits, he removes a small wooden cross from the pocket of his white

coat, rubs his fingers across it, then replaces it.

When there’s no answer, he hangs up. The phone display reads: JEANNE.

He cleans up and leaves.

WAITING ROOM

Jake enters with a smile on his face. Malone's wife and daughter are

anxiously waiting.

Jake sits.

JAKE

Everything went pretty well.

JAKE

We were able to clip both aneurysms without any great

difficulty. There was a bit of bleeding from the

larger one, but I don’t think that'll cause any great

problem. I’m confident our man will make a good

recovery.

Jake approaches Malone’s daughter, SHANNON, who is standing noticeably

apart. Wiping at tears.SHANNON

How is he, really?

Jake puts his arm around her.

JAKE

We've taken a giant step towards your dad's recovery

today. I think he's going to be OK.

Mrs. Malone approaches, claws sheathed.

MRS. MALONE

Thank you, Dr. Gibson. Everyone's been just

great...and that Hudley’s the best. Somehow I just

knew that with him on the case, you’d all find a way

to pull my husband through.

She wipes at feigned tears.

MRS. MALONE

I don't know what I'd do if I lost him...

She fluffs her hair and pulls at her jewelry.

Jake looks to Shannon who raises her eyes. He tries to keep his

serious face in place.

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

The lights remain bright. The room reflects an operation completed,

the presence of blood and used instruments.

Martha motions for one of the circulating nurses.

MARTHA

Summon Dr. Gibson.

Hudley flashes at her, his eyes angry.

MARTHA

Dr. Hudley, I’m concerned something’s not right.

HUDLEY

Not right?

MARTHA

During the repair of the dura covering over the brain.

As you were passing the last stitch-HUDLEY

Yes, what?

MARTHA

I thought I saw a spurt of bleeding, possibly arising

from the surface of the brain. If so, that could-

HUDLEY

Develop into a clot?.. I don’t need a lecture from a

nurse. Everything is fine... Now give another

stitch!

It’s the anesthesiologist who ends it while holding a hand over the

phone.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST

Look, his vital signs are stable and he’s beginning to

wake up. What don't you two just cut this crap!

Martha watches as the bone and scalp flaps are replaced and secured

with layers of sutures...

She watches Hudley leave...

She listens as the gas-passer talks more stocks...

She seems worried.

EXT. SOFTBALL FIELD - - NIGHT

Jake LACES a blistering line drive between the outfielders. He rounds

second base. The ball comes back to the infield on a WICKED BOUNCE.

The dust clears. Perched on third, hands on his knees, Jake takes a

few deep breaths. He readjusts his cap.

Knocking the infield from his cleated shoes, he glances at his

teammates hooting on the bench.

A beeper ECHOES across the field.

An aluminum bat STRIKING a softball turns his head. A long fly out to

left.

He scores and jogs directly to the weathered wooden bench.

Wiping his forehead, he dials the hospital on his cellular.

He paces behind the bench...

INT. UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL - - NEURO ICU

MIDGE STONE, in her late twenties, shoulder length hair, blond and

stunning against her Scandinavian features, has the phone to her ear.

MIDGE

Dr. Gibson, I'm concerned about Mr. Malone. to be less alert. I called Dr. Hudley but-

He seemsEXT. SOFTBALL FIELD

JAKE (CELL PHONE TO EAR)

What are his vitals?

Jake sits on the bench and begins to remove his spikes.

INT. NEURO ICU

MIDGE

They're fine. But somehow he just doesn't seem right.

For one thing, he's a lot sleepier than when

he first arrived from recovery... I don’t know-

She hesitates, tension in her voice.

MIDGE

It’s a gut feeling, I guess. Jake, he won’t

stick out his tongue.

EXT. SOFTBALL FIELD

A COMMOTION goes up for a home run and Jake covers his ears.

JAKE

Okay, Midge. Give him a dose of Mannitol.

And order a head CT... stat!

He raises his voice against ballgame spectators.

JAKE

Give me fifteen minutes, maybe less.

Jake makes his way to the parking lot in his stocking feet. Up a

gravel path. The kid in him looks back just once.

EXT. UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL, DOCTOR’S PARKING LOT - - NIGHT

Jake steps from his black jeep.

He shoves his cap in his back pocket, dusts off his pants, and runs

for a secluded rear door.

INT. UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL - - BACK STAIRWELL

Jake bounds the concrete steps two and three at a time. He pauses at a

set of stairway windows that overlook the flat roof of the hospital.

EXT. INTERSTATE HIGHWAY - - AFTERNOON

A black Mercedes SIDESWIPES an oncoming automobile. The hystericallylaughing driver cracks her head on the windshield.

INT. UNIVERSITY OF ST. LOUIS HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM

Jake examines a well dressed young woman with a bloody forehead, but

otherwise minor injuries. She laughs repeatedly about the accident.

Her mood seems inappropriate.

He turns to a nurse.

JAKE

Get a psych consult.

PATIENT ROOM

A bearded psychiatrist concludes his interview of the woman.

At her bedside, he writes in her chart,

"No evidence of psychiatric illness."

Immediately after he leaves her room, she throws a chair through a

plate glass window and jumps from the eighth floor.

EXT. ROOF OF THE CAFETERIA - - DUSK

The sun is setting in the distance...

A woman lies motionless, face down in bedrock, yellow hospital gown

blowing gently in the breeze... She is bleeding from her nose and the

corner of her mouth.

Jake is the first to run up to her side. He turns her over, brushes

gravel from her mouth and begins CPR. Others arrive.

After a few moments, he checks her pupils. She’s gone. Pupils empty.

INT. COURTROOM

Mitch Malone is addressing the jury.

MALONE

The doctor's actions in this matter sanctioned

an innocent woman’s death...

Malone points at Jake seated at the defendant’s table.

MALONE

Incompetence of this degree falls well below the

professional standard of care.

Jury foreman reads the verdict, as Jake and Malone eyeball each other.

FOREMAN

We find in favor of the plaintiff...

Malone pushes back in his chair and grins.FOREMAN

Punitive damages of 4.5 million dollars.

INT. BACK STAIRWELL

Jake stands motionless staring through the window.

Then he is again bounding upstairs...

NEURO ICU

Just inside Malone’s room Midge is fidgeting, chart in hand. pushes by and positions himself at the patient’s side. Malone.

Jake

He pinches

JAKE

Mitch. Stick out your tongue.

Malone makes only a feeble attempt to open his mouth as though he

wants to speak. But he is unable to protrude his tongue.

JAKE

His wife still around, Midge?

MIDGE

Don't believe so.

JAKE

All right. See if you can find her for me, would ya'.

I'm gonna run down to x-ray to check out the scan.

X-RAY READING ROOM

The radiologist SLAPS the films onto a row of view boxes.

RADIOLOGIST

A huge parietal lobe hematoma...

Jake stares.

JAKE

How in the world could- I don't understand...

Jake dials a number on a nearby wall phone.

INT. CRANE MANSION -- KITCHEN

Martha is washing the dishes. She dries her hands and picks up.

MARTHA

Hello.

She listens.

MARTHA

Oh, God, Dr. Gibson. I knew it! Should have informed

you... I’m so sorry. I know what happened... Hudley

caught a stitch on the cortex when he was closing the

dura. It caused a spurt of bleeding...

Martha unties her apron and dabs her eyes with it.

MARTHA

Yes of course. I’ll be right there.

She leaves the dishes.

STUDY

In his ornate study, Martha’s husband, HOWARD, is surveying the

business section of the evening news. He sits in his favorite chair

which backs up on the foyer. He puffs and fingers an imported cigar.

Martha

Howard, I need to get back to the hospital.

Howard

So what else is new!

He scowls as she rushes past his shadow on her way out the door.

Smoke roils in her wake.

INT. UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL - - HALLWAY OUTSIDE X-RAY

JAKE

Operator, get me Hudley, stat!

Tension cranks up as he waits and paces...The phone gets sweaty in his

grip.

He sees Mrs. Malone rushing up the hallway in his direction.

He hangs up and steps towards her.

JAKE

Mrs. Malone, your husband has regressed over the last

hour or so. A blood clot is collecting inside his

brain.

MRS. MALONEDr. Gibson, I don’t understand.

Hard eyes hold his.

JAKE

We need to operate immediately.

Mrs. Malone takes in his softball togs, like they are a personal

insult. Jake folds his arms across his t-shirt.

MRS. MALONE

My husband’s going to die, isn’t he?

JAKE

We must –

MRS. MALONE

You’re going to lose him, aren’t you?

Her eyes never waver.

JAKE

Mrs. Malone –

MRS. MALONE

Oh, no you don’t.

JAKE

What?

MRS. MALONE

I want a second opinion.

The claws are out now.

JAKE

Mrs. Malone, every moment counts... We have

a serious problem which needs to be dealt with–

MRS. MALONE

And I say I want a second opinion, Dr. Gibson.

We need to wait.

JAKE

Mrs. Malone, please, listen to me. This blood clotwill continue to grow and pressure the brain. husband can slip into a coma at any time.

Your

She gets close to him, her stare glacial.

MRS. MALONE

A second opinion. Do you understand?

DOCTORS' LOCKER ROOM, DOORWAY

Jake meets up with Martha, who is just arriving to the OR.

JAKE

Go ahead and get everything ready...

He brushes past.

She hesitates in the doorway, heavy wooden door on her backside.

JAKE

Can you believe it? We have to wait for a

god forsaken second opinion.

He opens his locker and begins undressing.

JAKE

We don’t have time for this. This whole thing-

MARTHA

I would have bet on boxers.

Jake follows her eyes down to his colored briefs. He grins as

the Loudspeaker sounds: Dr. Gibson, call Neuro-ICU. Stat!

JAKE

Shit!

He hurries past Martha and down the corridor.

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

Malone is positioned on the OR table. Martha has assumed her usual

tabletop position. Jake rushes in, his hands and scrub shirts wet with

soapy water. He quickly dries his hands.

The phone RINGS.

JAKE

If that’s Hudley tell him to get his butt down here,

now!Jake is putting on his gloves as the anesthetist waves the phone.

ANESTHETIST

It’s Mr. Brickle, hospital administrator.

Jake continues to drape the sterile field.

ANESTHETIST

He wants you to stop whatever you’re doing

immediately.

JAKE

Tell him I’m little busy.

Jake keeps the anesthetist at his back.

JAKE

Martha, give me the knife. Let’s get going here.

He reaches out his hand.

ANESTHETIST

No, Dr. Gibson. He wants to talk to you. Right now!

The anesthetist dangles the phone over the sterile field.

JAKE

Son of a bitch!

Jake is sterile, but he angrily grabs the phone.

JAKE

Listen, Chad, this guy's dying. I need to operate on

him now, right now. What the hell do you want?

ADMINISTRATOR’S OFFICE

CHAD BRICKLE, silk tie and starched cuffs, is speaking on the speaker

phone, feet up on his desk.

CHAD BRICKLE

I just received a call from Malone’s daughter,

Shannon? I believe you met her in the waiting

room?... You are aware she’s an attorney in her

father’s law firm? She tells me the family has

refused to grant permission for this operation.NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

JAKE

Chad, unless you get off this phone right now, her

father is going to die.

Jake’s words are spoken quietly. surgical team.

The chill of them freezes the

ADMINISTRATOR'S OFFICE

CHAD BRICKLE

Understand this, Jason. I’m on your side... But I

don’t think you understand what you’re getting

yourself into with this particular family.

NEUROSURGERY OPEATING THEATRE

JAKE

Right now, my only concern is to keep my patient

alive.

ADMINISTRATOR’S OFFICE

Brickle drops his feet to the floor and picks up the phone.

CHAD BRICKLE

Then Dr. Gibson, consider yourself warned –

NEUROSURGERY OPERATING THEATRE

Jake SLAMS the phone down.

The room is ghoulishly silent. The operating team members glance at

each other nervously. The anesthetist glares at Jake for a moment,

before settling back into her chair. Better document everything...

When Jake holds out his right hand to Martha, the knife is placed

firmly into his grasp.

He starts to cut...

EXT. JAKE’S CONDO, HOT TUB ON DECK - - NIGHT

Jake is naked. He eases himself down into the hot tub. Water and

steam bath him. As steam SWIRLS he drapes a face cloth over his face

and shuts out the world.

The POUNDING on his front door jars him. For a moment, he sits still.

Then he heaves himself up, pulls on his crumpled scrub pants, and

grabs a towel.

INT. JAKE’S TOWNHOUSEIt is an uncomfortable walk, through the townhouse, wet and chilly.

He passes framed photos of a woman, prominently sitting on a table in

the den. He pulls open the front door.

Martha is standing there, holding newspapers that had piled up at his

door. Jake is holding his towel, the outside chill welting him up in

goose bumps.

JAKE

Martha?

MARTHA

Sorry to bother you, Jake.

Her eyes are focused on his.

MARTHA

May I come in?

Jake steps back. He watches her. His mouth open. She manages a smile.

MARTHA

Guess I caught you at a bad time.

JAKE

No… No…, a good time really. easing out the kinks.

Was in the whirlpool

MARTHA

There were plenty of those today.

Shivering, he ushers her in.

JAKE

Mind if...if I jump back in?

MARTHA

No, not at all... Wouldn’t happen to have

a spare suit... or something... Would ya?

Jake grins, one hand clutching his towel.

JAKE

No... nothing with a top.

He watches her, quizzical, wondering what is going on.MARTHA

Got any beer?

JAKE

Sure. Let me-

MARTHA

Why don’t I get a couple while you go put on trunks...

or something.

JAKE

Good idea.

Jake turns, then turns back.

Jake

Hey, how'd you know where I lived?

Martha smiles.

DECKTOP HOT TUB

Jake finds Martha dangling her feet, chilled beer in hand. Wordlessly

she passes him his beer.

He pops the can open and settles back into the hot, therapeutic,

swirling waters... After a moment, he rides up, suddenly serious.

JAKE

What’s goin' on, Martha?

She meets him head on.

MARTHA

Number of things.

JAKE

Like what?

She sips her beer.

MARTHA

God that’s good.

JAKE

Like what?MARTHA

Who was that guy that barged into the OR tonight?

Jake sits up higher.

JAKE

Name's Salig...Everett Salig.

MARTHA

You handled him well.

Jake looks at her quizzically.

MARTHA

Oh, yeah. Lots of anger. Bitterness, maybe. But you

were good. Didn’t miss a beat getting that clot out.

Smooth. He scuttled out quick.

Jake shifts to face her.

JAKE

He was just a frustrating second opinion.

I’d rather know why you’re here, Martha.

MARTHA

Come on, I know there's more to it than that.

What’s with you and that guy?

He swirls an arm across the water, steam rising, and retrieves his

beer.

JAKE

What’s with Salig?

He takes a swig and watches her.

JAKE

In a nutshell. I met him during my fellowship with

Professor Kordesch in Zurich. My mentor. Kordesch was

amazing. Best in the world. The well-to-do from all

corners of the globe sought him out to operate on

them, or members of their family.

He finishes the last of his beer.

JAKEAnyway, Professor Kordesch gave me this chance to work

on a book with him. On brain tumors. I did the grunt

work. Took months of gathering, collating,

researching... When it was done, passed it on to him

for final review. In fact, we went over the final

draft just before I returned home from Switzerland.

The empty beer can crunches in his hand.

JAKE

A month later, the Professor was found dead in his

office. And the entire manuscript, pictures and all,

vanished.

MARTHA

And?

JAKE

A few months later, it Under guess who's name?..

MARTHA

Everett Salig?.. Oh, my God.

reappeared. In a new textbook.

Jake nods.

Jake

He stole the whole thing, took credit, got his name

on it.

Martha sips her beer.

MARTHA

So what was it called, the book I mean?

JAKE

The Pathophysiologic Basis of CNS Tumors.

Martha’s face turns white.

MARTHA

Dear God, that's famous. That was you?

Jake nods.

MARTHA

Quoted all the time.JAKE

Yup.

MARTHA

And you’ve kept this quiet all these years.

Jake’s smile is bitter.

MARTHA

And then the sonofabitch breaks in on your surgery

tonight.

JAKE

Know the worst part? He published two other landmark

texts after that. Interestingly, the professors

associated with both of them also died suddenly. If

someone were paranoid they could build things on that.

MARTHA

I’m so sorry, Jake.

JAKE

Hey, nurse, how 'bout another brew?

He lifts up. She blocks him.

MARTHA

Stay where you are, doctor. I know where the icebox

is.

Jake leans back and closes his eyes. The pulsating jets.

Martha returns. She kneels behind, and begins to massage his neck.

JAKE

You’re hired. Charge by the hour?

She pushes deeper.

Jake opens his eyes.

JAKE

Why you here, Martha?

MARTHA

Well, I could say it’s because I was worried about

you, the risk you took with the surgery. And I could

say it was me fumbling the ball, not telling you about

Hudley’s

botched closing, but-

Jake elbows himself up.

JAKE

But?

MARTHA

But...I...I guess I can’t hold it in any more.

Jake waits.

MARTHA

I - I care about you, Jake.

JAKE

Martha -

MARTHA

No...I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, a

very long time. My life with Howard is...well

sterile and empty..., and hey, now the beer...

She lets loose her hands to graze his back.

MARTHA

You're the kindest, most considerate... What you did

tonight showed unbelievable courage. I think you're

just the-

She finds his shoulders.

MARTHA

I just want you to know how strongly I feel about you.

Jake closes his eyes, Martha’s fingers caressing beneath swirling

waters.

Then Martha is close, so close, and he takes her in.

EXT. DOCTOR’S PARKING LOT - - MORNING

Jake puts his car into its familiar curve into the lot, tires GRINDING

over patches of gravel, then he HITS THE BRAKES. A yellow Corvette

with license plate -- Hudley-- is in his spot. His Firestones SQUEAL

as he finds an unassigned slot and parks.INT. NEURO ICU

There is quiet under the subdued HUM of equipment and the BEEP of

monitors. Nurses move around on practical shoes.

At Malone’s room Jake hesitates, then goes in.

MALONE’S ROOM

Malone is sitting up in bed having breakfast.

JAKE

Good mornin', Mitch.

His head is wrapped, left eye swollen nearly shut.

MALONE

Morning. You a doctor?

JAKE

That’s right.

Jake watches him sip apple juice, the pale eyes not leaving his face.

JAKE

Know what’s happened to you?

MALONE

Some of it. Not much. Nobody talks around here.

JAKE

You were in court the day before yesterday and

suffered a burst aneurysm. Yesterday morning we

operated to fix actually a couple of dangerous weak

spots. Unfortunately, a few hours after surgery, you

developed a clot.

MALONE

Those are bad.

JAKE

Right. Looking at you this morning though, looks like

you came through just fine.

MALONE

So, you the surgeon?Jake nods.

MALONE

Wait a minute...

Malone fingers his head dressing.

MALONE

A good sign, I guess.

JAKE

What?

MALONE

It's coming back... We met before.

Jake watches him.

MALONE

The Kincaid case. You’re Jake Gibson.

Jake smiles.

MALONE

I’ll be damned... So what now?

Malone pushes up in bed.

JAKE

Now? Well, you need a few weeks of rest and

recuperation. You’ve been through two serious

operations. Fact is, you almost died last night.

MALONE

Bullshit. I need to get the hell out'a here.

Malone pulls irritably at the IV stuck in his arm.

MALONE

Get back to my court cases –

As Malone attempts to sit up in bed, Jake gruffly flips the chart

closed and stands erect, staring down at him.

After a brief look back, Malone grimaces and settles back in his bed.

Jake reopens the chart and studies the stats.

JAKE

Family been by this morning?Malone suddenly gets interested in his liquid breakfast. look up as Jake is summoned outside the room.

He doesn’t

CHAIRMAN WILSON is surrounded by the surgical housestaff.

WILSON

Jason, what you did last night was irresponsible and

unconscionable. What in the hell were you thinking?

Jake watches the tightly drawn face, his own words bottled up in

surprise.

WILSON

You nearly cost this poor man his life, and you really

pissed off the hospital administrator.

JAKE

Vince, you know what's important to an administrator.

WILSON

Chad Brickle was merely doing his job. know, he wants me to suspend your privileges...

You should

JAKE

What? Jesus Christ -

Jake’s anger coils like a snake. But he keeps it at bay.

WILSON

How could you get the department involved in this

thing?

JAKE

Vince, the patient's doing fine. Take a look for

yourself. I did what I had to under the

circumstances. Do you know all that happened?

WILSON

Dr. Hudley has filled me in. There’s nothing

more to discuss, especially here and now.

Jake fights off the wicked stares of those standing around.

WILSON

The hospital executive committee is investigating this

matter and will make its recommendations. Until then,why don’t you take some time off?

Wilson moves towards the next patient's room.

JAKE

Time off?

Jake’s tone is bitter.

WILSON

You’re leaving for Washington this afternoon, aren’t

Why not lay low next week? Go sit on a beach

you? somewhere.

JAKE

Sit on a beach?

WILSON

God knows you deserve a vacation.

Jake stares into Wilson’s bifocals.

JAKE

Sit on a beach. Vince... Sonofabitch.

The chairman stares back, then abruptly turns and walks away.

INT. MASCOUTAH COMMUNITY HOSPITAL- ER

HOWIE CARR MD is standing at the side of a very ill, elderly patient's

bed, observing the ER Chief Doctor instruct his staff on a new

protocol.

CHIEF DOCTOR

As you can see, this is the ideal candidate for the

new Expercare Steroid Randomization Study. According

to the protocol, eligible patients must be elderly

with an acute life-threatening illness.

Howie Carr nods his head.

CHIEF DOCTOR

Your job is to simply administer the drug

according to the prescribed dosage regimen.

The head doctor injects an orange drug into the man's IV. The syringe

is labelled SUBSTANCE P in large red letters.Howie Carr watches very carefully.

CHIEF DOCTOR

And absolutely no complications have thus far been

reported.

Howie Carr, the head doctor, and other staff members move on to

another patient and begin discussing the case. Unnoticed to them, the

first patient suffers a sudden respiratory arrest.

WILSON’S OFFICE

Wilson thrusts past Jake with a critical look and pushes the door to

his office open.

Jake follows him in and closes the door.

JAKE

Vince, I really need to speak to you about this.

Wilson sits at his desk. His southern accent is deepened with anger

and frustration.

WILSON

Jason, what were you thinking? You're the heir

apparent of this department. Why would you put your

career and the entire department in such danger?

Jake takes a seat in front of him.

JAKE

Vince. I did what I had to to save a man’s life.

Wilson’s jaw tightens.

WILSON

I know. Believe you me, I’ve heard all about it.

Jake bends forward in his seat.

JAKE

Listen Vince, who's feeding you this stuff? Hudley?

WILSON

Dr. Hudley warned me that you would

try and find a way to blame all of this on him.

Jake pushes back in his seat, anger barely controlled.

JAKEVince, that’s crap. You know that I -

The KNOCK on the door is ugly, not to be denied. before Jake can reach for it.

Martha’s husband, Howard Crane, lunges in. and tailored in his business suit.

The door SWINGS open

He stands there, handsome

CRANE

Dr. Wilson, there's something I want you to know-

His eyes find Jake. He is off balance at seeing him.

CRANE

About a member of your department.

Jake stands up.

JAKE

Mr. Crane –

CRANE

Shut up, you lousy son of a bitch! Just shut your god-

damned mouth!

Chairman Wilson stands up.

CRANE

Dr. Wilson, my wife got home at 6 a.m. this

morning after spending the night with this asshole.

Howard Crane has control now.

CRANE

She’s decided to leave me. Says she wants a divorce.

EXT. DOCTOR’S PARKING LOT - - DAYTIME

Jake is walking in the parking lot. Hudley's yellow Corvette is gone

from his slot. In its place is a silver Rolls Royce, license- ERS.

INT. CRANE MANSION

A fully outfitted maid greets Jake at the massive entrance and directs

him into the foyer. He watches her walk away on quiet steps. He looks

around... Marble floors, fine woods, antiques.

Martha appears at the top of the stairs. She wears a casual loose

fitting silken jumpsuit. She stands for a moment, caught in

chandelier light, her eyes puffed and red.MARTHA

You shouldn’t have come here.

JAKE

We need to talk.

When she comes to him she takes his arm and guides him into her

husband’s study. A layering of tobacco hangs in the air.

JAKE

I have something I need to say. What happened last

night was my responsibility. I’m so very sorry –

She still holds his arm, now she squeezes it until he stops talking.

MARTHA

Look, Jake. There’s nothing to be sorry for.

I came to you; I knew what I was doing...

It was a night I’ll treasure always.

Jake stares at her husband’s chair, taking in its heavy leather and

bulk. Everything else in the room implodes around it.

JAKE

Martha, I don’t want to come between you and –

She releases her grasp.

MARTHA

I was leaving Howard long before last night.

She pushes the words out.

MARTHA

I’m going home. I need to be away for a while.

She looks away.

MARTHA

Once I’m gone, things will settle down for you. You’ll

be able to get your life back to normal.

JAKE

I doubt it. I’ve been suspended.

Martha’s eyes come back.MARTHA

Over last night? Thought Malone was doing fine?

JAKE

He is.

MARTHA

Then I’m confused.

JAKE

Our friend Hudley must of given Wilson an earful.

Something’s going on, Martha, behind the scenes.

MARTHA

Wouldn’t be the first time.

Martha’s voice is sour.

MARTHA

Look, you don’t have anything to worry about.

She takes his hand.

MARTHA

You’re one of the finest neurosurgeons in the world.

Everything will work out in the end.

JAKE

But I don’t want you to leave.

MARTHA

I know. But I have to.

Jake watches her eyes.

She squeezes his hand tighter.

MARTHA

Dear Jake. You don’t see it, do you? Master of

medicine, prince of control, gifted beyond belief -

you don’t see it.

Her hand comes up and touches his face.

MARTHAI’m in love with you, Jake. been for a very long time.

Totally in love and have

JAKE

Oh God, Martha.

MARTHA

Last night was what I dreamed of. Something

to take with me. I’ll remember it always.

She pinches his cheek.

MARTHA

You in a swimsuit.

Jake manages a grin.

JAKE

Different from greens.

MARTHA

Much.

JAKE

You’re a helluva nurse, Martha. you?

How will I replace

MARTHA

I want to be more than that, Jake.

JAKE

You are... You know you are.

She pushes back on a RUSTLE of silk.

MARTHA

Look, I’d better get back to packing things.

Now get out of here.

Jake takes in her words.

She forces a smile.

MARTHA

I’ll be okay, Jake.

JAKE

I know.

He slowly retraces his steps to the foyer. He stands there for a

moment.

Then he retraces his steps to the study.

He brushes by her, then gathers her in his arms

JAKE

I didn’t even kiss you.

MARTHA

Oh, Jake.

He sweeps her up and kisses her.

MARTHA

Jake, I’m not asking for anything –

JAKE

Finish packing. There’s a slight change in plans.

MARTHA

Jake!

JAKE

How would you like to spend an evening with

the President of the United States?

EXT. WHITE HOUSE - - EARLY EVENING

The White House offers its elegance and magic from the moment they

drive up. The famous facade and portal.

INT. WHITE HOUSE

History lives here, embedded in the walls, in the sweep of curtain and

stately oils and busts of famous men.

The formal dining room is packed. Two dozen of the country’s top

doctors and guests.

Jake accepts champagne from a passing waiter.

JAKE

Excited?

MARTHA

Are you kidding? I’m supposed to be on my way home.Jake squeezes her hand.

MARTHA

It’s overwhelming, Jake.

They are shown to their seats. On their table gleam silverware and

crystal and china. Napkins are enfolded in gleaming rings. Jake looks

around. Surgeons, many world famous, settle in their chairs.

He glances at Martha and takes her hand under the table.

JAKE

I’m a little nervous about all this.

MARTHA

Why?

JAKE

My speech tomorrow. Gonna ruffle a few feathers.

MARTHA

You’re on a Select Commission, Jake. You’re

not alone in your thinking on modern medicine.

JAKE

I know, but –

The President and First Lady enter the dining hall and move to the

head table. The impact is immediate. Everyone stands on command.

PRESIDENT RICHARD MAUSER smiles and nods.

When everyone is settled he speaks from the podium. His distinctive

voice carries on its regional accent.

PRESIDENT MAUSER

Ladies and gentlemen. It is my special privilege this

evening to welcome you to the White House. It is

certainly an honor for me to be in the presence of

what may well be the finest group of doctors every

assembled...

All eyes remain fixed on the most powerful man on earth.

Jake again finds Martha’s hand. When he glances at her he finds her

smiling at him.

PRESIDENT MAUSER

I especially look forward to your presentations

morning before the special congressional

tomorrow committee...There is polite applause.

Jake rises with the others. He looks at Martha.

JAKE

Going to try and have a quick word with him.

MARTHA

What - now?

JAKE

Others are. Just a quick word.

MARTHA

Hope he doesn’t catch your shoes.

Martha grins at his Air Jordans.

JAKE

Be right back.

Jake steps to the podium. He waits for a famous heart surgeon to

finish his comments, then he slips in and faces President Mauser. The

President’s distinctive smile softens the impact.

JAKE

Mr. President, as a member of your select commission,

I'm grateful for your support for change in the health

professions.

The President’s dark eyes drive into him and find his guest badge.

PRESIDENT MAUSER

Well, thank you Dr. Gibson. I'm glad to have

all you fine physicians on the commission.

The dark eyes lose some of their humor as he looks around.

PRESIDENT MAUSER

You must forgive me, Dr. Gibson . . .

JAKE

Of course, Mr. President.

Jake steps back as other tuxedoed bodies press forward.

Martha’s eyes never leave him.EXT. TAXI CAB - - NIGHT

The ride back to Georgetown is serene. take the scenic route along the Potomac. Jake has the limousine driver

A full moon reflects on

George Washington’s favorite river.

Martha lowers the window a little. A faint breeze USHERED IN from the

Chesapeake. Soft jazz on the radio. She leans back, content.

JAKE

Going back over it all?

MARTHA

Savoring it, is the word.

JAKE

Quite a night.

He puts his arm around her. She smiles.

JAKE

I think I could get used to this.

He pulls her head to his shoulders.

JAKE

It’s amazing, I’ve been searching for something my

whole life. Never realized how close it was.

They find each other’s eyes under the D.C. skyline.

INT. HOTEL ROOM

Jake closes the door to their hotel room and takes Martha in his arms.

He kisses her then, drawing in the warmth of her, the soft breath of

her.

She presses into him, contouring her body against his.

JAKE

Oh, God, Martha . . .

A natural flow of movement and emotion, kissing and clutching. They

fumble with each other’s clothing, seeking out flesh and intimacy.

Hungry mouths exploring, fingers caressing, a slow build of urgency.

He lifts her to bed.

MARTHAI love you, Jake.

She draws him down onto her.

JAKE

Martha –

MARTHA

Don’t talk. Just make love to me.

FLASHBACK: For a moment Jeanne, the woman in the photographs, is

there, a shimmering presence behind his eyes. Then she is gone.

Jake and Martha make love.

EXT. CAPITAL BUILDING - - MORNING

The capital gleams in the morning sun, its rotunda white and elegant.

Tourists stream across the steps. Cameras wink in the sunlight.

Flowers bloom, catching the light breeze.

INT. CONGRESSIONAL CHAMBER- SUBCOMMITTEE MEETING ROOM

There is dark wood, seasoned by time and oratory.

The house members are seated up front.

Against a background of fitful COUGHING, the muffled BANG of iron and

wood as chairs are lifted, Dr. Jason Gibson sorts his notes at the

long table in the speaking well...

Far up in the gallery is Martha.

The subcommittee chairman TAPS his microphone.

CHAIRMAN

Members of the committee and invited guests, it is my

privilege to introduce the members of the special

Health Care Commission. Here today as guests of the

President.

He turns from the microphone and clears his throat.

CHAIRMAN

Most of you are probably familiar with the career of

Dr. Jason P. Gibson. Author of over twenty books and

almost two hundred papers. He has taught at nearly

every major medical center. . .

Jake shuffles in his seat.

CHAIRMAN

He has operated on numerous celebrities, corporate

leaders, and professional people from around theworld. I would like to add, on a personal note, he

is a hero and a great friend.

Jake rises from his seat and walks to the podium.

In the gallery Martha follows him with a smile.

Jake stares down at the podium. Here, in front of the gleaming chrome

of the microphone, he knows a first unease.

JAKE

Ladies and gentlemen, we work in an era in which the

fundamental principles that sustain the profession of

medicine are being threatened. We have moved from the

foundational philosophy that caring for someone in

need is among the most elementary of human instincts.

An individual’s need to be cared for the most cardinal

of human rights...

Photographers move in, kneeling, fiddling with their cameras. Jake

holds tight to the microphone.

JAKE

As we are all aware, the last several decades have

witnessed an unprecedented explosion in health-related

technology. We can only marvel at the number of lives

that have been saved by these miraculous advances. . .

Jake blinks to the FLASHES of cameras.

JAKE

Still, these devices have altered, or as some might

say, ‘mutated’ the current professional oath of

medicine, such that it currently reads ‘dedicated to

providing care for a price.’ Capitalism has been

woven into the very fabric of medical care. To

transform the acquisition of care from a right to a

privilege, and the delivery of care from a privilege

to a right. It seems today, more often than not, we

hear ‘How are you going to pay for this?. . .’

He pauses and looks around.

JAKE

Rather than ‘How can I be of help.’

A first slight STIR in the audience. Members of the audience move

uncertainly, occasionally glancing at each other as cameras CLICK.

Jake stands erect, his hands gripping the podium.

JAKEWe must ask ourselves: who is responsible for this

blue-chip metamorphosis in medical care? Are the

instrument and equipment manufacturers whose huge

margins propel them higher on the list of profitable

corporations each year at fault? How about the mammoth

health insurance industry that invests far more time

and effort into their bottom-line than quality

assurance?

Droplets of sweat on his forehead gleam in the light.

JAKE

Then of course let’s not forget the profit-at-all-cost

hospitals. The big national chains and their

newfangled alliances. Ringing up large cash surpluses

in the setting of patient care. And what about our

dutifully elected public officials and government

agencies? Who respond far more readily to lobbyists

and special interests, than to the plain and simple

welfare of their constituents.

Television lenses focus in. He is hot now, the press smells blood.

In the audience of physicians and dignitaries there is the first

GRUMBLING. Most of it comes from the commission members’ table.

Jake pushes on. His throat is dry.

JAKE

The most important issue facing American

medicine today?

He pauses and looks around.

JAKE

I believe it’s profitability. The future of medicine

demands that we restore its foundation of caring. We

must stop its economic erosion. We must patch up the

deep fissures caused by greed . . .

The House members SHUFFLE about in their seats.

Jake takes water as he watches a few of them stand and converse.

JAKE

I present a short list of recommendations.

First, consumers must retain the right to the highest

quality care regardless of their ability to pay.

Second, practitioner's compensation must be derived

exclusively from the direct rendering of patient

care... At a level consistent with the Oath of

Hippocrates.

And third, corporate entities providing health

services, insurance, equipment, supplies,pharmaceuticals - must be kept not for profit . . . We

cannot permit the future of U.S. healthcare to be

bartered away on Wall Street and sold to the highest

bidder.

There is only a scattering of applause. gallery. Martha stands and CLAPS.

Most of it from the visitor’s

INT. MASCOUTAH COUNTY HOSPITAL ER

Howie Carr MD is injecting a seriously ill, elderly patient's IV with

an orange drug. As the injection finishes, the patient suddenly sits

up in his bed and suffers a respiratory arrest. Howie Carr calls a

code and begins CPR.

The syringe laying on a nearby table is labelled in big red letters-

Substance P.

INT. JAKE’S CONDO - - EARLY MORNING

Jake wakes up sensing a different feel to his bedroom. Martha’s black

evening dress lies rumpled by a chair. Her suitcase sits partially

opened. Her presence next to him, her steady breathing.

He turns toward her as quietly as he can and lies watching her, the

back of her head bending into the pillow beside him.

The alarm clock TICKS beside the bed and the framed photo.

The KNOCK on the door is loud.

Jake shuts off the alarm. Gently he lifts the sheets and swings off

the bed.

INT. JAKE'S CONDO, FRONT DOOR

He pulls the door open to a dank daybreak.

MAN

Dr. Jason Gibson?

Jake sticks his head out, taking in the raincoat and wrinkled collar.

JAKE

That’s right. There an emergency?

MAN

Dr. Gibson, I have been retained to deliver

this to you, personally.

Jake is thrust a subpoena. White, clean, not wrinkled.

He stands there in his Viking’s shirt and baseball cutoffs. He

watches the man walk away course and unshaven, double-parked, engine

RUNNING.

Disgustedly he shuts the door.JAKE'S CONDO, STAIRWAY

Halfway up the stairs, he encounters Martha. his dress shirts.

Dwarfed inside one of

MARTHA

What is it, babe?

She is rubbing her eyes.

JAKE

Some kind of subpoena. Looks like Malone is suing me.

MARTHA

Well-

Martha speaks dryly.

MARTHA

At least your instincts were right.

Jake unleashes it over the banister.

They return to the king-sized satin sheets.

NEUROSURGERY WARD

Jake reviews the record as he heads for Malone’s room.

A large handwritten sign is on the door: NO VISITORS.

Jake KNOCKS and goes in.

HOSPITAL ROOM

Malone sits next to his bed in an oversized recliner. He is talking

on the phone as he pokes with his fork at a gourmet breakfast.

Hudley is sitting on the hospital bed, working studiously on a stack

of unbound papers.

Jake FLIPS the chart closed, placing it on his hip. He stays apart

from the bed.

Malone hangs up and reaches for his coffee.

JAKE

Morning, Mitch. You look much improved.

MALONE

That’s right - thanks to the good Dr. Hudley, here.

Jake keeps his friendly look, avoiding Hudley.

JAKEI see you’re mobile, using the phone.

MALONE

Right. And with Hudley’s permission I’m going home

today and will be back in the office next week. A

light load, of course.

JAKE

Now look…

Jake pitches an ugly look at Hudley.

JAKE

It’s important we go slowly here –

MALONE

Listen, Gibson. I don’t think you’re in a position to

give me advice. Got the subpoena yet?

Jake pushes a response out.

JAKE

Yup.

MALONE

Good. The guy knew his job. You doctors are hard to

catch.

Jake looks at Hudley.

JAKE

I think you owe me an explanation –

MALONE

He owes you Jack shit!

Malone shoves the plate aside.

MALONE

This whole thing is really very simple... Through your

negligence a life threatening complication occurred in

a poor, defenseless patient.

The lawyer’s words are fluent, courtroom seasoned.

Your actions necessitated a second dangerous operation

- one performed against the family’s wishes. It’s

plain to me, Gibson, that, once again, you’re guilty

of gross malpractice, and that I and my next of kin

are in line to receive adequate compensation.

Jake shakes his head.

JAKE

I can’t believe what I’m hearing here.

MALONE

Oh, believe it, Gibson, believe it. You have the

subpoena.

JAKE

I acted in your best interests.

MALONE

Really, well you’ll find my claims are

supported by expert witnesses.

Malone stretches his neck towards Hudley...

Before Jake can respond, Malone’s nurse enters. fear.

Her face shows some

NURSE

Dr. Gibson, Dr. Wilson’s secretary just called.

You’re wanted down in his office immediately.

DR. WILSON’S OFFICE

Jake walks right in.

DR. WILSON

Sit down, Jason.

Jake sits and waits.

Wilson sits solemnly behind his desk, hands enfolded.

DR. WILSON

Jason, I want you to know firsthand that I am totally

on your side. You have my full support, and in the

future –

JAKEIn the future?

Jake leans forward.

JAKE

What's going on Vince?

DR. WILSON

I tried to reach you in Washington –

JAKE

What is it?

DR. WILSON

I must suspend your hospital privileges-

JAKE

What!

DR. WILSON

Indefinitely. have no other alternative.

I’m sorry, Jason, I really am, but I

Jake stands up.

DR. WILSON

A civil lawsuit was filed late Friday against the

medical center. On behalf of your patient, Mitch

Malone. Claiming negligence on your part in his

surgeries. I imagine you’ve already been served?

Jake stands stone-faced.

DR. WILSON

The initial impression of the university’s legal

experts is that this action is not defensible. As a

result, I have been instructed by the dean to suspend

your hospital privileges. Indefinitely.

Jake’s face reddens; his head pounding.

JAKE

So what am I supposed to do?

The chairman sits straight in his tall leather chair, RAPPING his

fountain pen.

Jake shakes his head.

JAKEYou want me out? Is that it Vince?

DR. WILSON

You left me no choice, Jake. You and your bull-headed

approach to things. I have to think about the

department. I have a responsibility.

We have a reputation.

Dr. Wilson flips a headhunter's query Jake's way.

Mt. Pleasant seeks qualified Neurosurgeon. Beautiful Washington

State.

Dr. WILSON

interview you Hill. Told them you were I'd give 'em a call. By the way, local television

stations have been calling. Wanted to

about your speech on Capital

too busy today.

Jake curls his lip. He is ready to leave as the office door is SHOVED

OPEN. Again it is Howard Crane, again the malevolent voice.

Jake braces himself.

HOWARD CRANE

Sorry to barge in like this again, Dr. Wilson, but I

need to drop this off.

Crane shoves a crisply folded document into Jake’s hand. very low and controlled.

His voice is

HOWARD CRANE

I wanted to deliver this to you personally, Gibson.

I’m suing you for every last penny you have, you son

of a bitch. I’m going to fucking destroy you!

JAKE

Better get in line, Howard.

Jake slips the document into his coat pocket and leaves.

INT. MASCOUTAH COUNTY EMREGENCY ROOM-

Howie Carr MD is injecting an elderly, moribound patient with an

orange drug. The syringe is labelled SUBSTANCE P. A few minutes later,

he is examining another patient in a nearby room when the elderly

patient suffers a respiratory arrest. Dr. Carr attempts to revive him.

EXT. MT. PLEASANT INN: - MORNING

Pine trees and snow covered mountains line the background.Jake and Martha are holding hands. Jake holds up for Martha's view the

same headhunting brochure. Mt. Pleasant seeks qualified

neurosurgeon... For further information contact Dr. George Black.

DR. GEORGE BLACK pulls into the parking lot, POUNDING the air with his

car horn. He is behind the wheel of a dusty Lincoln continental, a

vehicle that looks out of place.

INT. DR. BLACK’S CAR

He motions for Jake and Martha to climb into the back seat as he

shuffles x-ray folders and office charts to create space. The whole

car interior is untidy. Martha gags to the smell of urine.

She gives Jake shorthand messages with her eyes, while she leans

forward and shakes hands with Black.

The doctor is a distinguished looking man, a contrast with his car’s

care. He has a round face and fine wiry mustache.

As they drive through town, Dr. Black makes it obvious that the view

of the countryside, the pine trees, the snow on distant mountains, are

not of main interest.

He brandishes a file of IRS 1040 forms.

DR. BLACK

We'd love for you to come here. Go ahead, take a

look.

Jake angles the files so that Martha can see. yearly net income in excess of $5.5 million.

Jake and Martha's eyes meet.

The good doctor had a

INT. SMALL PLANE - - AFTERNOON

As the single engine plane banks away from the town below, Jake turns

to Martha.

JAKE

Well? practice.

What do you think? It'd be a beautiful place to

MARTHA

I know. But I have a queasy feeling.

JAKE

Like when Hudley fumbled that stitch?

Martha takes his hand.

MARTHA

Just a gut feeling. How 'bout you?

Jake shakes his head.

JAKEHe sure wants us to come. And I don't know about you,

but I need that right now.

Jake squeezes the wooden crucifix inside his pocket.

Int. Town hall- day

Jake and Martha are married in an unadorned civil ceremony.

INT. MT. PLEASANT: NEW HOME - - DAY

Jake and Martha are moving into a beautiful new home.

Alpine motif, rolling hills and snow-covered mountains surrounding.

EXT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL - - DAY

Two story quaint hospital set on Main Street

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL - OPERATING ROOM

Jake is operating, surrounded by nurses and anesthesia.

Two doctors are looking in on the procedure from outside the room.

DOCTOR 1

What happened to this patient?

DOCTOR 2

Jounced his snowmobile while drag racing in the fog on

Lake Shasta. Got a broken and dislocated neck, near-

total paralysis of his arms and legs.

DOCTOR 1

Who's this Gibson? Where'd he come from?

DOCTOR 2

country. Supposedly one of the best neurosurgeons in the

Black brought him in from Missouri.

DOCTOR 1

Why'd he come here?

DOCTOR 2

Malpractice problems I heard.

DOCTOR 1

What’s he trying to do?DOCTOR 2

Remove the crushed spine segment and replace it with a

bone graft from his hip. Never attempted in Mount

Pleasant before now.

The two doctors raise their eyebrows.

Unbeknownst to them, George Black is listening in their conversation

from nearby. His look is sinister.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL ER

Jake is examining a boy on a stretcher with a nurse at his side.

JAKE

Got a skull fracture and a dilated pupil. Classic

acute epidural hematoma. Let's get moving!

The nurse appears dumbfounded.

JAKE

A blood clot is forming between the brain and the

skull. Putting pressure on the brain.

Jake studies the blank look on her face.

JAKE

He will die if we don’t get it out immediately. the OR. Let's move!

Call

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL OPERATING ROOM CORRIDOR

The boy arrives in the operating room, his ER stretcher changes hands

without stopping.

INT. OPERATING ROOM

The boy is hastily positioned on an OR table.

Jake points with his index finger to map out the area of interest on

the skull to the OR team. He directs the shaving, prepping and

sterilization procedure while he scrubs his hands.

As he dries his hands on a sterile towel, he speaks into frenzied

activity.

JAKE

start? Okay, everybody, have we gotten ourselves together

enough to do this? Are you'all prepared to

Can we get this thing going... or not?

There are blank and confused looks. There is SCURRYING and FUMBLING,perhaps stampeded by his words. There is the BANGING of sanitized

trays and the CLANG of dropped metal as delicate instruments crash to

the floor.

After gloving, Jake snatches a #21 scalpel and empty handle from the

scrub nurse’s poorly laid out table, assembles the two, and with one

precise movement slices through all layers of scalp. Bright red

blood spurts from the tissue margins.

A surgical assistant FUMBLES the hemostat clamps for Jake to place

along the cut edges. Jake pushes his hands away and performs the

opening himself. No assistance...

The scalp is fully opened and its layers retracted to expose a large

enough portion of the underlying skull bone.

JAKE

Now we’re getting somewhere-

Jake mutters behind his mask.

JAKE

Okay, let’s have the power drill.

Jake holds his opened hand out impatiently.

NURSE

Sorry, doctor, it’s not in the room.

JAKE

All right then, give me the perforator.

NURSE

Doctor, that isn’t here either –

JAKE

What! Listen, this kid is dying by the minute.

Jake glares at the masked faces, empty hand still outstretched.

JAKE

I need to get a hole in this child's head and right

this damned second!

NURSE

Sorry doctor, it’ll be at least fifteen

minutes before the drill is sterile.It’s being

flashed.Jake closes his eyes against the madness.

JAKE

I need something right now-

ANESTHETIST

Blood pressure is falling.

JAKE

I need something to make an opening in this kid’s

skull. Where in God’s name is your perforator?

He attempts to control his voice.

It is several moments before the nurse in charge responds.

NURSE

We don’t know, doctor, no one can seem to locate it.

Sweat trickles down Jake’s temple. He takes a deep breath while he

thinks.

JAKE

All right. Get me a small bone chisel and a mallet.

Seconds later a set of crude carpenter’s tools are unwrapped

and handed to him.

Jake CHISELS AWAY a small opening in the side of the skull. After a

few repetitive, clinically precise chops, dark red blood spurts

through an irregular hole in the bone.

JAKE

Walter Dandy would be proud.

That is when the drill arrives.

Jake sucks in against his wet mask.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL RECOVERY ROOM

Jake enters to speak to the child's parents.

JAKE

The clot's out. He should be OK.

MOTHER

Wait a minute...We don’t understand...The child’s mother stammers.

MOTHER

Some doctor called in and said that my boy...our son-

Her body is shaking.

MOTHER

He said there was no chance he would ever...

The child’s father is forced to continue.

FATHER

He said they weren’t able to get the clot out

quickly enough.

INT. MT. PLEASANT CLINIC, JAKE’S OFFICE - - NIGHT

Jake is working in his office catching up on paperwork. A heavy rain

is FALLING, and there are flashes of lightning.

That is when he sees it, something positioned under file folders, a

gleaming edge catching lamplight.

As he lifts files and journals to look underneath, he finds the

stainless steel skull perforator.

A handwritten note is attached:

Hey, Big Shot Brain Surgeon- Looking for this?

Some things are just never around when you need them.

Underscores the value of being a team player, right?

Several bright flashes carom against dark cloud and rain SLUICES down.

Thunder REVERBERATES on the panes of glass. The lights go out.

Jake's hands are shaking as he gets up and leaves his office.

Lightning offers a jagged light in the darkness, then thunder ROLLS

again.

Jake leaves the deserted building in a panic.

INT. MT. PLEASANT CLINIC – DOCTOR’S OFFICES

Jake presses the wooden crucifix inside his pocket, withdraws his hand

and goes into George Black’s office.

George looks up at him as Jake quietly closes the door behind him.

JAKE

We have to talk, George.

BLACK

Oh?

JAKEThings are going on around here that I don’t like.

BLACK

That so.

George stands up behind his desk.

BLACK

So you want to quit, that it?

JAKE

I made a mistake coming here-

BLACK

Really, Gibson? And just where in hell do you plan to

practice your oh, so noble profession? Doesn’t seem

to me as if you have many choices. You get that, Dr.

High and Mighty?

Jake appears ready to just walk away.

BLACK

You better wake up fast, my friend-

George comes around from behind his desk. He stares deep into Jake’s

eyes.

BLACK

Did you know even your own chairman has given up on

you?

JAKE

That’s bullshit.

BLACK

Really?

George pulls open a file drawer and offers Jake a letter.

December 8

Mr. Henry Sorrentino

Administrator - Mount Pleasant Hospital

Dear Sir:

I’m writing in response to your request for a recommendation regarding

Jason P. Gibson M.D., former professor of neurosurgery in my

department. Unfortunately, I find it virtually impossible to provide

a favorable impression of this colleague. In fact, I have recently

withdrawn my

support for his continued membership in the Cushing Society and for

his renewed credentials before the American Board of Neurosurgery.

Sincerely,

Vincent R. Wilson, M. D.

Jake swallows hard, hands the letter back to George, and leaves the

office.

EXT. SEQUILLA FOREST - - DAY

At the local timber company, the most limber of the tree cutters is

scaling a gigantic sequoia trunk and attaching a rope near the top.

The cinching rope slips. The trunk breaks loose and the man has his

cranium trapped and crushed.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL, EMERGENCY ROOM

Jake is examining a man with a crushed skull. As he lifts the head

dressing, huge clumps of brain material seep out from beneath.

The faces of the staff in the ER reflect hopelessness.

Jake inspects the EEG. Flat line.

INT. JAKE AND MARTHA’S HOME - - LIVING ROOM

Jake and Martha are together on the porch, in a lounge chair.

MARTHA

Jake?

JAKE

What?

MARTHA

We’ve got to get out of here, you’ve got to quit.

This place, this man - there’s evil here.

JAKE

Got to hang on a little longer, Martha.

There are lawsuits, we just need to hang on.

MARTHA

The Malone trial is coming up. Why don't we just head

back home?

She reaches across for his hand.MARTHA

I worry about you.

Jake gets a stat call on his cell.

SENORITA GOMEZ, evening nurse supervisor at the hospital, can barely

get her words out in English.

GOMEZ

Dr. Gibson, I don’t think anyone has spoken to the

family about what's going on!

JAKE

I spoke to them myself. They agreed. No problem.

GOMEZ

Oh, thank God. I was concerned. You know, sometimes

Dr. Black doesn’t let families know –

JAKE

Dr. Black?

Jake is on his feet.

GOMEZ

He rushed the patient to surgery!

JAKE

What do you mean, he took my patient to surgery? does he have to do with organ harvesting?

What

GOMEZ

Dr. Gibson, Dr. Black canceled all that. man in the operating room for a craniotomy!

He’s got the

When Jake tries to turn the phone off, it slips free. Martha picks it

up.

JAKE

It’s Black. Martha’s hand goes to her mouth.

JAKE

He’s doing a craniotomy on a dead man.I need to get back to the hospital.

Martha is already headed toward the door.

MARTHA

Come on. I’ll drive you.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL OPERATING ROOM

Jake rushes along the operating room corridor and looks through an OR

door, into a room. His hands are shaking noticeably. Dr. Black is

inside operating. Finally he pushes the door open and enters.

JAKE

George, what are you doing?

George lets his bloody hands drop away from the patient's head.

BLACK

What am I doing? save this man’s life!

Pretty obvious, isn’t it? Trying to

JAKE

For Christ’s sake, George! He's got a flat EEG and no

brain activity! Why in the world would –

BLACK

Why? I’ll tell you why, Gibson. Because in this day

age, every dying patient has a right to an

and operation.

He points his finger, blood dripping.

BLACK

What a total fuck up you are! I guess we all know why

you got your butt kicked out of Missouri! Now get the

hell out of my operating room before I have your ass

thrown out of here!

INT. COURTROOM - ST LOUIS, MISSOURI

Jake sits at the defendant’s table with his lawyer, CALLAHAN. Still

wet behind the ears and clearly outclassed by the plaintiff team.

Mitch Malone, elegant in an expensive suit, stands at the plaintiff's

table. A batch of lawyers is gathered around him, deferential,

tentative, waiting, stacks of file folders at arms length.

Seated are Malone’s daughter, Shannon, and another partner in the

firm, M. L. AUCLAIR. He is a balding man, going to fat around hismiddle. He has a permanent suntan acquired in tropical places. His

crocodile boots are famous in the lawyer trade.

Just behind Mitch Malone’s table are: David Hudley and the

sleek Everett Salig.

Scattered around the audience are colleagues and friends: Vincent

Wilson. And beside him, there is Midge Stone.

Jake searches for Jeanne who isn’t there.

He looks back at Martha, seated just behind the defendant’s table,

smiling.

The trial has gained national attention. Evidenced by the huddled

reporters inside and satellite trucks outside.

Video cameras are in place overhead. Jake frowns into one.

NEWS REPORTER (OUTSIDE REPORTING INTO A CAMERA)

M.L.Auclair This trial pits the flamboyant, experienced

against the raw rookie Callahan...

The chamber door OPENS at precisely 9 A.M.

BAILIFF

All Stand.

The bailiff’s announcement carries across the courtroom.

Judge ABIGAIL TILLMAN sweeps in. Approaching sixty, silver haired,

resonant of voice, her composure in her floor length robe immediately

dominates the proceedings.

Malone and Callahan approach the bench.

Jake looks back at Martha. He watches the private smile, the hand

patting her nesting belly.

Callahan is back and pulling at Jake's shoulder.

CALLAHAN

There's been a development. We need to talk...

Outside in the hallway.

Jake stands and directs Martha for the door. Martha’s ex-husband, Howard. His glare is for Martha.

It is then that they see

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE COURTROOM

Callahan is waiting for them.

CALLAHAN

We have a settlement offer.

JAKE

What?

He puts his hand on Martha’s arm.CALLAHAN

It’s Mitch Malone. He’ll dismiss the case without

prejudice for half a million bucks. The insurance

company is prepared to accept.

JAKE

So, what’s the catch?

Callahan’s eyes glint behind his studious glasses.

CALLAHAN

You must surrender your medical license and agree –

JAKE

No way!

CALLAHAN

And agree to never again practice medicine in the

state of Missouri.

Martha’s hand finds his.

JAKE

No way.

CALLAHAN

Okay. Then I must tell you that from this point on,

your insurance company is responsible for only the

first half million in damages. If we go through this

trial and you lose big-time, everything in excess of

$500,000 is your responsibility.

Jake stares incredulously at his lawyer.

JAKE

In other words, my multi-million dollar umbrella is

really worth only $500,000?

CALLAHAN

That’s right.

JAKE

And you advise me to agree to this?CALLAHAN

That's right.

Jake turns his back, takes Martha's hand, and heads back to the

courtroom,

leaving Callahan standing alone.

INT. COURTROOM

Shannon Malone begins the initial presentation of her father’s side of

the story. While she plays to the cameras now sited around the room,

she does have a special look for Jake. She speaks confidently and

moves with poise. She is the focus of attention in her tan jacket and

skirt with its soft cream lace blouse.

But her presentation is brief, and Jake watches as plaintiff’s

attorney Auclair takes over. The crocodile boots STEP methodically

over the sun slanted floor boards. Notes are held against his

thickening waistline.

Dr. Hudley is called to testify.

AUCLAIR

Dr. Hudley, would you please review for this court the

events following the arrival of the plaintiff, Mitch

Malone, onto the neurosurgery service at the

University Hospital?

HUDLEY

Yes, sir. Shortly after the patient was –

AUCLAIR

Excuse me, by patient you mean Mr. Malone?

HUDLEY

Yes. After Mr. Malone was admitted to the hospital by

Dr. Gibson, he and I discussed how we should proceed

with treatment. The patient - I mean Mr. Malone- at

the time was gravely ill, and Dr. Gibson instructed me

not to do anything.

AUCLAIR

You mean not to treat him?

HUDLEY

No. Yes. Well, sort of....I mean he told me not to

use aggressive measures, like administering steroids

or applying full resuscitative measures.AUCLAIR

You mean, Dr. Gibson gave you an order to give up?

Callahan is on his feet.

CALLAHAN

Objection.

JUDGE

Overruled.

HUDLEY

Well, that was the gist of it.

AUCLAIR

Did you have the feeling that Dr. Gibson

expected Mr. Malone to die?

CALLAHAN

Objection! Leading the witness.

JUDGE

Overruled, but be careful with the phrasing of your

questions, Mr. Auclair.

AUCLAIR

Thank you, your honor. Tell me, Dr. Hudley, what

conclusion did you draw from these directives?

HUDLEY

I felt that Mr. Malone was expected to die.

AUCLAIR

Anything else?

HUDLEY

Yes. That he wanted Malone to die.

CALLAHAN

Objection!

JUDGEOverruled.

AUCLAIR

Can you share with this court why you came to such a

conclusion?

HUDLEY

Yes. It was his attitude. pushed absolutely every button. mission, a crusade of some kind. cases he never gave up.

You see, Dr. Gibson always

He was always on a

Even in hopeless

That brings a wry smile from Jake.

HUDLEY

But in this situation, he didn’t do that. It wasn’t

his usual all-out attempt to perform a miracle.

Consequently, I knew right away that something was

different.

AUCLAIR

Dr. Hudley, were you aware that the defendant had come

to know Mr. Malone before he brought to the hospital?

HUDLEY

Yes, everyone knew that. Mr. Malone handled a big

malpractice suit against Dr. Gibson and the hospital

several years ago. I believe it was for his

negligence in the care of a woman who died. The

scuttlebutt around the hospital was that it was one

the largest malpractice awards ever. We heard he got

hit for over $5 million!

Callahan jumps to his feet.

CALLAHAN

Your honor!

A smattering of oohs and aahs can be heard around the courtroom.

Cameras zoom in on Hudley.

AUCLAIR

I withdraw the question.

Jake glances at Callahan, relieved he has finally scored a point.

AUCLAIRSo you are convinced that the prior suit had something

to do with Dr. Gibson’s attitude about taking on Mr.

Malone as a patient?

CALLAHAN

Objection!

Callahan is up again.

AUCLAIR

Okay, I’ll restate the question.

Auclair taps his notes.

AUCLAIR

Dr. Hudley, in your opinion based on working with Dr.

Gibson for a number of years, and based on what you

told us about the events of that day surrounding the

treatment of Mr. Malone, did Dr. Gibson willfully

withhold proper treatment from this patient?

HUDLEY

Yes. It’s my belief that he did.

Jake stares at the table.

AUCLAIR

Okay. Now, Dr. Hudley. Tell the jury about Dr.

Gibson’s reaction the next morning, when he discovered

that Mr. Malone had improved.

HUDLEY

Well, he seemed absolutely shocked.

AUCLAIR

Could you be more specific?

HUDLEY

Yes. I was there that morning with the patient - I

mean, Mr. Malone, and his wife when Dr. Gibson

arrived. I think he expected him to be dead or close

to it. Instead he was awake and talking.

AUCLAIR

And what did he do then?HUDLEY

He decided to immediately go ahead with surgery.

AUCLAIR

Is that standard practice?

HUDLEY

No, not exactly.

AUCLAIR

What do you mean, not exactly?

HUDLEY

Well, most surgeons would wait for a patient who had

suffered severe bleeding around the brain, like Mr.

Malone, to recover before proceeding with a dangerous

operation.

Auclair nods.

AUCLAIR

Is that what you would have done?

HUDLEY

Certainly. I would have waited at least a week or

two. As I said, until he had completely recovered.

AUCLAIR

Do you think Dr. Gibson’s rush into surgery was an

attempt to harm Mr. Malone?

CALLAHAN

Your honor!

Callahan stands rigid.

CALLAHAN

I object.

JUDGE

Objection sustained.

AUCLAIR

All right, Dr. Hudley. From a medical standpoint,

based on a reasonable degree of medical certainty, did

Dr. Gibson’s action jeopardize the life of Mr. Malone?

HUDLEY

Yes. In my opinion it certainly did.

AUCLAIR

And as you sit here today, Dr. Hudley, do you think

that Dr. Gibson knowingly, willingly, and deliberately

performed surgery in order to jeopardize Mitch

Malone’s life?

Hudley deliberately turns to make eye contact with Jake. and rehearsed.

It is clever

HUDLEY

Yes, I do.

Hudley answers the question before Callahan could object.

AUCLAIR

Now, Dr. Hudley, let’s turn our attention to the

events surrounding the operations. Let’s begin with

the first surgery. I assume you were there?

HUDLEY

Yes-

He nods.

HUDLEY

I assisted Dr. Gibson with the procedure.

Martha scribbles a note to Callahan. Ask him why he dropped a piece

of Malone’s skull, which Dr. Gibson caught before it hit the ground.

AUCLAIR

Did everything proceed normally during the surgery?

HUDLEY

Yes...well, that is until one of the aneurysms

ruptured.

AUCLAIR

How did that occur?

HUDLEYAs Dr. Gibson was placing a clip around the larger

aneurysm’s neck, it suddenly blew out.

AUCLAIR

Any idea as to why it ‘blew out’, as you put it?

HUDLEY

The clip was too short.

Martha leans forward and presses a hand on Jake’s shoulder.

Jake glances at her.

AUCLAIR

He used a clip that was too short?

Auclair’s finger points at Jake.

AUCLAIR

The use of a clip that’s not the correct one - is that

something a competent surgeon such as Dr. Gibson might

commonly do?

HUDLEY

No. A surgeon of Dr. Gibson’s experience should know

just how long a clip should be.

Auclair retreats to the plaintiff’s table. There he dramatically

holds up an ordinary lunch bag and withdraws a borrowed aneurysm clip

applier.

Holding the delicate lifesaving instrument like a dagger, he paces in

his crocodile boots, building tension as he appears to be formulating

his question.

AUCLAIR

Did this rupture and bleeding caused by the improper

clip endanger Mr. Malone’s life?

HUDLEY

Well, yes, of course! We all thought he

would likely die, right there in front of us.

AUCLAIR

What did Dr. Gibson do when the aneurysm started to

bleed?

Auclair twirls the instrument in the air, letting it catch the

slanting sunlight.

HUDLEYHe got real nervous.

AUCLAIR

This was obvious to those watching?

HUDLEY

Yes.

AUCLAIR

Can you tell us anything more?

HUDLEY

Well, it looked to me like Dr. Gibson had suddenly

realized that everyone in the room could see what he

was trying to do. It was as though he had second

thoughts about what he was doing, and so he was trying

to correct things.

AUCLAIR

So it’s your testimony, Dr. Hudley, that Dr. Gibson

behaved as if he had been caught red-handed?

CALLAHAN

Objection, Your Honor! This is preposterous!

Callahan waits in agitation.

JUDGE

Sustained.

AUCLAIR

Dr. Hudley, I will restate my question. In your

opinion, did Dr. Gibson’s actions in the OR that day

indicate to you that he purposely placed a clip that

was too short along the base of the second aneurysm

causing it to bleed uncontrollably; and then,

realizing what he had done, in full view of everyone

in the room, did he try to conceal his action by

replacing the clip with a properly-sized one?

HUDLEY

I believe that is exactly what happened.

Jake looks around the jury, studying their faces. every word Hudley is dishing out.

They are believingAUCLAIR

Dr. Hudley, Dr. Gibson operated on Mr. Malone a second

time later that evening. Can you tell the jury, in

your own words, what happened that night, and what led

Dr. Gibson to perform another procedure?

HUDLEY

Yes. Well, I wasn’t really involved in the second

operation itself. Dr. Gibson performed that on his

own. We were all concerned though, about the way he

was behaving that evening. I believe he had been to a

ball game.... and may have been drinking.

Jake watches the jurors.

HUDLEY

He seemed to be distracted and in a big hurry to

operate. I was worried about him. I didn’t think he

was capable of making decisions that evening, so I

suggested to Mr. Malone’s wife that perhaps a second

opinion was a good idea.

AUCLAIR

But Dr. Gibson didn’t wait for the second opinion, did

he?

HUDLEY

No, sir. He did not.

AUCLAIR

Dr. Gibson rushed Mr. Malone back to surgery, against

the objections of his wife and family.

HUDLEY

Yes, he did.

AUCLAIR

And against your advice as well.

HUDLEY

Yes.

Again Hudley’s eyes find Jake.

HUDLEYHe sure did.

Judge Tillman orders a recess for the day.

Jake is handed a message from the bailiff. Pleasant Hospital.

Martha and Jake make their way to a pay phone.

He is connected to CAROL MCTEGG. unit.

He is to call the Mt.

Head nurse of the intensive care

INT. MT PLEASANT HOSPITAL ICU

Nurse McTegg in patient’s room speaking on phone.

NURSE MCTEGG

Dr. Gibson, Mrs. Chiodini isn’t doing well.

She has concern in her voice.

NURSE MCTEGG

Sorry to bother you there, but I didn’t know what else

Dr. Vierling, her internist, said to call the

to do. neurosurgeons.

INT. COURTHOUSE, PAYPHONE

JAKE

Did you notify Dr. Black?

NURSE MCTEGG (from phone)

I tried, but he’s at the clinic today. I spoke

with him...twice.

Nurse McTegg sounds aggravated.

NURSE MCTEGG

But all he did was tell me not to worry about it.

Jake glances incredulously at Martha over the phone.

JAKE (To Martha)

It’s that sweet old lady with the meningioma. Operated

on her two weeks ago. Uncomplicated case. Would have

been home a long time ago if it weren’t for her

diabetes. Got a DVT yesterday, and now they can’t wake

her up.

JAKEHas she been put on blood thinners, Carol?

INT. MT PLEASANT HOSPITAL ICU

NURSE MCTEGG

They were started yesterday.

INT. COURTHOUSE, PAYPHONE

JAKE

Ok, tell you what -

Jake stares into the graffiti on the phone panel.

JAKE

Let’s order a CT of her head. Somebody needs to take a look at her.

And keep calling Black.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL ICU

NURSE MCTEGG

Dr. Gibson. Our CT is down for repairs.

INT. COURTHOUSE, PAYPHONE

Jake collapses onto a nearby bench.

INT. MT. PLEASANT ICU

Black has arrived.

The nurse hands him the phone.

BLACK

Gibson, I don’t see where there’s anything to worry

about here.

INT. COURTHOUSE, PAYPHONE

Martha hands the phone to Jake. He pulls the phone closer to his

mouth.

JAKE

George, the lady’s slipped into a coma. She’s

probably got a hematoma in the tumor bed, from the

anticoagulants.

INT. MT. PLEASANT HOSPITAL ICUBLACK

Well, I don’t happen to see it that way, pal.

I say we sit tight and see what happens.

Black hangs up the phone.

Martha takes the phone from Jake, who again collapses onto a nearby

bench.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - - PM

Shuffling from chair to chair, Jake stalks the phone all night.

INT. COURTHOUSE - OUTSIDE COURTROOM -- AM

At 7 A.M., a final call from Nurse McTegg comes.

JAKE

OK Carol. Thanks for letting me know.

Jake sits on the bench next to Martha.

JAKE

Mrs. Chiodini was just pronounced brain dead. respirator is being turned off.

Martha's hands cover her eyes.

INT. COURTROOM - -AM

Her

The courtroom is dull under electric lighting.

Jurors are settled in their seats.

Judge Tillman sits forward in her robe.

The plaintiff’s lawyers are in motion RUSTLING papers and files and

legal pads. Auclair is pinstriped. Malone is quiet, his eyes

everywhere but on Jake.

MARTHA

Jake?

Martha rubs the side if his neck.

JAKE

Yeah.

MARTHA

Are you up for this?

JAKE

I’m tired - missed sleep before, what surgeon hasn’t?I’ll make it through.

Martha

I want to testify Jake. Let me tell them what I know

about the case. About Hudley. What I saw him do that

day.

Jake

No Martha. We've been through this. I won't let you go

through that. No way.

Professor Everett Salig, stealer of manuscripts, appears precisely

groomed, his mustache neat, his demeanor poised from countless

appearances as an expert witness. He speaks confidently, engaging the

jurors, moving his manicured hands for effect, his eyes now warm, now

cold with indignation. He is a master.

The jurors hang on his words.

SALIG

I was personally present at the second operation, and

that surgical procedure appeared to me to be

unnecessary. It is my belief that Dr. Gibson has for

years overestimated his own skills and expertise.

Salig turns toward Jake

SALIG

Dr. Gibson has so much gall and such a big head that

he truly presumes his ideas to always be right.

It is cleverly said.

SALIG

For years he has refused to listen to anyone, and in

this situation, his mind was obviously closed to the

possibility that a second opinion would be of value.

Throughout this entire case, it seems to me, he

proceeded with haste and nearly caused the death of

his patient. It is clear to me in fact that Dr.

Gibson is guilty of gross negligence. I should add,

another patient of Dr. Gibson’s, one that he recently

operated on in another state, died last night because,

once again, Dr. Gibson was too bullheaded to listen to

anyone.

Jake vaults from his seat.

JAKE

That’s total crap, Salig, and you know it.Callahan grabs hold of his arm, to return him to his seat.

Martha leans forward.

Martha

How does he know that?

Jake shrugs his shoulders as he glares at Salig.

INT. COURTHOUSE CONFERENCE ROOM

Mitch Malone is fresh in the morning, a well groomed appearance, and a

confident manner to kick off his day.

MALONE

Jason, my boy. This lawsuit goes before the jury

today, and I think it’s pretty obvious what the

verdict will be.

JAKE

So, why are we here?

Jake watches him, studying the professional eyes as they take in those

around the table.

Malone’s face sobers.

MALONE

Maybe because you saved my life. That’s the other way

this thing cuts. I could right now be in some nursing

home drooling into my cereal. But I’m not; I’m

practicing law, the only thing that’s meaningful to

me.

JAKE

I’m sure a lot of doctor's appreciate that.

Malone’s face reddens.

MALONE

Don’t push me, Gibson.

Callahan clears his throat.

CALLAHAN

Why not lay out your offer, Mr. Malone.

The lawyer leans forward.MALONE

I want a signed declaration that you’ll refrain from

the practice of medicine in the state of Missouri for

the next decade.

The small conference room is deathly still.

Outside in the hallway people begin moving toward the courtroom.

CALLAHAN

That’s it?

Jake keeps his face expressionless.

MALONE

That’s it.

Callahan can’t contain himself.

CALLAHAN

No monetary stipulation?

Malone ignores him, his eyes on Jake.

Jake keeps his eyes contact firm.

Malone nods and stands up.

MALONE

See you in court.

Jake looks to Martha and takes her hand in his. They remain seated

alone after everyone leaves.

INT. AIRPLANE - - NIGHT

Jake and Martha fly to Mount Pleasant that night, a long droning ride

that offers an electrical storm at the horizon.

Jake sits quietly and stares out his window.

MARTHA

Where do we go from here Jake?

JAKE

I don't know babe. I just don't know.

MARTHA

You can't go back with Black.

Jake slowly rocks his head.

lots right Jake remains impassive.

MARTHA

What about trying something new. I'm sure there are

of nice little towns around that would give their

arm to have a great doctor like you.

MARTHA

Actually, there's a little town up in mountains,

Mt. Pleasant, Susanville I think it's called. I

up there for an afternoon sightseeing with a

our neighbors. I know they're looking for a

outside was couple of doctor.

Jake gives a slight shoulder shrug.

MARTHA

Pleaes give it a try? Just a couple of days a week?

At least until the twins come.

Jake pats her belly before he tries a smile and goes back to staring

out the window.

INT. SUSANVILLE DOCTOR'S CLINIC - - MORNING

Jake is seeing patients in a rural family practice office high up in

the mountains. He receives an unexpected call from Martha.

Jake

Cool. I'll meet you at the airstrip. We'll have lunch

and maybe take a little walk. Everything OK?..

Martha-

Jake looks into the phone before hanging it up.

EXT. SUSANVILLE AIRPORT- HIGH NOON

The small airport is quiet. Nearby an ancient volcanic lake offers

its deep blue presence. There is freshness to the air, and pines

contour themselves against the landscape. A smallish fox creeps from

its hiding place in the woods and dashes across the runway.

Jake watches a small plane slowly descend toward the runway, its wings

rocking slightly, feeling out cushions of cool air.

When the explosion comes it is a FLASH of bright yellow light followed

by a cannonade, a ROLLING OF THUNDER across the airfield.

Jake stares, frozen, as burning shreds of airplane FLUTTER to the

ground on ugly trails of black smoke.EXT. MASCOUTAH, ILLINOIS, GRAVEYARD - - MORNING

Martha and their unborn children are laid to rest at the family plot,

in a flower-laden gravesite surrounded by a white picket fence.

Jake lingers for a long time at the gravesite.

Midge approaches him. They have a brief but animated conversation and

Midge leaves.

Jake is sitting alone at the gravesite as the sun sets.

EXT. MT. PLEASANT AIRPORT - - DAY

It is a small airport. Aircraft engines DRONE overhead as small

planes move through the traffic pattern. In the hangar planes squat

in the shadows, some with engine cowlings removed.

Cars are parked around a small reception building adjacent to the main

hangar.

INT. CASCADE AVIATION PASSENGER RECEPTION BUILDING

Cascade Aviation has its own counter.

A receptionist is tapping on a computer keyboard. approaches.

She gets up as Jake

RECEPTIONIST

May I help you?

JAKE

You recently flew my wife to Susanville. accident and she was killed.

There was an

RECEPTIONIST

Yes, of course. I’m so sorry. But I don’t see how I

can –

JAKE

Did my wife mention anything to you about why she

wanted to fly up to Susanville that morning?

Jake brings out a black and white photo of Martha smiling.

Keys CLACK on the keyboard. She brings up the flight record.

RECEPTIONIST

Mrs. Martha Gibson.

JAKE

And I’m Dr. Gibson.

RECEPTIONISTYes, of course.

Silence hangs between them.

RECEPTIONIST

I do recall she was in a big hurry. I spoke with her

on the phone to help arrange the flight. Very rushed,

a bit agitated. But when she got here for the flight

she seemed calmer.

JAKE

Was there anything else, anything a bit

out of routine, anything unusual?

The receptionist stares at the screen as if it would summon memories.

Perhaps it did.

RECEPTIONIST

Well, the plane was a few minutes late taking off.

She stood over there, by the window, looking out. She

was watching the planes, the sky....

Jake stares at the window. He sees her there.

JAKE

Why was the plane late taking off?

RECEPTIONIST

Oh, the gentleman accompanying her had to have his

flight credentials okayed.

Jake turns on a dime, images of Martha pushed back.

JAKE

What?

He presses his hands into the counter.

JAKE

What man? Someone was flying her?

RECEPTIONIST

Yes.

The receptionist’s eyes grow uneasy.

RECEPTIONISTI spoke with him first that day on the phone. He told

me he needed to get to Susanville as soon as possible.

At first he wanted information about scheduled

flights, but then he said he couldn’t wait. So he

asked about our twin-engine Seneca, but it was booked

for the entire day. All I had open for rental that

morning was the little Piper, and I told him none of

our pilots were available. That’s when he said he’d

fly it.

She looks from Jake to the computer screen and back again.

RECEPTIONIST

That’s when your wife got on the phone, she said he

was well qualified- look, the FAA investigators have

asked me all this already -

She looks around as if someone is listening.

RECEPTIONIST

I really shouldn’t be speaking to you, you know. the only crash Cascade has ever had.

It’s

JAKE

Okay, okay. I’m sure the FAA went over maintenance

logs, safety inspections, cargo lists- all those

things?

RECEPTIONIST

Of course. maintenance.

And Cascade is strict on its safety and

Jake stares at the receptionist, seeing the tension there, the

struggle in her eyes.

JAKE

What is it?

He asks gently.

She begins to whisper.

RECEPTIONIST

I couldn’t tell the FAA at the time. remember. And later I never updated them.

Just couldn't

JAKE

I don't understand. What is it?RECEPTIONIST

A few days ago I was watching a TV program and it

suddenly popped into my head.

Her smile is brittle, self conscious.

RECEPTIONIST

His name was Howie Carr.

JAKE

Howie Carr? Don’t you have receipts, a rental

contract?....his pilot’s credentials must be on

record. It’s a bit odd, I’m sure you’ll agree—

RECEPTIONIST

They’re missing.

The words come out in a hiss, low and guarded.

RECEPTIONIST

The FAA was looking for them. Everything’s gone.

JAKE

Jesus.

RECEPTIONIST

Please don’t say anything that I mentioned all this, I

shouldn’t be talking with you --

JAKE

It’s all right. Just one more question. Was the

Howie Carr carrying anything? A briefcase, maybe.

Think back: did you see him and my wife out by the

hangar...

She is crying. Tears roll down her cheeks as she nods.

RECEPTIONIST

There was a small parcel that somebody dropped off.

It was supposed to be in Susanville by one o’clock.

When I went to lunch, I left it with our secretary to

see if the people renting the Piper would deliver it

to Susanville airport.

JAKEAnd they took it?

RECEPTIONIST

Yes.

JAKE

And the FAA knows this?

Tears roll.

RECEPTIONIST

They never asked.

JAKE

Look. I want to talk with this secretary.

RECEPTIONIST

I'm so sorry.

There is fear in her voice now.

JAKE

What do you mean?

RECEPTIONIST

She was killed in a terrible automobile accident...

the day after the crash.

INT. FAA FIELD OFFICE

OFFICER CALAMBINI

The file on the crash is closed. It was determined

that the accident was due to a fuel-line rupture,

subsequent engine fire, and terminal explosion.

JAKE

Know who was flying the plane? have been mislaid at Cascade Aviation.

I understand records

Jake waits.

OFFICER CALAMBINI

We’ve checked all missing person reports from across

the country. Nothin’.

JAKEWhat about parcels, packages, things like that?

OFFICER CALAMBINI

Know nothin’ about that. back and forth all the time.

Although packages are sent

The officer shuffles a stack of papers.

JAKE

So –

He looks up.

OFFICER CALAMBINI

Look, Dr. Gibson. I’m sorry about your loss, but we

checked all this out. The file’s closed.

JAKE

Okay, I understand. be confined to your file.

One thing, though, that might not

OFFICER CALAMBINI

What’s that?

JAKE

A secretary from Cascade was killed in a car crash the

day after the flight.

OFFICER CALAMBINI

That’s right. She lost control on Highway 101, went

over the embankment. It was raining. One of those

things. Killed instantly.

INT. MALONE LAW FIRM, OFFICES

Jake scans the directory in the marble lobby. Mitch Malone’slaw firm

offers itself- as did a neighbor on the same floor: Everett Salig.

Jake files that away and he steps onto the elevator for Malone’s

office suite.

JAKE

I’d like to see Mitch Malone.

A well trained, stiletto cold, receptionist.

RECEPTIONIST

Do you have an appointment?JAKE

No. I’m an old friend. Mitch’ll see me.

The receptionist flaunts well-manicured fingernails. briefly into the phone.

She speaks

JAKE

I’ll just plant myself over there.

He picks up a Sports Illustrated.

A cologne fragrance precedes Malone.

MALONE

Dr. Gibson. What can I do for you?

Jake tosses the magazine aside and stands up.

JAKE

You’re looking well, Mitch.

MALONE

Thanks to you. Come in. I have a few minutes.

JAKE

I knew you would.

Mitch Malone’s personal office surprises him. Unlike the heavy-handed

power-play furnishings of the waiting room, the lawyer’s office offers

subdued lighting and one or two carefully chosen oil paintings. There

is power here, too, but restrained.

Mitch makes his way to a small intimate island of comfortable chairs.

Well away from his antique desk.

JAKE

Did you have anything to do with my wife's death?

Malone's facial expression hardens. He looks deeply into Jake.

Malone

Is that what you think I am Jake?

Jake

I'm on my way to see Vince Wilson. I'm gonna tell him

I have evidence of behind the scenes maneuverings

inside his department.MALONE

Maneuverings?

JAKE

And you, Mitch. Hudley, for God’s sake.

You must’ve got him on the cheap.

MALONE

What do you want, Jake?

JAKE

I took a lot of blame, Mitch. I got boxed in, took the

fall.

MALONE

So what does that have to do with me?

JAKE

I want to practice medicine again, here in Missouri.

MALONE

You’ve got a hell of a way to ask for it.

JAKE

I saved your life, Mitch. Tear up that letter of

agreement.

MALONE

In a word - no.

JAKE

Did you know David Hudley and Everett Salig were

together about the time you were admitted into the

hospital?

MALONE

You’re losing it.

Jake leans forward.

JAKE

I saw his rolls...Seem to be a lot of unansweredquestions about what happened around the time of your

admission and subsequent surgeries.

Malone stands up on a second waft of cologne.

MALONE

Look, Jake, I really don’t have any idea what you’re

talking about. Perhaps you should have a talk with

your attorney - Callahan, isn’t it? As for your

signed letter of agreement not to practice medicine

here, the deal stands. But I wish you the best of

luck with - what shall we call them? - your inquiries.

EXT/INT. MIDGE’S APARTMENT - - DAY

Jake knocks once and waits. open and sticks his head through.

After the second knock he pushes the door

JAKE

Hey Midge...You were right about Malone. I just left

his office and-

The sap takes him expertly behind the right ear, enough to knock him

out, not enough to do permanent damage.

Jake awakens to find himself on the carpet with a bird’s egg lump

behind his ear.

Total darkness. For a horrifying moment he thinks he is blind.

The light switch brings back his world.

He stares around at the chaos: lamps and tables toppled, bookcases

down on heaps of books. Wall pictures angled on the carpet. A

splintered antique china cabinet surrounded by broken glass and

crockery.

JAKE

Midge? Midge!

He makes his way to the bedroom, walking like a drunk, dizzy and sick.

Midge’s waterbed has been slashed. Wall to wall carpeting sodden.

When he hears the sound he doubts his ears, it is just one more noise

in his pounding head. Then it comes again. From the wardrobe.

JAKE

Oh, Jesus...

Midge is naked on the floor of the wardrobe, mewing behind duct tape,

tangled in fallen clothing.

He gets her into a dry hallway and removes the tape. Her breathing is

harsh, her mouth dry and cracked.

JAKE

Midge, are you okay?

Surgeon’s eyes examine her. Skilled hands seek out injury.

She clutches his arm and nods

JAKE

I’ll get you some water and a robe.

She sips quietly, then gags, pushing the water glass back at him.

JAKE

Take your time.

MIDGE

What are you doing here?

She grabs for another drink and again gags.

JAKE

Easy... What happened here? Who did this?

MIDGE

They were trying to shake me up. The ponytail one kept

at me, what do you know about Everett Salig....

She reaches again for the water, slower this time, wetting her mouth.

MIDGE

I think you scared them away.

Midge’s eyes, now dark with fright, look around her hallway.

MIDGE

My clothes . . .

Jake retrieves some jeans and a blouse.

MIDGE

Okay, Jake. I’m okay now.

JAKE

Sure?

She looks at him, bewildered.Jake

Midge, what the hell is going on?

Midge reaches for her cigarettes then shoves them back in her purse.

The phone rings. Jake picks it up.

Jake

Hello?

Midge looks to Jake.

JAKE

Yeh, this is Jake Gibson.

Jake listens, stunned.

JAKE

How'd you know I was here?

MALONE (VOICE OVER)

I’m glad I tracked you down, it was-

JAKE

What do you want, Malone?

Silence. It tears Jake’s nerve ends.

MALONE

We need to meet.

JAKE

Why?

MALONE

Look, don’t make this any tougher than –

JAKE

Okay. We’ll meet.

JAKE

Eight o’clock, the Galleria. Near the carousel.

MALONEGood.

JAKE

Listen, why are you-

The phone clicks dead.

Jake looks to Midge.

JAKE

Think I need to borrow your car.

INT. Galleria, CAFE

Jake wears an oversized gridiron Cardinals cap, a heavy woolen scarf

and tinted sunglasses. He huddles over a mug of hot chocolate at a

cafe table. From there he can see the carousel TURNING to its own

music, its lights bright and cheery.

It is a few minutes before he spots Mitch Malone. He keeps to the

store windows and out of the flow of people. He wears a full-length

trench coat trimmed in bear skin. He keeps pulling at his brimmed fox

hunter’s cap. Probably to hide his face.

Jake raises his mug of hot chocolate. Mitch nods.

MALONE

Sorry I’m late.

He was not smiling.

JAKE

Something to drink?

MALONE

What? No. own.

Look, Jason, get this up front: if you try

to use any of what I tell you publicly, you’re on your

JAKE

Okay.

Jake waits.

Mitch looks around, agitated.

MALONE

Okay. Here it is. I have in my possession concrete

evidence that supports everything I’m about to tell

you. But as far as anybody else is concerned it

doesn’t exist.

JAKE

Get to the point, Mitch.Mitch stares at him, weighing him up.

He begins slowly.

MALONE

You are aware that University Hospital has been

bought out? And Salig's the new dean??

Malone smiles.

Jake looks bewildered.

MALONE

Something else about Salig you’ll be interested in. I

have it safe and sound: a notarized affidavit from a

former official at the Las Vegas Med School- now

deceased. The document outlines an interesting

inconsistency in Salig’s credentials.

Mitch waits again, sipping his hot chocolate.

JAKE

Okay, so what is it?

MALONE

Seems Salig falsified his credentials. Never

completed his residency training

program.

Music LIFTS from the carousel. Kids have their happy faces.

MALONE

Unbelievable, isn’t it? The director of his training

program at LVMS dies unexpectedly when Salig still has

a year to go with his training. Yet this same

chairman, after his own death, still somehow manages

to certify Salig and another resident at the

time...your buddy, George Black.

A first fear moves through Jake. vitals, while he watches Mitch.

He keeps it down, deep in his

MALONE

I asked Salig about it the day I got sick. He was my

expert witness. I was cross-examining the other

side’s expert. Salig was seated right behind our

table. I remember I had a pretty sore throat that

afternoon and the good doctor offered me a lozenge.

Jake stares intently.

MALONEA few minutes after I put it in my mouth, I got the

worst headache and things went fuzzy. Then the lights

went out.

Mitch tries to smile. Instead he looks frightened.

MALONE

When you came to my office and told me Salig and

Hudley were together that day? I began to put two and

two together. Salig knew I had the affidavit. After

I got sick there was a big commotion, of course. My

briefcase was left, my files were left - everything

unattended in the courtroom. One of my paralegals saw

Salig going through stuff.

Mitch’s gaze begins its compulsive sweep around the cafe, the carousel

and strolling people.

JAKE

So he needed somebody on the inside at the hospital.

MALONE

Somebody who could move around freely and retrieve.

JAKE

David Hudley.

MALONE

Notice how friendly he was towards me at the hospital?

Actually, at the time, I was impressed. He was all

over me, all over my wife and daughter, ever helpful.

JAKE

But he didn’t find anything.

Mitch smiles, an honest smile, free of fear, a celebration of self.

He opens his flashy overcoat and demonstrates a hidden compartment on

the inside of his jacket.

MALONE

I hadn’t worn this since it came back from the

cleaners. It’s the one I wore that day. You’ll never

guess what I found in this hidden pocket.

JAKE

The affidavit.

MALONEDamn right. I must have had some memory loss from all

that happened, but once I touched that pocket- and

this inside- it all came back.

Some kids run by their table holding balloons, heading for the

carousel.

JAKE

You’re saying-

Jake speaks slowly.

JAKE

-that David Hudley deliberately sabotaged your

operation?

Jake finishes the hot chocolate.

MALONE

It goes a lot deeper than that.

JAKE

What do you mean, a lot deeper? Is that why you're

still trying to keep me out of practicing in Missouri?

Mitch grins.

MALONE

Apples and oranges, Jason. You want it straight? I

was paid a bunch of money to get you out of here. So

you gotta stay out.

Jake rubs his brow.

Mitch gets up to leave, his eyes sweeping the walkways and stores.

MALONE

Gotta go, Jason. Glad we had this talk. helps you get through things.

Hope it

Jake grabs his arm.

JAKE

Is Salig behind all this?

Malone smiles and whispers something into Jake's ear.

Then he is gone, moving again next to store windows, out of the

mainstream of strollers. The fox hunter’s cap is distinctive.

Jake is expressionless as he adjusts his own cap and scarf and watches

him go.

The GUNSHOT is distinct above the music and festivities. People stopwalking and look about.

Jake is up and running towards where he had last seen Mitch Malone.

Other people are surging forward but Jake bulls his way through.

The lawyer is lying in a deepening pool of fresh blood.

Jake reaches inside the coat around the single bullet wound to the

heart. Frantic fingers hunt the hidden zipper, then he has it. He

grabs the bloodied papers with the bullet hole drilled through them,

gets them into his own pocket.

Then he is up and pushing through the crowd. They would know him, be

able to describe him, he realizes. Even with cap and sunglasses.

He reaches the garage, struggles into his car and drives out.

EXT. MIDGE’S CAR - - NIGHT

He keeps the speed down while his nerve ends shriek.

Driving down a street, turning at random, he thinks through what he

should do.

INT. 24 HOUR MARKET - - NIGHT

Jake purchases some postage stamps, looks up an address in the phone

book, inscribes an envelope and asks a clerk to post the plain manila

envelope in the store outgoing mail.

EXT. CRANE MANSION - - NIGHT

The mansion offers its bulk to the darkness. Lights are on in several

rooms, thick curtains drape out the ground floor windows. Snow layers

across window sills and gutterings. Shadows slant from brick and

bush. Security lights halo the snow. The front door is ominous,

holding back the frivolous and unwanted.

Jake stares at it through the windshield.

Jake maneuvers the Buick behind a snow bank. The car is hidden from

the street by piled up snow and from the house by its winding driveway

and landscaped shrubs and trees.

Jake settles back to wait. His eyes become glassy...

EXT. CRANE MANSION - - EARLY MORNING

Jake is awakened by a newspaper van. He watches the newspaper ARC

across the driveway.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and massages his stiff neck and

shoulders.

He waits, warming his hands with every breath.

Howard Crane steps out into the driveway. He stands in the crusted

snow, his business suit elegant, his shoes polished in the early

morning light.

Jake gets out of his car and walks forward. It takes a moment for

Crane to look up from the headline which engrossed him and to sense

Jake’s presence. He doesn’t run. He doesn’t shout for a servant.

CRANE

Well, well...Crane gestures with the paper.

CRANE

You made the front page.

Howard Crane is calm, he is contemptuous.

JAKE

We need to talk.

CRANE

Really? I don’t see why.

His eyes monitor his plants and shrubs.

CRANE

Park over there, behind the snow bank?

Jake pushes at him and walks behind as he moves towards the door.

JAKE

Let’s go inside.

INT. CRANE MANSION - - STUDY

Jake’s nerve ends are raw.

CRANE

Don’t expect me to ask you to sit down.

Crane’s smile is ugly. He walks behind his desk and sits down in the

leather chair. He stares up at Jake, his fingers steepled.

CRANE

Well?

JAKE

Where the servants?

CRANE

Had them take a few days’ leave.

JAKE

Right after you heard about Mitch’s death.Howard laughs.

CRANE

Heard about?

Jake stares.

He watches Howard open a drawer and take out a derringer.

CRANE

I got him with this. Small, easy to carry. punch. Should have seen his face...

Packs a

The derringer points at Jake, its over-and-under barrel's black holes

leading into the depths of the world.

CRANE

Actually belonged to Mitch. briefcase, when he got sick.

Salig found it in Mitch's

He lets it slant in his hand, the nickel plating gleaming in the desk

lamp. Then the barrels are on him again.

Jake has it now, the pieces in place.

JAKE

You were expecting me.

CRANE

Of course.

That smile again.

JAKE

You’re going to kill me.

CRANE

Of course.

Crane’s smile disappears.

Crane

Nobody takes my wife from me, you sonofabitch.

Jake’s back stiffens on instinct.

JAKE

You had Martha killed because she left you?CRANE

I wouldn’t think about it, you cocksucker!

Crane perches the gun closer.

Jake backs off.

JAKE

So how does this play out?

CRANE

It’s simple enough. There was a struggle. defense.

Mad murderer comes calling.

I got the gun. I shot in self

The twin barrels waggle again.

CRANE

It’ll have your prints all over it, of course.

Jake’s mouth goes dry.

CRANE

Have a nice chat with Mitch, did you? to carousel music?

JAKE

Listening

You watched?

CRANE

Christ, Gibson, you’re so naive. Let me tell you, when

Mitch gave a surprise call today to Salig and me, we

knew he was on the road to figuring it all out. We

watched him. And when he met with you, document on the

table, well, there was nothing else to do, was there?

JAKE

And Martha, the plane blowing up?

CRANE

That was bad - and unexpected. She had this old

friend, you see. And the friend's husband was a doctor

- an ER doctor. He kind of figured it all out. Well,

of course, we couldn’t take the chance –

JAKE

What do you plan to do, kill everybody who figures out

what’s going on?

Howard leans forward.

CRANE

There’s too much at stake here. It’s bigger than any

one of us. We’re talking about the future of the

great profession of medicine here.

A laugh slips loose from Jake. Then his ire forces a lunge.

The first bullet DRIVES into his chest and Jake twists against its

impact. The second GRAZES his temple. He falls down into blackness.

INT. UNIVERSITY HOSPITAL- NEURO ICU

Pain takes him and he writhes against it.

Monitor alarms BANG out their warnings, there is an accelerating

WHOOSH of a bedside machine that gorged his chest with intense

discomfort.

He grips his cross as he drifts away on the dose of IV morphine...

He comes around later and stares at the chest tube draining bright red

blood from his side.

MIDGE

Also got you in the head.

Jake’s head turns in the direction of a friendly voice.

JAKE

Jeanne?

Midge smiles broadly.

MIDGE

Always knew you had a thick skull.

He feels around for his crucifix.

She replaces it in his hand.

MIDGE

Here it is.

He grabs her hand and struggles to speak.

Midge presses his hand and smiles.

MIDGE

Nothing to do now but rest. I’ll be outside.The next morning Jake is permitted to sit up in bed and is given apple

juice and orange jello for breakfast. Connections to infusion bags

are removed. Drainage containers removed.

His crucifix stands against a tissue box.

Midge hovers around the ICU.

MIDGE

They’re planning to move you to the jail ward.

Jake face looses what little color it has.

MIDGE

Don’t worry.

Jake awakens the next morning to find Midge staring down at him

She leans over to kiss his cheek which surprises him until

he hears her words.

MIDGE

Gotta get you dressed as quickly as possible.

JAKE

What’s going on?

MIDGE

Getting you out of here.

JAKE

Midge –

MIDGE

Now.

Jake glances up at the guard, just beyond the door, rocked back in his

chair.

MIDGE

Thought you might need these.

Midge waves a pair of plaid briefs.

Jake gets into a favorite flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. and shoes follow.

JAKE

How come he let you bring these things in here?

MIDGE

SocksA victim of his liking for sugar donuts. some. He was getting bored sitting there.

I got him

Her smile is impish.

MIDGE

Xanax capsules. He’ll be out as long as we need.

Before they head for the elevator, Midge covers Jake in a heavy hooded

overcoat and dark glasses.

INT. MIDGE’S BUICK