That makes sense. Guess I shouldn’t have been so stubborn and gotten the tests earlier.
Dr. Gardner didn’t answer, but instead said, “On your reports, it says that you’ve been feeling certain levels of discomfort for some time. How long would you say?”
Scott squirmed. Sitting alone in his cabin, dealing with the pain himself had seemed like the right thing to do. Here, sitting in this doctor’s office, he felt more than a little foolish.
“Probably a year, now. Maybe a little longer.”
Gardner didn’t scold him. He didn’t need to. “Prostate cancer, when caught early, is highly treatable. If it’s allowed to grow unchecked for long, treatment becomes more difficult. As I say, though, I’m going to give you a recommendation to the VA hospital in New York. I think that’s our best option.
Scott nodded and shook Gardner’s hand. “Thank you, doctor.”
“My nurse will be in touch.”
Scott didn’t bother to tell him that he didn’t have a phone in his little cabin in the woods. He already knew what he needed to do.
Chapter Fifteen
On the ride back, Scott could tell that Greta was fighting within herself. Her normal reserve was trying to hold off her curiosity, but he could see she desperately wanted to ask what he had found out. Finally, Scott took pity on her.
“Nothing to worry about. It’s good news. Just need to get on some antibiotics for a few weeks and I’ll be right as rain.”
Greta glanced at him, trying to ascertain if he was being honest. After a few seconds, she said, “Oh, that’s lovely, Scott. I didn’t want to have to try to find someone else to rent out that old cabin.” She did her best but couldn’t hold back a mischievous smile.
“You’re all heart, Greta.”
Back in his cabin, Scott made his preparations. Over the years and decades, his research had filled enough notebooks that they took up an entire shelf in his living room. Some of it was organized, some was not. He’d always thought he had plenty of time.
I always thought I’d get organized when I got old. I never thought about what might happen if I didn’t get the chance to get old.
He opened a fresh notebook and began to jot down the key elements from each crime or incident that he would need. He organized them first by date, then location, then any details he would need.
When he was done, he had ten pages of notes written out.
That’s a whole helluva lot to remember. Not sure I can do it. Should I pare it down a bit?
He leafed through the notes, glancing at each notation.
Sure. Let’s pare it down. Who on this list doesn’t deserve to be rescued? The children Susan Smith drowned? Or how about Lawrence Singleton’s victims, or Westley Allen Dodd’s?
He continued flipping through his notes.
Nope. Gotta find a way to remember all this. I know I can do it.
Scott didn’t know if it was getting the diagnosis, or if his cancer took that moment to announce itself more forcefully, but he didn’t have another pain-free moment in that lifetime.
Instead of distracting him, the pain galvanized him. He knew whatever pain he might be feeling paled next to the people who he intended to rescue.
He stopped eating for the most part. The pain simply took his appetite away. Like his maternal grandfather, he had never been heavy, but now the pounds fell off him. He had to punch new holes in his belt and his cheeks rapidly became sunken. He knew he couldn’t go into town or people would know he was not long for this lifetime.
As he studied, a new thought came to haunt him.
I don’t know how all this works. What if the rules are different than I know? What if I die of natural causes? Do I go on to whatever is next, instead of starting over?
The thought stunned him for a moment and he sat back in his chair.
Have I been starting over because I’ve been essentially killing myself every damn life? If I live it through to the end, I might get an entirely different result.
With an effort, he stood and walked shakily to the front porch. He sat with a grunt in the rocker and looked out at the setting sun.
Would that be better? To finally live to the end of a life and get out of this infernal loop I’m in? No. That would mean this was a wasted life. I’m going to help these people. I shouldn’t take any chances, though. Better study fast.
Scott barely took time out to sleep the next three days. He hunched over his notes until his back ached and his mind felt like it would shut down. He used every memory trick he had. Formed associations with people and places. Created mnemonic devices. Created keywords for each crime. More than anything, he read and reread his final master list.
After those days of intense study, he had to admit that he couldn’t imagine forgetting any of what he had stuffed into his memory.
Like a man waking from a long nap, he looked around his cozy home.
I loved this place. I will miss it.
He grabbed the pistol from the drawer where he had kept it for the past ten years. He had only fired it once—the day he got it, to make sure it worked. At the time he bought it, he hadn’t been sure why he had. It made sense, living out in the middle of the woods.
Now. Where? Not in here. Don’t want to do that to Greta. If I had the strength, I’d dig my own grave and lay in it, so all they had to do was throw the dirt in on me. I don’t have that strength, though. I feel this cancer eating at me, spreading. Cancer lives by killing its host, which then kills it. Stupid cancer.
Scott walked out to the forest that ringed his house. There was a small seasonal stream twenty yards further on, but he was failing fast and couldn’t make it that far. He had expended the last of his strength.
Finding the old red maple tree that he had always loved, Scott half-sat, half-fell against its base. He dropped the pistol, but was able to retrieve it.
In an unconscious mimicry of his father, he opened his mouth and put the barrel against the roof of his mouth.
Pulled the trigger.
Chapter Sixteen
Scott McKenzie opened his eyes and sat bolt upright.
“Gah!”
A wordless exclamation that, loosely translated, means, “I never want to do that again.”
His hand reached up and patted the top of his head. Logic told him that his scalp was there, just where it should be, but he wanted to confirm that fact.
Okay. My head is all in one piece. And damn, every time I wake up back here, I forget how much it hurts to do anything.
Adrenaline coursed through him. He broke out in a sweat. His heart pounded as if he had run up three flights of stairs.
He took a deep, cleansing breath and threw back the comforter. Pain wracked his body, from his surgically repaired shoulder to the wound in his leg that would take several more years to fully heal.
I hope this will be the last time through this life. It’s going to take a little more getting used to this time—it’s been so long since I’ve been here. At least I never got addicted to having all the luxuries of what is now the future, so I won’t miss cell phones, GPS systems, and computers. I knew I was going to feel this crappy, but knowing it and actually feeling it are two different damn things.
He heard the toilet flush and his grandfather emerged from the bathroom.
Hello, Gramps. So good to see you.