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  The Generation at the End

  R.A. Brown

  The Generation at the End

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2012 R.A. Brown

  All Rights Reserved .This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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  ISBN: 978-1-4689-0856-5 (ebook)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental."

  The Generation at the End

  Chapter one

  As he stood looking down at the man he had lived next door to for six years, Paul Brookings couldn’t believe how quickly Matt had deteriorated. They played golf together ten days ago and Matthew Diebold was the picture of health. Paul laid the card he had brought on the shelf by the flowers and placed his hand on Matt’s. Matt opened his eyes.

  “You’re looking pretty much ready to go home,” Paul quipped, with a smile.

  “Liar”, was Matt’s one word response.

  Along with his health, Matt’s usual upbeat demeanor was slipping away.

  “What have the men in the white coats told you lately?”

  “Nothing I didn’t already know. The symptoms say one thing but the biopsies don’t agree. I had another MRI this morning; haven’t heard any results yet. I might as well stayed with old Doc Barnes for all the progress these high priced quacks are making. One of the nurses told me there are seven other people on this floor with symptoms very similar to mine.”

  Paul wanted to lighten the mood.

  “Elaine told me to say she misses you givin’ her a hard time.”

  Elaine was the clerk at Fred Meyers where they both shopped for groceries.

  “She says she‘ll be up to see you this weekend. She wanted to bring you a fudgesicle. I told her they probably wouldn’t let you have it.”

  The doctor in charge of Matt’s case had told Paul, Matt’s metabolism was very erratic. They had him on foods that were real easy to digest. In the five days Matt had been in the hospital he had lost seven pounds.

  Paul had purchased the house he was living in from Matt six years ago. When he sold the house to Paul, Matt bought the house right next door. They became best friends despite their difference in age. Matt lost his wife to cancer eight years ago. Paul’s ten year marriage ended six years ago. He bought the house from Matt shortly after the divorce. Matt and Paul had dinner out together almost every Sunday night.

  “I won’t be up tomorrow or Thursday. Is there anything I can bring you on Friday?”

  “Double shot of Jack Daniels! Maybe you could bring me the book I was readin’ about that guy named Tesla who discovered how to use electricity before Edison. It’s on the bottom shelf of the coffee table.”

  “Sure thing; I’ll have it for you Friday. See you soon.”

  “See you soon,” Matt echoed.

  As Paul was walking out of Matt’s room he glanced back. The first day after Matt was admitted his attitude was one of irritation. In another two or three days Matt began to have a look of concern. There was definitely fear in his eyes today.

  Paul had been a private investigator for sixteen years. Tuesdays were generally pretty busy for him. All Paul had on his agenda today, however, was to pick up a subpoena at the courthouse and serve it on a guy who lived out on Sauvies Island. The guy had violated the restraining order his ex-wife had taken out against him. Paul was pretty sure the guy was unemployed but he would try to be at his manufactured home around 5:00 PM.

  It was about an hour’s drive from his home in the Alameda district of Portland out to Sauvies Island. Since he had to use the freeway that passed through downtown at the heavy traffic hour, Paul allowed an extra fifteen minutes to make the drive. As Paul headed out Highway 30 he recalled the many times he and his father had made the trip to go duck hunting out on the island.

  Paul’s father had been shot and paralyzed from the waist down nearly twenty years ago. It was the result of a drug bust that had been horribly botched. The clerk who typed the address on the warrant had mistakenly typed N. E. 57 th Avenue instead of S. E. 57 th Avenue. It was a human error that had destroyed his father’s life and nearly his mother’s sanity. The City of Portland and the D.E.A. paid dearly for the mistake but no amount of money could replace his father’s mobility. Not to mention the trauma his mother suffered to this day.

  Paul parked a hundred yards from the driveway into where the manufactured home sat. There was no car in the driveway so Paul decided to wait until 5:00 o’clock. The October sun shining through the trees created interesting patterns on the leather upholstery of his new Mazda. Paul’s thoughts drifted to his lovely Sharon and the vacation they were planning. She wanted to go to Costa Rica. Paul had picked up brochures of Aruba and was trying to change Sharon’s mind. Paul closed his eyes and, even though he knew better, became distracted. So distracted he didn’t see or hear the car stop two hundred feet behind the Mazda. Nor did he notice the man with the baseball bat approaching. Paul did not hear him coming. He had no trouble hearing the baseball bat crashing into his windshield, however. The 9MM Glock was in his hand before the guy could swing again. Paul knew the guy could see the lethal weapon pointing at him but he swung again anyway. Paul fired a warning shot through the hole that was now in his brand new windshield. The guy fell down in his attempt to step back. Paul got out of his car and advanced toward the madman. The idiot got up and retrieved his bat. Paul fired into the gravel six feet in front of the man. Paul didn’t want to add to this poor slobs problems. He certainly didn’t want to fatally wound him. By now, Paul could see the glazed eyes and the lack of coordination. This guy was under the influence of something; but still he came. Paul shot him in the right thigh. The next bullet would have been lethal.

  Paul found out later the guy had drank a fifth of Tequila that afternoon. He was pretty much anesthetized, but not to a point he could keep going with a hole in his leg. In sixteen years of PI work, Paul had never shot anyone.

  The guy had seen Paul’s Mazda at his ex-wife’s apartment the day before, when Paul went there to get a description of her ex-husband. The guy had somehow driven into Linton to get some more Tequila. He spotted Paul’s car on the way home. In his jealous rage he assumed Paul was her new lover.

  As he waited for the response to his 911 call, Paul made a solemn promise to himself. He would never again become distracted; no matter how benign the situation might seem.

  Chapter two

  Sharon Crawford had just finished the paper work that she promised herself she wouldn’t bring home from the office. In her fourteen years with D’Metrie and Tobias law offices, she had broken that promise about seventy three times. When you have known someone for a while you can almost tell by the sound of the ring it’s them calling. Sure enough, it was Paul.

  “Got any more of that “Pinot Noir” we were drinking Friday night?”

  “Since when are we drinking on Tuesday night?”

  “Since we shot a man about two hours ago.”

  When the silence lasted more three seconds, Paul realized he should have been a little less abrupt.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Can I have a do over”?

  “Y
ou could have at least told me to sit down.”

  “I should be there in ten minutes.”

  “I won’t open the door unless you have ice cream.”

  “Make that fifteen minutes”.

  Paul rang the doorbell of Sharon’s beautiful old home in the Mt. Tabor district of Portland. He handed her the ice cream and gave her a big hug.

  “Do I dare ask if I am now consorting with a killer?”

  Paul told her the whole sordid story while she ate ice cream and he had two glasses of wine.

  “I made myself a promise after that very intoxicated bum was able to sneak up on me. I was fortunate all he had was a baseball bat.”

  “Please make me that same promise, sweetheart. “

  Paul recited the promise to Sharon.

  “I promise, from this day forward, I will not take any situation lightly.

  Now that I have made the promise to you it means even more to me.

  I went to see Matt today. It really concerns me how fast he’s failing.”

  “Did the doctors have a more precise diagnosis today?”

  “They haven’t had a precise diagnosis yet.”

  “That worries me more than anything, Paul”

  “Do you think you would have the time to go with me to see Matt, Saturday”?

  “I’ll make time. You know, my boss told me the wife one of his clients was admitted to the hospital last Friday.”

  “Had she been ill for long?”

  “I’m not sure I heard.”

  “On a more pleasant note, I have something to show you. I checked it out of the library at lunch today.”

  Sharon turned on the TV and the DVD player. She inserted the DVD and they both sat on the couch. As soon as the title came on Paul started complaining.

  “This isn’t fair.”

  The DVD was a travelogue of Costa Rica.

  “You started it with those brochures of Aruba.”

  Paul had to admit, this was Sharon’s next logical move in their make believe conflict to determine where they would vacation this year.

  “OK, Paul said, but don’t cry foul if I buy some time on channel 8 and run all the attributes of Aruba on TV.”

  They were both laughing as they watched the rest of the travelogue.

  “On a less than pleasant note, do you have the number of the shop that replaced the windshield in your Lexus last year? As I recall, they came to your work and did the job right in the parking lot.”

  “That was year before last, and yes I do have the number.”

  Sharon Crawford was one of those people who believed in a place for everything and everything in its place.

  “We should probably end this make believe war and decide on where we are going this year. Three weeks goes by pretty fast.”

  “You’re right. We’ll declare a truce and pick a spot this weekend.”

  On the way out the door Paul reminded Sharon about Saturday, as if she needed a reminder.

  During the ten minute drive from Sharon’s house to his, Paul reflected on how fortunate he was to have met such a beautiful woman. She was beautiful both inside and out. The circumstances of their meeting, however, were anything but beautiful. It was hard to believe that had been more than five years ago. Like the story begins, “it was a dark and rainy night.” We arrived at the scene of the accident at nearly the same time. There was a car in the ditch. An old man was frantically trying to open the door of another car which was upside down. The lady (Sharon) figured he was in shock because he did not respond to any of our questions. We found out later, the sudden jolt had knocked his hearing aid out of his ear. As I neared the upside down car the odor of gasoline became overwhelming. I told the lady to take the old man and move away from the upside down car. I shined the flashlight, I had brought with me, into the front seat. The driver, a man, was not moving. The passenger, a woman, was trying desperately to get into the back seat. I shined the light in the back seat. A young boy was lying on the overhead. His head was twisted at a very irregular angle. I yanked on both the of the doors to no avail. I yelled at the woman in the car, I would be right back. My tire iron was the only thing I had in the way of a prying tool. I opened the trunk and took it out. An angel guarded me for the next few moments. I had only taken three steps when the concussion from the blast blew me back against the side of my car. The lady and the old man were knocked to the ground.

  We were only a few blocks from a fire station so the 911 call I had made was answered in just five or six minutes. The heat from the burning car was so intense we couldn’t even approach it. The firemen had some difficulty battling the burning car. Suddenly, the elderly man grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. In another two or three minutes the police arrived. We both gave the officer our names and as much information as we could about the accident. The paramedic told us the old man had a heart attack and they were transporting him to Providence Hospital. With no reason to stay we both went our separate ways.

  That may very well have been the end of it. However … For some unknown reason I started feeling obligated to visit the old man who had the heart attack. I went to the hospital, which is only a mile or so from my house. I asked the lady at the information desk if she knew if the old man that had been brought in by ambulance about 10:30 last night was still at the hospital. She asked if I was a relative so I had to explain all about last night. She finally told me his name was Earl Bellman and he was in ICU. They probably wouldn’t let me in but, once again, I felt compelled to try. ICU was on the third floor. The elevator door opened and what to my wondering eyes should appear but the vision of loveliness from last night. The rest, as they say, is history.

  Chapter three

  Paul dearly loved his sister Karen. In the last couple of years, however, she had become somewhat uppity. On the other hand, who could blame her. She was a highly trained bio-chemical engineer with one of the finest teaching hospitals in America. In addition, she was going with a United States Senator. Paul could still recall the last time they really hung out together. It was just a few weeks before she started college. She was twenty and he was seventeen. Paul had just bought a new car (it really wasn’t new but it was new to him). He and Karen drove to Sun River, near Bend, and spent the weekend skiing.

  Karen had survived nearly fifteen years of a difficult marriage to Grant Mackerly. The first five were very happy. They were so much in love. Grant was a child psychologist at OHSU (Oregon Health Science University), which is where they met. Grant had a genetic disorder which affected his metabolism. Karen began studying books on bio-chemistry and how it works in the human body. It was the contributing factor that convinced Karen to major in bio-chemistry at OHSU.

  In the sixth year of their marriage Grant’s disorder began becoming more critical. His health deteriorated to a point he could no longer maintain his position at the university. By the tenth year of their marriage Grant’s body had become so emaciated he spent the majority of his time bedridden. Karen took as much time off from work as she possibly could. They finally decided to employ a nurse full time.

  A year before Grant’s death they flew to Maui, to spend two weeks. Grant, in a most compassionate declaration of his love, convinced Karen to take him home after only three days. Her undying love and dedication had moved him to tears.

  Two months after their brief trip to Hawaii, Grant moved into a Hospice facility. The director of the facility had a bed moved in to Grant’s room. Karen spent very little time at home. She was either at work or at Grant’s side. She slept beside him on the weekends. In the end Grant no longer recognized Karen or his Mother. His will to live kept him going far longer than anyone imagined.

  The day before his fortieth birthday Grant slipped into a coma. The attending physician told Karen and her mother-in-law his condition was irreversible. In a moment of mercy and great sorrow they agreed to have the life support removed.

  Karen lost fifteen pounds the last three months of Grant’s life. After the memorial she became
a recluse. She immersed herself in her work. Paul invited her to dinner several times. They actually went only once.

  Chapter four

  Paul was half way out the door Friday afternoon when his cell phone chimed. A picture of his beloved appeared on the face.

  “Hi sweetheart.”

  “Is this Magnum, my very favorite P I?”

  “You must want something.”

  “I’m actually calling to apologize, sweetie. Doctor Tobias went home not feeling well at all. He was working on a brief that must be finished by Monday. Little ol’e me is the only one closely associated with the doctor. I am the only one to finish the brief. Even if I work all day and half the night, there’s no way I can finish today.”

  “Are you telling me you won’t be going with me on Saturday to visit Matt?”

  “I’m really sorry, Paul. I’m sure I’ll be too tired.”

  “That settles it. Now we are really going to Aruba.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m spoofin’, as I’m sure you know. I know you would rather visit Matt than type up a boring old brief. Can we at least get together tonight?”

  “I’m going to stay and type as long as I can tonight, my love.”

  “Please call me as soon as you get home tonight; no matter how late.”

  Paul was shocked to see how bad Matt looked Friday. Matt was sleeping when Paul arrived and he didn’t want to wake him up. He did find Dr. DeMoray, however. Paul asked the doctor if there had been any progress.

  “The pancreas is now looking less and less like the primary source of the interruption in the metabolic pathway. This morning we ran some tests to determine if the thyroid might be the culprit. The lymphocyte production from the spleen is only slightly elevated for some reason. There are more phagocytes than usual, however. The liver appears to be functioning properly but what we call the Glycolysis Pathway is being interrupted. The tests show there is production and distribution of the acids and enzymes necessary to convert nutrients into energy. Somewhere, somehow the path is broken. The flu symptoms are becoming more alarming by the hour. The latest blood samples show enormous amounts of activated T-cells yet only a small increase in B-cells. There is another very strange incident that occurs with each sample. Within minutes after drawing the blood and applying it to the slide dozens of the cells on the slide are dead. I’m sorry I can’t give a more positive prognosis.”