Read Online Endorphin Conspiracy, The by Fredric Stern - Free Book Online Page A

man in any way, but conversations attracted attention, and that was not what you wanted to do in the subway, unless of course you were looking for trouble.
    Across from Geoff was seated an elderly Italian woman, black kerchief on her head. Protruding out of a Macy’s shopping bag at her feet was a copy of the evening’s New York Post with its usual sensational headline: “Central Park Psycho Explodes.” The caption underneath read, “Girl Hostage Clings to Life,” and was followed by a large, somewhat grainy picture of a man.
    It was not the headline so much as the picture that attracted Geoff’s attention. It was obviously an old photo taken in happier times. The man was tall, big-boned, easily six feet plus. He wore a kelly green Parks Department uniform and stood holding a rake in front of the Tropic House at the Central Park Zoo. His dark-skinned face was plump, somewhat pockmarked, and it bore a spirited, broad smile. Hardly the look of a psychopathic killer.
    Geoff knew that man. He could not remember the details, nor the man’s name. Geoff was poor with names, but his visual memory was excellent, bordering on photographic. He’d remember soon enough. The specifics about the face would abruptly interrupt whatever else he was thinking about like a flashing neon sign. Simpler yet, he’d grab a copy of the paper on the way out of the station and find out who the man was.
    The train pulled away from the station with a great lurch and accelerated, its jerky movements causing the heads of the passengers to sway back and forth like erratic metronomes. The rhythmic chugging of the steel wheels on the ancient tracks created an almost hypnotic beat and set Geoff’s mind wandering. His thoughts raced through the day’s events, a veritable kaleidoscope of visual images. He thought of Jessica clinging to life, tubes extruding from every orifice, a bolt sprouting from the top of her head. All because she had convinced her grandmother to take her to the Zoo that day. All because some lunatic, some lunatic Geoff knew, snapped and went into a murderous frenzy the instant their paths crossed.
    Geoff’s mind drifted to bittersweet thoughts of Sarah. She had kept him emotionally honest all the years they were together, in touch with his human side. Geoff had felt torn between his real desire to help people and the analytical approach to disease he was taught in med school and residency, patients readily sorted into lists of differential diagnoses, operative procedures. The gall bladder in bed one, the brain tumor in the ICU. A faceless ward of patients, their lives layed out on three by five cards. Geoff worried that without Sarah, he was becoming the prototypical surgeon, becoming cold and clinical like his father had been.
    Geoff met Sarah at Harvard, at a Christmas party, their junior year. Geoff was attracted to her at first glance. Tall, about five-ten, with smooth, olive complexion, Sarah’s golden blonde hair was tied back in a French knot. She wore a strapless, black and teal dress that accentuated her broad shoulders, curvaceous bust and long, slender back. She carried herself with confidence. Sarah’s physical attributes aside, the beauty of her personality was what finally most attracted Geoff. She was bright, caring, sensitive, down to earth. And unlike Geoff, spontaneous. Life with Sarah had been intimate and exciting. They moved in together their senior year, stayed in Boston to attend their respective graduate schools, their relationship stronger for having survived the rigors of medical and law school.
    Sarah chose to become a public defender right out of Harvard Law and was assigned to the Superior Court in lower Manhattan. Highly principled, a champion of social causes, she was somewhat left of center politically. She challenged Geoff to remain in touch with his patients as people first, forced him to pause and reflect when he became detached.
    He thought back to one particularly stressful time, an ER