Read Online The Select by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: F. Paul Wilson
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thought of being the only one awake, sitting in
the dark and seeing a glowing, knife-wielding hand float past your
bedroom door...
She threw off the frisson .
"Mom, you haven't had any, uh, visions
about me, have you?"
Mom stirred honey into her tea. "No.
Nothing like that. Just a...feeling. Especially that Ingraham
place. Giving you everything free. That
seems...unnatural."
She was sounding a bit like
Matt.
"Well," Quinn said, "I don't think you
have to worry now. Nothing bad is going to happen to me at med
school."
Saying those words, med school,
triggered a pain in her chest. Crying it out, talking it out,
having a cup of tea with her mother had helped her put aside the
crushing loss. But only for a moment.
"I've got to call Matt," Quinn said
around the newly formed lump in her throat. Which was the last
thing she wanted to do. She hadn't made it and he had. So had Tim.
She felt humiliated, ashamed. But might as well grit her teeth and
get it over with. "He's waiting to hear from me."
*
Tim sat in Matt's bedroom and watched
his friend hang up the phone. He stared at it accusingly, as if it
had lied to him. After a moment he turned and faced Tim.
"They turned her down," he said, his
voice hushed. "The Ingraham fucking College of fucking Medicine
turned down Quinn Cleary. I don't believe it."
Tim already had gathered that from
what he'd just overheard. He felt a pang, almost like a soldier
who'd just lost a comrade. His hurt, he realized, was a little
selfish: He'd been looking forward to spending some time with
Quinn.
"Doesn't seem right," Tim said. "I
mean, I don't know her as well as you, but she strikes me as
someone who was born to be a doctor."
"Damn right," Matt said,
his lips thinning as he spoke—Tim could tell he was getting angry
now. "What the hell's wrong with them, anyway? Turning down
Quinn—what kind of bullshit is that? Where are their heads? What
are they thinking about? Do they have any idea what they've just done to her
life?"
"Probably not," Tim said.
"They—-"
Matt stood up and kicked his wicker
wastebasket against the far wall, then began to stalk the room. No
mean distance, that. Matt's bedroom was the size of the living room
in Tim's home, which wasn't exactly a shack.
"Damn, this pisses me off! I've had
reservations about that place from the start, all their prissy
rules and regulations, but this ices the cake! If they don't want
Quinn Cleary, I've got to ask myself if The Ingraham even knows
what the hell it's doing."
"And what's worse," Tim
said, silently tipping his hat to Groucho Marx as he tried to
lighten things up a bit, "they accepted me. I'm not even
sure I want to go
to a medical school that'll take me as a student."
Matt didn't smile. "I'm not kidding,
Tim. I'd like to turn those bastards down, just for
spite."
Tim saw that he was serious, and the
seed of a scheme began to germinate in his mind.
"Hold that thought," he told
Matt.
SUMMER
Fenostatin (Hypolip - Kleederman
Pharm.) has surpassed lovastatin as the number-one selling
lipid-lowering agent in the world. In long-term clinical studies it
has consistently lowered LDL by 50% and trigycerides by 40% while
raising HDL by as much as 60% with a daily 10 mg. dose, without the
risk of rhabdomyolysis or alterations in liver function studies
seen with other HMG-CoA reductase inhibitors.
Medical Tribune
CHAPTER SIX
"Ingraham Admissions, Marge
speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hi, Marge. It's Quinn
Cleary."
"Quinn! How are you,
dear?"
"Still hanging in there. Any
word?"
"No, honey. I'm sorry.
Nobody's called. As I told you, it's very rare that someone turns
down an acceptance here. I've been here ten years now and I can
only remember two. And one of those had a serious neck injury that
was going to lay him up for a year."
"I know. But I can still hope, can't
I?"
"And we're hoping right
along with you, sweetheart. Listen, you know if it was up to us
we'd have you in here in a
the dark and seeing a glowing, knife-wielding hand float past your
bedroom door...
She threw off the frisson .
"Mom, you haven't had any, uh, visions
about me, have you?"
Mom stirred honey into her tea. "No.
Nothing like that. Just a...feeling. Especially that Ingraham
place. Giving you everything free. That
seems...unnatural."
She was sounding a bit like
Matt.
"Well," Quinn said, "I don't think you
have to worry now. Nothing bad is going to happen to me at med
school."
Saying those words, med school,
triggered a pain in her chest. Crying it out, talking it out,
having a cup of tea with her mother had helped her put aside the
crushing loss. But only for a moment.
"I've got to call Matt," Quinn said
around the newly formed lump in her throat. Which was the last
thing she wanted to do. She hadn't made it and he had. So had Tim.
She felt humiliated, ashamed. But might as well grit her teeth and
get it over with. "He's waiting to hear from me."
*
Tim sat in Matt's bedroom and watched
his friend hang up the phone. He stared at it accusingly, as if it
had lied to him. After a moment he turned and faced Tim.
"They turned her down," he said, his
voice hushed. "The Ingraham fucking College of fucking Medicine
turned down Quinn Cleary. I don't believe it."
Tim already had gathered that from
what he'd just overheard. He felt a pang, almost like a soldier
who'd just lost a comrade. His hurt, he realized, was a little
selfish: He'd been looking forward to spending some time with
Quinn.
"Doesn't seem right," Tim said. "I
mean, I don't know her as well as you, but she strikes me as
someone who was born to be a doctor."
"Damn right," Matt said,
his lips thinning as he spoke—Tim could tell he was getting angry
now. "What the hell's wrong with them, anyway? Turning down
Quinn—what kind of bullshit is that? Where are their heads? What
are they thinking about? Do they have any idea what they've just done to her
life?"
"Probably not," Tim said.
"They—-"
Matt stood up and kicked his wicker
wastebasket against the far wall, then began to stalk the room. No
mean distance, that. Matt's bedroom was the size of the living room
in Tim's home, which wasn't exactly a shack.
"Damn, this pisses me off! I've had
reservations about that place from the start, all their prissy
rules and regulations, but this ices the cake! If they don't want
Quinn Cleary, I've got to ask myself if The Ingraham even knows
what the hell it's doing."
"And what's worse," Tim
said, silently tipping his hat to Groucho Marx as he tried to
lighten things up a bit, "they accepted me. I'm not even
sure I want to go
to a medical school that'll take me as a student."
Matt didn't smile. "I'm not kidding,
Tim. I'd like to turn those bastards down, just for
spite."
Tim saw that he was serious, and the
seed of a scheme began to germinate in his mind.
"Hold that thought," he told
Matt.
SUMMER
Fenostatin (Hypolip - Kleederman
Pharm.) has surpassed lovastatin as the number-one selling
lipid-lowering agent in the world. In long-term clinical studies it
has consistently lowered LDL by 50% and trigycerides by 40% while
raising HDL by as much as 60% with a daily 10 mg. dose, without the
risk of rhabdomyolysis or alterations in liver function studies
seen with other HMG-CoA reductase inhibitors.
Medical Tribune
CHAPTER SIX
"Ingraham Admissions, Marge
speaking. How may I help you?"
"Hi, Marge. It's Quinn
Cleary."
"Quinn! How are you,
dear?"
"Still hanging in there. Any
word?"
"No, honey. I'm sorry.
Nobody's called. As I told you, it's very rare that someone turns
down an acceptance here. I've been here ten years now and I can
only remember two. And one of those had a serious neck injury that
was going to lay him up for a year."
"I know. But I can still hope, can't
I?"
"And we're hoping right
along with you, sweetheart. Listen, you know if it was up to us
we'd have you in here in a
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