Read Online The Two Deaths of Daniel Hayes by Marcus Sakey - Free Book Online
Authors: Marcus Sakey
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mind. You lost your dad. You know what I’m talking about.”
The guy hesitated. “I don’t know . . .”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.” Daniel pulled the money from his jeans. “Please. I’m going crazy here.”
The man bit his lip. Looked down the hall. Checked his watch again.
“Please?”
“If anyone found out—”
“How? I won’t tell, and I don’t need the film, or whatever it is. I just want someone to look and tell me I’m okay.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“The doctor’s the guy who makes bank for having his name on the door. But you probably do a dozen of these a day, right?”
“More.”
“Please. You’d really be doing me a favor.” He set the money on the counter.
The tech looked at it. Took a deep breath, then a step forward. “Come around that door over there.”
Ten minutes later, he was wearing a hospital gown— no metal , the tech, whose name had turned out to be Mike, had said; this thing is basically one big magnet —and lying on a table in a device that looked like something out of Star Trek . He’d imagined a torpedo tube, but this was much nicer. He was sandwiched between two broad cylinders, and the open peripheral vision was comforting. He had his eyes closed, and was concentrating on lying as still as he could, trying not to pay attention to the loud clanking and banging, and most of all, trying not to think about what Mike might find.
On the other hand, if he finds something, you’ve got an answer. If not, you’re just nuts.
It was a long half hour.
Finally, Mike’s voice came through a speaker. “Okay, I’m gonna bring you out.” The tray Daniel lay on slid smoothly, and then he was staring at ceiling tile, aware again of the draft running under the thin gown.
He sat up slowly, blinked. “What’s the word?”
Mike stood at the door to the room, holding it open with one hand. “I’m sorry to tell you this . . .”
Oh shit . . .
“. . . but you’re perfectly fine.”
Daniel exhaled. “That’s not funny, man.”
“Sorry. But you knew that, right?”
“You’re sure?”
“Come look.”
Daniel hopped off the table, followed the tech into the next room. It was dim, and dominated by a broad monitor. The screen was split into quadrants, each showing a black-and-white image.
“I’m not printing anything out, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
The man punched a button, and the monitor switched to a single image, an amoeba of black and white. The shape shifted and grew, morphed into the rough shape of a human skull, the cauliflower coils of the brain showing up in high contrast. As Mike pressed keys, the frame jumped, showing, Daniel assumed, different cutouts.
“I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”
“Abnormalities.”
“Unless it’s a little cartoon bomb with a lit fuse, I’m not sure I’d see it.”
“There’s nothing there. The scan is normal.”
“You’re sure?”
“Man, you want to see a doc, up to you, but this is your brain, and there ain’t nothing wrong with it.” The tech turned, looked up at him. “Physically, at least.”
“Yeah.”
“Now, I’m sorry, but . . .”
“Right.” Daniel pulled the money out, passed it over. “Thanks.”
Back in the changing room, he took off the gown, put on his jeans and undershirt. Trying not to think.
Mike walked him to the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just.” He shrugged. “I started to believe.”
“Well, be happy, my man. All’s well.”
Daniel nodded, stepped out.
“Oh, and hey. I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks,” he said, and walked through the dark parking lot to his car. Feeling rotten for the lie, but worse for the truth. He was fine, physically, and that should have been a relief.
The problem was, something had made him take this trip the other direction. Judging by the empty blister packs of ephedrine, he might have made the whole damn distance in one brain-rattling sprint, chewing the bitter tabs so they’d kick in faster, washing them down with Jack
The guy hesitated. “I don’t know . . .”
“I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.” Daniel pulled the money from his jeans. “Please. I’m going crazy here.”
The man bit his lip. Looked down the hall. Checked his watch again.
“Please?”
“If anyone found out—”
“How? I won’t tell, and I don’t need the film, or whatever it is. I just want someone to look and tell me I’m okay.”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“The doctor’s the guy who makes bank for having his name on the door. But you probably do a dozen of these a day, right?”
“More.”
“Please. You’d really be doing me a favor.” He set the money on the counter.
The tech looked at it. Took a deep breath, then a step forward. “Come around that door over there.”
Ten minutes later, he was wearing a hospital gown— no metal , the tech, whose name had turned out to be Mike, had said; this thing is basically one big magnet —and lying on a table in a device that looked like something out of Star Trek . He’d imagined a torpedo tube, but this was much nicer. He was sandwiched between two broad cylinders, and the open peripheral vision was comforting. He had his eyes closed, and was concentrating on lying as still as he could, trying not to pay attention to the loud clanking and banging, and most of all, trying not to think about what Mike might find.
On the other hand, if he finds something, you’ve got an answer. If not, you’re just nuts.
It was a long half hour.
Finally, Mike’s voice came through a speaker. “Okay, I’m gonna bring you out.” The tray Daniel lay on slid smoothly, and then he was staring at ceiling tile, aware again of the draft running under the thin gown.
He sat up slowly, blinked. “What’s the word?”
Mike stood at the door to the room, holding it open with one hand. “I’m sorry to tell you this . . .”
Oh shit . . .
“. . . but you’re perfectly fine.”
Daniel exhaled. “That’s not funny, man.”
“Sorry. But you knew that, right?”
“You’re sure?”
“Come look.”
Daniel hopped off the table, followed the tech into the next room. It was dim, and dominated by a broad monitor. The screen was split into quadrants, each showing a black-and-white image.
“I’m not printing anything out, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure.”
The man punched a button, and the monitor switched to a single image, an amoeba of black and white. The shape shifted and grew, morphed into the rough shape of a human skull, the cauliflower coils of the brain showing up in high contrast. As Mike pressed keys, the frame jumped, showing, Daniel assumed, different cutouts.
“I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”
“Abnormalities.”
“Unless it’s a little cartoon bomb with a lit fuse, I’m not sure I’d see it.”
“There’s nothing there. The scan is normal.”
“You’re sure?”
“Man, you want to see a doc, up to you, but this is your brain, and there ain’t nothing wrong with it.” The tech turned, looked up at him. “Physically, at least.”
“Yeah.”
“Now, I’m sorry, but . . .”
“Right.” Daniel pulled the money out, passed it over. “Thanks.”
Back in the changing room, he took off the gown, put on his jeans and undershirt. Trying not to think.
Mike walked him to the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just.” He shrugged. “I started to believe.”
“Well, be happy, my man. All’s well.”
Daniel nodded, stepped out.
“Oh, and hey. I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Thanks,” he said, and walked through the dark parking lot to his car. Feeling rotten for the lie, but worse for the truth. He was fine, physically, and that should have been a relief.
The problem was, something had made him take this trip the other direction. Judging by the empty blister packs of ephedrine, he might have made the whole damn distance in one brain-rattling sprint, chewing the bitter tabs so they’d kick in faster, washing them down with Jack
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