Eighteen
11:30 a.m.
Edward Cortland awoke in a pool of sweat and piss.
He shuddered, then groaned as it hurt so very badly just to breathe. For a moment he tried to determine what had awakened him. A beeping or something. Didn’t matter. Why oh why had he ignored the pain so very long? If Allison hadn’t grown worried about his weight loss and then noticed how jaundiced he was, he might still be wondering what the hell was wrong with him.
He was dying. Advanced pancreatic cancer... Allison had cried so hard when the doctor explained the damning test results.
His heart hurt as he thought of his dear, sweet Allison. He should never have told her the terrible, terrible secret he had been keeping all these years. He was a selfish son of a bitch. She would still be here with him if he hadn’t been so damned selfish. All of the pain and agony they had suffered was his fault.
No matter what Bill Sanders and that insane wife of his had done, Edward knew where the true guilt lay. He had killed their precious girl as certainly as he had his beautiful wife.
The sobs rocked his frail body for a few minutes, maybe several minutes. He could no longer judge the passage of time. He’d buried Allison on Thursday, today was... Saturday.
Had it only been two days?
He wished he was dead already.
A new crescendo of pain washed over him. He groaned with the agony of it. God, how was he supposed to live like this? The pain was overwhelming. His body betrayed him a little more every hour of every day.
A nurse came in each morning to feed and dress him. She would return this evening to prepare his dinner and to bathe him and put him to bed. Between her visits, he slept. He took his pills and he slept. Friends called but he was in no condition to have visitors. The nurse reminded him that soon he would require around-the-clock care.
Soon he would die. The sooner the better.
He groaned and reached for the bottle of pain pills on the bedside table. No visitors. He’d told the nurse he would accept no visitors and that he would be staying at home until he was carried out feetfirst. He’d seen his old friends at Allison’s funeral. That would be the last time until they gazed upon his thin, lifeless body in his casket.
Funny, the others hadn’t rushed to his home and demanded why he’d told his wife what they did all those years ago. So very odd. The pain pills made his thinking fuzzy. Maybe they had. The drugs also made him forgetful. Or perhaps Allison had not told anyone. Unlike him, she may have been strong enough to take their awful secret to her grave with her.
Edward was a coward. Always had been really. He was typically the first to come up with an idea but he preferred that others execute it.
He clutched at the bottle and dragged it toward him. He shook it. Empty. A frown pulled at his face. The nurse should have checked to see that he had all that he needed within reach before she left this morning.
Summoning all the strength he possessed, Edward threw back the covers and forced his failing body into an upright position. When he’d gained his balance, he stood. One staggering step at a time he made his way into the bathroom. He fumbled through the bottles on the counter. His heart beat faster and faster. Where were his pain pills?
A wave of fierce agony washed over him and he had to brace himself against the counter.
Where the hell had that stupid bitch put his pain meds?
Holding the wall, he made his way out of the bathroom and the bedroom and into the hall. The distance to the stairs appeared so very far, but he knew it was really only twelve or fifteen yards. Slowly, he made his way there. Sweat poured down his face by the time he sat down on the first step. His body had started to shake with the pain. Long ago, as a young man, he’d volunteered at a homeless shelter. He’d seen the pitiful old men who were drug addicts. The lack of nourishment and exercise had eaten away at their bodies, leaving nothing but flabby skin and brittle bone. Every step had been a mountain to climb, each breath a shallow draw. How their fragile bodies had shaken.
The memory was like looking in the mirror at what he had become in the past few weeks. Even his penis had shriveled into nothing.
One by one he scooted down the steps. When he reached the bottom, he had to sit for a brief period before he dared to stand. Slowly he hauled himself up and started toward his destination. He hit the table in the parlor, causing the large vase atop it to crash to the floor. He didn’t care. The housekeeper would take care of the mess. He needed to get to the kitchen. There was a newly filled bottle of meds on the counter next to the sink and two more in the cabinet next to it. His personal physician, an old friend, had ensured Edward had whatever he needed. Since there was nothing else they could do for him, keeping him comfortable was the goal. Soon he would be totally bedridden and on a morphine drip, but he refused to be stranded that way until there was no other choice.
By the time he reached the kitchen, he was sweating profusely, his vision was failing and the ability to stand without holding on to something had deserted him. He overturned a chair on the way to the sink.
Edward froze. Ironically his vision cleared. The countertops were clean. Nothing, not a bottle or glass or anything at all sat on the gleaming white marble. Had the housekeeper been here this morning? She knew better than to touch his meds.
“Fuck.”
Outrage thundered inside him. Where was his cell phone? For the love of God! Had he left it upstairs? He reached for the house phone. There was no dial tone. He hit the necessary buttons and listened again. Still no dial tone. He tossed the useless instrument across the room.
He needed his goddamned pills!
Edward tore open cabinet doors and drawers. He flung contents aside...over the counters...onto the floor...wherever, he no longer cared. No pills! Where the hell were his pills?
Maybe the nurse or the housekeeper had put them in the refrigerator. It was the only place he hadn’t searched. Stupid cunts! Holding on to a chair and sliding it along with him, he made his way there. The pain screamed inside him. He moaned.
No pills in the refrigerator.
Edward dropped to his knees.
He was so tired. The pain was too much.
His body slumped to the floor and he flopped onto his back.
He stared up at the kitchen light. Each breath was a tremendous struggle. The pain was like a thousand knives cutting him up inside.
Something blocked the light.
He blinked. Tried to make out the face staring down at him.
“What happened Edward?”
He frowned, tried to say her name, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think. Why was she here? His mind was going around and around just like the room. He must be confused.
“Don’t worry, Edward. I have what you need. What you deserve.”
He opened his mouth, whether in an attempt to speak again or for the promise of a pill that would provide blessed relief he couldn’t say for sure.
Fingers prodded his mouth open wider. He thought he saw another face in the light. Were his housekeeper and his nurse here? Something poured into his mouth. His tongue laved at the objects. His pills! He tried to swallow, but there were too many. The pills kept spilling into his mouth.
Oh yes! More! Thank God! He just needed to swallow.
“There you go,” a singsong voice resonated around him.
Edward tried to swallow...to close his mouth, but it was too full.
Fingers shoved the pills deeper into his throat. He gagged.
Can’t breathe...
As he choked and gagged and sputtered, a face lowered next to his. “Don’t worry, Edward, the others will be joining you soon.”