Race for the Dying by Steven F. Havill Page B

reached for the bottle, adding another inch.
    â€œSo I ask you, tell me about your dreams. What is your passion, my good young man? What are you looking for here? Thank God that you did, but why have you come to join us?”
    â€œYou invited me, sir.”
    Haines tipped his head back and bellowed a laugh. “That’s a fine thing,” he said, regarding Thomas fondly. “You’ve inherited a measure of your mother’s directness, bless her soul. Indeed I did invite you here. And now I want to know why you accepted the offer with such alacrity. You could stay in Philadelphia and become a wealthy man…but I suppose you may be that already.”
    â€œThere is wealth everywhere, sir, just as there is pain and suffering everywhere, but the excitement is on the fringes. That’s what I saw on my trip. Once things become established, something in the excitement is lost.”
    â€œReally. The old frontier-spirit business.”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    â€œAnd excitement? That’s what you seek in medicine? Some sort of frontier?”
    Thomas reached over and carefully set the glass on the nightstand, clutching one of the pillows tight to his chest with his other arm. He settled back and took a slow, deep breath, right to the point where the battered ribs said “no more.”
    â€œExactly what happened to me,” he said.
    â€œA certain irony there,” Haines observed.
    â€œYes, I see that. But what excites me are the decisions to be made immediately following a catastrophic event…and more than just a few cuts and bruises, I must say. But when the patient’s life hangs in the balance, when there are but moments, perhaps even seconds, that decide whether he bleeds to death or lives. Whether his next faltering inhalation will be his last.”
    â€œMy word,” Haines said, “you bring back memories.”
    â€œOf the war, you mean?”
    Indeed, and not such welcome ones, either.” He drained the glass again, and then rolled it between his fingers, watching the patterns in the glass catch the light from the single gas wall sconce behind the nightstand. “That was a long time ago,” he said, and dismissed the recollection. “Well,” he said, and dropped one foot to the floor, pushing his chair back away from the bed, “you need some rest.”
    â€œThat’s all I’ve had the past days, sir.”
    â€œAh, then I need some rest, Thomas.” He stood up carefully and returned the wheelchair to the corner. “Tomorrow I want you out and about. We’ll help you to this chair, and then I need to evaluate that hip…troublesome, I think. You can spend the day exploring the house. Without doing more damage to yourself, by the way. You’ll find my library of interest. We’ll have dinner at eight sharp, and we’d be pleased if you would join us, providing you don’t wear yourself out.”
    He moved close to the bed and extended his hands, taking Thomas’ in both of his. “Welcome to one-oh-one, Thomas.”
    â€œThank you, sir.” Dr. Haines reached up toward the gaslight. “I’d prefer you left the light, sir.”
    â€œCertainly.” Haines saw the newspaper and cocked his head. “Perhaps you’d prefer a journal or two? Not that I have any that you haven’t already seen months ago.”
    â€œThat would be welcome…and the wheelchair as well. I look forward to visiting the clinic.”
    â€œAh.” Haines nodded. “I hope you won’t be disappointed. It’s rather modest.”
    â€œIs it far from here?”
    â€œIn your condition, it might as well be on the other side of the world,” Haines replied. “Six blocks only. That gives you something to strive for, doesn’t it? Let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? There’s no need to rush nature, Thomas. You and Zachary will get on famously, I’m sure. You