start?”
“Look, I’m not promising anything, understand that, but if your husband were to qualify as a subject –”
“He’ll qualify,” Mrs. Spalding said resolutely.
“We would have to wait for my hospital’s Institutional Review Board to give me the green light.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s hard to say. It might take some time.”
“Time.” Mrs. Copeland smiled feebly. “Such a funny concept when you think about it.” She grasped his arm and searched his eyes. “I know I can count on you to do the right thing. Dr. O’Keefe told me you’re a little rough around the edges but that deep down you’re a decent man. You’re my only hope. Cecil’s only hope.”
Lloyd wondered exactly what Mark had told her.
“Shall we go back upstairs?” she said. “I left the door unlocked and I don’t want him to come down and see… this.” She surveyed the stacks of paintings.
When Lloyd entered the living room, Cecil Spalding was back behind the easel. Spalding turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and laughed with excitement before walking to his wife to hug her as if she had surprised him by coming home unannounced from a prolonged trip.
“Have we met?” Spalding asked Lloyd.
“I’m Dr. Copeland.”
Spalding raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled good-naturedly. “A doctor? Well, I hope all is well.” He erupted in wheezy laughter.
Lloyd held out his hand while studying the man’s facial expression. Spalding moved his arm forward but stopped abruptly. He knitted his brow, his smile fading, and crossed his arms behind his back.
“Won’t you shake my hand?” Lloyd asked.
Spalding smiled apologetically. His eyes darted about avoiding eye contact.
“I prefer to bow… like the Asians.” Spalding bowed twice and chuckled.
Lloyd smiled and bowed in return.
When Lloyd returned to his office there was a sticky note pasted on the video monitor of his computer: “Call Bender.” Lloyd peeled off the note and tried to wipe off the thin residue left on the screen with the sleeve of his white coat.
Dr. Martin Bender was an old-school academic – the chief of the Department of Neurology and the only faculty member who had completed training programs in both Psychiatry and Neurology. Uncle Marty (a moniker Bender cherished) had served as faculty advisor to countless residents, including Lloyd. He was one of the few senior faculty members that Lloyd felt he could trust.
Lloyd dialed the number to Bender’s office but reached his secretary who had a message for him.
“He’d like you to meet him tomorrow at eleven, Neurology conference room.”
There was a knock on the door. Kaz stuck his head in.
“It’s five-thirty,” he said.
“You leaving?” Lloyd asked.
“Unless you need me to do something.”
Lloyd shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” Kaz asked.
Lloyd raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“You look worried.”
“I think I know who the first human to receive the prion will be,” Lloyd said.
“Well, that’s good. So why are you worried?”
“I’m not
“Look, I’m not promising anything, understand that, but if your husband were to qualify as a subject –”
“He’ll qualify,” Mrs. Spalding said resolutely.
“We would have to wait for my hospital’s Institutional Review Board to give me the green light.”
“How long will that take?”
“It’s hard to say. It might take some time.”
“Time.” Mrs. Copeland smiled feebly. “Such a funny concept when you think about it.” She grasped his arm and searched his eyes. “I know I can count on you to do the right thing. Dr. O’Keefe told me you’re a little rough around the edges but that deep down you’re a decent man. You’re my only hope. Cecil’s only hope.”
Lloyd wondered exactly what Mark had told her.
“Shall we go back upstairs?” she said. “I left the door unlocked and I don’t want him to come down and see… this.” She surveyed the stacks of paintings.
When Lloyd entered the living room, Cecil Spalding was back behind the easel. Spalding turned at the sound of footsteps behind him and laughed with excitement before walking to his wife to hug her as if she had surprised him by coming home unannounced from a prolonged trip.
“Have we met?” Spalding asked Lloyd.
“I’m Dr. Copeland.”
Spalding raised his bushy eyebrows and smiled good-naturedly. “A doctor? Well, I hope all is well.” He erupted in wheezy laughter.
Lloyd held out his hand while studying the man’s facial expression. Spalding moved his arm forward but stopped abruptly. He knitted his brow, his smile fading, and crossed his arms behind his back.
“Won’t you shake my hand?” Lloyd asked.
Spalding smiled apologetically. His eyes darted about avoiding eye contact.
“I prefer to bow… like the Asians.” Spalding bowed twice and chuckled.
Lloyd smiled and bowed in return.
When Lloyd returned to his office there was a sticky note pasted on the video monitor of his computer: “Call Bender.” Lloyd peeled off the note and tried to wipe off the thin residue left on the screen with the sleeve of his white coat.
Dr. Martin Bender was an old-school academic – the chief of the Department of Neurology and the only faculty member who had completed training programs in both Psychiatry and Neurology. Uncle Marty (a moniker Bender cherished) had served as faculty advisor to countless residents, including Lloyd. He was one of the few senior faculty members that Lloyd felt he could trust.
Lloyd dialed the number to Bender’s office but reached his secretary who had a message for him.
“He’d like you to meet him tomorrow at eleven, Neurology conference room.”
There was a knock on the door. Kaz stuck his head in.
“It’s five-thirty,” he said.
“You leaving?” Lloyd asked.
“Unless you need me to do something.”
Lloyd shook his head.
“What’s the matter?” Kaz asked.
Lloyd raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“You look worried.”
“I think I know who the first human to receive the prion will be,” Lloyd said.
“Well, that’s good. So why are you worried?”
“I’m not
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