A Dog Named Travis: Chapter One
[I needed some motivation, so I'm posting this for feedback. If you like where this is going, as inferred by the tags, please leave a comment. This was partially inspired by the song "High and Dry" by Radiohead]
Chapter One: Hospitalities
"Mister Shiloh," softly came the voice of a young nurse. She was a student at the San Francisco Center for Cancer Studies. She entered into the sterile room of Mr. Shiloh, one of the facility's many patients. He lay in his bed, looking forlornly out the large window which let the natural light of the beautiful day filter through unadulterated. It partially heated the room. There was little to smell. The plastic decorative flowers on the particle board bookshelf had no perfume, and the faux-wood baseboards of the room only served to agonize Mr. Travis Shiloh further.
"Yes?" I replied weakly. I'm Travis Shiloh. No one who knew me then would know. I was in this study center with cancer wracking my body, and no treatment so far had worked. I dreaded chemotherapy, and knew that even if I lived, I would never be the same. In the prime of my life, I was beginning to die. I was losing everything, and I could feel my life draining.
"Mister Shiloh, someone is here to see you," she said, almost timidly.
"Send them in, if it isn't a life-insurance broker." I replied disdainfully.
The nurse left, to go fetch my company. I was left to ponder things. I suppose I thought about life and death, and realized how I was falling into despair. I was becoming cynical, I knew it, and I saw that, as of late, I had been pushing away everyone I loved. My parents, my girlfriend, my brother... Out of spite and bitterness, like a wounded animal that knew it would soon die. I thought especially of my girlfriend, who I planned to marry. But it would be no use now.
It seemed to take too long. Eventually there was a knocking at the door, and, though it took some strength, I called to the visitor and told them that the door was unlocked.
To my surprise, a very sophisticated-looking man in a suit emerged from behind the synthetic door. He was tall and thin, with a hairline that retreated from view to the top of his head. He wore a sincere looking smile, and carried a tan briefcase that seemed to come from nineteen seventy. I immediately became defensive; cursing the nurse for letting a solicitor into my room to bother me on what I thought was my deathbed.
I watched him set the briefcase down, and turn his shining, optimistic eyes towards me. I disliked that look. I couldn't help but think to myself that this man had an unthinkably sinister agenda, as I had never seen a solicitor with such a genuine grin and such a twinkle in his eye. He looked me over, and held out his hand to mine.
"My name is Fred Sohare," He said to me, holding out his hand. I thought to myself, 'Sohare doesn't have so much hair.'
I reluctantly took his hand in mine, and gave it a brief shake. He looked me in the eye, and I became unnerved. I fancied that he was one of those brainwashed corporate slaves, like the too-happy employees seen in offices and at Walmart. I'd swear they worked for the Soylent Green Biscuit Company.
"Travis." Was all that I replied.
He took his time to reply. I became impatient as he looked around the room, and gazed out the window. I didn't retort when he said, "Nice day, huh?" though, I wanted to. I slowly grew from pessimism to irritation, as he looked over the one picture I had of me with my family, when I was healthy. That wasn't me anymore. I hardly ever smiled.
Some one-sided small talk took place. He talked, I just glared. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, he turned to me with a serious look.
"You want me to leave, Travis," He said earnestly, "You think I'm here to sell you something."
I simply nodded. The carpetbagger bowed his head, and paced around the foot of my hospital bed. I was beginning to get uncomfortable under the sheets from my lack of movement. I fancied I could feel the blood clots forming in my legs.
"You're a cynical man, Travis. I know you know that."
I couldn't help be crack a sarcastic grin. "No, sir. Everything's diamonds at the moment."
He seemed offended slightly. I was proud of myself.
"Listen, Travis, I know you want me to cut to the chase. Or maybe you don't. But just hear me out, here. I work for a neurologist who specializes in the human central nervous system." I nodded. I didn't understand where he was getting at. How could a neurologist help me? I didn't have brain cancer; I had other kinds of cancer. The kind that spread and didn't die under chemo, lasers, herbal therapy, or whatever other crazy voodoo that the local San Fran hippies said would work. But I was bored, and could use a good laugh. I let him continue.
"Travis, I read your case. You're a young, proactive, intelligent man. You deserve more than this. I'm not here to sell you anything. In fact, you'd get paid for accepting my offer." "I'm sorry, mister," I said bitingly, "But I don't do endorsements or public announcements."
"Will you hear me out? My boss is a neurologist- he's been working on a new treatment--"
"I don't have brain cancer." "You don't need brain cancer. Listen, you're going to die soon, we both know that. So I tell you what, you can either agree to participate in this experiment and live for fifteen more years, or you can die next year, alone and decrepit."
I was taken aback by his bluntness. Surely there was no way that this could work, no matter what it was. Nothing short of a miracle would save me. I glared hatefully at this suited man before me, confused and indignant, not wishing to be taken advantage of again.
"Go on," I said.
"Alright, Travis," the man said as he went to his briefcase and opened it up. I looked at the clock during this brief requiem. It had already been almost forty five minutes. He returned to me with a pamphlet, printed on fine stationary, with a diagram of the central nervous system on the front.
"I work for Gene Franksten, Ph.D. He's received a multi-million dollar grant for his research in therapy to stimulate the reparation of nerves. I know you don't think this can help you, but his research has hit a breakthrough. Doctor Franksten knows the tragedy that cancer has, and pulled the names of fifteen participants from the various cancer research facilities around the nation."
"As it says on the cover, here... Now, I assume I got picked, right? Whoopdee-doo. Cut to the chase."
"Well, you ungrateful... I mean, Mr. Shiloh, you were picked. This sounds like magic, but what Doctor Franksten has discovered is a way to safely transplant a human brain from one body to another."
I nearly choked when I heard that. This was playing out like a bad sci-fi movie. Once I was done staring incredulously at the psycho Borg fan in front of me, I found my voice which I had seemed to misplace momentarily.
"Transplant... a brain? Doctor Franksten? Don't you mean Doctor Frankenstein? You must be delusional, sir. Get out of my room and get back to your padded cell, I'm not in the condition to deal with you or your fucked up sense of humor!"
The man frowned at me. "Whatever you say, Mister Travis. Call me if you change your mind. I'll tell Gene that you needed time to think on it. My number is in the back of the pamphlet."
He closed his suitcase and left promptly, leaving me to stew in the fumes of my anger and hurt dignity.
**** *** ****
Two days later, I felt better. The day outside was overcast and dark, so that my eyes didn't hurt from the light or the beauty of creation. I marveled at how this sudden change in moods left me happy. I sat in my bed, watching the people in the small landscaped park across the street, bundled in their jackets and parkas, even though this was just an inconvenient spell of cool weather in the fall. It wasn't even that cold; it was around fifty degrees. I thought to myself, if I could go out there, I would need nothing more than a long-sleeved tee shirt and a pair of jeans. I would revel in the feeling of the cold and the fresh earthy smell of the park.
I looked over to the bedside table. There was the pamphlet that was given to me by that man in the suit... I hardly believed what he said, but in the darkest moments of the night when I was too sick to sleep, wracked by pain and shortness of breath, I thought about it, and the more I did, the more verisimilitude it gained in my mind.
I felt so hopeless, that I was truthfully considering this as a viable option.
"Mr. Shiloh, your girlfriend is here for you. Do you feel well enough to see her?" the nurse asked. I had long since forgotten my curses against her, and was now thankful for her assistance.
"Yes, please bring her in." I said.
It was only a few moments before she walked in, not leaving me time to ponder the sinking feeling in my chest, and the dizziness I, for some reason, was experiencing.
Her beautiful, slim frame came in to greet me. She wore one of the leather jackets that I'd bought her for when we went motorcycle riding together, and carried a wet umbrella in her hands. Her brunette hair was tied back, and covered with the cap she wore. I felt comforted by the fact that she wore no makeup, the lack of which being a symbol of her trust and ease with me. She came to my bedside and kissed my forehead, and I gently pressed my hand on her shoulder, and kissed her cheek.
"Hey, baby." She said to me, staying close. I looked back at her, not really knowing how she'd perceive my expression. It must have been obvious to her that I was troubled by ponderous thoughts.
"What's wrong?" She asked, genuinely worried. I was nervous to admit to her what I was thinking. She'd probably think I was crazy.
"Nothing's wrong." I said as calmly as I could, as I took hold of her hand. "I'm just wondering about something that I heard..." "Did the doctors tell you anything?"
"Nope, nothing new. They strongly recommend chemo again, but I'm scared... I don't think I'd make it this time... Say, Alex..." I began. My hand started to shake. Over the last few days, I'd had a change of heart. My doctor had told me that the only option was chemo, and that there was no guarantee that it would indeed work.
"Yes, baby?" she replied. I looked into her soft hazel eyes. It sounded gimmicky, but I had to try it. To live. To live for her.
"Alex, a few days ago, a man came into my room... He was an agent working for some Gene Franksten, some neurologist or something. He said he could give me a new lease on life..."
Alex had the same skeptical look that I did when I first heard, but she was far more patient than me. I continued.
"He said that this Gene dude could transplant my brain into another body..."
She was shocked, but I begged her to let me finish.
"I'm going to give them a call... See if I can meet this Gene Franksten. I want you to be with me. We'll see what it's all about..."