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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Does anyone ever read these things? I mean, if nobody has sued me yet I doubt they ever will. But just to be on the safe side, none of these characters are mine. I "borrowed" them all. I didn't make a dime so no one gets royalties.
Be warned - This story contains a major character death with no chance for recovery. I am going to rip out your heart and stomp on it. This is going to be a serious tearjerker so get your Kleenex ready. If I don't make you cry, I have failed. If you don't like a good cry now and then, read no further.
-
The Last Notebook Part 1
Prologue
By Phenyx
-
Miss Parker's car squealed around the corner and pulled into the parking lot. She hastily killed the engine and climbed out of the car. She allowed herself a moment to look up at the building with dread.
Blue Cove Memorial Hospital looked as normal as any other hospital. Red ambulance emblems marked the front drive and big white signs directed visitors toward parking areas and the emergency room entrance. Parker took a deep breath and headed for the automatic doors that led into the main lobby of the hospital.
Stopping at the information desk, Miss Parker spoke to the waiting attendant.
"My name is Miss Parker. I'm looking for a Dr. Carsdayle." Parker said.
The young man glanced at a clip board and responded, "Yes, Miss Parker. The doctor is expecting you. Neurology is on the fourth floor. Take the main elevators then turn to the left. Check in at the nurse's station and they will direct you from there."
As the lift took Miss Parker to the fourth floor, she chewed her lip in concern. Dr. Carsdayle had contacted her less than an hour ago but he had been disturbingly vague during the brief conversation. How the physician had gotten her cell phone number, Parker didn't know. His simple statement had been enough to render Parker speechless.
"Miss Parker? This is Dr. Carsdayle from Blue Cove Memorial," the man had said as though she should recognize his name. "Jarod's condition has turned critical. As his next of kin, we'll need you here as soon as possible."
When Parker reached the nurse's station in the neurological ward, she was stunned to find Sydney already waiting.
"Syd," she asked breathlessly. "What is going on?"
"I'm not sure, Miss Parker," the older man replied. "I've only just arrived myself."
A pretty blond nurse spoke. "If you will both follow me, please. Dr. Carsdayle is dealing with an emergency at the moment. You can wait in this area until the doctor arrives."
It was another thirty minutes before a paunchy balding man in green surgical scrubs finally entered the small waiting room. Parker and Sydney both jumped to their feet as though attached to springs.
With a sigh the doctor said, "Sorry for the delay. But I had to perform a tracheotomy so that we could intubate him properly. I know how Jarod felt about artificial respiration, but there are tests we still need to run in order to determine which organs will be harvestable."
Parker gasped. Sydney, equally stunned, sank down onto the padded couch.
The doctor was alarmed by their reactions. "Forgive my callousness. Jarod did speak with you regarding his desire to donate his organs, didn't he? We have the paperwork on file with his living will. I urge you both to follow his wishes in this. Jarod has a rare blood type which makes this final gift from him all the more precious to others."
For a long moment, there was nothing but stunned silence in the room.
Finally Miss Parker whispered, "Is he dead?"
"Thanks to the respirator, he is still breathing," the doctor said. "His heart is pumping blood. But there is zero brain activity."
"What happened?" Sydney asked in a strangled voice.
"I'm told that he was on the beach," Carsdayle said. "Building sand castles with a couple of the neighborhood kids. He simply collapsed." The doctor sat down beside Sydney and placed a consoling hand on the psychiatrist's shoulder. "We knew that the end could come very quickly. Better for it to happen this way rather than drag out painfully over time."
Folding her arms over her chest defensively, Parker shoved aside her shock and dismay. "But that is the problem doctor," she snarled. "We didn't know anything."
The doctor glanced from one to the other in surprise. Shaking his head sadly Carsdayle said, "He didn't tell you."
"No," Parker said. "We haven't heard from him in nearly four months. I didn't even know he was in Delaware, let alone living less than twenty minutes from my own house." How could this stranger understand how amazing it was to find Jarod here in Blue Cove?
"Dr. Carsdayle," Sydney asked slowly. "Please, tell us about Jarod's condition."
"I've been treating Jarod for about six weeks," the doctor began. "He'd been to half a dozen specialists in the months before he came here. All gave him the same diagnosis. A massive inoperable tumor had developed deep within the temporal and occipital lobes of his brain. The growth was the size of a golf ball before it was discovered." The doctor sighed and ran one hand across his bald head.
"By the time Jarod came to me," Carsdayle continued. "He knew that his days were numbered. His condition deteriorated rapidly. All I could do was try to make him as comfortable as possible."
Parker swallowed. "Was he in pain?" She asked.
"Sometimes," the doctor admitted. "As the tumor damaged more and more of the surrounding brain tissue, there were frequent migraines. On occasion, he saw bright flashing lights even though he'd lost all vision in his left eye. He suffered from sudden attacks of sharp pain in his temples."
"What can we do now, Doctor?" Sydney asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," Carsdayle said. "When Jarod told me that his personal affairs were all in order, I assumed that he had discussed final arrangements with you."
"Why us?" Parker cried.
Carsdayle shrugged. "Jarod listed you both as next of kin when he filled out his paperwork. There's nothing we can do for him. But if you would sign the organ donation forms, Jarod could still save some other lives."
"May we see him?" Sydney asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Carsdayle stood. "Of course. It will take two or three hours to wrap up our tests and determine the recipients."
"So you'll keep him alive only that much longer," Parker hissed.
"I know it sounds gruesome, Miss Parker," the doctor said. "But it will make all the difference for those lucky enough to receive these organs."
Sydney sighed tearfully. "Jarod would want it this way, Miss Parker," he said.
"I know," she admitted.
The doctor left and the pretty blonde girl returned to lead them to the intensive care section. Jarod lay alone in a room, still and unmoving in the hospital bed. Computer screens blipped and beeped around the room as another machine regularly forced air into Jarod's motionless form.
Aside from the plastic tubing protruding from his cotton wrapped throat, Jarod looked perfectly normal. His bare chest, taped with cardiac monitors, was as broad and muscular as always. His skin had a healthy bronze tone to it as though he'd spent the last few weeks at the beach. Dark circles under his eyes were the only visible sign that he was unwell.
"It looks like he's just sleeping," Sydney whispered as they stood at his bedside.
Parker brushed her fingertips across Jarod's cheek, enthralled by the thick darkness of his eyelashes. She shook her head sadly. "He isn't there anymore," she whispered. "His presence is gone."
Sydney took one of Jarod's limp hands in his own and held it tightly. "The world has diminished in losing him," he said softly.
Parker swallowed. Standing opposite Sydney on the other side of the bed she whispered, "What do I do now, Pez-head?"
They stood that way in silence for a long time. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss of the respirator and the staccato beeps of the monitors.
A nurse came in and checked the incision in Jarod's neck. Casting the two visitors a knowing look of condolence she said softly, "There are some personal effects that just came up from the emergency room. Things he had with him when he collapsed." She paused then added, "I could bring them to you."
Parker nodded. "Thank you."
A few minutes later, a large plastic bag taped shut at the top sat on the bed at Jarod's feet. Sydney and Miss Parker stared at it from their respective positions at Jarod's sides. After a long thoughtful moment, Parker abruptly grabbed the bag and tore it open.
The first items out of the bag were a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. These were followed by deck shoes and a brightly colored beach towel. The last item to emerge was a denim pouch, roughly the size of a small attaché case. The pouch had a thick shoulder strap for easy transport and an overlapping flap to protect its contents.
With a knowing glance across the bed at Sydney, Parker took the pouch by the end and dumped everything out. A jumbled assortment of Jarod paraphernalia scattered across the bed. Prescription bottles mixed in amongst a handful of Pez dispensers, two packages of Twinkies and a money clip wadded with cash. There were three laminated cards: a driver's license in the name of Jarod Russell, a medical card defining Jarod's current medications and a small plastic coated picture of Jarod's mother. There were several writing utensils, both pencils and pens, as well as a handful of loose change.
Resting gracefully at the bottom of the rubble, glaring brightly against the white sheets, was a thick red notebook.
With a steady hand that showed no sign of the trembling she felt inside, Miss Parker retrieved the notebook. For a moment, she turned it over in her hands, savoring the feel of it and caressing the smooth cover.
"That will be the last one he ever leaves for us," Sydney gasped woefully.
Parker glanced at her old friend. Sydney's cheeks were wet with tears as he mourned his beloved protégé. Parker felt his pain. It sliced through her own soul with a white-hot intensity that she hardly believed possible. Yet her outward appearance was as stony and calm as always.
Opening the tightly packed notebook, Parker flipped rapidly through the numerous pages. There were no newspaper clippings, only page after page of handwritten text. The handwriting, firm and strong on most of the pages, was sometimes little more than shaky scrawls. A small number of the sheets contained detailed sketches in pencil. The last two dozen or more sheets were blank.
Parker quickly closed the book and held it out to Sydney. "You should probably read it first, Syd."
The psychiatrist flinched away as though she had offered him a live snake. "I can't," Sydney whispered. "You read it. Read it aloud to me now, while some part of him is still here with us."
"Are you sure, Sydney?" Parker asked skeptically. "There may be things in here meant only for you."
"He may have left it for you to find, Parker," Sydney countered. "Read it. Quickly. We haven't much time left."
Nodding grimly, Parker took a deep breath, turned back the cover, and began reading the last of Jarod's red notebooks.
Be warned - This story contains a major character death with no chance for recovery. I am going to rip out your heart and stomp on it. This is going to be a serious tearjerker so get your Kleenex ready. If I don't make you cry, I have failed. If you don't like a good cry now and then, read no further.
-
The Last Notebook Part 1
Prologue
By Phenyx
-
Miss Parker's car squealed around the corner and pulled into the parking lot. She hastily killed the engine and climbed out of the car. She allowed herself a moment to look up at the building with dread.
Blue Cove Memorial Hospital looked as normal as any other hospital. Red ambulance emblems marked the front drive and big white signs directed visitors toward parking areas and the emergency room entrance. Parker took a deep breath and headed for the automatic doors that led into the main lobby of the hospital.
Stopping at the information desk, Miss Parker spoke to the waiting attendant.
"My name is Miss Parker. I'm looking for a Dr. Carsdayle." Parker said.
The young man glanced at a clip board and responded, "Yes, Miss Parker. The doctor is expecting you. Neurology is on the fourth floor. Take the main elevators then turn to the left. Check in at the nurse's station and they will direct you from there."
As the lift took Miss Parker to the fourth floor, she chewed her lip in concern. Dr. Carsdayle had contacted her less than an hour ago but he had been disturbingly vague during the brief conversation. How the physician had gotten her cell phone number, Parker didn't know. His simple statement had been enough to render Parker speechless.
"Miss Parker? This is Dr. Carsdayle from Blue Cove Memorial," the man had said as though she should recognize his name. "Jarod's condition has turned critical. As his next of kin, we'll need you here as soon as possible."
When Parker reached the nurse's station in the neurological ward, she was stunned to find Sydney already waiting.
"Syd," she asked breathlessly. "What is going on?"
"I'm not sure, Miss Parker," the older man replied. "I've only just arrived myself."
A pretty blond nurse spoke. "If you will both follow me, please. Dr. Carsdayle is dealing with an emergency at the moment. You can wait in this area until the doctor arrives."
It was another thirty minutes before a paunchy balding man in green surgical scrubs finally entered the small waiting room. Parker and Sydney both jumped to their feet as though attached to springs.
With a sigh the doctor said, "Sorry for the delay. But I had to perform a tracheotomy so that we could intubate him properly. I know how Jarod felt about artificial respiration, but there are tests we still need to run in order to determine which organs will be harvestable."
Parker gasped. Sydney, equally stunned, sank down onto the padded couch.
The doctor was alarmed by their reactions. "Forgive my callousness. Jarod did speak with you regarding his desire to donate his organs, didn't he? We have the paperwork on file with his living will. I urge you both to follow his wishes in this. Jarod has a rare blood type which makes this final gift from him all the more precious to others."
For a long moment, there was nothing but stunned silence in the room.
Finally Miss Parker whispered, "Is he dead?"
"Thanks to the respirator, he is still breathing," the doctor said. "His heart is pumping blood. But there is zero brain activity."
"What happened?" Sydney asked in a strangled voice.
"I'm told that he was on the beach," Carsdayle said. "Building sand castles with a couple of the neighborhood kids. He simply collapsed." The doctor sat down beside Sydney and placed a consoling hand on the psychiatrist's shoulder. "We knew that the end could come very quickly. Better for it to happen this way rather than drag out painfully over time."
Folding her arms over her chest defensively, Parker shoved aside her shock and dismay. "But that is the problem doctor," she snarled. "We didn't know anything."
The doctor glanced from one to the other in surprise. Shaking his head sadly Carsdayle said, "He didn't tell you."
"No," Parker said. "We haven't heard from him in nearly four months. I didn't even know he was in Delaware, let alone living less than twenty minutes from my own house." How could this stranger understand how amazing it was to find Jarod here in Blue Cove?
"Dr. Carsdayle," Sydney asked slowly. "Please, tell us about Jarod's condition."
"I've been treating Jarod for about six weeks," the doctor began. "He'd been to half a dozen specialists in the months before he came here. All gave him the same diagnosis. A massive inoperable tumor had developed deep within the temporal and occipital lobes of his brain. The growth was the size of a golf ball before it was discovered." The doctor sighed and ran one hand across his bald head.
"By the time Jarod came to me," Carsdayle continued. "He knew that his days were numbered. His condition deteriorated rapidly. All I could do was try to make him as comfortable as possible."
Parker swallowed. "Was he in pain?" She asked.
"Sometimes," the doctor admitted. "As the tumor damaged more and more of the surrounding brain tissue, there were frequent migraines. On occasion, he saw bright flashing lights even though he'd lost all vision in his left eye. He suffered from sudden attacks of sharp pain in his temples."
"What can we do now, Doctor?" Sydney asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," Carsdayle said. "When Jarod told me that his personal affairs were all in order, I assumed that he had discussed final arrangements with you."
"Why us?" Parker cried.
Carsdayle shrugged. "Jarod listed you both as next of kin when he filled out his paperwork. There's nothing we can do for him. But if you would sign the organ donation forms, Jarod could still save some other lives."
"May we see him?" Sydney asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Carsdayle stood. "Of course. It will take two or three hours to wrap up our tests and determine the recipients."
"So you'll keep him alive only that much longer," Parker hissed.
"I know it sounds gruesome, Miss Parker," the doctor said. "But it will make all the difference for those lucky enough to receive these organs."
Sydney sighed tearfully. "Jarod would want it this way, Miss Parker," he said.
"I know," she admitted.
The doctor left and the pretty blonde girl returned to lead them to the intensive care section. Jarod lay alone in a room, still and unmoving in the hospital bed. Computer screens blipped and beeped around the room as another machine regularly forced air into Jarod's motionless form.
Aside from the plastic tubing protruding from his cotton wrapped throat, Jarod looked perfectly normal. His bare chest, taped with cardiac monitors, was as broad and muscular as always. His skin had a healthy bronze tone to it as though he'd spent the last few weeks at the beach. Dark circles under his eyes were the only visible sign that he was unwell.
"It looks like he's just sleeping," Sydney whispered as they stood at his bedside.
Parker brushed her fingertips across Jarod's cheek, enthralled by the thick darkness of his eyelashes. She shook her head sadly. "He isn't there anymore," she whispered. "His presence is gone."
Sydney took one of Jarod's limp hands in his own and held it tightly. "The world has diminished in losing him," he said softly.
Parker swallowed. Standing opposite Sydney on the other side of the bed she whispered, "What do I do now, Pez-head?"
They stood that way in silence for a long time. The only sound was the rhythmic hiss of the respirator and the staccato beeps of the monitors.
A nurse came in and checked the incision in Jarod's neck. Casting the two visitors a knowing look of condolence she said softly, "There are some personal effects that just came up from the emergency room. Things he had with him when he collapsed." She paused then added, "I could bring them to you."
Parker nodded. "Thank you."
A few minutes later, a large plastic bag taped shut at the top sat on the bed at Jarod's feet. Sydney and Miss Parker stared at it from their respective positions at Jarod's sides. After a long thoughtful moment, Parker abruptly grabbed the bag and tore it open.
The first items out of the bag were a tee shirt and a pair of shorts. These were followed by deck shoes and a brightly colored beach towel. The last item to emerge was a denim pouch, roughly the size of a small attaché case. The pouch had a thick shoulder strap for easy transport and an overlapping flap to protect its contents.
With a knowing glance across the bed at Sydney, Parker took the pouch by the end and dumped everything out. A jumbled assortment of Jarod paraphernalia scattered across the bed. Prescription bottles mixed in amongst a handful of Pez dispensers, two packages of Twinkies and a money clip wadded with cash. There were three laminated cards: a driver's license in the name of Jarod Russell, a medical card defining Jarod's current medications and a small plastic coated picture of Jarod's mother. There were several writing utensils, both pencils and pens, as well as a handful of loose change.
Resting gracefully at the bottom of the rubble, glaring brightly against the white sheets, was a thick red notebook.
With a steady hand that showed no sign of the trembling she felt inside, Miss Parker retrieved the notebook. For a moment, she turned it over in her hands, savoring the feel of it and caressing the smooth cover.
"That will be the last one he ever leaves for us," Sydney gasped woefully.
Parker glanced at her old friend. Sydney's cheeks were wet with tears as he mourned his beloved protégé. Parker felt his pain. It sliced through her own soul with a white-hot intensity that she hardly believed possible. Yet her outward appearance was as stony and calm as always.
Opening the tightly packed notebook, Parker flipped rapidly through the numerous pages. There were no newspaper clippings, only page after page of handwritten text. The handwriting, firm and strong on most of the pages, was sometimes little more than shaky scrawls. A small number of the sheets contained detailed sketches in pencil. The last two dozen or more sheets were blank.
Parker quickly closed the book and held it out to Sydney. "You should probably read it first, Syd."
The psychiatrist flinched away as though she had offered him a live snake. "I can't," Sydney whispered. "You read it. Read it aloud to me now, while some part of him is still here with us."
"Are you sure, Sydney?" Parker asked skeptically. "There may be things in here meant only for you."
"He may have left it for you to find, Parker," Sydney countered. "Read it. Quickly. We haven't much time left."
Nodding grimly, Parker took a deep breath, turned back the cover, and began reading the last of Jarod's red notebooks.
