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    Date Certain: A Medical Thriller
    Date Certain: A Medical Thriller
    Date Certain: A Medical Thriller
    Ebook111 pages2 hours

    Date Certain: A Medical Thriller

    By Reuben Eisenstein and M.D.

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    About this ebook

    Set in the 1970s, Date Certain is pathologically spooky. The story’s full of gruesomely fascinating details, with misidentified body parts on display like so much inventory. At the heart is Benjamin Stone, a well-meaning physician who’s been given knowledge he doesn’t know how to deal with, from a source he doesn’t trust or understand. He finds himself in unsettling company: a know-it-all medical examiner, a bullying detective, an unidentified corpse, and a mysterious Middle-Easterner who might know what this is all about but isn’t telling. This is a tale of dreams and nightmares, a fantastic voyage inside the human body and brain, and an exploration of what we might make of the certainty of death
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDaniel & Daniel Publishers
    Release dateMar 4, 2015
    ISBN9781564747709
    Date Certain: A Medical Thriller

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      Book preview

      Date Certain - Reuben Eisenstein

      Date Certain

      a novella

      Ruben Eisenstein

      2013 • Fithian Press, McKinleyville, California

      Copyright © 2013 by Reuben Eisenstein

      All rights reserved

      Printed in the United States of America

      ISBN 978-1-56474-770-9

      The interior design and the cover design of this book are intended for and limited to the publisher’s first print edition of the book and related marketing display purposes. All other use of those designs without the publisher’s permission is prohibited.

      Published by Fithian Press

      A division of Daniel and Daniel, Publishers, Inc.

      Post Office Box 2790

      McKinleyville, CA 95519

      www.danielpublishing.com

      Distributed by SCB Distributors (800) 729-6423

      LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

      Eisenstein, Reuben.

       Date certain : a medical thriller / by Reuben Eisenstein M.D.

            p. cm.

       ISBN [first printed edition] 978-1-56474-539-2 (pbk. : alk. paper)

      1. Physicians—Fiction. 2. Mystery fiction. 3. Medical fiction. I. Title.

       PS3605.I8448D38 2013

       813’.6—dc23

                                        2012034993

      Author’s Note

      When someone tries something new, such as writing a novella, his level of success, whatever it turns out to be, is in significant part dependent on the help, support, and advice of others. I am particularly grateful to Paul McComas for patiently editing, advising, and encouraging me, and for the advice and support of my wife, Naomi, who tolerated me during a period of great difficulty with courage and love.

      Contents

      Prologue

      1. Only a Dream

      2. Unwanted Information

      3. Walking Home

      4. At Home

      5. Back to Work

      6. Missing Pieces

      7. Examinations

      8. In the Hands of the Law

      9. Big Dream

      10. Espionage

      11. Interrogations

      12. Answers…and Questions

      About the Author

      Prologue

      Dr. Benjamin Stone sat stock-still behind his large maple­wood desk, his chin cupped in his hands, his elbows poised on the high-polished surface. It was the kind of desk appropriate for someone with his impressive titles: Chairman of Pathology and Laboratory Medicine at the largest charity hospital in Illinois; Associate Professor at the state medical school. Yet today, Dr. Stone did not feel impressive; he felt small and frightened. His eyes stared into space, searching for a solution to the decision with which he was wrestling—the most important and most difficult decision he had faced in his life.

      Ben’s gaze shifted to the empty leather chair opposite him. The trouble had started right there, just two weeks ago, when a strange man had gotten up from that chair and given him the answer to a question Ben hadn’t even asked.

      Without warning or provocation, the stranger had calmly informed him of the date on which he, Ben Stone, would die.

      Ben shuddered anew at the memory. For somehow, he knew—then as now—that this man was telling the truth.

      1. Only a Dream

      The day of the stranger’s disclosure—the day that would change everything—had started much like any other.

      Except on unusual occasions, Ben took the elevated train (the El) to work; his wife needed the car to drive their two kids to preschool and school, as well as to go shopping. Plus, Ben was still saving for his dream of taking a couple of years off to do research, so sticking with one car made sense. He was also a news junkie, and the ride on the train was long enough for him to devour the contents of the local paper.

      But on this bright spring morning in 1977, he did not read the paper he had automatically bought at the stand in the El station. A dream from the night before, still vivid in his memory, was bothering him.

      He could think of nothing that might have prompted such a dream—or any dream, for that matter. After supper, he’d helped his wife clean up the kitchen; then, as was customary in their family, he’d helped the kids put on their pajamas and sat them down on the couch, one on either side of him, to tell them a bedtime story. There was one they particularly liked, as did he—enough so, in fact, that he had typed it out. And so, Ben read them the story of Wolfgang the Wolf, who develops a fondness for opera music, as well as an impulse to sing it himself—very, very poorly.

      The story was hardly a psychodrama. The kids knew it by heart but still giggled when they were supposed to, looked serious when they were supposed to, and corrected him when he changed anything. Ben really liked the story, maybe because he had made it up. He wasn’t sure whether the children truly liked it or were just pretending so they could stay up a little longer. Then, it was a kiss and a hug and a handshake for each, to complete the ritual, and off they went, protesting, to bed.

      He loved to look in on them after they were asleep. He always checked to make sure they were breathing, and sometimes he wondered what they were dreaming about. After that, for a couple of hours, Ben and his wife, Rachel, could be together; then they, too, went to bed.

      Ben rarely had dreams—at least, that he could remember. But that night, he had one so lifelike and real that he thought he understood, for the first time, what a vision was.

      He was at a cocktail party. All the guests held glasses in their hands, and every glass was empty. Ben didn’t know how he had come to be there. He was in an elegant, oak-paneled room with ornate carvings and an impressive staircase ­ascending so high that it seemed to have no end. Several large, comfortable leather chairs had been placed about the room, each with a low wooden table alongside it, on which stood a lamp with a tasteful stained-glass shade. He knew, somehow, that if he raised a finger, a tuxedo-clad waiter would appear to take his order…and the glass served would be empty.

      On the walls hung skillfully done portraits of elegant-looking men, each piece about eight feet tall and three feet wide. Beneath each was a plaque listing significant biographical data: name, profession, office in this apparent men’s club, and dates held. Ben recognized several names as those of governors, senators, and even a U.S. President. But the occupation listed was never that of the man’s public office; rather, it was attorney, merchant, engineer, physician, or some other profession. Apparently, a man’s rank in the club was considered more important than any public offices he might have held, no matter how high.

      Small groups of aristocratic-looking men, dressed as if they had just stepped out of the portraits, stood clustered in alcoves along the walls. Several, he noted, were among the subjects of the paintings. They were talking to each other soundlessly, holding their empty cocktail glasses. No one stood in the middle of the room.

      Without walking, Ben somehow wandered around for what seemed an eternity, slowly wafting through the room until he saw someone he knew. It was Richard M. Goss, the president of the university hospital where Ben had done his residency. He was talking, also soundlessly, to several other impeccably dressed gentlemen. He had died two years before, but had the same erect posture and intimidating eyes that Ben remembered. Ben drifted up to the group and calmly said, Hello, Dr. Goss. I haven’t seen you since you died. There was no sound, yet Ben knew he had said it.

      Dr. Goss turned benignly toward him and offered his hand in greeting, but with only the first two fingers extended; the others were folded over his palm and were definitely not available. The handshake was quite firm and not at all ethereal.

      Ben tried to unclasp the last three fingers. Somehow, this seemed important, but it was immediately apparent that it was not permissible—nor, perhaps, even possible. He understood this as a way of excluding him. He wasn’t insulted; just curious.

      Well, Ben, it’s been a while. I trust all is well, Ben understood Dr. Goss to say. Again, there was no sound, yet he perceived the words as if Dr. Goss were speaking to him in the same authoritative, intimidating voice Ben had heard so often while the president was still alive. It’s nothing personal, Ben, but you must know you can’t be a part of this. You have abused your body by smoking—it took you years to quit—and I’ve seen you drink at hospital functions. Anyway, it’s been nice talking to you.

      And that was it. It wasn’t that Ben woke up; the dream was

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