How to Save a Life - Karte 3: Insomnia
Karte 3: Insomnia
It was completely silent in the hotel room, hundreds of metres above the noise and bustle of the city below. The room itself was beautiful, and any other time would have made a perfect place to relax. But now, it brought me no enjoyment, no sense of ease or rest.
Books were laid out all around me, all of them open, small scraps of paper scattered throughout their pages, sticking out at all angles from the tops of the books. I flipped through them rapidly in turn, sometimes checking two or more simultaneously.
But my searching brought nothing, and in spite of all my best efforts, exhausting all my books and my knowledge, I simply could not seem to find the answers I sought. Certain poisons matched certain symptoms, but not others. Other toxins would cause most of the symptoms, but added other symptoms that Black Jack was not experiencing.
Either this was a combination of poisons, or something that I did not know, something not listed in any of the toxicology books. But was it an undiscovered toxin, or a manmade killer?
I closed the books, one by one, frustrated with my lack of success. What could possibly be wrong with Black Jack? Something had to be causing this, but what?
Perhaps, I thought, I was going about this the wrong way. Instead of trying to figure out what poison affected him based exclusively on symptoms, I should try a different approach.
I stood up and, stepping carefully and deliberately over the spread-out books, made my way toward the door. Still fully dressed, I had no need to pause on my way out except to lock the room door behind myself.
Briskly, I made my way to the hotel’s exit, leaving once more through the spectacular, strobe-lit doors.
~
This time, I had a more distant destination in mind, and that only added to the urgency., Since I had lacked the foresight to bring my motorcycle on this particular expedition, to cut down on traveling time I had to stop in the city to rent a new one.
Now, I sped furiously through the darkness towards a familiar, peculiar wooden house, set questionably close to the edge of a cliff. This was the only place I could think of to try and search for clues as to the exact identity of the poison.
I would be looking for something, anything that could have served to get the poison into Black Jack’s body. The problem was, so many things could be that one thing: tainted or poisoned food, contaminated water, a needle, medicine… Fortunately, at least, there happened to be one clue there at the house that might be able to point me in the right direction.
The cold night air whizzed past as I tore up the hill, my hair and coat whipping wildly around me. The engine roared as I sped up, the motorcycle now easily exceeding 120kph. Hopefully, I thought bitterly, there would not be any police in the area to give me trouble for my rather reckless speeding.
When finally I reached the top, I pushed down hard on the brakes and turned the front of the vehicle sharply, literally screeching to a halt. The sound was awful and I was completely aware of how foolish and dangerous such a stunt was, but now was not the time for caution. Not while Black Jack was depending on me.
It was so strange… Why did Black Jack matter to me so much? I had never behaved this way before in my life, so why was I acting so strangely now? Why did I feel so strongly that he should live when it went against everything that made me the Doctor of Death?
I led my motorcycle to the front porch, putting up the kickstand before going up to the door and knocking. As I waited for an answer, increasing volume and urgency as the precious seconds passed, I couldn’t help but wonder the same question, yet again. Why? Why did it matter so much?
I wanted to think that it was just my desire to help my patients, or perhaps a certain curiosity. Unlike the others I’d ‘treated’, Black Jack had come to me seeking not death, but life. And although his request was so unusual to me, I’d taken it, because I wanted to help others. Yet, that didn’t seem to be the case.
So I tried to convince myself that it was just gratitude, plain and simple. After all, I still felt I owed him for saving me when I was shot by a thug after our little tangle with the Daedalus group. Either way, there were no underlying feelings, none at all.
The door opened then, interrupting my thoughts, and a tired Pinoco answered the door, still dressed in a simple pink nightgown, rubbing sleepily at her half-closed eyes.
“Hullo…?” She muttered, rather listlessly.
“Excuse me, Pinoco,” I said simply, “I need to look around.”
“Oh!” She exclaimed, shaking off a degree of her sleepiness. “Kiriko! What are you doing here?”
“Pinoco,” I asked, “Have you felt sick lately? Had a fever or blurry vision, or felt dizzy upon standing?”
Pinoco looked confused at this. “No, not at all, but the Doc’s been kinda sick… Why?”
“There’s no time to explain,” I said urgently, using my tone to get across my point, “This concerns Black Jack, and I need to get in.”
I pushed past her then, disregarding manners as I endeavored to start my investigation without delay and avoid an onslaught of questions from the loud, meddling young girl. Ignoring Pinoco’s protests and the dog, Largo, following at my heels, I made a beeline to the kitchen to begin my search.
I began to check over the entire room for anything that might have served as a vessel. Since Pinoco was not ill, I could safely rule out poison in the food or in the tap water, which meant that I was looking for something that only Black Jack would use or consume.
“Pinoco,” I addressed, my tone urgent still. “Does Black Jack like any foods that you don’t? Has he consumed any alcohol lately? Or taken medicine?”
“H-hey, slow down!” She exclaimed. “Is Doc okay? Just how sick is he?”
“Extremely sick!” I snapped impatiently in response, looming over the undersized girl. “Now answer my questions!”
She bit her lip, her features dogged with worry and concern. “He, um…” She started nervously, “He likes peppers and I don’t, but we don’t have any. He’s got some wine, though, and lately he’s been taking sleeping pills… Any of that help?”
“Sleeping pills?” I echoed, raising my eyebrow.
“Um, yeah,” Pinoco replied, rubbing her upper arm nervously. “He’s been having trouble getting to sleep ‘coz he’s got so much work to do, so he’s been taking sleeping pills.”
“Bring them to me, immediately!” I demanded.
She let out a yelp before nodding vigorously and darting off to carry out my bidding, clearly understanding how urgent this was. I watched as she ran down the hall, followed by her ever-faithful canine companion, and wondered if this might be the solution.
I could only hope so, for it was, at the moment, my only lead. If he really was taking sleeping pills, Black Jack wouldn’t be drinking wine, lest the pills and alcohol react.
“Here you go, Doctor Kiriko,” Pinoco offered unusually timidly, holding up the bottle of pills.
A prescription, I noted, and though it seemed legitimate, something seemed off about the name of the medicine, apparently a brand I’d never heard of before. I pressed down on the lid and unscrewed the cap, tilting the bottle and letting a few of the pills drop out onto my palm to examine them more closely. There was nothing visibly wrong with them, but something about them just didn’t sit right with me.
I looked again at the label, raising an eyebrow at the name of the doctor who’d prescribed it. Goodman? Why did that name sound strangely familiar? Did this hold some key to the solution?
Gripping the bottle tightly in my hand, I began once more to question Pinoco.
“Pinoco, this is extremely important: Who is Dr. Goodman?”
Pinoco cocked her head slightly to one side, staring blankly at me in confusion. She didn’t even need to say anything after that gesture, not that it stopped her.
“Dr. Goodman?” She echoed, “I don’t know, who is that? Where did you get that name from? Is he somebody Doc knows?”
“I don’t know,” I answered, hoping she’d shut up before this went further, “Try this: where did Black Jack get this prescription?”
“Um… I don’t really know,” She answered, twiddling her fingers. “Since he’s a surgeon, and unlicensed at that, he couldn’t prescribe anything for his sleep, so he went to this hospital out in the city. The doctor that saw him was really weird… He had this creepy air about him.”
“A 'creepy air'? Do you remember anything else about him?”
Pinoco shook her head. “Not really,” She said, “I mean, nothing like a face, just… The way he was acting. He was really eager, and I didn’t like the way he was lookin’ at the Doc. ‘Specially when he checked out his head.”
“His head?” I echoed.
“Yeah, he ran some kinda scan on him… But, I’m not really sure what it was he did. Seemed like a lot to do just for a little insomnia…”
“About how long ago was that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Pinoco looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “It was Tuesday, so… About five days ago, I think.”
It added up. By the way the evidence pointed, it seemed I had already pinpointed the source of Black Jack’s strange illness. Now, I could only hope it wasn’t too late.
“Pinoco, you’ve been a big help,” I said quickly, and left without another word.