A Blog by Any Other Name…
So, what is this, an opinion page? A place to reveal secrets? You got me, but if you got this far and I got this far, we’re good. You know, you get to a certain age and you realize you don’t have time for playing stupid head games. My list could go on forever. How about yours?
Here’s the thought for the day:
Why are they called eyes? I mean those things on potatoes…
Here’s lookin’ at you!
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More Deception is in the birthing room. Some chapters are written. Questions need to be answered:
Will Nick Hampton make it? There are life-threatening opportunistic pathogens lurking that can attack his immune-compromised body. Will he be able to fight them off?
Will the triumvirate of other pathogens – Dr. Charles Loomis, Neil Hawthorne, and Anton Gregory – ever see justice?
Are there any more deceptions between Craig and Tera? Both of them are hiding a past.
To be continued…
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Here’s a tidbit for you.
The January chill didn’t touch him. Dr. Craig Storm-Livesey stood on the balcony outside the eighth floor of the administration building. He thought over working with Roger Allen, uncomfortable, but doable; Roger was basically the only person he could trust at Holcome International Medical Center, especially in the realm of cyberspace. He would be around next week checking the hardware in the office. There’s no way I’m logging into the computers here, Craig thought, unless they’re sanitized, or there’s some way to operate within the system but outside of it. Dr. Terrance Rexalt wants a policy review and he shall have it — my way. What am I doing here, working with the enemy at Holcome, after what they did to Nick and his family. He didn’t blame Tera’s anger, but knew well sometimes you had to crawl into a problem to excise it.
Craig leaned over the railing while looking down at the executive parking lot, some very fancy cars – status symbols – there. Is that today’s medicine, he wondered. Honor, prestige, the money grab no matter how you get it? He thought of the Porsche in his garage and shook his head. The house, the car, the property had all fallen into his lap when his uncle passed away. Of course, Sir James Lamberton, world-famous economist, would have a vehicle like that to reflect his superior status. Motion in the lot below caught his attention. He noticed a fellow with a glowing tan and aviator sunglasses moving toward the middle row, a sporty convertible was his goal. He swept off his cap and stood waiting by the car.
A few inches short of six feet, Craig guessed, in decent shape. Totally bald, maybe some brown hair by the ears. A woman approached, obviously the second part of this tête-à-tête. Reasonably good-looking, her long blond hair sweeping around her face in the breeze. The clod didn’t even have the decency to go around and open her door. Craig shook his head. The guy went to his door, removed his sunglasses and then looked up. Impossible as it would seem at that distance, his black beady eyes locked on Craig.
Dr. Charles Loomis, Craig thought. Nice to meet you.