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| Dr. Farkas by JT Therrien |
Tag line: Some cures are worth dying for.
Please enjoy this excerpt from Dr. Farkas, my paranormal/horror romance novella. Dr. Farkas is the first installment of a four-part series to be released by Fine Form Press through 2014.
Dr. Farkas
It will have blood, they say; blood will
have blood.
Shakespeare,
Macbeth
"I'm so sorry." Dr. Farkas' voice dripped with sympathy
and compassion. He slid my latest CBC report across the desk, and I leaned
forward to read it, unwilling to touch the piece of paper and acknowledge its
reality. My white blood cells were off the charts. Add to that my constant
tiredness and bloating . . . . Any way you spelled it, I had leukemia.
I clenched my hands into tight fists. I wanted to hit
something. Life was so unfair. Just when I seemed to have made a connection
with someone—this sensitive, handsome, dark-eyed Dr. Someone sitting
across the desk from me—looking sweet and vulnerable, he revealed that I'd
reached the end of my life.
Falling snowflakes—they had tickled my nose on the way over to
the office—curtained off the outside world and created the illusion of
inhabiting our own secret world, the doctor and I. It was much like the real
world, except for the absence of gravity. I was in free-fall: my only thought; in twenty-eight years of living on Earth I
hadn't made any more of an impact on the world than those weightless flakes
bouncing off the windowpane.
I turned my attention back to the office walls, tastefully decorated
with framed medical degrees: Oxford , Toronto Arabian Desert ; I've
walked through Columbian rain forests.
Numb—and dumb—I shook my head and soaked up my tears with a
tissue plucked from a handy box on his desk.
The doctor remained silent for so long that I almost apologized
before catching myself. I would not apologize to anyone for dying and feeling
sorry for myself.
I tucked a stray lock back behind my ear. I was way
overdue for a cut. I'd get it cut next week, after I put this hellish string of
night shifts behind me. Then again, maybe I wouldn't. What would be the point
now? I didn't believe in leaving behind a beautiful corpse.
I began a quick prayer to St. Januarius, the patron saint of
blood banks, as I mustered up the courage to face my limited options.
"Ms. Andrews. Abigail, if I may. I wish I could help you,
but . . . . "
His voice startled me in mid-prayer.
"But you don't work miracles." I finished his
sentence instead of my prayer. You could say that I had more than a passing
interest in blood-borne diseases. As a phlebotomist, I made my living drawing
blood samples for oncologists, doctors like him. I giggled thinking that if I'd
been a lumberjack, a falling tree would've crushed the life out of me. As a
school crossing guard, I probably would've ended up beneath the wheels of a
bus. I could handle my sucky fate, just not the irony that accompanied it.
Dr. Farkas cleared his throat. "Actually, I was going to
say that I don't want to get your hopes up, but there's something I'd like to
research further."
I groaned. "Not more blood tests?"
"No. We're done with all that. But I want to look again at
your platelets in light of some new research I recently read."
"Really? Don't yank my chain me, Doc," I replied.
"I'm not making any promises. But we should meet
again."
I'd Googled him after my family doctor's referral, so I knew a
few things about Dr. Farkas. He was a thirty-six year old oncologist. And
single. And maybe interested? But how interested could a doctor be in a
dying patient?
"Really," he reassured me, smiling at my skepticism.
I focused on his mouth instead of paying attention to his
words. I should've listened more carefully.
* * *
I hope this snippet has given you a taste to read more of the story.
Leave a comment below and I'll draw a winner for a free e-book copy!
Good luck to everyone.
Thank you for participating!
PS: For those who do not win the free copy, here are a couple of Dr. Farkas buy links: Amazon, Smashwords. Dr. Farkas is also available at all of your favorite e-book retailers.
~JT~
