Page 214 of Devil’s Disciples

“What?” I asked.

“You throw bricks like a girl.”

“Learn to throw a brick like a Boss,” I said with a laugh. “I’ll add that to my list.”

“The ever-growing list,” he said, flashing a slight smile.

“I’ll check one off today I never thought I’d get to,” I said.

“Which one is that?”

“Saving a life,” I said. “That only leaves six.”

“What are you going to do when you reach the end?” he asked.

It was a good question. At one point in time, my to-do list had over two hundred items on it. Somehow, I’d managed to accomplish all but six. Out of what remained, five would require nothing more than a little ingenuity and a sprinkle of effort on my part.

The sixth?

It was highly unlikely I’d ever achieve it.

“After the last one?” I cradled the pup in my arms. “You’ll probably never see me again.”

“What?” he gasped. “Why’s that?”

“Because,” I said. “I want to let that one consume me.”

82

Ghost

Holding my arms outstretched and parallel to the floor, I traipsed the length of the room with the grace of a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound ballerina. A week earlier, standing was difficult. Proud of my accomplishment, I looked at the sun-spotted face of the seventy-year-old doctor and hoped for a little recognition.

A golf clap.

A simple nod.

Other than blinking twice, his face remained expressionless.

I gave him a what the fuck’s wrong with you glare.

After a moment, he lifted his chin ever so slightly. “In the last week, there’s been remarkable improvements in your coordination and balance. It doesn’t relieve the fact that the magnetic resonance imaging scan revealed a tumor eleven by eight by thirty-three millimeters in size. If you’re hoping for a clean bill of health you’re not going to get it, Mister Reeves.”

I don’t know what I wanted. Reassurance that I could live a normal life until it was time for me to check in with my maker, I suppose.

Something.

After falling at the gym, I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. Incapable of rising to my feet, I eventually admitted defeat and called an ambulance. An MRI gave news that many people secretly feared, but that I knew was inevitable.

Mister Reeves, we’ve determined that you have a brain tumor.

I grew up in a single parent home of sorts, being raised by my mother and grandparents. My mother acted as mothers do. She comforted me, supported me, and was sensitive to my childhood needs.

My grandfather died from skin cancer when I was very young, and what memories I had of him were mostly manufactured. I used them to satisfy me that my home wasn’t fatherless. After his death, my grandmother stepped into the role as my fatherly figure.

She was stern and opinionated. My friends and I knew we had to toe the line with her, or else. We respected her. In turn, she treated us with respect. She died of breast cancer when I was thirteen. After losing her, I stumbled through high school full of rage and depressed. I eventually turned to weight training as an avenue to rid myself of the anger and stress that followed her death.

It worked well, providing an outlet I couldn’t seem to find anywhere else. Then, mid-way through my senior year in high school, my mother developed lung cancer. She didn’t live long enough to see me graduate.