Seizure Read online

  Kent began to walk back towards the grave site, calling out. "Excuse me--"

  The stranger looked up at him in surprise. The movement was quick enough to throw the hat up slightly, allowing him a glimpse of the face underneath. It seemed oddly thin, not quite matching such a large and muscular body.

  Before Kent could react, the stranger ran through the pouring sheets of rain away from Morgan's grave, arms swinging wide in an unusually graceful motion. He moved quicker to follow, but the stranger slipped through some trees and disappeared from view before he could even take a step.

  Kent waited to see if the stranger would return. When the stranger didn't, he headed back to his cab. He tried to dismiss the event as he settled back for the long drive home. The taxi's windshield wipers squeaked a rhythmic dirge.

  When he arrived at home, the beeping answering machine greeted him as he walked through the front door. Even though Troy was home a lot, he rarely answered the phone. A flashing light indicated a message. Kent punched the PLAY button.

  "This is Mrs. Talbot at Bingley-Carroll," the machine said. "I'm afraid I have to inform you again, Mister Reynolds, that your son got into another fight at school yesterday."

  Kent rubbed his face with his hands, trying to force some of the tension out of his muscles. He had heard these kinds of messages before, but they never lost their impact.

  "Fortunately, no one was hurt this time," Mrs. Talbot said. "It was little more than a shoving match. But I really must insist on meeting with you, because this is the third time this month. Next Wednesday is parent-teacher night, and I hope I'll see you there. Thanks."

  The answering machine beeped, indicating the end of the message.

  Kent stood beside the machine for a moment, trying to accept what he had been faced with so many times before. Another fight. Every time Kent thought Troy was getting better, another message would appear on his answering machine. It shoved a dagger into his heart every time he heard it.

  Kent checked his watch. He still had an hour before work. He decided to spend some of it on the computer in his den, checking the Web for research. Kent went to Google to look up the entries on epilepsy. Punching in the keyword "epilepsy" brought up a wealth of information.

  The articles said epilepsy was actually a term used for at least thirty brain disorders that caused convulsions and impaired consciousness. According to the article, the brain uses electrical impulses to transmit information and commands to the body. Seizures occur because something disrupts this normal electrical activity.

  A seizure, it said, is basically a burst of electricity affecting large areas of the brain, much like a bolt of lightning in a storm. These bursts cause muscles to spasm as well as affect the brain. Prior to a seizure, the subject may experience what scientists called an "aura," which was a series of warning signs ranging from unexplained emotions to peculiar sensations, foul odors, and vertigo.

  WebMD also said that during prolonged seizures, the lungs could be constricted, forcing air out without drawing more in. That's what had happened to Morgan. These attacks are fatal, WebMD said, but are also extremely rare. Epileptic-related deaths are usually caused by injuries that occur due to spasms during attacks. Most epileptics can live a normal life with the use of drugs or surgery.

  Another fact Kent uncovered was that the disorder usually begins in childhood or adolescence, but that a large percentage of people have their first seizure over the age of sixty-five. These were usually the result of strokes, heart attacks, Alzheimer's, brain surgery, or accidents. He also discovered many people have isolated seizures without prior history.

  When Kent had finished reading the entry, he leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. So the odds of a middle-aged man having a single seizure in his life was better than he had thought. But fatal seizures were rarer than he expected. Of course, WebMD did say that victims usually didn't remember attacks. It could be that Morgan had had seizures before, but didn't remember or report them.

  The police had investigated the case and called it a natural death. There was no trace of poison or head trauma that would cause a seizure. There was no real evidence of foul play.

  Except for Morgan's last words. And the person at Morgan's funeral. And Kent couldn't shake the feeling there was more to the whole incident than met the eye. He had promised to investigate Morgan's death as best he could, and that's what he was going to do.

  Kent dug out a pen and notepad from his desk drawer, and began to think. Who did he know that would want to kill Morgan?

  The first person that came to mind was Rick Bentley from the office, who was still bitter about Morgan's promotion. Kent wrote the name down, and thought about whether Rick would really kill another human being over a promotion. Of course, Kent didn't know Rick very well, and if Rick was crazy, then he wouldn't need a good reason. But Kent found it hard to accept him as a cold-blooded murderer. A selfish jerk, yes, but murder--

  Still, he couldn't afford to rule anyone out. Who else? Adrian, Morgan's wife, came to mind as well. That was harder to accept. Adrian loved Vic. Didn't she? Kent wasn't around them all the time. Maybe they had problems Morgan never talked about. And she was there at the scene of the crime.

  Which seemed to rule her out as a suspect. If she really had killed Morgan with an untraceable poison, why stand around while he died, and call the police? Of course, that might have been the plan – to be so obvious that no one suspected her. But why would she ask Kent to investigate the death when no one suspected a thing? Even so, he wrote her name down as well.

  He tried to think of someone else. He couldn't. Everyone loved Morgan. It was impossible not to. He didn't think anyone hated Morgan enough to kill him.

  He remembered what Adrian had said about Morgan's last word, something like "Sayer-Brus." She had no idea what it meant, and neither did Kent. He wondered if it was a name or maybe a company. He went to Google, and entered the keyword "Sayer-Brush" for a search.

  Nothing.

  He tried "Sur-Brus," "Sayer-Brus," and every other variation of the word he could think of. There were no results, not in companies, names, or even foreign languages. Eventually, Kent gave up. It was probably just a meaningless phrase, an exhalation of Morgan's last breath, nothing more.

  He tore up the paper he wrote on and threw it away. He felt ridiculous. There was no reason behind Morgan's death, no hidden agenda, and it was time both he and Adrian accepted it. They had to let Morgan's death go, move on with their lives. Kent closed his browser, and went upstairs to change into dry clothes for work.

  On the way to his room, Kent passed Troy's room. The door was closed. He tried the doorknob. Locked as well.

  "I'm home, son," Kent called out through the door. "Just came in from Victor's funeral. Really beautiful."

  Silence. That didn't surprise him.

  "Look," Kent said, "I got another message on the machine about a fight at school. I'd like to talk to you about it."

  Nothing.

  "All right," Kent said, "have it your way. Stay in there all you like. But the next time I see you, we're gonna talk."

  He went to his room, changed into a new suit, and stopped by Troy's door on his way downstairs.

  "I'm going to work now," Kent called out. "Should be home the usual time. See you then."

  Nothing. Kent headed downstairs, shaking his head. He hoped the therapist did him some good. So far, he hadn't heard positive results from her.

  He found The New York Times lying on his front porch. He carried it to the kitchen, where he pulled off the rubber band to read it as he started a pot of coffee.

  He leaned against the counter, thumbing to the business section, when something in the A-section caught his eye. It was an article about a car accident in Los Angeles that killed thirteen people, including a fashion model named Cindy Diamond.

  Cindy Diamond. That rang a bell with him. Kent remembered seeing her on the cover of People a few weeks ago. Kent felt a stab of pain looking at her photograph next to
the headline. Another senseless, tragic death. Despite the flood of emotions it unleashed, he began to read.

  According to the article, Cindy Diamond caused the accident when she had a rear-end collision with the car in front of her at a hundred mph. No one could figure out what had happened, although the police were investigating to see whether she had a history of epilepsy.

  Epilepsy. Kent drew the page nearer to himself as he read. Eyewitnesses claimed that, just before the crash, they had seen Diamond going into convulsions behind the wheel of her car. From their descriptions, the police worked under the theory that Diamond had gone into an epileptic seizure that caused her to force down the gas pedal. An autopsy had revealed her lungs had seized and choked her before the crash occurred. But Cindy Diamond had no history of epilepsy.

  He quickly switched off the coffeepot and poured himself a mug. As he sipped the coffee black, he stood deep into thought.

  Another death by epileptic seizure. Both people with no history of epilepsy. But there was no other real connection. Morgan had died in New York City. Diamond had died in Los Angeles, all the way on the other side of the country. Diamond was a famous fashion model. Morgan was a well known, but hardly famous, management consultant. Diamond died in her car. Morgan died in his den at home.

  It seemed to be proof someone could have a fatal seizure without prior history. The idea Victor had died naturally made Kent feel a little better, like he could put the whole incident behind him.

  Kent read more of the article, which discussed her career and recent engagement to a wealthy billionaire. It didn't seem as if the article got him anywhere. He finally lowered the newspaper and took another sip of his coffee. Cold.

  Kent poured more coffee into his mug to heat it up. As he poured, he kept reading until the end of the article. That's when he noticed the comment about the computer.

  The article commented the police had found a laptop computer in the wreckage of the car. Witnesses had seen her using the laptop computer during a traffic jam just before the crash. Friends said that Diamond was writing a novel in her spare time on it.

  Kent looked down at the grainy photos next to the article, one of which was an attractive publicity photo of Cindy Diamond. The other was a rather graphic shot of the mangled wreck of her car. Kent was drawn to the wreckage, his eyes locked on a corner of the photo.

  There it was, on the pavement next to the twisted passenger door. A laptop computer, its monitor cracked in a jagged star.

  Computer. Adrian's words about Morgan's death came back to Kent. "He was working on a report in the den with that computer of his--" Just before Morgan died, he was working on his computer. And just before Diamond died--

  It was a connection. A weak connection, but a connection just the same. Both Morgan and Diamond had been using computers right before their seizures, seizures that were isolated and lethal. It seemed more of a coincidence than anything else, but it still stuck in his mind.

  He picked up the phone and dialed Adrian's number. It rang several times before Victor's voice emerged from the earpiece.

  The shock Kent felt at hearing his friend's voice again subsided as he realized it was just the introduction to his answering machine. Adrian hadn't changed the message yet.

  When the machine beeped, Kent said, "Hi, it's me, Kent. Just giving you some facts I uncovered about Victor's death. It's starting to look like a natural death, after all. Lots of people his age get isolated epileptic seizures, although you're right, death from seizures alone are quite rare. But Cindy Diamond died last night from an epileptic seizure, so it does happen. Of course, she was at a computer before she died, too, which is an odd coincidence."

  Kent looked out his kitchen window at the rain, which still fell in a light mist onto the sidewalk. He thought about mentioning the mysterious stranger he had seen at Victor's funeral, and decided against it. There was no point in alarming Adrian more than necessary. He simply said goodbye, and hung up.

  He took another sip of his coffee. It was cold again.

  * * *

  Kent sat at his desk, trying to ignore the rattle of computer keys and buzz of conversation filling the Gaines offices. It was no use. He had been working all morning, trying to concentrate on the TeleTech project. His mind kept wandering over the events of the day. In particular, he found the image of the gray-coated stranger and Cindy Diamond's photograph forming in his head with every free moment.

  He dropped his pen and closed his eyes, trying to focus on the present. He buried his face in his hands. If he didn't put himself back on track, he would end up behind schedule, and his case group would never finish the project in time.

  Kent was reaching for his pen to begin working again when Wayne leaned over the wall of his cubicle.

  "Knock-knock," Wayne said, trying to sound cheerful.

  "Hey, Wayne."

  Wayne coughed into his hand, then said, "Uh, listen, Kent, about last night--"

  "It's okay." Kent tried to smile. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. Sorry I got a little hot-headed, I just had a lot on my mind, what with Morgan and all."

  "Yeah, I know what you mean. Hard for me to concentrate, too. How was the funeral?"

  "It was wonderful. I just wish it hadn't rained so hard." Kent picked up the pen he was working with, then put it down again. "Hey, Wayne. Did you hear about Cindy Diamond?"

  "Yeah, she died in a car crash, right?"

  "Right. Did you read the part about the seizure?"

  Wayne's eyes narrowed. "Seizure--"

  "The police are saying that Diamond had a seizure that caused her to push down on the gas pedal. It caused the accident. But they also think she died of the seizure, not injuries from the crash. Just like Victor. And Diamond had no history of epilepsy."

  "So what're you saying?"

  Kent shrugged. "It's just kind of a weird coincidence. I mean, I looked it up, and the odds of dying from an epileptic seizure are pretty small. Plus, they say a laptop computer was found at the scene. The police think she was working on it before she died. And Victor was in his den working on his computer before he died."

  "Kinda weird. You think there's a connection?"

  "I thought so before, but now I don't think so. Cindy and Vic are two different people who died in two different places at two different times. It doesn't mean anything."

  Wayne sighed. "Well, it means one thing. Victor's death wasn't so unusual, after all."

  "Yeah. See you at lunch?"

  Wayne gave him a mock salute and walked away. "You got it."

  Kent picked up his pen, trying to get back to work, when his phone buzzed. A light blinked on its face, indicating he had an incoming call. Kent put down his pen for the third time and replaced it with his phone's handset. He punched the flashing line button on the phone. "Kent Reynolds."

  "Hello, Mister Reynolds. This is Georgia Cohen."

  It took a moment before Kent recognized the name as that of Troy's therapist. Kent felt a sinking feeling, hoping the call was good news, but knowing it was going to be bad. "Uh, yes, hi, Doctor Cohen."

  "Sorry to bother you at work, Mister Reynolds. It's just that Troy hasn't shown up for his session with me today. I'm a little worried about him."

  "Worried?" Kent asked. "Why?"

  "Well, quite frankly, Troy isn't very responsive, even when he's here. I'm afraid we aren't making much progress. Troy continues to be angry, sullen, and hostile to me, even after a month. He refuses to discuss his life or his mother or any other personal aspects of his life. I had hoped to try to break down some barriers, but so far, I haven't been very successful."

  Kent rubbed his eyes as a tension headache rolled through his skull. All hopes he had of bringing Troy out of his shell seemed to be dissolving in a matter of seconds. "I see."

  "Yes. I was hoping you could have a little talk with him."

  "Of course. It's long overdue."

  "And I'd like to make a suggestion. I'd like you to come to our next session tomorrow."r />
  "Why?"

  "I think it's important for Troy to see you with me. I get the feeling that he finds a therapist a sign of weakness. If he saw you there as well, I think it would break some holes in the wall he's built around his emotions."

  "Oh. Well, I guess so. If you think it'll help."

  "I'm sure it would. How's tomorrow at six sound to you?"

  Kent checked the calendar on his phone. The time-slot was clear. "Uh, it's good. Let's do it. I'll be there at six."

  "Excellent. I'll see you there."

  "Right." Kent hung up.

  He tried to get back to work, but so many things were raging through his mind that he wasted the rest of the day going through them over and over again. All of them concerned Morgan and Diamond, their deaths blending together until they seemed to have become one single event.

  * * *

  It was almost midnight when Kent returned home. The house was silent as he hung up his coat, put away his briefcase, and walked down the corridor to his son's room. Kent usually worked late, but this time he had purposely delayed coming home, even when all his work had been completed. He had tried to figure out the best way to talk to Troy, but as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he still had no ideas.

  As Kent approached the room, he could hear the bestial roars of Troy's computer game, Odyssey. Kent paused for a moment before trying the doorknob. It was unlocked. Warm air wafted out at him as he opened the door.

  Troy's bedroom was cloaked in darkness with only a corner lit by the multi-colored light of the monitor's screen. Troy sat in front of it, his eyes fixed on the images being projected at him.

  A grassy field full of armored skeletons hacked at the screen with axes, shrieking with inhuman rage. Troy clicked his mouse button furiously. It seemed to control a gleaming sword on the screen. The sword hacked left and right, cutting down skeletons which disintegrated with an ear-splitting squeal.

  Kent didn't bother to wait for Troy to acknowledge his presence. "Evening, son. How was school?"