The Sisterhood - Michael Palmer [114]
Christine nodded. Her eyes were glazed and vacant. “I … I just feel so damn lost,” she said hoarsely. “So frightened, so … so hopeless.”
That word again. This time it was David who looked away. He could not shake the feeling that she was right. What did she have to look forward to? Then he thought of Lauren. For better or for better. That was how he had described her commitment to him. Now it was his turn to decide.
In that instant he felt a renewed spark of anger. Christine Beall had made choices and because of those choices people had gotten hurt—and killed. Now she was feeling hopeless. Wasn’t she getting just what she deserved?
What she deserved. David shook his head. How many of his colleagues thought that getting arrested, then suspended from the Doctors Hospital staff was just what he deserved. Did he have any more right to pass judgment than they did?
He reached out and took Christine’s hand. Her fingers tightened about his. He could feel her despair.
All at once, he folded his arms in a rigid professorial pose. “Just where do you get off thinking you have the right to make that diagnosis?” he asked haughtily.
“What diagnosis?”
“Hopelessness. Here you are in the presence of perhaps the world’s greatest expert on the subject, and you have the temerity to diagnose yourself without asking for a consultation? That is unacceptable. I am taking over this case.” The emptiness in her eyes began to lift. “We must take an inventory, ” he said. “First the basics. I see ten fingers, ten toes, and two of all the parts there are supposed to be two of. Are they all in working order, miss?” She suppressed a giggle and nodded. “So far, this sounds very unhopeless. Are you perchance aware of the classic Zurich study on the subject? They measured hopelessness on a scale of zero to ten in over a thousand subjects, half of them living and half dead. A hopelessness index of ten was considered absolute. Can you guess the outcome of that research?” She was laughing now. “Can’t guess? Well, I’ll tell you. A marked difference was found between the groups. In fact, those in the deceased group invariably rated ten, the rest invariably zero.” He rubbed his chin and eyed her up and down. “I’m sorry, miss. I really am, but I’m afraid that no matter how much you want to be, you are simply not hopeless. Thank you very much for coming. My bill’s in the mail. Next?”
She threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you.” Her lips brushed his ear as she spoke. “Thank you for the consultation.” She drew her head back to look at him. Their lass simply happened—a gentle, comfortable touching that neither of them wanted to end or change. A minute passed, and then another. Finally she drew away.
“It all went wrong,” she said softly. “It seemed so right, and it all just went … crazy. Why, David? Tell me. How the hell can I ever trust my feelings again when something I believed in so very much turned out so sour?” She sank down to the sand and stared out at the Atlantic.
“You want to know why?” he said, dropping next to her. “Because you’re not perfect, that’s why. Because nobody’s perfect, that’s why. Because every equation involving human beings is insolvable, or at least never solvable the same way twice. I believe in euthanasia just as much as you do. I always have. It’s an absolutely right idea as far as I’m concerned. The difference is that somehow I have come to understand that while it is an absolutely right idea, there is simply no way to do it right. Sooner or later, the human element, the unpredictable, uncontrollable X factor rears its ugly head, and wham, things come apart.”
“And innocent people die,” she said.
“Chris, as far as I’m concerned, when it comes to dying, we’re all innocent. That’s the problem. Someone in your Sisterhood—possibly this Peggy woman—has snatched up the good, honest beliefs of some wonderful, idealistic