What is Rabies of a Marriage? Ch. 02

I'm older now than I've ever been, in my whole life.

There are just some things you cannot UN-see, know what I mean? Sometimes tragedy, whether it is someone else's or your own swamps your boat, overwhelms you mentally, after you see it.

The big heads call it PTSD, or, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I've seen a 9 year old Vietnamese girl who had more miles on her than most people of 50. Something about the 'knowledge of evil' in her eyes; not that she'd done evil just that she'd met him.

We send our 18 year old children into the belly of the beast, to other cultures, other heathen nations to stop the spread of this, to unhinge an unrighteous ruler there, to give democracy a chance over in that place. Only to have our children return to us with a thousand yard stare, remembering things that no man should have to remember, no longer teenagers, but worn out veterans.

Suffering is everywhere, and it must have always been. There were the lame, the mute, the leprous, the demon possessed from the pages of the Holy Bible, there are horrendous accounts of suffering from the plagues in what we term, "The Dark Ages." There is really no end to the documentation of horrid suffering throughout man's history.

But, the worst suffering of all, in my opinion, is that which one man inflicts on another. For, the pain that one person can put on another is almost always coupled with mental anguish, from which there is no escape, no inoculation, and no medication.

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My name is Bill Wilson and I'm a dentist. I was married to a menstrual nymphomaniac for ten years, we dated for three before that; her name is Melody.

I had a best friend since the third grade, he and I were partners in business after having been very best friends most of our lives, his name is Pete Stone. His wife's name is Marsha.

My wife, before she became my wife, seduced my best friend, Pete, while we all were still in college, during one of her manic sexual frenzies. They continued to have sexual liaisons through the years often, up until I caught them, almost, in the act. I bullied her into admitting her year's long affair with Pete and not long afterwards, I actually caught them in the act. I divorced her, sued him and even saved his little girl's life while the worst of it all was going on, immediately after actually catching them fucking.

In the saving of his daughter's (Mellissa) life, I risked my own, by intentionally shorting my own medication to see that she had sufficient doses to make it safely to medical help, several days hence.

As it turned out, I was further humiliated by Pete in a fight that I instigated, but Melody had continued to aggravate with her promiscuity.

I was left with nowhere to salvage my dignity, no way to escape the scourge of torment. I played it cool and completed my business, moving away from the two families, bastardizing the son (Bradley) that I had raised as my own, but who wasn't mine, another terrible humiliation and heartbreak for me but for the boy, absolute devastation, I'm sure.

The mental imbalance that had presented itself to me at the time was powerful and I barely managed to keep it at bay while I untangled myself from the throes of my marriage to Melody and partnership with Pete.

I restarted my life in a town two hours away, replaced my dental practice, even dated a few times. But, seething beneath the surface in my mind, were the thirst for revenge and the hunger for inflicting great pain on those who had dealt so treacherously with me.

For the first year, I was literally so wounded that I could not bear the thought of encountering Melody or Pete. My soul was bleeding so profusely, that any slight touch of their hand in my life would have been like the breaking of teeth and then the drinking of vinegar to me; unthinkable.

But, as time passed, I was able to stop obsessing about the pain, and begin a new and rational thought pattern that included revenge, assuming that is rational. "The analgesic for emotional pain: revenge," I began to believe.

I started to mastermind a plot that would exact their peace for mine, which was the price I had paid to live on in this world.

I had a patient, when I was practicing with Pete as my partner, who was allergic to Novocain, highly allergic to it and we'd had a real episode with him going into anaphylactic shock once. If you have an allergy, when you discover it because of allergic reaction, you must avoid recurring instances of exposure to the substance, because death can occur more rapidly when the body is tuned into its' allergy after repeated instances.

This patient was very toxic with me, personally, after he'd had the episode in our office and I'd refused to see him again, just avoiding further complications with him. He did, however continue to see Pete from time to time. It was discovered that this patient wasn't allergic to lidocain, which has a slightly different chemical signature than does Novocain.

Anaphylactic shock is what a person goes into when they have an allergic reaction to something that enters their bloodstream; like, some people are allergic to bee stings and can die from one. Epinephrine is a common drug that is kept handy in all doctor and dentist offices in the case of someone going into shock when a drug is administered in the office. Epinephrine is one of the regular drugs that counteract most allergic reactions.

I knew that the only patient that Pete had that ever used Lidocain was this one patient. Novocain or one of the other local anesthetics were used on everyone else. He, that patient, normally would schedule an appointment in January for an examination and any fillings or dental repair would take place at that time.

It had been over five years since I'd left the Practice with Pete. We'd had a settlement of my lawsuit and I'd won half a million dollars from him, plus I'd waged war in open court against him, humiliating him, my ex-wife Melody and embarrassing him in the local paper and before those in the courtroom.

It was but a distant bad memory for the people of my past life. I'd been quiet and nothing much had been heard from me nor had I heard from them in those years.

I did still have a key to Pete's office, which nobody would realize, I reasoned. I'd turned 'all' keys over to the new owner when I sold my practice and there's been no ripple from me for a long while, I should be safe.

Pete was a man who I knew well. He did not tend to details much. He trundled through his life and accepted the lesser resistance as his path, almost always. Pretty much like water seeks its own level; Pete sought his own level, taking the easy way. He'd never think to change locks on his private outside entrance to his office, I was sure.

On Christmas night, five years after the quiet had resumed in his life, after the lawsuit's settlement, when everything should be running smoothly, I entered the dental clinic through Pete's office door. The key indeed was the same as it had always been.

I knew where the epinephrine was kept, my key for the med cabinet still worked, of course. Using a syringe, I sucked half the precious medicine from the vials pouring it down the drain. I replaced it with clear sterile water, diluting it.

The refrigerator housing the Lidocain, Novocain and that sort of medicine was keyed the same as the regular medicine locker and I replaced the one vial of Lidocain with Novocain-labeled as Lidocain, which was deadly to only one known patient. Pete's patient, the man who had been so nasty to me years earlier when the administered dose I had given him caused his allergic reaction was that one.

Sure enough, nineteen days later the morning news was about a patient who had died in Doctor Peter Stone's clinic of anaphylactic shock after Dr. Stone administered Novocain to him. That was something the repeat patient of Dr. Stone should not have suffered, since he was a longtime patient of the dentist, and his allergy would have been well known to the Doctor.

I was busy in my practice in the days and weeks preceding, during and following all the events and had many witnesses, patients, staff, neighbors and friends.

The following days and weeks brought televised tearful explanations from Pete that he had been sure that he'd grabbed the Lidocain bottle. The diluted dose of epinephrine wasn't sufficient to overcome the shock, and the coroner's ruling was that the patient had repeated exposure during his lifetime to Novocain with this final episode being too much for his system.

Pete lost his license to practice dentistry, but only had a few days in jail after his initial arrest, until he made bail. The courts declared it careless, but not criminal. It could have gone either way, but the courts are what they are.

I figured the death of the patient was just collateral damage; which is acceptable during warfare, according to my warfare training. It is not desirable, but it is acceptable to the ultimate goal of winning the war. Yep, the ends justify the means.

No longer would Pete Stone be able to follow the path of least resistance. His life would now become one of physical labor to feed his family. I was satisfied with my revenge on Pete.

The revenge on Melody would not be as severe, but would be rewarding, never the less. It did have the possibility of becoming severe, I guess. It depends.

Melody had moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming after our divorce, taking Bradley with her. She was a licensed dental hygienist and was working in a dental clinic there.

I'd taken my vacation the previous year, rented a van with very darkly tinted windows and followed Melody for over a week. I learned her daily routines, her risings and her laying downs, her goings and her comings. She was always a woman of patterns. She liked to establish a rigorous lifestyle, but she didn't like too many changes, so what she did one day, she'd do the next, most probably. She too was predictable. Aren't we all to some extent?

She has a boyfriend, not a husband I found out. He is a salesman for oil and coal mining/drilling equipment and he travels all over Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming and Colorado; which are all oil producing states. He was scheduled to be staying in Grand Junction for a week, calling on customers in the oil shale rich Western Slope areas of Colorado.

I have a patient from Denver who followed my practice when I moved to Sterling. She loves my painless dentistry techniques and is loyal to me; she is a hooker in Denver, a prostitute.

She was aghast when I was divorced and had heard rumors of my wife's infidelity. Though this woman sold sex, it was her business. She was sympathetic to me, often comforting me when I saw her for her dental procedures. She'd never offered sex to me, and I'd never asked; I just kept her smile seductive and her teeth in tip top condition.

For five thousand dollars, Nina agreed not to treat her case of syphilis until she'd seduced our salesman from Cheyenne. I found out she had the disease when she came in for an appointment, and asked for antibiotics from me. She'd looked online and found her symptoms matched those of someone suffering from syphilis. She had reasoned that since she was a prostitute, it was possible, even likely that she had it, and had not been to a physician.

The hooker's name was Nina and she knew how to drive a man to make a fool of himself. She checked in to the same motel and bedded the salesman for three of the five nights that he stayed there.

I was sure he had her bug. I was in Grand Junction for some of the festivities, though I never got to witness the copulation itself.

I sat in the bar, nursing my Coors Light watching and listening while she seduced and sold herself to him for additional hundreds of dollars.

Syphilis is easily treated in its' early stages with one shot of Penicillin. But, left untreated for long periods of time, much more serious things can occur.

I didn't really care if Melody and her boyfriend found out they had it or not. Whether they caught it in time or not wasn't my worry, I'd exacted my revenge, and I was sated.

No, I wasn't.

With my rage spent; having the anger lift, I was void. Rage had become my companion, my constant conversation when alone. Though it may be a stupid thought, I realized, "I'm older now than I've ever been in my life."

Of course I was that. But, I felt old, I felt dirty, wicked, evil and unredeemed. My mind was soiled, my soul unwashed. I was a murderer; I had committed medical high crimes, actually doing harm on purpose, which is against the very oath I took, "I will do no harm..."

But, how to come clean? How do I go back and undo what I've done. I'd already paid such a heavy price for life, I was loathe to pay more.

I was waddling along in the foot deep snow of downtown Denver. It was mid-December on a Sunday that the Broncos were playing in town; lost in deep thought, even remorse. The game was in progress and the streets were quiet, except for the homeless. Almost everyone was either at the game or in front of a television.

I ran into a street preacher down at 17th and Lawrence, His name was Bill, just like my name. I introduced myself and he himself. He was handing out quart thermoses filled with hot tomato soup. He also had a bag full of roast beef sandwiches and he gave me one of those.

I had been pensive, thinking about the direction of my life when he handed me a thermos and a sandwich, "God loves you, Bill." He said.

"Not me," I smiled, "but thanks for the food, nonetheless." And I begin to slog through the deep snow away from him.

"Do not elevate your sin above the shed Blood of Jesus, brother." The preacher said to me. "He died for filthy sinners, just exactly like you...and me."

"Naw, I'm too far gone for that shit." I replied. "You don't know what you're talking about, because you don't know what I've done."

"Doesn't matter that I don't know, man; Jesus took it all on long before you ever did it and forgave it. Man has been doing terrible things to one another for centuries, He already knew that and dealt with it two thousand years ago, He said it was finished way back then, and what you need to do is just receive the forgiveness of His sacrifice."

"I ain't goin' to no fucking church, preacher." I spit.

"I never mentioned church, sinner." He spat back.

"So, who do you think you are?" I asked, eyes ablaze.

"Just a messenger, just a messenger." He replied with this palms facing me, fingers spread. "The message is, 'don't elevate your sin above the shed Blood of Jesus.'"

"Yeah, I'll think about it." I said already in deep thought about his words. "Oh, thanks again for the food." I said as I turned away.

"I'll pray for you, Bill." He said.

"Father, there goes one of your children. He's lost his way. He's drifting, he's headed for a direct confrontation with You and he isn't ready, he isn't covered by Your own preparations which You've made for him. Continue to be merciful; show him The Lamp on his path so that his feet can follow the road that you've set for him. In Jesus' Name, Amen." Bill Wilkerson prayed.

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Thank you for reading my story.

This chapter was edited by me.

Voting and comments will be turned on when the story is finished, after the next chapter, chapter 3.

-Pultoy

Chapter 3 is written, is still being corrected.