ENGLISH EXTENSION
CRIME FICTION - GENRE
It was the worst painting Bryan had ever seen: Pierre Swarofski's impressionist painting of the human heart. He always thought artists were a bit deluded. No wonder the left ventricle was unproportioned.
'For the fraction of you who will graduate, success will come from following your gut instinct. There are some things a good doctor can detect that a good pulse oximeter cannot. And like Swarofski, you too might end up making millions of dollars… or at least save millions of lives' bellowed his favourite professor.
The eager students, few of whom were dedicated to saving lives, and the rest of whom were dedicated to making money, were suddenly beckoned to use the right side of their brain, when it was the left that got them there.
--
'Three operations… aortic coarctation…'
Bryan raved about himself for the same amount of time it took the waitress to take their order, allot her number to a flirting customer and retrieve a bottle of red wine for the newly engaged couple on table nine.
'At least someone's getting married tonight. Hasn't this guy ever heard of open ended questions?' she wondered.
A long pause ensued. She forced a smile before excusing herself to the bathroom. They both knew she wasn't coming back.
--
Ted was Vernfield's most highly acclaimed psychologist. Marriage breakdowns, mid life crises, depression – Ted had seen them all.
'Dr Bryan Kobe'. Ted turned the name over and over in his head, rubbing his cleft chin as he often did when deep in thought. The receding hairline and the slightly hunched back that accentuated his slim build all struck a chord of familiarity.
'Oh yes, that's right!' The newspaper image of Dr Bryan Kobe lurched its way into his memory. The article read something about a new clinical trial. In a follow up story, Ted was certain the baby did not live long. The see-saw-ing of guilt and bliss at losing and saving a patient often took its toll on doctors.
'How can I get a woman to marry me?'
A long pause ensued. He felt like he was on a date again.
'This is Ted's office, right?'
Most clients liked to introduce themselves, talk about their friends, family and pets before delving into why they were there. Taken aback by Bryan's straightforwardness, Ted concluded he was 43, a medical surgeon, and believed himself overdue to start a family. STAT.
--
The Stanbourg University which Bryan attended was absorbed in racist upheaval. Not a day was he spared racial insults. 'Low life Nigger' 'Black Bastard'
'Study now. Revenge later' was his mantra. Peers and lecturers would catch him mumbling incoherently down the hallway, and laugh. He always seemed a social outcast anyway.
Like a star shining against a polluted western sky, Professor Cromblin was proof that the dream of a black man making something respectable out of himself was possible.
In his final year of study, Professor Cromblin was shot dead. Three of Bryan's white peers were charged with murder a week later.
The events above were delivered to Ted methodically and in sparing detail.
--
Ted lay flicking channels, as his wife romped into the bedroom sporting new lace underwear. She began kissing at his neck. He could feel himself go hard.
'Next in breaking news, Hollywood heartthrob Ryan Harppe dies due to a drug overdose. Dr Bryan Kobe said there was little hope by the time he arrived…'
'Hold on honey'
'But-'
'Shh!'
By the end of the report Ted had lost his erection. Patients died all the time, but this was the second headline in the past month featuring the death of one of Dr Bryan Kobe's patients. Ted started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
Bryan met with Ted for their usual 5:00 Friday appointment. The real Bryan came out on their last session.
'So, tell me about your childhood'
'CHILDHOOD? I'm paying you good money to help me find a wife, not talk about my bloody childhood. Any bet you're just out to pump money out of me. Typical white bastard. You're all the same. BETTER OFF DEAD, I SAY!' shouted Bryan vexedly and stormed out.
Finding a wife became the least of his problems, Ted made note to help Bryan through his racial issues. But something about the way he said 'BETTER OFF DEAD!' unsettled Ted. The words clung to him like a foul stench.
In his hurried exit, Bryan left his folder behind. Picking it up, Bryan's Stanbourg Yearbook fell onto the floor. Flipping quickly through the black and white pages, hints of red caught Ted's eye. Fingering back through the pages, Ted found that Bryan had violently crossed the faces of three individuals. He started rubbing his cleft chin.
--
'Thank God it's Friday'
Bryan had one more operation to perform. He skimmed the patient profile: John O'Timmons. 64. Caucasian. Fatal condition. Requires cardiomyopathy.
'Perfect, easy as pi' chuckled Bryan to himself. He made note to share the pun on his next date. After all, Ted said that women were attracted to humour.
Within minutes John O'Timmons was declared dead. In theory his body had rejected the donated heart. But in practice Bryan had left a 3mm gap in reconnecting the aorta.
Revenge is a dish best served cold, and under the façade of a good willed doctor, Bryan was a cold blooded murderer.
Every white patient that died on his operating table resembled someone who called him a 'Low Life Nigger' a 'Black Bastard', or someone who murdered Professor Cromblin. Only the black patients died from genuine medical conditions.
'Shit' Bryan almost forgot his appointment with Ted, as he reached his pocket for the car keys.
'DR KOBE! EMERGENCY!' From the rear view mirror, Bryan could see one of the interns running short breathed after him.
--
Ted suffered a stroke while at work. He could not move, but could see and hear everything around him. The secretary. The ambulance. The hospital. The nurse. The Doctor.
'Not to worry Ted, it's me, Dr Bryan Kobe'. As the morphine kicked in, Bryan's wink was anything but reassuring. ©
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