A Game of Hearts

Prologue Baltimore, Maryland Spring 2004 “You know money’s no object, Dr. Wesley. Can’t modern medical science do something? I’ll cover any cost, any experimental effort.” DeVore took another look at the chart hanging at the foot of Steven’s ICU hospital bed. Then he glared at the doctor who’d just given him the worst possible news. He could not weep, could barely act at all. He felt as if his whole being had turned to ice as the doctor’s words sank into his psyche. Steven is brain-dead, irretrievably departed, leaving only a hollow shell. The unique spark that once animated him has gone out. Only a complex of machinery keeps his heart pumping, his lungs and other organs working. While that could go on for years, the soul and vitality of the man is no more. He will never wake up. The doctor’s next words recalled him from floundering in black despair. “There’s no cure for a crushed brain, Mr. Weyrick. That’s one organ we cannot yet transplant. I’m sorry, more sorry than you can imagine. I knew this man, knew his potential and his very special combination of incredible skills and human compassion. He was going to be an exceptional doctor, but the fact remains, none of that is going to happen now.” DeVore looked down at the unmoving form of the man he loved more than life itself. They’d been together for six years, planning a wedding after Steven completed his residency. This was so wrong. He still could not believe it. When he spoke again, his voice came out rusty and ragged. “Give me a few minutes, Doc. After that, you can do what has to be done. Of course, I’ll give permission to take anything from his body that can help another person’s life. I know that’s what Steven would’ve wanted. He was all alone in the world, as you know, and had given me power of attorney and next-of-kin authority. He had an organ donor card in his wallet when…” Then he had to stop, unable to finish the words, as if not saying “fatal accident” could somehow erase the last twenty-four hours’ events. The doctor touched DeVore’s arm with a gentle half-pat. “Take as much time as you need, Mr. Weyrick. There’s no rush now. We can maintain this status quo virtually forever.” DeVore shuddered at the thought. No, I can’t leave you like this, Steven. I have to let you go, sever the last bond so your spirit can move on. Maybe it already has, but I have to do this. He took the cool, still hand nearest him and held it, cradled like a wounded bird in both of his. Then he bent down and kissed the slightly parted lips for the last time. Steven’s face had sustained no damage in the freak accident that had stolen his life, but beneath the cap of bandages, the back of his head was a mush of shattered bone and fragmented flesh. DeVore could hardly bear to think of that. All within him rebelled at the thought of such horrible trauma. Biting his lip, he put Steven’s hand back down on the white sheet. Tears burned behind his eyes, but would not flow. Goodbye, my love. I’ll join you in time. Wherever in infinity you may be, I’ll find you. But for now, leaving you here, I’ll be alone for the rest of my life. Alone. Alone. The word and its connotations echoed in his heart and mind, spaces hollow, huge and so very empty. He drew the sheet up to cover Steven’s face before he turned away. If he had known how, he would have shut off the machines himself, but that would remain the doctor’s task. They’d have to maintain this semblance of life until they did the organ harvest anyway. It made him feel even more ill, but that was what Steven had wanted. To give life to others through his death since he could not now do so in life was perhaps right. DeVore walked out the door, not looking back. A key part of him stayed behind. It felt as if his soul had died, too.