Celebwen Telcontar: This all belongs to… uhh… something other than me.
Balrog: Zhe fwop bewonv do voo!
Celebwen Telcontar: What? Don't talk with your mouth full!
Balrog: Sorry, the pumice was just turning back to lava in my mouth and throat. I said that the plot belongs to you.
Celebwen Telcontar: So does Martha and all the Chandlers. The Byrds own the song in the last two chapters, though. The song was "Turn, turn, turn" or "To Everything There Is A Season, from some Bible verse or other.
Balrog: Very good. Anyways, can we get back to the story?
Celebwen Telcontar: Yes.
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Martha sat down slowly, her ears ringing.
"It's just the flu; let it be just the flu!" she whispered to herself. The tree was only half decorated, and Martha felt as if she couldn't move a single muscle. Her face felt drained of all blood, and her brain felt a harsh pressure that refused to leave, much like she was going to faint. She had a large bruise on her forearm, and thought that she must have bumped into something, but nothing came to mind. She knew what these were symptoms of, but willed herself to believe they were simply influenza. "But I got my flu shot…" she mumbled to herself. Inwardly, she knew what it was. "Not me, not me too… John, Rick, all of them…" She hung her head.
"Martha, are you alright?" Ian asked, rushing into the room. He pressed his hand to the hinge of her jaw, and came away looking concerned.
"I think it's the flu."
"You've had your flu shot this year!" he semi-roared, mingling between outrage and disbelief. "How long have you had this particular cold, now that I think about it?"
"A few weeks…"
"Shit. You're going to the doctors."
"It's not…"
"I think it is. I hope not, but you never know… It does run in your family, sweetheart." His voice was choked. He seemed to be willing himself to not believe that she had cancer, that she just had the common flu. But everything added up, and he knew in his heart that she was sick.
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As Martha lay in her hospital bed, tubes running from her veins, and a very worried husband sitting beside her, holding her hand, she thought on the unfairness of the world. To take her life away like this, to get her sick with leukemia, was more than she could handle at the moment. Zechariahs stood at the foot of the bed, his massive face lined with emotional pain and tears. He fiddled with a small, well-loved teddy bear, and then handed it to Martha.
"Thought you'd like this, baby. I know how you slept with him until his fur wore off when you were just a little tike."
"Thanks, Dad." He reached over and hugged her. His embrace was as gentle as if she was made of glass, and she felt him trembling beneath the gruff exterior. "You remind me of a Dwarf. Maybe Gimli, or Balin," she said gently.
"Of course. Trust you to bring in something Tolkien related."
"Naturally."
"My little Elfling."
"I'm no Elfling, Dad, and you know it. Elves don't get sick."
"Well, you get better now, or I'll be madder than that Balrog Glorfindel finished off."
"It finished him off, too. Well, sort of."
"Ian, you take care of her."
"Yes, Dad."
"Now, Elizabeth, we should be going."
"Mary will want to see her, Zechariahs,"
"So she will. Later."
The small woman gazed at her daughter, and smiled slightly.
"You get better, you hear?"
"Right, Mother."
"Alright, visiting hours are over."
"I'll visit you tomorrow, love," Ian said quietly, kissing her. Zechariahs smoothed some hair from her forehead, and Elizabeth fiddled with the blankets. As the trio left, all three looking sullen and sad, the nurse came in with the tray of pills and liquid medications. Martha had already vomited due to the chemotherapy, but now was feeling nauseous again, and her strength was waning and waxing at intervals. She managed to swallow the pills and medications, including the new medication called Gleevec, and managed to slowly drift into sleep.
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Ian stared at the blank spot on the wall, Elizabeth's arm around his shoulder for support. Zechariahs had gone to call Mary, and tell her the bad news, while trying his best to stay stoic and not cry. He had seen his own brother die of cancer and his son as well. He didn't want to loose his eldest daughter, too. The telephone rang, and Ian picked it up.
"Hello? Is this Ian Howe? This is Riley, calling you back. You asked about Ben?"
"Er… yes. I did."
"Well, here he is."
"Mr. Howe?"
"Yes."
"I'm looking for a group of people to go into the arctic with me."
"The Arctic?! What is this, some scientific expedition?"
"No. We're trying to find a ship called the USS Charlotte. She disappeared in that area in the late eighteenth century, and I think there's either a clue or the treasure itself."
"Buried treasure? I'll join." Elizabeth and Zechariahs looked at him like he was from Mars.
"Alright! Excellent! I've been having trouble trying to find people to go on this trip with me, but no one save Riley wants to go!"
"I'll get a few people together I know. Where do you want to set out?"
"Say, Boston, Massachusetts; Logan Airport. Three weeks, and I'll meet you there."
"You've got yourself a deal, mate." He hung up the receiver, and was bombarded with questions from his in-laws.
"Did you just say you're going after buried treasure?"
"Anything to help Martha… Anything at all… The medical bills need to be paid, Mother. And they won't be paid by me sitting around."
"But what if it's not real?" Zechariahs asked.
"Don't tell me that! It is real; it has to be real… For Martha's sake… For the family. When I find it, it's all going to cancer research, and to pay for Martha's bills. We need the money, Mother. Don't tell me otherwise. Cancer has depleted this family of its income for long enough. I'll be gone in three weeks."
"But how are you going to pay for the ticket?"
"I have my ways."
"Theft?!"
"I can let just a little money trickle down to make them think I've got big money, then go and find that treasure for Martha!"
"How are you going to keep up the image, Ian?"
"I will, somehow. I have to. Everything resides on this. Without Martha, I'm useless. You know that's true, Dad."
Zechariahs could see a cold, deadly glint in his son-in-law's eyes. Hatred, and disgust marred his handsome face, and his sandy blonde hair was seemingly alive with the power of the absolute loathing Ian had for the disease.
"I'll beat it… somehow, I'll beat it."
"Ian…" Elizabeth began, but then realized that she was no match for this strong malignancy of feelings that was eating her son-in-law up from the inside out. His idea to bluff his way into this treasure hunting party was risky, but it could be done.
"Ian, how are you going to do this?" Zechariahs asked.
"It's like a chess game. I just have to keep his eyes anywhere else but the board and my moves."
"What?"
"I never have liked this Ben chap since I found out about him and met him at the wedding. He always was too preoccupied with his precious treasure. No pun intended."
"So Ben isn't Gollum?" Elizabeth said, trying to lighten the mood.
"Obviously not…" Ian was rather preoccupied with his plan for the moment, and then lifted his cell phone to call some friends he had made over here.
The glint Ian had in his eye scared Zechariahs. He had known people who had that look, and would stop at nothing, literally, to get what they were after. He was convinced that Ian was an entirely different person now, almost like a split personality. Zechariahs was convinced that Ian would stop at nothing, even go so far as to commit theft or cold-blooded murder to get to the treasure and donate it to cancer research.
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Celebwen Telcontar: Well, how was that?
Balrog: Frankly, Ian is beginning to creep me out.
Celebwen Telcontar: Why is that? He's not that bad, just… mad about finding the treasure to help cancer patients.
Balrog: But that glint… It's just as disturbing as Dumbledore's twinkle, only in a different way.
Celebwen Telcontar: What? Ian is not Dumbledore. He looks absolutely nothing like Dumbledore!
Balrog: I was comparing the "twinkle" and the "glint". Neither are pretty, both are quite disturbing, and now I think I'll have nightmares about a twinkling Ian or a glinting Dumbledore.
Celebwen Telcontar: Eat a gypsum and calcite sundae before bed. You'll have too much heartburn to have nightmares!
Balrog: Okay. (Walks off to a rock field.)
Celebwen Telcontar: Well, see you next time! (Smiles and waves to audience.)