<< Go Back

The Last Fall

By Jay Blevins

Order Now!

Prologue
Twilight shimmered through windblown branches as Eric Stratton experienced his last few moments on Earth. For eight weeks he knew this moment would come, but the scene he envisioned was vastly different from the one that unfolded around him. Each breath became increasingly labored. He fought to inhale precious oxygen in a vain attempt to prolong the fleeting experience. The ground underneath him was cold except for a small area near the middle of his back where a warm sensation seemed to keep him insulated.
Eric’s senses began to numb as he wondered which events were real and which were imagined. Dreamlike voices faded in and out of the background noise. Colorful lights reflected all around but never seemed to come into focus. But then something more striking and defined came into his line of sight. Eric turned his attention from the waning fall sunset to bright, angelic eyes that seemed to float above him. He became fixated on the eyes, which penetrated his soul from what seemed like a million miles away. As the face that held the cherubic orbs came closer to his, he realized it was somewhat familiar, but he wasn’t sure why.
Just before crossing over the threshold separating this life and the next, Eric heard his name echo in the distance through the chaos around him. As he attempted to answer the God-like voice, all that came out was a faint jumble of unintelligible words. The twilight faded, and the tree-shaped silhouettes morphed into the darkness that surrounded him.
T

1
One
Nine weeks ago
ric Stratton stepped out of his apartment and was engulfed by the crisp fall air on the morning after his thirty-fourth birthday. It was also one day before the most important day of the rest of his life. Eric squinted at the bright morning sun that exacerbated the pounding of his head. He fished through his overcoat for his sunglasses, and his weary eyes thanked him as he donned the expensive lenses.
As his eyes adjusted to the daylight, the change of seasons became evident even in the urban sprawl surrounding him. The wind picked up, and the brisk greeting refreshed Eric, further pushing away the grogginess that lingered from the previous night’s overindulgent birth-day celebration. The pungent cocktail of the aftertaste of alcohol, bile, and perfume from the stranger he met the night before still lingered. He hoped she’d be gone by the time he returned to his apartment later that day. He thought her name may have been Kristin, or Christina.
Eric ignored the good morning from the drug-store clerk as he hurried in search of his normal hangover remedies. Before getting back to the register, he had already guzzled most of his Gatorade, accompanied by several aspirin and chased by a strong mint gum. He hoped his recovery cocktail would kick in while he navigated the city streets to the next stop on his Sunday errands.
As annoying as the hangover was, it caused him to forget about the sporadic, sharp pains he’d had in his stomach for the last week or so…at least until his hunger pangs kicked in. They weren’t strong enough to motivate him to eat, as they were still overshadowed by his recent loss of appetite. He knew he needed to eat, but he couldn’t think of anything he could actually stomach. In fact, he had a hard time remem-bering the last time he’d eaten something substantial. Eric grabbed his
E
2
stomach as it growled. He noticed he was thinner than any time in recent memory.
As Eric walked from the dry cleaner’s to the barbershop, he practiced the opening statement he would deliver to the judge and jury the following day. His mental preparation morphed into a daydream as he impressed himself with the well-prepared defense he would present in circuit court at the nine o’clock docket. But Eric knew he would have to impress more than just himself if he wanted to fulfill his year-end goal of changing the name of his current law office from “Simms, Miller and Young” to “Simms, Miller, Young, and STRATTON.”
If everything went according to plan, the goal would not be too farfetched. All Eric had to do was convince twelve simple-minded people that the corrupt police department had made a serious mistake; the chief operating officer of one of his firm’s most important corporate clients was not guilty of solicitation of any kind (even if the chief operating officer really was guilty of solicitation of every kind). “After all, why would a successfully married businessman, philanthropist, and father of three risk his family and reputation to spend a night with a prostitute?” Eric would argue. The imaginary jurors would nod in agreement with his compelling points.
On top of his stellar argument, the Commonwealth’s Attorney’s star witness, who happened to be the arresting officer, had been tainted by another scandal several weeks prior. Still under investigation by the police department’s internal affairs division, Eric was surprised when the Commonwealth’s Attorney wanted to go forward to a jury trial instead of dropping the charges. But that would not matter, as the scandal with the officer would be the ace up Eric’s sleeve for this highly publicized and pivotal trial. Regardless of the evidence presented by the prosecution, when faced with the brilliance of his defense and the card Eric had yet to play, the jury would be left with no choice but to deliver an acquittal for his client.
As Eric switched back and forth from preparation to daydreaming, he wondered if anyone was as lucky a man as he. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea of being one year closer to forty. But at the same time, Eric knew he was in a much better place than most men he knew in their midthirties. How many other men could brag about the life he
3
was able to lead? At only thirty-four, he worked for one of the premier law firms in the Washington, DC, metro area. He drove a brand-new Mercedes, was in excellent health (excluding the annoying hangover), and could easily hook up with just about any woman he wanted (including a short fling with the daughter of a prominent Senator). To top it all off, he had not made the mistake many of his peers had made by getting married and starting a family too early. He didn’t have to worry about being tied down by a nagging wife or screaming children. Eric was content to maintain his reputation as “cool Uncle Eric” and indulge in all of the pleasures that came along with the freedom of his amazing setup.
Eric smiled as his daydream was about to conclude with a firm, congratulatory handshake from the aforementioned Mr. Simms following the pronouncement of an acquittal from the jury. But he was interrupted by a homeless man, who held out a cup and asked for some help or spare change.
“I’ll give you some help, buddy,” Eric said. “How about you get up off your lazy butt and get yourself a job? That way, I won’t have to look at you or spend my hard-earned money to support your liquor habit. Now beat it before I have you arrested!”
Eric returned to his daydream, but just as he reached for the hand of Mr. Simms in the fantasy moment, a sharp, cramping pain struck his lower back, pulling him back to the real world. He barely had a chance to wonder what was happening when a second pain more severe than the first struck his stomach and caused him to double over and drop to one knee on the hard sidewalk. He released the grip on his meticulously packaged, pinstriped trial suit and attempted to right himself. But he only made it halfway back up and was forced to bend at the waist and support his weight with both hands on his knees. Two more pains struck from opposing sides and caused him to retch loudly. Now embarrassed and in pain, Eric attempted to catch his breath and return to normal. The episode was capped by a strong dry heave.
“Maybe if you didn’t have a ‘liquor habit,’ you wouldn’t be so mean—and so yellow!” the homeless man shouted as he walked away.
Eric was too preoccupied by his condition to shoot back a response.
4
After a few moments, the symptoms wore off, and he staggered to a nearby restroom. Relieved that the symptoms abated, Eric chuckled to himself over having been called “yellow” by the old man on the street. He’d been called many names in his life, but being labeled as a coward in that manner was a new one.
Eric splashed water on his face, then studied himself under the fluorescent lights. That’s when he realized the old man hadn’t called him a coward. He really did look yellow!
Eric leaned forward and closely studied his face. His eyes, skin, and tongue were two shades shy of his favorite yellow “Friday” shirt (which his coworkers constantly argued was somewhere between lemon and canary). It reminded him of his young nephew, Jack, who had to stay in the hospital for a few days after birth due to a serious case of jaundice. Eric was amused by the thought that it was Jack Daniels, not bilirubin, that caused his present condition.
Maybe I do need to lay off the booze, he thought.
Eric had never experienced anything quite like the combination of symptoms he’d been having over the last few weeks. He was generally in good health, and because of that fact he began to worry for the first time about what this strange ailment could possibly be. In addition to the other symptoms, what could cause a healthy person to be yellow? Food poisoning was the first thought that came to mind. The second was a fleeting thought of what Christine or Krista or Kristin or Crystal, or whatever her name was, could have passed on to him the night before. Then he remembered it was the beginning of flu season, so he hoped it was just a mild stomach bug. Whatever this odd affliction turned out to be, it could wait for his attention until after the important victory the next morning.
Sunday church bells rang through the walls and reminded Eric to move along. He wondered why they had to ring them so loud. Eric swore. “It’s not like you’re going to get mine or anyone else’s positive attention with those blasted things. Go ahead. Ring them louder. I’m still not going to church,” Eric mumbled.
Back at his apartment, Eric was glad to see that Crystal—or whomever she was—had left. The last thing he needed was to deal with her, while thinking about his ailment. When all attempts to self-cure
5
the increasingly worsening symptoms failed, he gave in and called his doctor. The first available appointment was at two o’clock in the afternoon the following day. This would give him time to win a sweeping victory, impress his future partners, and get to his appointment.

The atmosphere of the courthouse never got old for Eric. This was his territory. Being an attorney by trade was part of the life he was destined to live. Although the setting never changed, every day that he stepped into the litigious world of modern practice, it was a new adventure. This day just happened to have an added bonus—making partner.
Eric smiled as he delivered his routine patronization of the overweight but friendly deputies who ran the magnetometers and checked him for weapons. Eric always wondered if they would be able to react effectively if a dangerous situation actually arose. After passing through the court security checkpoint, he yelled back his daily, “Don’t have too much fun and stay safe” salutation.
After that, Eric beamed as the sound of his confident footsteps echoed off the marble floor and down the hallway, announcing his presence. As he worked his way down the long halls, he greeted every clerk, attorney, and janitor he passed.
Once he made it to the actual courtroom, the smile went away. At the doorway, he put his game face on and mentally prepared himself for the battles ahead. As he pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the courtroom, his favorite part of the day began. The slight breeze greeted him with the smell of aged wood, freshly waxed floors, and ultimate power.
Within the walls of his domain, Eric knew he would observe and participate in decisions that had a direct impact on the direction of people’s lives. He was part of the system that determined the confinement or freedom of the weak and the strong, the guilty and the innocent, the poor and the rich. Although the rich were the ones Eric preferred, it was a matter of interpretation whether they were guilty or
6
not. His power was godlike, and he cherished every second spent in court.
Eric knew all of the players by name. From the court reporters to the clerk, to the police officers and deputies, all the way up to the substitute judges that filled in on occasion. It was part of his trademark image. He was liked (or at least feared or respected) by his colleagues on both sides of the aisle. Although he loved the challenge of trial, Eric rarely had to take his cases that far. The Commonwealth’s Attorney and her assistants knew of his reputation. They usually preferred to cut generous plea deals in order to avoid a battle in open court.
But when he did go to trial, Eric loved to make witnesses and opponents squirm with his eloquent and aggressive questions and arguments. He often humbled or humiliated police officers, so-called experts, and eyewitnesses. By the time he was finished with his brilliant cross examinations, once credible witnesses were left doubting their own testimonies.
Eric sat in confidence as he listened to the boring opening statement of the Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney. He glanced over at the Commonwealth’s Attorney, who was sitting in on the case as well. He feigned a yawn and then covered his mouth with a fist as her subordinate continued. She returned his sentiments with a smile, raised her eyebrows, and nodded as if to say “we’ll see.”
Eric felt much better than the previous day, and he even considered canceling his doctor’s appointment in case there was a celebration to attend. After getting through the routine motions, he stood to approach the jury with his opening statement. Eric buttoned his jacket, walked up to the jury box, and began another of his trademarks: the dramatic pause for effect. He took a deep breath and leaned in to look into the eyes of the twelve people who would deliver his desired verdict. Little did they know they would clear his client of the solicitation charges and usher him into a new phase of his career.
Eric turned one last time to smirk at the Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney and began his brilliant opening monologue. Then, as if on cue from some unseen script, his words were lost with the first jolt of pain that hit his side. He did his best to hide the grimace and wondered if either the jury or his client noticed. Severe nausea
7
struck within a few seconds. He suddenly became aware of beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He took a few steps forward and tried to compose himself. After a deep breath, another sharp pain struck him. When his hand went down to the area where the pain was coming from, he noticed his stomach was no longer slender but seemed bloated. His dramatic pause turned into a growing uncomfortable silence.
Eric turned to the judge and said, “Your honor, I’d like to—” but before he could finish his statement and ask for a recess, the room began to spin, and he was struck with a massive head rush. His legs gave way underneath him, and he ended up curled in a fetal position on the floor. The last thing he heard before passing out was the bailiff, whose name Eric oddly could not recall, shouting a request into the radio for an ambulance.

Eric slowly regained consciousness to the echo of a PA announcement ringing in a distant hallway. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the brightly lit room. It was one of the few times in life, outside of partying, that he had awakened not knowing his current location. Fortunately, he looked around before moving because he had an IV and other tubes attached to various parts of his body. His memory slowly returned, and he remembered the pain and loss of control he had experienced in the courtroom earlier that day. As he began to put the pieces together, he was embarrassed and shocked at what he must have looked like.
Searching for the nurse call button, Eric pressed it.
A pleasant female voice asked, “May I help you?”
“Yes, this is Eric Stratton. I’m not sure what room I’m in, but I’d like to talk to someone.”
“Okay, Mr. Stratton; we’ll be right with you.”
As Eric waited for the nurse to come to his room, he was keenly aware of a now-constant ache in his stomach and lower back. Oddly enough, when he touched his midsection, he was still bloated. Other than those pains and the discomfort caused by the IV and catheter, Eric felt okay overall. He certainly didn’t think his symptoms would cause
8
him to pass out, let alone warrant admission to an emergency room. Whatever the ailment turned out to be, he already loathed it, as it had interrupted his important performance. It had also struck in a place where he was normally in control—in his territory.
Eric wanted someone to blame for the pain, the embarrassment, and the situation as a whole. If this was a case of food poisoning, he was going to own the restaurant he and Christine—or whomever—had eaten at the night before. Then he remembered he had barely picked at his food, so there couldn’t have been enough to make him this sick. For the moment, there was no established scapegoat to attack, so he hit the nurse call button again.
Fifteen seconds later, a taller, older gentleman opened the curtain. “And how’s our newest patient feeling?” he asked as he approached the bed and closed the curtain behind him.
“I’ve been better,” Eric responded. “What in the world is going on with me, Doctor—”
“Reese,” the tall man said. “I’m the resident for the emergency room on this shift, and I’ll be in charge of your care while you’re with us today. In case you didn’t know, you’re at Metro Regional Hospital center, and for now, you’re in ER room 1009. As far as what’s going on with you…well, we’re not sure just yet. You’ve been unconscious for about three hours now. Other than the now obvious jaundice, there aren’t any obvious or outward signs of injuries. This is a good thing, considering you took a header on a marble floor. You really should wait until there’s water around, you know.”
Eric smiled slightly.
Dr. Reese began to ask a series of questions that started with his medical history and continued through the most recent events. Eric advised him of the aches, bloating, jaundice, and loss of appetite and weight. The doctor, in turn, asked him about his lifestyle habits, including whether or not he smoked, drank, or was sexually active.
Eric laughed. “I smoke an occasional cigar and occasionally drink like a fish.” He then bragged about his dating prowess until his answers led to more uncomfortable questions. He didn’t really feel like discussing his bedroom activities with a total stranger. But he was honest, as he wanted a speedy diagnosis of his ailment so the doctor
9
could prescribe the medicine and treatment that would get him discharged from the hospital as quickly as possible. In his world, time was money, and he certainly wasn’t making any lying there in the emergency room.
Eric had always been a straight shooter, so he asked for the same courtesy from the doctor—good news or bad. In a poor attempt at humor, Dr. Reese said, “The bad news is you’re a lawyer, but the good news is your condition is not fatal.”
“Good, then I’ll be well enough to sue for this atrocious care,” Eric joked without skipping a beat.
“Touché!” Dr. Reese said. He then informed Eric that nurses had already taken blood and urine samples. “We’ll have to run more tests before we can say for sure what’s going on. But you asked me to shoot straight, so I will. Based on the symptoms you’re experiencing, there are several things we’re going to check for. They run the gambit from relatively benign to pretty serious.
“On the less serious end, this could merely be a gallstone. Although uncomfortable, it’s easily treated. Based on both your symptoms and active sexual life, we could possibly be looking at acute hepatitis. This is more serious, but it’s still treatable.
“On the more serious end of things, we could be dealing with cirrhosis of the liver. I don’t mean to alarm you too early, but worst case scenario, some of the things you’ve experienced in the last few weeks are consistent with pancreatic cancer.
“Considering your age and everything I’ve seen so far, I’d lean towards one of the first two I mentioned. Just file away the latter as distant possibilities. Again, we’ll have to get results back from the samples we’ve already taken, and we will have to run some more tests. But if I were a betting man, I’d definitely put your mortgage, and maybe even mine, on one of the first two.”
When Dr. Reese’s second attempt at humor only drew a slight courtesy smile, he returned to the business at hand. He informed Eric that he’d probably order an abdominal ultrasound next, and depending on the results, Eric could be released later in the day.
Being an attorney, it didn’t surprise Eric that the next order of business was the business side of things. An administrator met him in
10
his room with stacks of files and documents tucked neatly under her arm. It had been awhile since he had been in a hospital, and even he was amazed at how much paperwork there was to fill out. But the last thing Eric was thinking about was paperwork. His mind wandered to the things the doctor had said…at least until the administrator flipped to the form about personal/emergency contacts. Then Eric was somewhat embarrassed that it took him awhile to think of someone to list. Since he didn’t have family in town (and didn’t regularly keep in touch with those who were out of town), he listed his assistant, Angie Simpson, as the person to contact.
The thought of having to list Angie caught him off-guard. Was there no one else he could call in a time of need? Worse yet, he wondered if anyone (short of another client being caught on the wrong side of the law) would list him as a contact. These thoughts bothered Eric more than he wanted to admit.
When the administrator left the room, Eric was left alone with his thoughts.
Just the day before, Eric had been counting on his fortune and success to bring him continued fulfillment. Now he realized that, in his search for that contentment, he hadn’t invested much time in anyone but himself. And that sad fact led to his current lack of people to list as emergency contacts. He was amazed that something as simple as this little ailment, and a stupid contact list, could jar him so much.
Eric turned on the TV and tried to suppress the nagging realities creeping into his head. But he soon lost track of Fox News. Instead he pondered his life and the people he should have been able to call upon in his time of need. How pathetic is this, Eric thought. He chalked it all up to one of those moments in life where he was supposed to learn to slow down a little and build meaningful relationships. Oh brother, it must be the drugs. I’m already getting sentimental.
He filed the thoughts away and promised himself he’d take the time to deal with these issues later and maybe change a few small things. But first he needed to take care of two more pressing matters. The first was whatever treatment would get him back to 100 percent the fastest. Second, he had to make partner….
11
Eric was quietly awakened by an obese orderly who was breathing heavily. The orderly advised him he was going to be taken away for an abdominal ultrasound. He was transported in his bed to another area that housed the ultrasound machine. A technician quickly walked him through the painless process. Eric was glad for the explanation, since he didn’t like tight spaces, and he’d pictured something more like a CT scan in a closed chamber. The ultrasound was much simpler. The least comfortable part of the procedure was the cold gel slathered on his stomach; otherwise, it was quick and painless.
Back in the ER, Dr. Reese checked in on Eric and informed him that he wouldn’t be discharged until the results returned. “Just be patient and take some time to relax. Maybe think about some things your busy schedule doesn’t normally allow,” Dr. Reese said. “Take a few minutes and call your family or friends to let them know that you’re okay. Maybe they can bring you something a little better than the stuff our cafeteria offers.”
“I’ll try to relax, Dr. Reese, but I’ll be honest. I’m not used to just sitting around and waiting. Would it be okay if I took a walk around?”
“I’d love to allow you to do that, but since we’re not sure yet what we’re dealing with and you already passed out once today, we can’t take that chance.”
“Okay, then. I’ll be a patient patient and wait here until I hear from you,” Eric promised.
But that was easier said than done. Waiting for the results of the ultrasound proved to be a long and grueling process. Eric had plenty of time to rest, but instead of doing that, he turned to worrying. He liked to think of himself as an optimist, but he didn’t like the options Dr. Reese had presented earlier. Gallstones didn’t sound too bad, but even if it wasn’t cirrhosis or cancer, he could still be looking at hepatitis. He didn’t know all the symptoms that came along with it, but he remembered it was one of those diseases they warned him about in high school and college. Still, if it was a plea deal, he’d take that over cancer any day. Eric didn’t know anyone personally who had dealt with cancer, but he knew it was usually treatable as long as they caught it early. Nonetheless, the word continued to echo over and over in his head, and the only other word that bounced around with it was death.
12
More time to think. More time to ponder. Out of his element, out of his comfort zone, and way out of control, Eric felt helpless for the first time in his life. All he could do was wait on the test results, and although he knew the odds were in his favor, there was the small chance it was the worst-case scenario. And that small chance began to make him feel more closed in than the thought of the CT chamber he dreaded earlier. What would he do if it was cancer? Where would he go from here? What about cirrhosis? At thirty-four, this could not be a good sign for his health. He wished at the very least he had internet access so he could check to see what his options were. But more than the internet, he truly wished there was something else he had.
Interestingly, the thing he wanted most was to talk to someone and vent. At the very least, he wished he had someone to share his normally sarcastic and witty jokes with. Any time pressure built in his life, his humor kicked in to aid in relieving stress. Again, he was reminded that most of the people in his life consisted of those who occupied roles in the courtroom. He didn’t want to call Simms, Miller, or Young for fear he would appear weak. Angie Simpson would answer his call, but that would not only be awkward but also inappropriate. Krista(?) was a no-go, although he still had her number in his wallet.
He hadn’t spoken to his older brother in months. To call now would cause more stress than it would be helpful, as all the old familial arguments would just resurface. But in the end, he knew his brother was the best option, so Eric picked up the phone and dialed the number to his brother’s house. It rang once, and he quickly hung up. How pathetic. He felt like he was back in elementary school; only now, instead of being afraid to call the girl he had a crush on, he was afraid to call his own flesh and blood.
Just when he didn’t think he could take another minute of channel-surfing and worrying, Dr. Reese returned. Eric tried to read his face before the doctor delivered the news, but his expression did not seem to convey anything worse than it already had.
“Well, we’ve been able to rule out gallstones, but that’s not necessarily good news. We saw some things on this test that are of some concern, but I’d rather not speculate on what we’ve found until we can confirm the results. At this point, we need to check more blood
13
samples, and I’ve ordered a CT scan. Eric, you asked me to be straight with you, so I will be. We have found what appear to be rather large abnormalities that are most likely tumors on or near your pancreas. Although this does not mean it’s definitively cancer, this is not good news, as it appears to be pretty advanced growth. This condition is well outside my area of expertise, so we’re going to run the CT scan and then turn you over to someone who can walk you through the rest of this process. You’ll be transferred out of the ER and admitted to the hospital since it looks like you’ll be here overnight. I realize this is all coming at you very quickly, but let’s just take this one step at a time and cross each bridge as we come to them. For now, I’d suggest you call your loved ones and let them know you’ll be here a little longer.”
His helplessness morphed into outright fear. He wished more than ever that he had someone to walk beside him through the uncertainty of the moment.

The time between waking up in the ER and hearing the results of the ultrasound had been long and grueling. But the next few hours and tests seemed to pass by too quickly. The CT scans confirmed the worst of the doctor’s and Eric’s fears.
The next day he was turned over to a surgeon for a biopsy, which eliminated any doubt about what they were dealing with. At thirty-four years and three days old, Eric Stratton was officially informed that he had pancreatic cancer of the worst kind.

Order Now!

<< Go Back