Three Short Days

Author’s note: *The dialogue style of this story is blatantly and shamelessly ripped of from Stephen King’s work Dolores Claiborne. It is a magnificent novel and I would recommend you read it!*

“Well, alright then. Everyone settled in? Got your little machine turned on? See, I suppose this is the part where you start to ask me questions. You might start with some softballs, real easy ones to get me talking. It’s not like the old days, with the good cop, bad cop shtick, is it? These days it’s a little more complicated, I bet. Well, if you don’t mind, I could just start and see if your questions get answered. I can pretty much guarantee you that it’ll be better this way - I don’t love being interrupted and I sure as hell don’t love stupid questions. So if it’s all the same to you…

Understood. You can stop me any time you want if you think I am avoiding getting to the point. I will warn you, I’m not gonna skip any parts of the story, so settle in.

I met Rick when I was young… God, it must have been twenty years ago. In the mid 2020s, I think? I won’t bore you with the whole meet-cute situation, but suffice to say, it was pretty serendipitous. I was working HR in those days, and working for the city. And he was doing cybersecurity. Well, the city had got pretty freaked and hired a cybersecurity firm - put them right in the building as our HQ. So anyway, one morning I’m in the break room and getting coffee and I think I’m alone so I’m humming Livin’ On A Prayer. Just the chorus, y’know? It’s always been one of my favourites. And I would never have done it if I had known he was there but he heard and kinda sang along? Obviously he couldn’t hit the high notes but who can, right? I was mortified but laughed it off eventually and we had a chat and a coffee. And we just kept on running into each other in the break room until one day, he asked me out on a date. And the rest is history.

Okay, enough meet cute. So we were together for a while and we decided that we didn’t want to have kids. I’m looking around the room here and guessing most of you were alive for the 2020s? Alive and old enough to remember how crazy shit was? Well, we weren’t sure about bringing a kid into that shitstorm of a world. The world after Covid - don’t you remember Covid? It was pretty wild. People were about ready to kill each other over masks and toilet paper. And then the Orange One came in - I’m getting off the track, I know. I can see it in your eyes, Detective Martin. Like I said, you can start asking questions and it might go faster but you won’t learn much. You just need to listen. I’m long-winded, what can I say?

Anywho, we were young and in love. And that was enough. We had a damn good time. Would you believe that we took up swing dancing? In our 30s? What kind of weirdos, right?

But one day it all kind of hit me. The isolation of a life without children. Sure, we could have enjoyed an unburdened financial life, but I think when it hit us, it hit us hard. When I say it, I mean that it would only be us. When we were older. That all of our families would be dead and it would only be us. And we didn’t think about it from the perspective of oh, we want someone to wipe our asses for us. No, it was more like… empty of meaning, you know? Think about your parents now, all of you. If you’re lucky enough to have em’. And just think about how much they mean to you. Well, that was kind of what got us thinking that we should maybe throw our hats in the ring with the whole baby thing. But only one. I was 35 by that point. Biological clock and all. The curse of Eve.

Well, like everything else in our lives together - not when we were kids, of course. My folks were batshit crazy, bible-thumping Canadians who seemed like they would fit in better with a Southern drawl complaining about the the immigrants. And Rick, well his folks just hated each other. And they split early. But what I mean is that ever since we got together, things had been smooth sailing. We just fit together so well. Move in together? Sure, why not. Buy this coffee table? Go for it. Paint the shed? Let’s do it. So it seemed to make sense that it didn’t take long for the… well, you know, for the magic to really happen.

Well. When it happens, it really happens. You there, young lady, you got kids? Nope. How about you, Detective Martin? I thought so. You’ve got the eyes. Eyes that have been filled with love but also tired. Tired eyes full of love. Look at me, getting all poetic. I guess the reason I’m mentioning all of this is that it’s helpful to set a baseline. So much of what I’m about to say will just feel different if you have kids. It’s always this weird thing with people that don’t have kids and those of us who do. It’s like when people used to smoke? Surely you remember that. Well, sometimes people used to get to take smoke breaks and the people who didn’t smoke used to get mad. It’s such a life changing thing, but for me to expect that everyone understands it is I guess some kind of discrimination or something. But it’s always good to know.

Anyway, we had Russell and he was beautiful. Still is. And we had the usual shit. Sleepless nights and trips to the ER when he got sick. But we didn’t think anything of it. He grew up and was a normal boy - loved dinosaurs and cars. But he was always a little frail. A little weak. But we just thought that was normal, right? The doctors said there was nothing to worry about.

Ya, ya. I see your eyes. I’ll get on with it.

He was diagnosed when he was 11. Things started to get… weird. He got sick. A lot. And it didn’t take long for them to find it. Hodgkin lymphoma. It was all a blur, as I’m sure you would assume.

All of the tests. The blood work. Everything blurred together in some kind of a living nightmare. He had his chemo and we were told that it would be taken care of. But there was always that but. 90 percent survival rate, right? It’s one of those things you can’t understand unless you’ve been through it. A sick kid. It’s like your world starts to crack. The ground beneath your feet feels like it is less solid everyday until you think you’ll just slip away, that it will all slip away. But then there is an end to it, the endless testing and the chemo and the vomiting and the tears. It’s torture, really. But then it’s supposed to end. They got it. Zapped it. And you think it’s all done, that this kid will have a chance to live like a normal kid again. Not some emancipated, bald thing that doesn’t have any humanity.

When they told us it came back was when things got bad. Dark. I could barely look him in his eyes. They were so pale, his beautiful dark eyes. And that was when Rick started looking at things online.

Well, I told you he worked in cybersecurity. So he knew how to find things. I didn’t ask him where he found it but one morning, one quiet morning over our usual breakfast of coffee, he brought it to me. A new service that he found online. It was called More Days. The way he explained it to me sounded like some kind of dark magic, but you know how things have changed lately with the biohacking and the neural implants. Basically, we would pay for it and do a few scans and some biometric implanting, whatever that is, and if worst came to worst and our sweet boy would need to leave this world, we would get another day or two with him. And let me be clear here. Rick had read the fine print. He told me he had and I trusted that man with my life. So he knew that these days would come from him. Like a well having water drawn from it, his life force would be transferred into Russel. But only enough for a few days.

I said yes. What else would I have said? Yes, Detective Martin, I’m looking at you. What would you give if it meant another day with your kid? Everyone always says they would give their life for their kids, so what happens when they actually get a chance? It seemed like a no-brainer. And no, I didn’t read the fine print. I didn’t think I needed to. I’m sure you will look at all of that stuff and try to make your case. That I knew what could happen, what might happen, and that it’s my fault. And I guess you might be right.

Not long after we found out that the cancer had come back and the outlook wasn’t good. It had spread. It had taken over. Ten percent. Ten percent chance. Can you imagine? If someone told me I had a ten percent chance at winning the lottery I still wouldn’t think I had much of a chance. But hey ho, that’s what happened.

So that morning, once we found out, we paid for the service. Rick went out somewhere and got it. And he did the dirty work. It would only kick in once Russ’ heart stopped, so it was preemptive. Or so we thought. He took his phone and scanned Russ’ wrist and then scanned his own. And that was all it took. There was some kind of transfer. I don’t understand how it worked, okay? I just wanted a few more days with my boy. Ah, shit. Look at me crying. Big old baby. Like I’m the first one who ever lost a kid to cancer. Or was supposed to.

He was in the hospital at that point. We didn’t tell the doctors that we were doing this - I’m fairly certain it’s still illegal in this country and I’m fairly certain you will look into that. I can’t stop you. But lo and behold, that night, all of his numbers crashed. And the doctor told us that he might not make it to the morning. It’s savage, isn’t it? Cancer, that bastard. How quickly it works, like angry demons in the soul.

Well, we were with him the entire time. And when he flatlined, it only lasted for a few seconds until… well, it shot back up. And there was life in him again.

The weird thing was that he was energetic again. Like himself before any of this cancer stuff. His eyes had that sheen that I knew. He smiled. He actually smiled. We couldn’t believe it. Looking back now, it was a bit like knowing that a party is about to be bust by the cops in an hour but getting your last few whoops in before it all got shut down. But we took it. And we took him.

The next morning, we shuffled him out quietly. I’m sure some of the doctors would have been surprised but it was a skeleton shift and the nurses thought we were taking him for a walk. We loaded him into the car and made a run for it.

Every summer since he was old enough to walk we brought him to this place in Muskoka. It was a small place, on a small lake and it was run by a husband and wife. There were only ever like 10 other guests there, and we never were the type for glitz and glamour. But once he got sick, we stopped going. Well, we took him back. Called the owner on the way. And he had a room.

It was lucky he was dying in the summer - God, it was beautiful. When we pulled up, Rick and I both looked at him. It was starting to get a bit surreal. Like, the idea of borrowed time but in real life, you know? But that was him. He was there and he was healthy. So the thing worked. And we went with it. Oh the days we had. Two of them, to be precise. Just two beautiful days of swimming and walking to the local ice cream place and laughing at silly jokes. It was perfect and it was awful. Horrible. Because deep down I knew that it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t last. These deep web biohackers hadn’t found a way to grant immortality, or I would have heard about it. But it didn’t matter. We had more time with our boy and that was all that mattered. The second afternoon, on the lake, I’ll always remember. The way the sun reflected off of the water and into his eyes, his laugh, his smile. The feeling in the air of an Ontario summer and how the air was lighter, the birds sang sweeter - everything was just more than it could have been.

We planned on taking him back the next morning. Things got weird again that night. We hadn’t expected anything weird with Rick. After all, what’s three days to someone who should live until they’re 80? Half of the 80 year olds I’ve met would want to go three days earlier or more. But that night, he seemed… weird. Flaky. Literally itchy. Like there was something beneath his skin. I thought it was sunburn and made nothing of it.

In the middle of the night I heard him retching in the bathroom. He’d only had one beer with dinner and it was a damn good beer, an evening in Muskoka beer, but that was it. I went into the bathroom and he was pale. So pale. It was like the life was being leeched out of him. I ran to check on Russ and he was sleeping more soundly than he had in years.

It clicked for me, then. I didn’t need words to explain it but I will for you. I guess I knew that it wasn’t just three days. I knew that by scanning himself over to Russel, Rick had given part of himself - exchanged part of himself. I’m still a bit foggy on the science of it, but I guess that’s the whole point. I ran back to Rick and tried to comfort him. His coughs were coming from somewhere deeper than his diaphragm. He got through the coughing and looked at me. His eyes were so bloodshot. It was like something had arrived in him, you know? Something sinister that was digging its claws into his guts. There was no other way to explain it - the cancer had jumped bodies. I know, looking at you right now I know that you don’t believe me. That you are going to make out like I killed him. And if you do, fine. But that isn’t what happened.

When I woke up the next morning, Russell was standing over my bed. It was scary, I’m not gonna lie. He was staring at me, and his eyes were… strange. They were darker. And more narrow. But he was alive. I stood and hugged him and he hugged me back. It felt weird. Stiff. Like he didn’t know me. Or he knew me but didn’t know how to hug properly. I looked on the bed where I had slept and saw Rick. He was still sleeping. Well, I thought he was sleeping. And I’m sure you can see where this is going.

I called the ambulance right away. When they asked me if there was anything I could say to help them, I didn’t know what to say - if I just blurted out this whole thing about a dark web phone app that was made by biohackers and all the rest of the it, they might just think I was on drugs or off my meds. So I just said he was acting funny in the night.

The last few weeks have been a blur. And you guys know about all of it because you’ve been a part of most of it.

But the thing is, I’ve still got my baby. Russell. He’s sitting just out there. And you know what? I don’t know how I feel about it. Because at night, when I would expect him to ask me what happened to his dad again or to see his eyes well up with tears, he doesn’t. He just looks at me and smiles.

He still does a lot of the same stuff he used to - he plays on his Switch and he draws. But there is an absence to him now. And his drawings are all so linear, so narrow, so harsh. And his eyes. So linear. A few nights ago I woke up and he was standing over my bed like he was that morning that his father died. In the darkness, I would swear I saw him smiling. But I know it’s not him. I’m sure of it. It’s something or someone else. That isn’t my boy. I’m sure of it.

Well, that’s me. Anything else you want to know?”