Free Transience by Stevan Mena

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    Jack steadied himself on the hood of his car and cleared his throat again.   He covered his mouth and coughed hard.   Something in his chest felt odd, different.   He opened his hand, it was filled with dark blood.
    That was a new symptom.

CHAPTER 15

    Leonard was in the office working late.   The phone rang.   Recognizing the number, he allowed the machine to get it.  
    He let Laura vent into voicemail.   Again.   She'd called several times earlier, he'd instructed his secretary to say he was out of the office.   Laura was furious, and he wasn't ready to address this sensitive subject with her just yet.   He might never be.  
    Of course not, he was a respected physician, and he wasn't prepared to throw his practice away.   Not without evidence.   Evidence he hoped Jack might uncover.
    Leonard knew that once the cat was out of the bag, there was no going back.   But he trusted Jack; most who knew Jack did.   He was the right person at the right time.   Unfortunately, any hope for discretion was now out the window.  
    Perhaps if he had confided the whole truth, told Jack everything, maybe Jack would have understood the need for circumspection.   But the whole truth couldn't be imparted in one sitting; Jack needed a primer to digest all of the information.  
    Better yet, he needed to witness it firsthand.   Otherwise, he'd have just labeled him crazy and walked out, angry for wasting his time.  

CHAPTER 16

    Jack sat upright on the cold white examining table.   He'd been sitting there over an hour and was starting to wonder if they'd forgotten about him.   Before he could finish the thought, Doctor Moss entered the room carrying Jack's medical results.
    Jack liked straight talk, no sugar, he didn't need his hand held.   Dr. Moss, one of the youngest doctors at the clinic, learned early on that Jack was a model patient if you just omitted the bedside manner.   And never ask him to sit down.
    "It's spreading faster than we expected," the doctor said.   Jack swallowed and maintained eye contact. "It's metastasized through your lymphatic system to the lungs." Jack was no doctor, but he had a thorough understanding of forensics and the human body, especially what made you dead in a hurry.   His prognosis had been steadily declining for some time now, so none of this came as a surprise.   Still, it's never easy to hear your expiration date has been moved up.
    "How long?"
    "It's hard to say.   Everyone's different-"
    "About?"  
    The doctor folded his arms and leaned up against the teal countertop behind him.
    "You might want to think about getting your affairs in order."
    Jack picked a point on the wall and locked in, his expression blank.   The doctor shifted his weight to his rear foot.   Jack noticed him leaning back.   Is he expecting me to freak out?  
    During Jack's last visit, he'd overheard yelling and screaming in the next room.   He learned later the doctor had told a female patient she had just three months left to live.   She grew perfectly still (just like he was now), then started shouting, cursing God, throwing tissue boxes, even smashed a glass container of cotton swabs.   Jack grimaced.   Not to worry, Doc.   You saved me a bullet.
    "What now?"
    "Well, there's still the option of surgery. "
    "No."  
    "At this stage there are few alternatives."
    Jack looked up at the ceiling, resigned to his fate.   He thought about how people often reacted when they learned they were going to die.   How they tried to cherish every moment, notice things they never truly appreciated before, the beauty in life.   Jack had been immersed in the world's ugliness for so long, he wasn't sure if he could still spot beauty beneath the grime.
    For so long he'd dreaded the ticking clock on poor Angelina, how each second was one he could never get back, bringing her closer to certain doom.   Now there was a time limit on him.  
    The doctor took out a pad and began scribbling.   "I'm going to