Death of an Adept

Dr. Andrew Saloa was a big, hearty man whose smooth, coffee-brown skin and almond eyes proclaimed his Polynesian background. Once Adam had identified himself both as a physician and friend of the family, Saloa proved more than happy to discuss the case. Adam could see from the outset that his colleague had a lively sympathy and liking for his patient - qualities which Adam regarded as essential under the circumstances. He was further encouraged by the fact that Saloa made no secret of the fact that he was at a loss to account for the lengthy duration of Lockhart's illness.

"Why do some cancer patients succumb within a few weeks or months, while others manage to hold out long past what anyone might expect?" he observed to Adam with a genial shrug. "If I could come up with an explanation for that, I'd be well on my way to a Nobel prize. What we do know is that those who have some strong reason to live tend to hold out far longer than those who simply give up. But then, as a psychiatrist, you probably know far more than I do about the power of mind over matter."

Adam could only agree that Lockhart must have some powerful motivation for hanging on, though he could hazard no guesses, based on so short an acquaintance.

"Well, he's hanging on, for whatever the reason," Saloa said. "I can't but admire his fortitude, but I have to tell you that I'm not at all satisfied with his pain management."

"I believe young Austen intends to speak to you about increasing his father's medication," Adam offered.

"Believe me, I'd love to," Saloa replied. "Unfortunately, Alan is a very stubborn man. I tried him on patient-controlled analgesia, but he wouldn't use it often enough. He contends that the level of painkiller he really needs leaves him too muddle- headed to make the most of the time he has left. I respect that decision, but I know it periodically makes his existence a living hell. I wish there were an alternative."

"Perhaps there is," Adam said. "Has anyone suggested trying hypnosis?"

"Funny you should ask that," Saloa replied. "Only yesterday, I was reading a Lancet article about using hypnosis as an alternative - or at least an adjunct - to drug analgesia. But I've no experience with hypno-technique, and don't know anyone on the staff here who does. Unless you might possibly have some expertise in that area?" he added, with a shrewd glance at Adam.

Adam smiled. "As luck would have it, it's rather a specialty of mine. I'd be more than happy to offer my services, if you think your patient might benefit."

"I'm certainly willing to give it a try," Saloa said. "But the deciding vote will have to come from Alan himself, of course."

"Then, if you have no objection, I'll put the suggestion to him at the first likely opportunity."

"You do that," Saloa replied. "I'll leave you to choose your moment."

Adam accepted the other doctor's cordial invitation to be present during his morning visitation. Lockhart was just rousing when they entered his room. A night's rest had brought the sick man a fragile measure of restoration, but the sunshine streaming in through the window only served to highlight the parchment-like transparency of his skin.

Lockhart greeted both doctors warmly, though his expression indicated some surprise at seeing Adam in the absence of his family. Saloa conducted his routine examination with relaxed efficiency, his medical inquiries deftly intermingled with bantering small-talk. When he was finished, he bade his patient goodbye and absented himself in a show of breezy good humor. Left alone with Adam, Lockhart quirked an ironic eyebrow.

"I gather you've been powwowing with Saloa," he observed. "He's a good man. You've also managed to give my daughter the slip. What brings you back here all on your own?"

Adam smiled. "She's busy teaching just now. Besides that, I got the distinct impression you wanted to speak with me further. I thought you might find the conversation less tiring if there were just the two of us present."

Lockhart's gaze conveyed full appreciation for what Adam was suggesting. "You're very perceptive," he said. "Pull up a chair. Now, where were we, when we were so rudely interrupted by my obstreperous granddaughter?"

"I seem to recall being encouraged to go on at length about my pet restoration project," Adam said, settling into a chair close beside the head of Lockhart's bed.

"The tower-house, yes," Lockhart murmured. "Ximena tells me that the property itself has been in your family for many generations. It must be very satisfying to see this monument to your family's history brought back to life."