Jonathots Daily Blog
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Matthew lost track, but it certainly was several dozen phone calls before he was able to coerce the information to find out where Jo-Jay was. Details were sketchy and information was limited by red tape, but from what he was able to gather, it seemed that half an hour outside of Dulles International Airport, on Flight 451 from Brasilia, the cockpit had radioed ahead that a violently ill patient was on the plane, and they needed emergency assistance upon landing.
The patient was Jo-Jay.
It seemed that during the flight she had begun to vomit, spiked a high fever and her skin turned blood red. She was delirious and was terrifying all of her fellow travelers.
Upon landing, an ambulance immediately took her to Walter Reed Medical Center, where she was quarantined, placed on a drastic regimen of antibiotics, and presently lay helpless, limp and unconscious.
Matthew didn’t waste any time. He drove over to Walter Reed Hospital, rehearsing a cock-and-bull story about being related to Jo-Jay, only to discover upon arrival that they were so glad to see anyone who knew her that they embraced him with both questions and information.
Actually, the latter was lacking. There was not much they could tell Matthew about her condition.
Except that she was dying.
All her organs were beginning to fail, and she was under a death sentence from an unknown virus from the Amazon. She was surrounded by people in paper and plastic garments, moving in and out, diligently trying to care for her still frame.
Matthew just sat, looking through the window in total disbelief. How in the hell did this happen? What was Jo-Jay doing in Brazil?
There was no way to ask her. She was comatose.
Matthew noticed one of the nurses coming out of the room toting a purse. He recognized it as belonging to Jo-Jay. He needed that purse.
Distracting the nurse with a question about the medical chart and alluding to the fact that he might be able to give some added input, she set the purse down and slipped away for just a few moments–long enough for Matthew to reach inside the bag and pull out Jo-Jay’s “brain.” That’s what Jo-Jay called it.
It was a notebook she had kept since college, filled with ideas, feelings, recipes and little quips she had picked up to remind herself about better aspirations. Grabbing the treasure, Matthew hurried away to an empty room, entered, shut the door, turned on the light and sat down to read.
Total disappointment. For some reason the book was empty.
No pages.
As Matthew peered down at the binding, he realized that the pages had been carefully cut out of the book, probably with a razor blade. There certainly had been something inside that someone did not want anyone else to see.
Matthew was startled by a knock at the door. It was the nurse, who had discovered his hiding place. She held up Jo-Jay’s purse.
Matthew readied himself for a rebuke, but instead she asked him to rifle through the purse, to see if there was anything he might identify which might help them with a diagnosis. He had no idea what to look for.
The purse was full of nothing recognizable–except there was a powder compact in the bottom of the purse, partially open. Matthew lifted it out and unlatched it. There, on the small mirror, written in what appeared to be lipstick, was one word:
“Mikey.”
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