While imprisoned he’d developed Non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. In the preceding year, this prison had enjoyed poor publicity from a decided lack in patient care. Several inmates had died from absent care and downright sloppy procedures—meaning nobody paid any attention to sick men. The warden was in the firing line of an inquiry and a law suit. To cool the media heat, suddenly ill prisoners received health support second to none.

West, who was just about as lucky as anyone could get, received a stem cell transplant. After doctors gave him high doses of chemotherapy, the new donor bone marrow replaced his destroyed cells and he recovered. Ken wondered if the generous benefactor might be so agreeable if he’d known his lifeline donation afforded a killer a fresh chance at life.

Until one year to the day after doctors gave the all clear, when his luck dissolved, that luck like ice melting away, never to be whole again. This information wasn’t in any files, and Shepherd only discovered this after a visit to the library and a search through microfiche newspaper records.

There was a new thing called the Internet, which might make research and accessing medical information easier. What he needed wasn’t available yet though. Roll on technology.

As he read the copied pages, he pondered if this wasn’t a case of the worst bad luck bestowed upon anyone. What else could it be? The man was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Still, a strange thought whispered inside his mind; as much as he pushed it away, and as much as he told himself even thinking this was unprofessional, it kept coming back. He’d never tell a soul, nor would he even commit this silly idea to paper. For some reason all he could think was that Alan West had entered the Twilight Zone.

* * *

Sleep did not find Dr. Shepherd later that night. Coincidences appeared inbuilt into the fabric of life, but this was nine-tenths weird. Not a proficient summation, but how do you explain such a thing?

Misfortune? Providence? Irony? Irony certainly.

These thoughts floated in his mind as he attempted to doze. He even tried thrusting the words over a fence, instead of sheep. The concept being, they’d disappear on the other side and let him alone.

Nem's words returned to him as if someone waiting beyond the barrier had thrown them back. He imagined the enemy on the other side, laughing as they said, “Here, take these and choke on them.”

Fate is not a right.

He heard her child’s voice and thought, what an odd girl.

If she weren’t so young and the circumstances of the man’s death not so bizarre, he’d swear on her involvement. Though, that would make her a witch or God knows what, and he didn’t believe in fairy tales. He believed in provable facts and science.

Christ, you hearing yourself Shepherd? That’s hardly professional thinking.

He underlined and made bold the word vacation in his mind and catapulted the image over the fence.