MORS VINCIT OMNIA

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

[ α ]

If there ever was a word she’d never conjured upon looking at her reflection, it was ‘haggard’. Her hair, once lush and long, was now a dishevelled nest of unevenly chopped tressed that looked as lacklustre and frayed as she felt. The crown of untameable hair framed a face she recognised less with each passing month. Where there had once been handsome angles now were hallowed cheeks and sharpened edges that gave away her sickly disposition. Her skin was despairingly pale, the result of a long winter and an even longer treatment. When they’d revealed their favoured prognosis, they had been positive that her good health would carry her through the ruinous therapy. When Mackenzie looked at her reflection, she no longer saw the strength they’d spoken of. What she did see was enough to make her shy away from mirrors, the husk reflected back too discomforting a sight to behold.

To be surrounded by those who kept reminding her that she was alive (still, she’d add just to make them flinch) was as tiresome as being the battleground upon which disease and cure fought it out.

The constant reminder that she should feel grateful for her continued existence was exasperating, because being alive didn’t mean she was living. This truth—her truth—was not well received whenever she voiced it. Those around her mistook their presence at her side for shared experience; they encouraged her to see beyond her current circumstance as if they understood anything about it. Bristling at their unfaltering ignorance, Mackenzie only managed to fleetingly ruffle their feathers and still their wagging tongues. They’d momentarily accept her anger before trying to steer her away from it, too caught up in what their role should be than ask her what role she needed them to play.

Her sickness was all-encompassing, there was no steering her away from it. She couldn’t compartmentalise the weakness of her bones and the pain in her muscles. There were admittedly, however brief, moments between waves of nausea and knee-weakening tiredness that served as respite from her otherwise constant state of fatigue and frustration. It was in these moments that Mackenzie did her best thinking, clarity and determination partially restored. It was during a particularly tolerable afternoon that she came to the conclusion that it was time to leave behind the production that everyone had made of her tragedy.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

[ β ]

It was disconcerting how quickly the transplant list at HR General moved. Canada was reputed for being idyllic wherein medical care was concerned, but Mackenzie was far too critical to view it in a positive light. Things rarely lived up to the hype surrounding them.

Muted journalistic instincts led her to consider every shred of information, for if there was a pattern to be found, it wouldn’t reveal itself if she only considered some of the offered explanations. Even constructed lies gave away the truth if one studied them close enough. There were all manner of lies to be found, though their perpetrators genuinely seemed certain of their veracity. Straying from sober articles to read about fringe science and the supernatural made Mackenzie question her own sanity, for much of what she indulged in often read like a Stephen King novel rather than accounts with any journalistic integrity. Yet, she diligently noted down anything that caught her attention. Next to her computer, a notebook filled with scribbled names and diagrams served as a map to the veritable mess that was Harper Rock.

After weeks of research, she came to the conclusion that Harper Rock existed in the shadow of constant death. It took time to come to terms with the very real possibility that the supernatural did exist. Possibly.

(Evidence could be doctored. There was so much varied evidence that it made her question whether it wasn’t a communal delusion; after all, Harper Rock was renowned for its quarantine zone and the infection that plagued it. It all seemed too haphazard for it to be an elaborate cover up story perpetuated by Bancroft’s office, especially since anything it might be covering up was already aired out. Human trafficking, drug smuggling, and gang-related violence still made it to the online archives of Harper Rock’s news outlets. If anything, Wyatt Bancroft was candid about these issues. What good would it do to shroud a very simple—or rather, a mundane—problem in fictitious complexity? Vampires? Zombies? Either the press was taking liberties, or there was something the government was dedicatedly keeping out of its official statements. And yet, they spoke candidly of infectious disease.)

Mackenzie’s research spiralled out of her control. It seemed far more likely that the trafficking, gang violence, and ‘contained outbreaks’ were the cause of deaths, thus the source of so many vital organs. The steady stream of donors, the pace at which the transplant list moved; it could all be explained by concrete, of-this-world evidence. And yet, she couldn’t shake the images she’d seen: mutilated bodies; blurred silhouettes with gaunt features and unnatural posturing; victims being pushed against walls and going limp in the grasp of aggressors who then carried them off out of sight.

If the supernatural did exist, it might be no different than black holes and volcanoes: magnificently terrifying but not inherently evil. If the supernatural did exist, there might be a cure for her sickness beyond the realm of known biochemistry. If there were such things as vampires, then the number of donors could be explained without turning her back too fully on the morality of what was happening. It was one thing to kill for survival; another to traffic humans for organ harvesting. One was definitely worse than the other, and far less evil. The human body remained a mystery in spite of such extensive cross-cultural study. Every year there was something old to refute or something new to consider, but there were many things that were yet unaccounted for. And perhaps they’d remain that way, stuck as ideas in fringe science and reduced to ‘miracles’ when too blatant to ignore by the ‘established’ scientific community.

It was worth her consideration, and now was the time to take her chance.
Doctor O’Hara had said they’d revisit her options after six months of treatment.

It had been seven months of fluctuating dosages and unpleasant side-effects; and to show for it she had a husk of a life with no positive evolution. If anything, the chemotherapy was doing just enough to keep the cancer from spreading any further, but it was not curing her. At this rate she’d die of an infection if she was to rely on poisonous chemicals and radiation to stay afloat for years to come. She didn’t want to become gaunt and ashen like the long-term patients she’d met throughout her treatments.

Mackenzie made her case with the therapist first, sharing only what would help her cause. Then she spoke with Doctor O’Hara, ready to embrace the conversation of marrow transplant now that she stood in a very different position. She brought up Harper Rock General and their reputed oncology department as an alternative, aware that it was near Hamilton where Doctor O’Hara had done her residency as a Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine graduate. She’d approached the conversation as one Canadian living in the States to another Canadian living in the States. If anything, her sickness made her manipulation all the more effective.

It was almost too easy to get her way. There were roadblocks and bridges to cross she’d been unprepared to face, but Mackenzie eventually got what she wanted. Even if she didn’t get her transplant in time or find the supernatural, she would have had one last adventure before kicking the can. After months of having little to look forward to aside from a sudden breakthrough, it was reinvigorating to have something concrete to look forward to; something she could orchestrate beyond the reach of those she would leave behind. Something she could finally control. It would take another two months to get her onto the list, but it was more than enough time to prepare for the move.