The Well Of Destiny

By Dr. Jerome Goddard

Dr. Judd Manson, disillusioned by the South, soured on marriage, returns to Mississippi to investigate a lethal disease outbreak. The disease, mosquito-carried encephalitis, suddenly emerges in late July in the southeastern corner of the State and health department officials scramble to contain the outbreak. Manson hates going back to the South because he was deeply offended during adolescence by the rigid, prim and proper South and pressures to conform. He learns while working the outbreak that more important than the disease itself is that life is really all about going home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Father's Press
• Release date: Jun 5, 2011

Dr. Jerome Goddard

Dr. Jerome Goddard is the State Medical Entomologist for the Mississippi Department of Health. He is also an Assistant Professor of Medicine in the School of Medicine at the University of Mississippi Medical Center. Dr. Goddard has published over 150 scientific papers, six books, and four book chapters. In addition to his scientific career, Dr. Goddard is a Certified Lay Minister in the United Methodist Church. He has been married for 28 years to his wife Rosella; they have two grown sons, Jeremy and Joseph.

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The Well of Destiny

by

Jerome Goddard, Ph.D.

Smashwords Edition

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Jerome Goddard holds the copyright of this book and has granted the exclusive right to publish it to Father’s Press.

Copyright notice: This novel is revised and updated from the original version published in 2001 by Writer’s Club Press, iuniverse.com, Inc. www.iuniverse.com.

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Laura Creel

CHAPTER 1

They think it's a new virus, Dr. Charna Chen said to his

graduate student.

"But what do you think?" The young man asked, anxious to

absorb the brilliance of Chen, a legend at the University of Southern Mississippi, both for his analytical mind and for his mentoring.

Doesn't look good—the kid's pretty bad off. We've got to get some more samples in order to grow a clean isolate. If we can get the virus growing in cell culture, we can sequence it and figure out for sure what it is. By the way, I wanted you along to help me with my latest grant proposal. And drive, so I could catch up on some things. We'll do it on the laptop here in the car on the way back.

Chen looked out the window as they made their way from Hattiesburg, Mississippi, to Mobile, Alabama. Swampland and scrub bushes matched the desolation he felt inside. Lots of things had been bothering him lately, needling him, like only private demons can do. Soon they passed acres of totally uninhabited expanse in George County. Chen allowed his mind to pore over the few facts he had on the case. The boy was barely clinging to life, and the virus resembled nothing the hospital had ever seen before. The boy had encephalitis; his brain was badly swollen. But the virus itself was a renegade. They couldn't identify it.

This renegade was highly unusual. Chen couldn't recall another virus with its characteristics in all his years of teaching and laboratory experiments. He needed time to study the virus and the boy. But how was he going to tell the boy's parents he needed time—something the little boy had precious little of?

Chen leaned his head against the window and tried to doze. Once they arrived at the hospital, sleep would be a luxury he could ill-afford.

I'm scared, Mozelle, Carla Massey's voice quavered. We might lose him.

Tyler Massey, barely recognizable to his own parents, lay amid myriad tubes and electronic monitors in ICU. His face was pasty white and grotesquely puffy. Carla touched her son's cheek. He didn't respond. Other than being warm, he could easily have passed for a corpse at a funeral home.

I can't take it, Mo, she said, turning away, now paler than ever. If we lose him, I won't be able to go on.

Mozelle followed her to the edge of the room. Don't talk like that. Don't even say it, he snapped, then instantly regretted it. His wife dissolved into tears. Just days before their little Tyler had been a typical little dynamo, running on the playground, jumping on his bed as if it was a trampoline, coming in from the sandbox with sneakers loaded with sand and pockets laden with pebbles and little-boy treasures.

Just then two doctors and a nurse entered the door, interrupting Mozelle's thoughts. The medical team motioned for the couple to step outside in the hall with them. Mozelle had learned to read their faces. He could see when there was a flicker of hope or a bit of encouragement. Today he saw none of that.

Mr. and Mrs. Massey, the older-looking physician began, Little Tyler is in for the fight of his life. As best we can tell, he has a case of severe encephalitis.

"What do you mean as best we can tell? Mozelle's angry eyes pierced the doctor's detached demeanor. You people are supposed to know what you're doing. That's why we had him brought here from that little Wayne County hospital."

"I know you're upset. Please let me finish. Tyler has encephalitis. We know that much. It's the type of encephalitis that we're not sure about. The older doctor turned to a man at his side. I've brought in Dr. Chen from the University of Southern Mississippi to consult on the case. He's an expert on viruses. Dr. Chen, why don't you tell them your findings?"

Chen paused, then began softly, looking down a lot. He was a university professor, not an M.D. "Mr. Massey, unfortunately we can't determine the causative agent involved in your son's encephalitis. It could be one of the many viruses carried by mosquitoes. The State Health Department over in Mississippi, where your son acquired the disease, can't figure it out either.

The virus has characteristics of several different encephalitis viruses."

Is he going to be all right? Carla Massey's voice trembled, her eyes wide.

Chen glanced over at the doctor before answering. Not sure. I’m not a clinician, but it's my understanding that his brain has extensive swelling.

Then give him some medication, Mozelle demanded. "Or we'll move him to another hospital where they know what they're doing."

The older physician intervened. Believe me, we're trying, Mr. Massey. Unfortunately, antibiotics don't work against viruses. And the newer anti-virals don’t seem to help much either. It really doesn’t matter what hospital he's in. Supportive treatment is all that can be given. We'll just have to hope little Tyler can shake this thing off.

He then changed the subject and turned to the nurse standing behind them. We’d like for you two to go with this lady—Samantha Owens, an epidemiology nurse from Mississippi—and let her interview you. She needs to do an investigation so we can hopefully prevent any new cases.

I'll be back in about an hour to check Tyler again.

The doctors turned, leaving the Masseys in the hall with the young nurse whose job was to investigate disease outbreaks.

Samantha reached and stroked Carla Massey’s arm. "Can I help you in any way? I mean, what questions do you have about

Tyler's illness? Anything? I'll be glad to try to explain it."

How is it that our son could be so healthy one minute and so bad off the next? Carla blurted out, pain and anger etched all over her face. Isn't there something you can do?

The doctors are doing everything they possibly can, Ms. Massey. Encephalitis is an inflammation of the brain. Caused by lots of different things. There's not just one cause. Sometimes it's treatable, like a bacterial infection, and sometimes it's not. And it can be very serious. When the brain swells, there's no room inside the skull—

Then should we try to get him to another hospital, like in New Orleans? Mozelle interrupted, shifting nervously from side to side.

"To be honest, Mr. Massey, there are diseases that are better treated at major hospitals, but probably not this one. I know it doesn’t seem to make sense, but the supportive care given to little Tyler here would be the same at any other hospital."

Carla bowed her head and sobbed. Samantha quickly pulled her close, speaking soft words of encouragement into her ear. Let's head over to the ICU waiting room. It's quiet in there, and we can talk more. Maybe I can get you both something to drink or go with you to the cafeteria afterwards. I'm sure neither of you is sleeping or eating.

You're right.

Samantha led the Masseys to a quiet corner in the waiting room and finally formally introduced herself. "As you know by now, I'm Samantha Owens from the Mississippi Department of

Health and I'm very sorry about your son. My job is to investigate disease outbreaks, especially ones that can spread to other people."

We'll be glad to try to answer questions, Mozelle began, "but how's it going to help our son?"

It may not help your son, Mr. Massey. Samantha’s eyes conveyed both compassion and brutal honesty. But don't you want to help protect other children in your town? Diseases like this can spread like fire.

Mozelle nodded weakly, numb from stress. I guess you’re right.

Dr. Mary Van Dellan, our State Epidemiologist, is concerned that little Tyler may have a mosquito-carried virus that’ll spread, making lots of people sick. There've been four other cases similar to this one in the last month in Wayne County. And three of the people have died. Samantha paused, reached out, and gently touched his arm. We’re praying your son will be a survivor. If the disease turns out to be mosquito-borne, the state’ll need to start some kind of emergency mosquito spraying and public information campaign about protection from mosquitoes. I need information from you about little Tyler's activities during the two weeks before he became sick. Especially any outdoor activities.

Just then, an ICU nurse interrupted the conversation, Ms. Massey, your son’s awake now. You should both come quickly. You never know how long he'll be conscious this time.

Little Tyler Massey forced a weak, but bent smile when his parents leaned over his pale body. Mozelle was horrified to see blood in the corners of his mouth, but dared not call attention to it.

Carla stroked her son's hand. Thin skin draped over his little finger bones. How's Momma's little boy feeling?

Although he had a tube in his mouth, the parents could make out his words. My head feels like it's gonna explode. Tears appeared in his eyes. Mom, I'm scared.

We're here, son. We love you. What can we do to make you more comfortable?

No response. The boy's eyes fixed steady. Tyler, please don't leave us. Mrs. Massey wailed, waves of fear rolling over her leaving her cold and trembling.

The ICU nurse intervened, directing the couple back out into the hall. He's not gone. It's just the coma again. We'll let you know when it's time to see him again.

That time never came. Within the hour, Tyler Massey slipped into eternity.

Why would anyone want to go to Mississippi? the young lady commented. She was sitting next to Dr. Judd Manson, a Centers for Disease Control physician, on a flight from Denver to Dallas.

I'm a doctor. And going there to investigate an outbreak of mosquito-transmitted disease. And believe it or not, I'm from there.

Judd felt the beginnings of a nervous sweat. Her question had jolted him into reality—he was going home. Something he had dreaded doing. He recalled the stiff, monolithic society of small-town Mississippi. No room to be different. From the churches to the civic clubs to the garden parties, there was a code of conduct and political beliefs to be adhered to. You dared not buck the system. Oh, a few people did, but everybody knew who they were and figured out ways to keep them out of positions of power and influence in the community.

Judd's friends way back in high school had sensed he was unusual, and not just because of his photographic memory.

With sadness they seemed to know that he'd probably be labeled a non-conformer. The suffocating nature of southern culture continued to torment Judd during his training at the University of Mississippi where he was dismayed to learn that medical school itself was an aristocracy. How he hated it. Fortunately his residency at Johns Hopkins had opened his eyes to the rest of the world. The real world.

His seat-mate tried to recover from her gaffe. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bad-mouth your home. But Mississippi's so poor and ... backward. She paused. At least that's how I think of it.

Judd shifted his weight. He really didn’t want to talk about this with her, but felt like he needed to clarify her assertion. Yes, it's backward in the sense that most of the people are traditional, conservative, and religious. And that's okay, I guess, but I certainly don't see things the way they do anymore, he said, thumbing through papers and magazines in the seat pocket directly in front of him. But I'm interested in seeing some of my relatives. I haven't been home in eight years.

The woman twiddled with a pendent hanging low on her chest. Did you say there was a new disease down there? Judd could tell she was just trying to keep the conversation going and probably trying to flirt with him. He wasn’t much to look at, he figured, though she might disagree. He had on wool slacks and a Christian Dior shirt. His tie, with iridescent flecks of blue, reflected the tufts of gray at his temples. Other than those few wisps of gray, his hair was coal black. Judd's physical features were somewhat contradictory. He had deep-set, blue eyes but a light skin complexion. He was six feet tall, with powerful upper-body strength, but walked with a slight limp.

Might be a new disease, he said. In one of the rural counties there've been five cases of encephalitis that we think are mosquito-transmitted.

So where do you fit into the picture?

I investigate, of course, and work with the State Health Department, review medical records, maybe coordinate mosquito collections to send back to Ft. Collins for analysis. Then I'll decide what to do from there.

Her heavily made-up face twisted as she bit her lip. That's funny. A big-shot doctor from the CDC going to Mississippi to collect mosquitoes.

The woman’s train of thought spread to Judd like electricity through water. Yeah, it is funny, actually. Of all the CDC epidemiologists available to work outbreaks, they had to pick me for this one. I really don't need this. Not now. I really can't take the family haggling.

He dug out one of the magazines to discourage further talk. His mind was focused on facing his family. He'd been the first to get a divorce. They might as well have tattooed Black Sheep on his forehead when that happened.

Chapter 2

Jackson International Airport was small compared to other international airports. In fact, so small that anyone passing through might wonder how it could be an international airport. From the farthest gate, you could just about see the main entrance down the hall. Julia Higgenbotham met Judd at the Delta airline gate. His mother's sister was a short, busty woman with a wonderful, sweet nature. He loved her dearly because she reminded him of his long-deceased mother. Julia hugged him a long time and seemed to linger as he released her.

"Good to see you, Judd. It's been so long! she said, her light-blue print dress complementing her steel gray hair. Julia had a soul-piercing look that Judd hadn't seen since his mother died. And you look so good." She shook her head widely.

My, you've lost weight. I can't believe you're back.

Yeah, swore I'd never come back, but here I am. And not sure what to think about it. He scanned the Mississippi countryside through the huge windows lining the airport walls.

God, it’s been a long time.

The reason you're back doesn't matter so much. She grabbed his forearm. At least you're here. I've missed you so much. She pressed near for another hug.

I've missed you too, Jeff said awkwardly.

Julia beamed. Come on, let's get your things and get on to Hamilton. Everybody wants to see the young doctor who made it big.

Dread worked its way to the pit of his stomach, twisting it into a tight knot. It was as if all his years of experience and maturity slipped away from him the minute the plane touched down on Mississippi soil. Okay, but first I've got to meet with the State Health Department people. He looked up and down the halls. They didn't know you were coming to the airport to pick me up. I'm supposed to meet them at the information desk. You can come along.

As they hurried toward the information desk Julia asked, Still got that limp after all these years, Judd?

He just nodded. The subject of his limp was strictly off limits and he refused to talk about it to anyone. A small group of neatly dressed health officials was waiting for Judd at the desk. It included Dr. Mary Laurel Van Dellan, the State Epidemiologist; Crawford Crawly Hill, a Ph.D. medical entomologist; and Samantha Owens, the epidemiology nurse from the county where the disease occurred.

"Thank you so much for