The Hidden: Episode 1, Jack's Disease: The Hidden, #1

By Andrew Michael Schwarz

They told him it was just a parasite...

Jack Fuller's life took a swan dive after he cheated on his wife two years ago. His most recent spate of "bad luck" is a list of symptoms that don't seem to fit any particular disease profile. Internet searches and medical hip shots are as close as he can get to an actual diagnosis.

Matters grow more complicated when a mysterious blood deposit with no apparent source is found in the middle of his bed. Then there is the intense hunger to contend with, the repeating erotic nightmares and the panic attacks.

When the cause of the illness finally manifests, it is wilder than Jack could ever have imagined. The illness has a name. 

Its name is Jerry. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Michael Schwarz
• Release date: May 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781513068398

Book preview

The Hidden

By

Andrew Michael Schwarz

Episode One

Jack’s Disease

Copyright © 2015 Andrew Michael Schwarz. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from Andrew Michael Schwarz. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Book layout by Andrew Michael Schwarz. Cover art by Andrew Michael Schwarz

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The Hidden Full Novel (all 5 episodes)

1

Four simple words and six syllables of terror changed Jack Fuller’s life forever: You have a parasite.

Jack Fuller had no concept of the horror that lurked just behind the combination of vowels and consonants. You have a parasite were words that men in other places and at other times had heard before. Many befores. They were nothing new.

Men had been hearing them said by their doctors, their medicine men and each other for hundreds, perhaps, thousands of years. You have a parasite.

And yet never before had Jack Fuller heard them. Never before had Jack Fuller been faced with the terror such a sentence can bring when spoken to you—at you—about you.

Perhaps, You have a demon had been said to the ancestors of the race—his ancestors—when they could no longer raise a spear to impale a gazelle, or retain sufficient body mass to fight the giant reptiles. Perhaps, You have a demon was the first diagnosis, after which, the words had changed, but the intent had stayed the same. Perhaps, You have a demon morphed into You have a vampire, which in turn became You have a deadly disease, all the way down the line to, You have a parasite, Mr. Fuller.

Which parasite had not been answered yet. Were there so very many? Which strand of microbial life was swimming in his blood, his internal organs, his brain, had not even been touched upon. Yet.

Dr. Gromwell was not Jack Fuller’s doctor, either. He was simply the specialist that the hospital had called in to diagnose him, and Jack was not impressed at all. This Dr. Gromwell seemed to have nothing of substance to say about it, and Jack was just beginning to despise him.

A parasite? Jack repeated, swallowing something stuck and dry in his throat. What kind?

Gromwell shrugged. The care lines in his face could betray any emotion he might be apt to express—something a doctor, no doubt, worked hard to effect over the years when in the business of giving folks grim details—but now, the elder shook his head and his thick eyebrows knitted together.

I don’t know, he said flatly.

Jack bit down on his lower lip. What kind of answer was that? What breed of incompetence said that particular sentence to a man inquiring about his health?

You don’t know? Well, can you tell me anything at all? Jack asked, trying to remain calm and polite.

I can’t, the modern shaman replied, with any confidence.

Here appeared the beginnings of a game that Jack did not want to play. Ask and Not Answer, Ask and Get No Where.

Well, sure you can, Jack insisted, verging on a mad giggle. Sure you can, Doc. Like how do you even know it’s a parasite in the first place? Let’s start there, shall we?

Jack did not think of himself as an angry man, but he admitted to developing a certain soreness toward that segment of the population that seemed to espouse a philosophy of customer non-service, such as the brand received when calling the phone company or the internet service provider, or God forbid, the bank.

Here was that non-service, showing up in the doctor’s office, rearing its bland head, filled with scripted messages and canned responses. Here was a doctor playing it cool while the patient was heating up. Here was Jack getting pissed and a teleprompter of a man not responding properly to the situation.

Gromwell walked to the other side of the room, crossed his arms in his stiff, over-starched lab coat and looked down hard at the floor. It was the first sign of emotion.

You’ve lost weight, he began. You’ve got muscle loss as well as fat, but your muscle is very clearly defined in your physique. That would seem to indicate testosterone levels are up, while nutrition is lacking.

Gromwell blinked his eyes, as if to comment on the unlikelihood of such a scenario. He took a deep breath and continued.

Your lipids panel would also seem to confirm that your digestive system is struggling for nutrients, and you mentioned the fatigue and the fevers. You’ve got a variety of symptoms that point to nothing clear cut, but obviously, you are in a state of pathology, to some degree. Nothing is wrong on the one hand, but many things are wrong on the other. So—he shrugged—a parasite.

Jack laughed without humor. What are we talking about then, a tapeworm? Let’s put this into categories. I am sure there are many. Aren’t you the specialist?

Gromwell ignored Jack’s insult and abruptly said: This is no tapeworm.

Well what then? Jack implored.

The buttoned lip approach used by this doctor was quickly getting under his skin. Aside from the usual colds and flus, Jack had never been sick a day in his life. The man sitting with his shirt off in this small room had enjoyed the steadfast certainty, day in and day out, that his body was solidly healthy, reliable, free to operate without concern.

Because that is how it had been for forty-five years.

Mr. Fuller, I know how hard this can be.

No, goddammit, don’t give me that! Now, come on, I want answers and you can’t honestly stand there and say you don’t have a clue about what I might have, can you? This is the United States, for Christ sakes, we got it all figured it out.

The doctor didn’t respond to that.

For the love of goddamn Christ, Jack said. Help me out, what the hell am I supposed to do here? He was now seeing Gromwell as something less than human.

Gromwell took a deep breath. Are you on a diet, particularly one of these fad diets?

No.

Have you been out of the country?

Jack shook his head.

Do you own a cat?

What? No.

Have you noticed your testicles enlarging?

Doc, what kind of questions are these?

Gromwell shrugged and put his hands up.

There is a parasite that affects about twenty-two percent of the population. It infects the brain. Your testosterone levels are quite high. Normally this wouldn’t concern me much, except that you also have a preponderance of a hormone called HCG in your blood. It’s the pregnancy hormone.

He lifted a hand as if to ward of premature questions. "Men and women have this hormone in their bodies at all times, but when a woman is pregnant, the hormone spikes off the charts, as it should, to signal the body to prepare for pregnancy and create the placenta.

In men, too much of this hormone can convert into testosterone. That is what I think is happening with you. This could result in an enlargement of the testes. Have you felt agitated, more so, more recently?

Jack shrugged. Yeah, I guess, a little. In truth: very much. He’d been a ticking time bomb most days.

Gromwell nodded. Well, he said, his voice tinged with triumph. "This parasite I told you of infects the brain, it is called T gondii, it is—it breeds in cats. Comes out in their feces. That is why I asked you if you owned a cat.

In humans they are not too sure what it does, but it can affect personality. And, being in the brain, the hormonal changes brought about could explain why. Anger, agitation, even an increase in outgoing behavior can be indicators.

Jack was nodding his head. It all seemed rather elaborate.

So, you think this—what did you say, T gondii—?

Toxoplasma gondii, Gromwell replied, casually.

Jack nodded. This T gondii is making me aggressive, or flooding my system with testosterone?

HCG that becomes testosterone, yes. Either way.

Okay, Jack said. Is that the only thing it could be?

Well, Gromwell said, smug in his certainty. Sometimes Candida can do it, too, meaning cause mood swings, elevate certain hormonal levels, this kind of thing. But it seems less likely.

Okay.

Jack had at least heard of Candida. He didn’t know how much he agreed with it as an actual disease, but it was less a foreign word than this T. gondii.

Anything else, Doctor? Any other theories?

Gromwell licked his lips and considered his words.

"Have you been sexually active more than—or with different partners—than at