The Killing Cure: Drink: The Killing Cure

By C.S. Kendall

Childhood friendship turns to love in this dark reimagining of the fountain of youth. In 1919, Charlie returns from WWI and gives his heart to Julia. As their love story begins, tragedy strikes when Julia contracts a deadly illness. On her deathbed, dreams of a future together shatter, but Charlie refuses to give up, convincing Julia to drink from a vial of "healing waters" his war buddy swore would bring spontaneous healing. Julia's miraculous recovery brings hope, but the water's murderous side effects snuff out the couple's short-lived joy. Can Charlie help Julia fight the water's call to kill? All their efforts may be in vain when Julia has to choose between running from the curse or embracing it in order to save Charlie. Journey with Julia and Charlie through a love story that spans a hundred years and an age-old curse that spans more and worse, puts Charlie's life and Julia's soul at risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.S. Kendall
• Release date: Nov 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393967330

C.S. Kendall

CS Kendall spent her formative years growing up in the small town of McPherson, KS. As such, there was not much to do, so her imagination, which always lagged behind her age, had free reign. From playing dress up into her teens, recording radio shows with various voices and storylines with her friends, to dappling with the art of crafting a novel, there were few dull moments for her. Enter adulthood, a day job, and the backburner. But story came calling, and finally, her imagination woke up and answered. Though she loves and is fulfilled by her job as a social work therapist, she equally enjoys running away in her mind to imaginary lands with made up people. She lives happily with her husband and their two amazing children in southwest Michigan.

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C.S. Kendall

The Killing Cure: Drink (Book One of The Killing Cure Series)

It gives life. But it demands it too.

First published by Escape Artist Enterprises 2019

Copyright © 2019 by C.S. Kendall

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

C.S. Kendall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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To my parents, David and Lavone, who always encouraged my imagination and a love of reading.

Contents

Get book two for FREE (Details in back)

1. Ginny

2. The Story of Julia and Charlie

3. The Story of Julia and Charlie

4. The Story of Julia and Charlie

5. The Story of Julia and Charlie

6. The Story of Julia and Charlie

7. Ginny

8. The Story of Julia and Charlie

9. The Story of Julia and Charlie

10. The Story of Julia and Charlie

11. The Story of Julia and Charlie

12. The Story of Julia and Charlie

13. The Story of Julia and Charlie

14. The Story of Julia and Charlie

15. Ginny

16. The Story of Julia and Charlie

17. The Story of Julia and Charlie

18. The Story of Julia and Charlie

19. The Story of Julia and Charlie

20. The Story of Julia and Charlie

21. Ginny

22. The Story of Julia and Charlie

23. The Story of Julia and Charlie

24. Ginny

25. Ginny

26. Julia

27. Julia

Afterword

Also by C.S. Kendall

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One

Ginny

Chapter Separator

The balloons were hung just so. Perfect intervals, as if someone measured the spaces in between. They bordered the entire entryway into the staff lounge and then the bulletin board itself in alternating green and orange, her favorite colors. Tables of food lined the wall, from delectable casseroles to succulent desserts—all of them prepared in honor of her, to be shared and devoured in mutual celebration. Usually they didn’t go this big for one-year recognitions of service. But then, this lady wasn’t just another employee.

Ginny rounded the corner, her lunch pail in hand. Surprise! they yelled in unison.

She jumped so violently, she dropped the pail, her hand flying up to cover her heart. What is this?

Susan, the nurse manager, stepped forward. In honor of your year of service with us, we wanted to throw you a party. Shady Lawns Retirement Community has not been the same since you stepped through our doors, Ginny. You have touched each and every one of us in one way or another besides being an angel to the patients we serve. So, thank you for the last year, and we hope there will be many more!

Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes, spilling over as someone handed her a glass of sparkling white grape juice. I—I don’t know what to say, you darlings.

Show your appreciation by eating all this delicious food, Susan said. She guided Ginny by the arm to the table, handed her a plate and instructed everyone to fall in line behind her. Ginny filled her plate to overflowing and took a seat at one of the tables as her co-workers sat down around her. Halfway through her meal she was presented with a jar, filled with folded scraps of paper.

Ginny, this is your encouragement jar, Susan said. In it you will find a written sentence or two by some of us and many of the family members of the patients you’ve served. Never in the history of my time here have I received so many notes of appreciation about one employee. And in just a year! So please, we would love for you to sift through and read some aloud now. And, in the future, when you’ve had a bad day, pull it out and be encouraged to know how appreciated you are.

Ginny dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin and set her fork down. I hope someone came armed with Kleenex, she said as she unscrewed the lid of the jar. She pulled her reading glasses off her head, slipping them down on her nose. Combing a hand through her short, gray locks, she cleared her throat in preparation.

Someone slid some Kleenex her direction, and the whole room chuckled. Ginny pulled the first slip of paper out.

"‘Because you always make me feel like my millions of questions are the most important thing to you, even when you’re crazy busy,’ from Margo."

Ginny searched the room until she spotted Margo. She held the slip of paper up. Well, dear, they are important. And I am always here, no matter how many questions come up. But you’re doing a fabulous job too. She punctuated her comment with a warm smile and pulled another piece of paper from her jar.

‘We have to sing the praises of nurse Ginny. Never have we been treated with such compassion. We peppered her with questions and frustrations and she never once broke from her sweet, empathetic nature. We are so grateful Mom was under her care, and we will never forget Ginny,’ from The Donovan family.

A tear rolled down Ginny’s cheek. She grabbed a tissue and dotted her face with it. Holding up the tissue, she said, See? A collectively humored sigh echoed through the break room. Millicent Donovan was such a dear. I enjoyed being her nurse before her passing. She pulled a third slip of paper.

"‘Once, when I had a flat tire here at work, Ginny not only lent me the money to have it repaired, she covered my shift so I could get it taken care of. I’ve never worked with a more giving person than you, Ginny,’ from Elizabeth."

Where’s Elizabeth? Ginny held up her slip of paper and scanned the room.

A tiny wisp of a girl standing against the back wall raised her hand. I’m still working on paying you back.

You take your time, sweetie. I know it’s hard on a nurse’s assistant salary. I’ve been there.

On and on the accolades went for the entire lunch hour, as various staff members stepped in and out to ensure patient coverage. Expressions of gratitude for the person Ginny was, examples of her warmth and charity…the whole room was a puddle of tears by the time the hour was exhausted. Ginny rose from her chair, slipping sideways between the tables. She put the jar in her locker with her belongings and thanked everyone individually as they all returned to work.

Clocking back in, she straightened the hem of her scrub shirt and sneaked a peek in the staff lounge mirror to ensure her mascara hadn’t smudged under the waterfall of tears. She walked out in the hallway and checked the computer to see which of her patients was due for a room check. In addition to the touching celebration, those covering her patients had ensured they were all well attended to, giving Ginny an easy start to her afternoon. She pulled up Mrs. Lingman’s chart and reviewed her vitals. All were stable, as she would expect for a coma patient. She decided she would look in on her anyway, the coma a sure sign the end was near.

Stepping into Mrs. Lingman’s room, Ginny couldn’t escape the feeling she was somehow intruding. Whenever she was faced with a dying patient, she experienced this odd feeling, like she was some kind of middleman between her patient and death. And yet, in her line of work, she was sworn to fight death at every turn.

Ginny reviewed the readouts of the machines responsible for keeping Mrs. Lingman alive, double-checked the security of her oxygen mask, and made sure all her fluids were dripping as prescribed. She fluffed her pillows and tucked her blankets around her. She shifted her in her bed enough to ensure no bedsores could form. Satisfied Mrs. Lingman was in as good of shape as possible, Ginny turned to go.

But something caught her eye. She hadn’t seen it in the room before, not during the entire month Mrs. Lingman had been a patient there. A red, leather-bound book lay on her bedside table. Actually, it was more akin to a journal than a book. Curiosity had Ginny pausing at the table. She looked from the book to the door, as if she were being watched. Then she picked it up. She thumbed through the small tome, noting the handwriting covering the pages. So it was a journal. Ginny eyed the comatose Mrs. Lingman and snuck another peek at the door. She couldn’t resist the drive of her curiosity, so she took it, tucked it under her chubby arm, and left the room.

Two

The Story of Julia and Charlie

Chapter Separator

Istood with the rest of them, shivering in the wind, and held my breath with a tentative optimism. The Midwest sky at dusk was painted in an array of pinks and blues. I marveled at the beauty, wide open and spread out, like a large tapestry with random strokes painted across the surface. The view helped to distract me from the nerves running rampant through my body. I didn’t even know for certain if he was going to be here.

One by one they filed off the train, home at last. Some of them were gone a year or more, others a few months. The crowd began to part as people recognized their loved ones and ran to them. They embraced, kissed, cried. But I was still. Of course, if he had answered any of my letters, I might have had a better indication. I didn’t realize how much I would miss him until he was already gone, and his silence only compounded his absence. I tried to talk him out of it. It’s a death wish, I’d said, but my pleas were no use, and now, five months later, I waited to see if I was right.

I needed to distract myself, steer my mind away from those nervous thoughts, so I looked around. The platform was crowded with the soldiers unboarding the train, their family members almost knocking them off their feet before they were planted back on the soil of their hometown. Across from this scene, our little Main Street sat quiet as ever, with a smattering of shops. Doc Johnson’s office, the General Store, Confections, where Charlie and I got our sweets. Charlie was especially fond of the lemon drops, and each time we went into Confections, he bought a giant scoopful from the glass jar that held them. He always kept a small, brown paper bag of them in his pocket. Sure, he loved them himself, but the bigger reason was to ensure they were on hand whenever he encountered one of our town’s kids. He’d become known as candy man. He was happy with that title and even happier with how lemon drops made the kids smile.

Next door to Confections was Mother’s quilt shop, the only store on the street owned by a woman. I was proud of this fact, but Mother failed to recognize how progressive she was.

An autumn breeze kicked up, blowing dust from our unpaved Main Street into the air. I rubbed my arms, combating the goose pimples as they ran a path down the rest of my body. Standing on tiptoes, I craned my neck to see over the crowd. The line from the train slowed almost to a stop, but Charlie was nowhere to be seen. My feet were glued to the patch of dirt I was standing on. My gaze fell to the ground, and I choked back tears as his absence confirmed my worst fears. Exhaling a shaky breath I looked up one more time, a smile curving the corners of my lips. Charlie didn’t see me, but I saw him staggering off the train with a cane. His parents rushed to him and threw their arms around him. The sight of them sent a wave of regret through me. I’d been embarrassed by Charlie’s refusal to write, and I hadn’t properly seen them in months. Charlie smiled at them as they pulled out of their embrace, but it looked different. There was a weariness in his eyes, and his face had changed, aged, despite the fact he’d been away only five months. It wasn’t until little Billy Jones ran up to him, throwing his arms around Charlie’s good leg, that I truly recognized him. This gesture brought light back to his eyes, chasing away the dark shadows there only a moment ago. He looked down at Billy with warmth while struggling to keep his balance. Charlie put his finger up and said something to the little boy. Billy backed away with an eager expression on his face while Charlie began rooting around inside of his pocket. He pulled out a small brown bag, and he poured two lemon drops into the palm of his hand. An excited Billy jumped up and down, gladly accepting Charlie’s gift.

That was it. He was home, and I didn’t care about his silence right then. I wanted to see him up close, throw my arms around him, and tell him how happy I was to have him back alive and well. I willed my feet to move in his direction when Caroline Davis emerged out of nowhere from the crowd with obnoxious flare. Her blonde curls bounced as she ran, and her dress hugged her perfect figure, accentuating every curve.

Oh, Charlie, you’re home! she yelled for all to hear. When she reached him, she kissed him all over his face, leaving red imprints of her lips and almost knocking his mother down in the process. Mrs. Harris threw Mr. Harris a disgusted look, filling me with a sense of satisfaction. Still, Charlie wasn’t fighting off Caroline with any real effort. Irritation replaced the relief I was feeling moments before. Had he gone and fallen in love with Caroline Davis? Had he forgotten all about his best friend in those five short months? Maybe a love tryst accounted for his silence all that time. Well, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of throwing his new love in my face without having the decency to tell me himself. I turned on my heel in a huff.

I had planned to go home but my insides burned with frustration and I decided I wasn’t ready to be alone with my thoughts. Why had that scene gotten under my skin so? It was a mystery to me, but I couldn’t shake how it made me feel. Desperate to distract myself I diverted my path, arriving instead at Mrs. Clauson’s house.

I knocked three times before I heard her call hello, the sound of her voice replacing the wave of worry that was mounting with relief. I cracked the door just wide enough to poke my head through. Mrs. Clauson? It’s Julia. May I come in?

You don’t have to ask, girl. Of course, you can come on in. Her voice came from the direction of the parlor and I found her sprawled in there on the sofa, book in hand.

With a warm smile I sprang into action, filling her empty water glass with the pitcher that sat beside it.

Thank you, dear. Mrs. Clauson put her book down and took the drink I offered, sipping slowly. This is a surprise. I thought you weren’t coming by until tomorrow.

My cheeks pinked slightly. I know. I thought I’d just pop in on you, though. Surprise you.

Her eye narrowed as she studied me. This wouldn’t have anything to do with your friend Charlie coming home today, now would it?

I gasped. Mrs. Clauson! How do you always know everything? No wonder you were daddy’s favorite patient.

She let out a quiet chuckle and, with great effort pulled herself into a seated position, her back resting against the couch. Silver hair fell almost to her waist and her vibrant blue eyes gleamed with a mischievous smile. Wasn’t it a nice reunion?

I really didn’t want to talk about Charlie but as always, Mrs. Clauson was an expert at prying things from me. He was there, and I saw him. But he didn’t see me. He was otherwise…occupied.

She seemed to catch the hint. I see. Well, you know you’re welcome here any time. You take such good care of me, the least I can do is provide you an escape when you need one. She took my hand and squeezed it assuringly in hers. When her smile faded her expression sobered. You do remind me so of your father. You’re going to do him proud following in his footsteps, you know.

As much as I loved and missed my father, the same, familiar constriction that always gripped my heart at the mention of his name tightened my chest.

I can hardly believe it’s been almost two years since his passing.

This subject made me almost as uncomfortable as talking about Charlie, so I stood and busied myself away from her, wetting a cloth in the nearby basin of water. Are your headaches any better today? I asked returning to her side.

Somewhat. More of a dull ache than the usual sharp pain.

I could see it in her eyes, the ache she spoke of. Heavy lidded and dull, they told of the discomfort she lived with on an almost daily basis.

I dabbed her head with the cool cloth I’d wetted in the basin of water. Is there anything I can get for you today? Anything from town? Can I cook you something?

Sweet darling, you do enough for this old lady. Besides, I haven’t had much appetite and I still have some of that wonderful bread you baked for me the other day.

I gave her a long searching gaze. Are you sure?

You worry too much about me! I am certain. Thanks for coming by but you should go home now and figure out why you didn’t say hello to your friend after he’s been gone for so long.

The directness of her comment caught me off guard and brought a rush of pink to my cheeks. It seemed my efforts to distract myself from the subject of Charlie had failed. Fine. I will go. Do you need me to come by tomorrow?

My dear, I am old but I am not helpless. I will be fine until you can get back here.

Reluctant, I pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa on to her lap. I’ll see you in a couple of days then. Departing for home, I let the confusing tangle of Charlie-related thoughts run rampant in my brain, proving only to distress me further.

Back home in my room, I pulled out the last letter I wrote him. I’d never sent it—it was pointless anyway. I read the last words I’d written him and then fell back on my bed as a hot tear escaped my eye without permission.

August, 4th, 1919

Good Lord, Charlie, what is wrong with you? You’ve been gone for several months now, and not a peep. I gave up asking your parents how you were doing because it was humiliating admitting to them I’d never heard from you. All I can think about are my last words to you. "You’re going to die, you