Dr. Perry, his back a catalog of discomfort with the sudden change in the weather, made his way to see Claussen. He moved up the rutted road, cursing as he slipped and slid on the melting pockets of snow.
"If I fall," he said under his breath, "God knows I'll never get up again."
Wagons rolled past him and riders and people out going about their business. Everyone waved at him. More than a few wanted to chat. But Perry wasn't in the mood for any of that. He'd been trying to keep his injections of morphine to a bare minimum and such was the way of the drug that, what was enough to blot out the pain a week ago, was only enough to tease him now.
But he had to be careful.
Narcotics were nothing to fool with.
Dependency came easily and he was already beginning to exhibit the signs of it: loss of appetite, euphoria after injecting, a building need that demanded more and more.
Damn, Perry thought, but I'm a fool.
He knew better than to be fooling around with the stuff, had seen countless men turned into addicts during the War Between the States, and yet he'd willingly started a progression of dependency that could only end in disaster. But his lower back troubles-which had started after he was thrown from a horse five years before and slammed against a rock outcropping-had gotten progressively worse. It had reached the point in the past few months where he could barely function. Getting out of bed was a task, examining a patient with all the bending and turning required, was agony.
If it hadn't been for the drug, he would've had to give up his practice some time ago. That and live the doubtful existence of an invalid, confined to bed for the remainder of his years.
Perry couldn't let that happen.
People depended on him and the lifestyle of the aged and infirm would've killed him faster than any drug could hope to.
He came to the church and forced himself up its steps. Inside, it was dark and quiet. He called out for Claussen a few times, but there was no answer. He made his way to the rectory and looked around. Claussen didn't seem to be there. Perry thought once of looking upstairs, but he had no intention of invading the man's privacy. That and the fact that it would be hell on his back.
In Claussen's study, Perry found the books he was looking for. He wasn't about to accept any of this monster nonsense, but only a fool dismissed something without a thorough study. He wrote a note to the reverend and took as many books as his back would allow.
As the doctor left, he thought he heard a moan from upstairs.
He dismissed it and went on his way.