| I'll pay a little attention though. I always found it funny how often the man with the best hair normally won the White House. As far as I remember, it's always been true. Maybe that was why the 2000 election went so wrong. Both guys had relatively good hair.
I had time to kill and Deb's Diner was a good place to do it. They had a saturated fats permit, which meant a man could sit and enjoy real eggs and butter. The price was high, but the portions were ridiculous. It was a little too crowded for my comfort but it beat the bland food all the other restaurants served. After a three-egg omelet with toast and pancakes, I went for a walk. The wealth of the North Shore always amazed me.
Around 11am I started back towards my car. Catherine would be calling pretty soon. She was my only client in the area. After her, I would have no more. I certainly don't know anyone else up here. It's nice. Everyone is friendly. It's not like Boston that way. But old wealth gets stale. There are many empty mansions up here now. No one can afford the taxes on a big home. So they rot.
Catherine sent me a text message. Her nurse just left for lunch.
* * *
I parked around the corner, two blocks away from Catherine's house, a big blue box on Essex. I walked up to the door and she was waiting for me.
"Hello Sam, come in, I have some cookies for you." Catherine was always so cheerful.
"I'll pass, thank you, I was just at Deb's Diner."
"Ooh, sounds good. It's been a while since I last went there; it has been too busy for me for a long time now."
She was seventy. Mind was still sharp. But she was suffering from renal failure. Treatment would be futile, and very expensive. At her age, there was no possibility of getting a transplant. The problem was, she could live a few years with her condition. Longer even, if she left the country for treatment.
"Did you bring everything?" she asked me.
"Of course, have it all in my backpack."
"I've been saving those pills like you asked me to. The pharmacist didn't notice a thing, like you said."
"You checked with your granddaughter?"
"Yep, the money arrived today."
The money was part of the deal. The company would save hundreds of thousands if she didn't go through with treatment. So, we give her next of kin a cut of the savings. While Catherine's estate would be shredded by taxes, a package of untraceable cash would give her only granddaughter a chance to go to college. And that was a big deal, now that student loans are a thing of the past. But that's a whole different story.
Catherine could stand and walk around, a bit. A wheelchair filled in most of the time. Her bed was now in the living room, the upstairs and downstairs of the house now abandoned. Pictures of her family littered every nook that wasn't filled by medical equipment.
I put on a pair of leather gloves and made my way to her small attached garage. A big Buick Enclave filled most of the floorspace. The motor was running and the garage was filling with exhaust. I returned to Catherine, who was now in her wheelchair. She downed a fistful of pills with a glass of white wine. I wheeled her to the garage, picked her up and put her into the car. I put all the windows down, she didn't say a word.
I fetched a small canister from my backpack. It was nitrous oxide. Cheap, legal, pleasant. There were lots of drugs a person could use to coast to the void, but Nox was the Company norm. I attached her face mask and turned on the gas.
"Okay Catherine, take deep breaths and stay calm. What you're doing is beautiful."
She nodded and I saw her start sucking down big gulps of sweet air. I looked at my watch, a minute should be more than enough. Catherine slipped into unconsciousness. I removed the mask from her face and left the garage.
More time to kill. I spent a lot of time waiting for people to die. I poured myself two glasses of wine. It was a fruity German Riesling. Not my preference, but it worked well with Catherine's sweets. Grabbed some of her cookies. Peanut butter, very nice. After cleaning all the glassware, and everything else I touched, I checked in on Catherine.
No breath. No pulse.
My work was done. I left the Buick running and left the house.
I even had enough time to walk around Forest River Park. Salem is such a joy.
* * *
I know what you're thinking and no, the police aren't a problem. As long as you don't force them to start a homicide investigation, you're fine. They'll look the other way. It's the way things are now. And sure, a few agents have been charged and sent to prison. If you're dumb enough to leave your wallet or cellphone at the scene of a murder, you have it coming. The courts go easy on us though. You plead out, go to jail for involuntary manslaughter, take a two year vacation, then you're back at the office selling policies and 'disarming negative paradigms' (that's our phrase for what I just did to Catherine).
I'm pretty good at leaving a clean crime scene. All you have to do is double check everything. Plan ahead, wear gloves. It's easy. You might wonder why things need to be done this way. Isn't euthanasia legal? Why all the effort?
Euthanasia is a necessity, yes. But it comes with lots of rules. Euthanasia decisions could not be based on financial considerations. No money could change hands. An insurance company could not request or suggest euthanasia to the policy holder. Euthanasia could only be implemented once two doctors signed a terminal illness declaration. Two doctors had to consult with the patient before administering euthanasia. If the patient was no longer of sound mind, only a signed and notarized advance health care directive could get the job done. There are regional committees that oversee all euthanasia requests, and they get backed up pretty regularly.
It was the Republicans who forced all that. I guess they were still mad about Terry Schiavo. Not that I want to get political here.
A lot of plug-pulling still goes on, but it's a dangerous game. Occasionally prosecutors decide their numbers are slagging, and go on a euthanasia spree. It especially helps District Attorneys in Catholic areas keep their conviction rates up.
So most of the time, we have to do end-of-life actions in secret. Make them look like legit suicides.
Hey, it's a job.
Read part two, here. | 
Facebook
Twitter
