SquidgeWorld Archive

Denny was lost in thought. So lost, in fact, that he was blissfully unaware of an argument taking place right outside his closed office door. When that door swung open and was closed again, rather forcefully, it startled him out of his reverie. He looked up to find Alan standing there looking like nothing had happened. He walked over and sat down across from Denny.

If a pin had dropped, it would have deafened them.

As it was, no pins dropped.

A soft knock at the door was followed by Shirley's head peeking into the office. "Alan, what the hell did you say to Paul?"

Alan didn't move an eyelash.

Denny didn't blink.

"Alan?"

No sound.

Shirley frowned, shrugged and closed the door.

Alan's frown unconsciously matched hers as he finally focused on his friend's face. "So, Denny. What's new."

"New?"

"Yes. What's in Florida?"

Denny's eyes grew wide. "Florida. Why do you ask?"

"Well," Alan began, leaning back and trying his best to look earnest, "the magazine you have open on your desk is sporting an advertisement along the left-hand side of the left page in which an orange tree is prominently displayed. Add to that the fact that you have an airline ticket in your inside jacket pocket with the letters TAM showing, which I take to be part of the word Tampa. And the final fact, which is that your sunscreen is missing from the medicine cabinet."

Denny eyed him in wonder. "Are you telling me you noticed those facts and deduced from them that I'm heading for the state of Florida?"

"I would let you think that, Denny, but it wouldn't be honest. The truth is your travel agent called my office by mistake to confirm your reservation on the two o'clock flight."

Denny sighed in exasperation. "You're impossible."

"Yes. That's why you love me." Alan watched him for a few seconds. "Seriously, Denny, what's in Florida?"

Denny's eyes met his. He hesitated only a moment before picking up the magazine, turning it toward Alan and placing it back down on the desk in front of him. Alan leaned forward, read a few words then looked back up at Denny with a mixture of surprise and amusement. "University of Southern Florida Women in Drag?"

"What? No!" Denny groused. He picked up the magazine, folded it in half and laid the now-one-page periodical back down. "There," he said, pointing to an article at the top of the page.

Alan started reading again. "Dr. Jason Flemming is looking for patients to enroll in a study at the University of South Florida's Suncoast Alzheimer's and Gerontology Center that will test an experimental drug that makes new branches grow on nerve cells, reconnects nerve cell to nerve cell and removes amyloid proteins from the brain. Beta-amyloid is the toxic agent that seems to cause Alzheimer's disease." Alan stopped reading and looked up. "It goes on to give an eight hundred number."

"I called it."

"You did?"

"Yes."

"You're going down there for the drug study. To...to what? Participate in it?"

Denny nodded.

"But Denny, this is an experimental drug. You don't have any idea what the long-term side effects might be."

Denny rose to his feet. He slowly buttoned the single button on his suit jacket as he came around to the side of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. "I woke up in the middle of the night last night."

A pause. Then, "Why is that worthy of a news flash?"

"For a split second, I couldn't figure out where I was. I..." Denny looked away, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It wasn't until I sat up and looked down and saw you that I remembered." Alan's mouth hung open, his eyes full of unabashed fear. "It was only a split second, Alan. Hardly enough time to even notice, but...I noticed. And I didn't sleep the rest of the night."

"I'm sorry. Why didn't you wake me?"

There was the ghost of a smile upon his face. "You looked...peaceful." And then the moment passed. "Would you take care of the place for me while I'm gone?"

"No, I won't."

"You won't?"

Alan shook his head. "No. Because I won't be here. I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not!"

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

A knock at the door. Shirley's head poked in.

"Yes, I am."

Shirley's eyes darted to Denny.

"No, you're not."

Shirley's eyes darted to Alan.

"Yes, I am."

Shirley rolled her eyes and slammed the door shut.

"You hear something?"

"No."

"Yes, I am."

"Enough of this. Alan, I'm doing this alone. It's my problem, it's my decision to take part in the study. I don't needâ€"" He stopped, eyes darting to Alan's face. "I need you here the most. I need you to take my caseload. I need you to take care of my house and that stupid cat you insisted we start feeding that won't leave me alone now."

Alan shook his head. "Still determined to go every goddamn thing alone, aren't you?" He shook his head, completely exasperated. "Damn it, have you even looked into this drug? Into the USF program? Have you talked to the doctors in charge? What are the possible side effects?"

Denny moved forward, getting close enough to place his hands on Alan's arms. "Alan, it's my mind that's going. My memories that are fading. If there's even a chance that I can keep..." He looked down, then squeezed Alan's arms as his eyes raised again. "I don't want to forget everything. The law...my name...you." Alan's eyes misted over. "I'd rather die. I don't care what the side effects are. I have to try."

Alan seemed to deflate a little, but nodded in acquiescence. This time Shirley didn't open the door.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"I'm sure. I appreciate the ride to the airport."

"Don't mention it."

Alan shifted uncomfortably, putting his hands in his pockets, then pulling them back out, then putting them back in again. This was the first time since he'd started working at Crane, Poole and Schmidt that they'd ever been any great distance apart. "Well, you're all checked in."

"Looks like it."

"Dennyâ€""

"Alan, don't." The impish smile appeared. The smile Alan thought he never got to see enough of. "I fish for steelhead."

"Not mush."

"I'll call you as soon as I get in."

Alan nodded. His gut churned. He didn't know why, but it wouldn't stop churning. He started feeling a little green. "Okay, then."

"I hate good-byes. Going now."

Alan nodded. "Have a safe flight."

"I will."

Denny didn't move.

Alan didn't blink.

"Did you buy cat food yesterday?"

"Oh, yes!" Denny said brightly. "Kitchen cabinet, next to that bottle of Dom I've been saving."

"Great. I'll make sure the cat gets fed."

"Thanks."

Travelers pushed past them toward the metal detectors.

"You remembered your pajamas."

"I did."

The monotonistic airport voice reminded passengers not to leave their bags unattended.

"Don't forget to use those extra bolts on the balcony doors."

"Ah, right. I won't. Thanks for reminding me."

They looked everywhere but at each other. Finally, Denny looked at his watch. "Shit, I'm going to miss the plane!" He turned and ran toward Security.

Alan opened his mouth, but Denny had already disappeared into the throng. "Bye."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Alan checked the balcony doors for the tenth time since he'd gotten home from work. Denny had called briefly from the limo on his way to the hotel. His flight had been good, the cocktails had been good, the flight attendants had been even better. Tomorrow morning he was checking in with USF and would begin with a regimen of medical tests and procedures preparing him to start taking the experimental drug.

Alan realized only as he was going for the cat food that he'd never found out what the name of the drug was.

That was his first order of business. He put a bowl of food outside for the stray cat, went and grabbed his laptop and sat down in the middle of Denny's bed. Their bed, really, but somehow he still saw himself as only visiting...never mind the fact that they'd been living together for nearly 18 months. He opened the computer and waited for the wireless to connect. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight anyway. Not with Denny gone. So he decided to make the best use of a long night.

And he began to search.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Alan rubbed his weary eyes and tried to focus on the little red lines that, supposedly, represented numbers on the digital clock next to the bed. Strangely enough, they seemed only to represent fuzzy geometric shapes. Then he looked at the little clock on the bottom right-hand corner of his laptop screen. Blurry. He took a deep breath. He'd found the drug. He'd found details on the study and the doctor in charge of it. He had yet to find any mention of how the drug worked.

Well, whatever time it was, it was still dark out. Maybe he could catch a few winks before he had to be at work. Full caseload in the morning - two of Denny's clients for possible settlements. Then two motions to be filed in the afternoon, one Denny's and one his. In between, he'd take what he learned from the internet and put a call in to a friend he had at the coroner's office. With their extensive medical library and connections, he figured they might be able to offer him the information he was looking for.

Until then...

The laptop tipped sideways along with him. He was out before he hit the mattress.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Three cups of coffee kept Alan going through the first settlement meeting. He cajoled, lied and weaseled his client a total of one-and-a-quarter million dollars. As soon as they'd shaken hands, he was back in his office lickety-split. He picked up the phone and dialed his contact at the morgue.

"Hello, Sylvia." Alan shook his head. "Yes, I know." He listened. "Well, of course I want something. You know I'm only good for using you." He laughed. "Yes, actually, it's for a good reason. Very good friend of mine wants to participate in a drug study, a new one for Alzheimer's." Alan navigated his laptop to the document upon which he'd saved what few facts he could find. "Tell you what, I'll e-mail this to you. What I want to know is this: can you find out the potential side effects of a drug that hasn't yet been approved for distribution?" Alan nodded, listening for about thirty seconds. "Thanks, Sylvia. I'll owe you dinner for this." He laughed. "Okay, maybe my bed, too, we'll see." He made a kissing sound into the phone before hanging up. Less than a minute later, he'd e-mailed his document to her.

Now it was on to his next settlement meeting.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Unfortunately, that one had not gone nearly as well. The opposing counsel refused to be reasonable in spite of Alan's best efforts, and so the case would be going before a judge. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he checked his e-mail. So far, nothing from Sylvia. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk.

"We're ordering Thai food," Denise said, poking her head into his office. "Want some?"

"Sure," Alan nodded. "Just order me whatever Brad is having."

"Brad?" Denise asked quizzically.

"Yes. I thought perhaps if I ate as the all-American boy ate, I'd actually become an all-American boy."

"Highly doubtful," Denise said before turning and walking away.

Alan leaned back in his chair and wondered how Denny was getting along. It was all he could do not to call him. All he could do.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

By the time his first appearance in court to file a motion came at 2pm, Alan was seriously dragging. Having no idea exactly how much sleep he'd gotten, he could only estimate given how shitty he felt that it couldn't have been more than a couple hours at the most. But, as tired as he felt, he made it through both the first motion and the second without faltering and was soon on his way back to the office.

He had a few messages on his desk. One was from Sylvia. His heart raced as weariness was replaced by adrenaline. He dialed Sylvia's cell phone. "Hi, it's Alan. What do you have for me?"

Alan listened. At first, he seemed unconcerned. She kept speaking. His brow knitted. He listened some more. He frowned. More. His eyes widened. "You're kidding. And they're testing this on people? How did you find this out?" Alan's face morphed from concern to full-fledged worry. "Thanks, Sylvia. I have to go, but I'll be in touch." He hung up the phone and contemplated his options. Contemplated what Sylvia's news could mean for Denny.

Now he had a reason to call him.

He pulled his cell phone out and had Denny's number dialed before he even reached the terrace. The phone rang and rang, and finally went to voice mail.

That was unusual. It was...Alan checked his watch...six-thirty in the evening. Where would Denny be at six-thirty? Out to dinner, maybe? Alan shrugged. He supposed he could be bedding some nurse from USF. Or better yet, some college student on-campus. Knowing Denny, he could be anywhere. So he left him a message to call him as soon as he could.

And had a drink alone.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Three hours had passed. Three hours during which he'd left Denny two more messages, but called him eight times total. Alan paced the living room, cell phone in hand. Denny probably was in bed with some college student. Maybe more than one college student. If he was, it would explain him not answering his phone. It would also explain him not returning his calls.

But the information Alan had gotten from Sylvia was just too important for Denny to ignore his calls. As the night passed, he kept trying. By 1am, Alan was annoyed. By two, he was asleep.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

He was walking on the surface of a large brain. It was a lot more colorful than he thought it would be. Wasn't a brain supposed to be gray? Then he noticed something in the left hemisphere of it. It almost looked like ice. It shone and glimmered, but was bright red. Red the color of blood. Curious, he moved closer, but when he stepped onto the red surface, he slipped and fell hard.

Frowning, he looked around until he saw a long capsule-shaped object fly in from overhead. It was heading right for him! He rolled out of the way as it plunged through the red ice-looking sheet and deep into the soft brain tissue beneath. Before he knew it, the brain had begun to shake beneath him to the point where he could no longer get his footing, and was simply jounced from place to place on top of the brain.

Finally it stopped shaking and he watched as the red slowly began to dissipate, like a large ice sheet melting away. But then a silver substance began to appear, something with the consistency of mercury. It began to coagulate, popping up here and there. Suddenly a wall of it rose around him, and he found he was rooted to the spot. It rose and rose, encapsulating him, surrounding him and finally beginning to pull him down into the brain.

He cried out. He flailed. He struggled. But it was no use. In a split second he was inside the brain. One word seemed to echo around him over and over again. Well, actually, two words, but they ran together as one. "DennyCrane DennyCrane DennyCrane..." the thought droned over and over in his mind. Something he couldn't hear, but was there nonetheless. That's when he knew he was inside Denny's brain.

And then it began to shake again and he watched as the matter around him, which had been fluorescent green, began to change color. It darkened and darkened until it began to turn black. The mantra continued, but slowed until the single-word-formed name was coming at him only intermittently. At last it stopped altogether and he knew only silence.

Then, very clearly, Denny's voice. "Who are you?"

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Alan awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart was pounding through his chest, which heaved with each forced breath. He felt the sweat rolling off his body and looked down to find the sheets soaked as well. Alan swiped a hand over his forehead and looked at the clock. 5am. He picked up his cell phone off the nightstand, but there were no messages. There had been no incoming calls.

He squeezed his eyes closed against the dream. Against what it meant. Part of Denny's brain, right before his eyes, had died. And Denny hadn't known him.

"Shit," he intoned, deciding a shower was in order, and then he'd have to change the sheets.

As Alan stepped under the hot stream of water, he vowed that if he hadn't gotten hold of Denny by noon today, he was leaving Boston behind.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

It was 11:30. Admirably enough, he'd been to court and presented his opening argument to the judge for a case involving dogknapping. He'd had Brad co-chair for the express purpose of making certain someone would be able to take the case should he, in fact, wind up leaving.

At 11:45, he walked into Shirley's office. She looked up expectantly. "Paul's still pissed."

Alan shook his head and batted his hand in the air. "I have to go to Florida."

"Florida? Why, is Denny lonely?"

Alan just looked at her.

"Well?"

"I'm concerned. I found out some disturbing information on the drug he's trying and I haven't been able to get hold of him for the last day-and-a-half."

Shirley frowned. "You mean, he hasn't called you at all?"

"Only from the limo on his way to the hotel. Right after he landed in Tampa."

"That is unusual. I fully expected you to be on the phone with him every ten minutes."

Alan half-smiled. "So did I." He paced back and forth in front of her desk. "I'm worried, Shirley. It's not like him."

"You sure he isn't just bedding some woman? Or women?"

He stopped pacing and looked directly at her. "He still would've called me. Even if only to brag."

"You really think he's in some sort of trouble, don't you?"

"I don't know why I haven't been able to reach him. But if he takes that drug, he might be in more trouble than he's aware."

"Tell me about the drug," she said, gesturing for him to take a seat.

"I have a friend at the coroner's office, Sylvia Jackson. She checked into it for me," Alan began, unbuttoning his jacket and seating himself. "This particular study at USF is for a drug called AN-1833. It's supposed to perform several functions, combining the regeneration of neurological connections with the removal of beta-amyloid deposits, which is what they think causes diseases like Alzheimer's."

"Okay, he's supposed to be receiving this drug for how long?"

"I couldn't find that out. He told me he'd be gone for a week, but I don't know if he's being given doses for the entire week or only a few days."

"So what's the concern over the drug?"

"Sylvia found out that when the drug was tested on lab animals, there were several negative side effects."

"Those being?"

"One was inflammation of the brain, which killed every animal who reacted that way. The other was even worse." Alan took a calming breath. Just the idea that any of this might happen to Denny made a shaky feeling overtake him. "Apparently in some cases, the nerve cells which were supposed to be forming new connections went overboard and formed too many."

"What effect did that have?"

"It made them go insane, Shirley. Stark, raving mad."

Shirley looked at Alan for long moments, concern etched into her features. "You say you haven't been able to get hold of him. Have you tried the central study office?"

"Many times. They insist he's been in for all the tests and that he received the first dose of AN-1833 this morning. They're saying he's acting quite normally."

"Bullshit. If he was acting normally, you'd have talked to him fifty times by now."

"My point exactly."

"We're going down."

"We?"

"Yes, we," Shirley said, picking up the phone and dialing the number for the firm's travel office. "Shirley Schmidt. I want two first class tickets on your next flight to--"

"Tampa."

"Tampa. When? Yes, that will be fine. Have a car sent around to the front of the building in fifteen minutes." She hung up the phone. "Ready?"

"Why are you doing this?"

Shirley rose to her feet, grabbed her jacket and put it on over her silk blouse. "Because Denny founded this firm. He's one of our partners." She buttoned the jacket, closed her laptop and threw it in its case. "And because in spite of himself, I care about him."

Alan smiled a little as he turned and headed for his office. He grabbed his laptop, a few articles of clothing he kept there for the "just in case" times and went to tell Brad he'd be taking over the dogknapping case.

In the emptiness of his office, Alan's phone rang three times, then went to voice mail. Voice mail told the caller to leave a message. The caller did. "Help me," the low, gravelly voice begged. "Alan, please...help me." There was a yell, and the line went dead.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"Still can't reach him?"

"No," Alan said, his voice clipped.

"We'll be landing soon. We'll find him, Alan."

"I don't understand this. The article checks out, it was the AARP publication, for God's sake. They swear to me the study is legit."

"And what number have you been using to get hold of them?"

"The 800 number from the article."

"Have you called USF directly?"

"Yes, but every time they transfer me to Dr. Flemming, I always get voice mail. I got his assistant once. She told me they couldn't give me any information on participants, not even to tell me if his name was on the list." Alan snorted. "I even told her I was Denny's boyfriend to try and get her to tell me something."

Shirley eyed him. "You mean, you're not?"

"Not what?"

"Denny's boyfriend."

It took him a moment. "Probably not in the way you're imagining."

"Well, nighttime activities aside, the fact remains that you haven't been able to contact him...wait a minute. Wait just one minute."

"What?"

"You say when you tried calling Flemming directly, you got his assistant and she wouldn't give you information."

"Right."

"Then how did you find out he'd been through his medical exams, and had taken the first dose of AN-1833?"

Alan frowned. "The study's 800 number."

"Does someone always answer that number?"

"Yes. So far, as long as I call during business hours." Shirley chewed on her lip. "What?"

"Alan, why is it you get all sorts of information from the 800 number, but can't even find out for sure that Denny's participating in the study when you call USF directly?"

He shrugged. "I just assumed the 800 number was the staffed number for people who might want to take part in the study. It would make sense if they give the number in a magazine, they keep it manned."

"I have a funny feeling about this," Shirley said, whipping out her cell phone. She dialed 411. "Yes, Tampa, Florida, please. University of South Florida's Suncoast Alzheimer's and Gerontology Center." She listened, then whispered to Alan, "They're connecting me."

That bad feeling returned. The one that made him shake all over. The one that made his gut start churning. The one that made beads of sweat break out on his upper lip. He stared at Shirley's face as the airplane began losing height.

"Yes, hello, my name is Shirley Schmidt, from Crane, Poole and Schmidt in Boston. Yes, I'm looking for one of our partners, Denny Crane. I understand he's participating in your AN-1833 study." She listened and Alan could tell by the way her face hardened that she didn't like what she was hearing. "I beg your pardon, but we are the largest, most successful law firm in Boston. And I think if you'll remind Dr. Flemming of the fact that earlier this year Crane, Poole and Schmidt won a five million dollar judgment against Harvard Medical School for a similar drug study gone awry, he will be more than inclined to return my call at his earliest convenience." With that, she ended the call and flipped the cell phone closed.

"Well. I'm glad you're on my side."

"Who said I was?"

"You think he'll call you back?"

"Of course he will. We'll be landing shortly. I fully expect the phone to ring by the time I turn it back on," she said, powering it down.

"What's your theory?"

"My theory won't be stated until I hear back from Flemming."

"Oh, come on, Shirley," Alan whined. "Don't keep me in the dark."

"Alan, you live in the dark. Now shut up so I can think."

Alan dutifully closed his mouth, his mind racing. Whatever it was Shirley was thinking, all Alan knew was that for once he was glad she was there. Glad he wasn't alone. Because he was convinced Denny needed help. Even if that help was Shirley Schmidt.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

He sat up and looked around. The room was painted one of those dreary shades of beige that made you wish you were color-blind so you didn't miss what wasn't there. The bed beneath him was simple with nothing more than was necessary for a human to sleep on. There was absolutely nothing else in the room save a toilet in the far corner, a roll of toilet paper on the back of the tank. He stood up, only then realizing he was dressed in white boxers and a white cotton tee shirt.

Maybe he was color-blind?

No.

Denny rubbed a hand down his face and felt a night's worth of stubble. He walked over to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. One more look around confirmed there wasn't a window, a phone, a TV...and nothing at all to indicate where he was or why he was where he was.

What was the last thing he remembered?

He'd checked into his hotel room, and called to let them know he'd arrived. He'd spent the night in rather fitful sleep, disturbed by the fact that he believed he couldn't sleep because someone was missing. He spent the remainder of that night willing himself to forget Alan wasn't there, all the while trying to make damn sure he didn't forget Alan himself.

And so the next morning he'd been tired, but very much looking forward to beginning the drug study. If it could do what it claimed it could, Denny might be spared the indignity of being reduced to nothing more than an infantile shell of the man he was now. They'd done a regular physical, taken blood and a CAT scan of his brain. Later that afternoon, they'd gone over the results with him, telling him he was a prime candidate for their study. That the Alzheimer's was, most definitely, at a stage conducive to what they said AN-1833 could do.

A limo had arrived to take him back to his hotel. That's where things had gone wrong, he now remembered. The limo hadn't taken him back to the Ritz at all. Instead, it had driven him well outside Tampa. The driver had indicated it was a special meeting taking place with all the study participants, and that he was required to attend. Denny hadn't thought much of it.

Until he'd entered the seemingly innocuous building. A doctor in a while lab coat had greeted him and taken his watch, ring and cell phone before they'd gotten into the elevator. Down they'd gone, and stepped out into a long hall with many doors on either side. "If you'll just wait in here, Mr. Crane," the doctor had said kindly, "I'll come and get you as soon as everyone arrives."

Denny had agreed and walked through the door. Into this room. When he'd turned to ask why he was being asked to wait here, the door had slammed shut and locked. He'd spent the next hour yelling and banging to no avail. Then three huge men had come and escorted him to what looked like a normal doctor's examination room. He'd been stripped of his clothes and told to put the white boxers and tee shirt on, that all would be explained.

But nothing ever had been explained. He was given food and water, and just this morning the burly men had been back with what looked like a nurse. She'd given him a shot as the men held him down. And then he'd slept.

There had only been a handful of times Denny Crane had been afraid. When he'd first noticed his mind slipping, it had scared him. When Alan first told him he'd almost jumped from the ledge, it had made his heart nearly stop in fear of what could've happened. And when Alan had nearly jumped from Denny's balcony, he realized exactly how much he cared for him...and would do anything not to lose him.

Which was why Alan had moved in. And stayed. At least that way, Denny knew he was safe.

But now was a fourth time Denny was feeling pure, unadulterated fear. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who had him, or why. And he had no idea what had been in that shot he'd received. Top that all off with knowing Alan would be worried...that's when he remembered something...while he'd been asleep, someone had come in and taken him...where? Where had they taken him?

He remembered a machine. Humming. Colorful pictures of...of the brain. Yes, that was it, colorful pictures of the brain. Brightly colored, like fluorescent orange and yellow and green. A CAT scan. He'd been given another CAT scan. And while what he assumed to be doctors were looking it over, he'd gotten off the table and made his way to a phone.

He'd left Alan a message! Yes, he'd been cut off before he could tell him what was going on...and he'd been drugged or something, of that he was sure. But he'd asked Alan for help. Alan would hear the message and would know Denny needed him. That he was in trouble. He smiled, picturing the ludicrousness of Alan charging in on a white horse to save an old man when he should've been coming after a princess.

But that smile faded when he realized that if he didn't know where he was, and if he wasn't anywhere near the original study, which the forty-five minute drive had told him he wasn't, Alan would never know where to find him. Denny's heart sank as he sat down on the bed. What was he going to do?

What the hell was he going to do?

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Twenty-five minutes later, Shirley turned her phone back on. Two minutes later it rang. As she and Alan exited the plane and headed toward the Tampa airport's front entrance, Alan only caught snippets of the conversation, most of it telling him Shirley was less-than-pleased with whatever she was being told.

They got into the back seat of the first taxi in line at the curb. "Take us to the Ritz," Shirley said as she snapped her phone shut. "Alan, your instincts were right on target."

His heart froze. "How so?"

"Dr. Flemming has no record of a Denny Crane ever contacting them, let alone being signed up for the AN-1833 trial."

Alan's jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's worse than that."

"How could it be worse?"

"He said they never authorized the article in the AARP magazine. He also said the 800 number listed there isn't theirs. They've never had an 800 number." Alan felt his entire body go on fire as the fear consumed him. "In fact, their study is being performed only on patients living here in Florida, gleaned from the nearly 430,000 sufferers of Alzheimer's that live here."

"They never solicited?"

"No."

"Oh, my God. Shirley...if he wasn't taking place in Flemming's trial...then where the hell is he?"

"I don't know, but we're going to start out with his suite at the Ritz."

"I'll call the police."

Shirley nodded as they pulled up in front of the Ritz. They hurried into the lobby, Alan hanging back as he spoke with a detective about his missing friend, and what they'd discovered thus far. Shirley haggled with the clerk. By the time she was done and Alan hung up, they read each other's faces perfectly.

"He's not here, is he?"

"No. He checked in two days ago, but checked out yesterday. Did it remotely, dropped the key. They didn't actually see him leave. Maids cleaned the room, we'll never find anything there."

"Goddammit," Alan breathed. "I spoke with Detective Henry Lamas. He wants us to come in immediately. He says they've had two other missing persons from out-of-state reported in the last six days, both of whom were supposedly here for an experimental drug study. One for Alzheimer's, the other for an inoperable brain tumor."

Shirley swallowed hard. "My God, what is going on here?"

"I don't know, but I suggest we get to the police station now."

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

The two sat side-by-side in Detective Lamas' office, similar looks on their faces. "Mr. Shore, Ms. Schmidt, I'm telling you, we're working this case as actively as we can. Hundreds go missing in and around Tampa every year."

"Yes, but those hundreds aren't Denny Crane," Alan said, staring him down. "I want to know what you're going to do to find him and the others who might have had the same thing happen."

"We don't have any leads," Lamas explained. In his early forties, Henry Lamas was a striking Latino with black, curly hair, dark brown eyes and a very commanding presence. But Alan wasn't impressed. "We've already talked to the doctors and nurses at USF who're involved with the bonafide study, and even the entire administrative staff. We've contacted the AARP magazine and when we checked out the name, address and phone number of the man who supplied them with the article, they turned out to be fakes. Unless you have some idea of where your friend is, there isn't much more we can do than keep on the lookout for him."

"This is unacceptable," Shirley said hotly, rising to her feet. "Alan."

Alan nodded and rose. "Let's go."

"I'll call you if anything comes up."

But neither attorney responded as they left the precinct. They were silent until they got out to the street. "We have to find him, Shirley."

"I know."

The two of them puzzled and puzzled, pacing the sidewalk, wracking their brains. At last, Alan snapped his fingers. "His cell phone."

"What?"

"His cell phone!"

"What about it?"

"I tried calling it again when Detective Lamas was rifling through his files."

"Yes, I remember. He didn't answer."

"No, but the point is that it didn't go directly to voice mail. It rang eight times and then went to voice mail."

Shirley's eyes widened slightly. "That means it's on."

"Yes. And that means we can get the signal traced."

"How?"

"We both have Sprint PCS," Alan said, pulling his cell phone out and speed-dialing the customer service number. "As long as you don't sanction me for lying..."

Shirley flipped her hand at him. "Consider yourself waived."

Alan pressed 0 and waited. A full minute later, a representative answered. "Yes, I need to speak with your supervisor. My name is Alan Shane, I'm with the FBI, badge number 657543200. This is urgent. Yes, I'll hold."

"How did you get an FBI badge number?" Shirley whispered.

"Don't ask, don't tell." Then, into the phone, "Yes, Alan Shane, FBI. You are?" A pause. "Mr. Kaminian, this is an urgent matter of a missing person. I need your help. I need triangulation on 617-555-7428. Goddammit, then transfer me to your investigations unit!"

"Triangulation?" Shirley mouthed.

"Saw it on a TV show once."

"A TV show? You have got to be kidding me."

"Shhhh," Alan put his finger to his lips. "Yes, hello, who's this? Hello, Mr. Lopez, this is Alan Shane, FBI. Listen, I need an immediate triangulation of 617-555-7428. Yes, we believe it to be somewhere in or near Tampa, Florida. Yes, you can reach me at this number, I'm borrowing the phone from an associate. Thank you. Get back to me quickly."

"How long will that take?"

"He said about forty minutes to get set up, then he's going to conference me in as they try to dial Denny's number. They'll use my location, their location and the receive end of the cell tower transmission to pinpoint."

"How close does this pinpoint get?"

"Well, on TV it got to within six city blocks."

"Christ, that's a big area. We should bring Lamas into it."

Alan frowned. "Idiot that he is. Fine. Come on."

Together they re-entered the precinct.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"You did what? You realize the FBI has been called in since the three missing people are from three different states. When they find out what you've doneâ€""

"I'll take my chances. Now, are you going to come with us, or what?"

"God, lawyers!" Lamas said, exasperated. He opened his office door. "Granitz, Bolivar, you're with me!" he barked. He turned to look back at Alan and Shirley. "Well? Come on!"

Alan's phone rang a few moments later. Lamas, in the front seat of the police cruiser, turned and looked at him expectantly. "Yes," Alan said into the cell phone. "Yes, I'll hold on. We're on the road, give me a steer as soon as you start narrowing it down."

Alan put it on speaker phone and they all listened as Sprint dialed Denny's number. It rang once...twice...three times...and they waited. Shirley held her breath. Alan stared at the phone, as though somehow hoping Denny would just pop out of it and accuse them of being overprotective.

Then it went to voice mail. Denny's voice cut through Alan like a jagged knife. The Sprint investigator's voice made him jump. "Mr. Shane, we're going to ring it once more. At this point, we've got it northwest of Tampa, you're looking at somewhere in the vicinity of Oldsmar."

"Oldsmar," Lamas said to the sergeant who was driving the car. "And fast!"

"Yes, sir!"

The lights and sirens came on as the car sped onto the 275. Alan held the phone up between his and Shirley's ears as Sprint called Denny's number again. Once again it rang eight times and then went to voice mail.

"Mr. Shane?"

"Yes?"

"We've got it."

"Yes!" Shirley exclaimed and Alan grinned.

"Where?"

"You're looking at about a half-square mile area just across the border into Pinellas County."

"Great," Lamas moaned. "We're going to have to bring Pinellas Sheriffs into it." He picked up his cell phone, which was in walkie-talkie mode. "Bolivar."

"Bolivar here."

"Local FBI on the way?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, tell them we're crossing into Pinellas County and get the Pinellas Sheriff on the horn." Lamas turned back toward Alan. "Whereabouts?"

The Sprint investigator heard and responded. "City of Oldsmar, somewhere around Wellington Avenue."

Lamas used the GPS map in the dash of the police car to enter the location. It then mapped out the way there, which the sergeant driving took note of as he merged onto the 589.

"Right, Bolivar, get the damn FBI and Sheriff's department to Wellington Avenue in Oldsmar, and make it snappy!"

"Ten-four!"

"Do you need Sprint anymore?" Alan asked, holding the phone in the air.

"No, but tell them to keep this on file. We'll need it all later."

"I heard," came the man's voice over the phone. "I'm glad we could help."

Alan hung up the phone. He and Shirley exchanged glances as Shirley spoke. "You know, Alan, there's no guarantee that Denny's phone is in the same place as he is."

"I know," Alan replied flatly.

"You're really worried about him."

"Well, you must be too, to voluntarily spend this much time with me in close quarters."

Shirley nodded as she turned to look out the window. "Goddammit, Denny," she whispered.

Alan reached out and laid his hand on her arm. And for the first time, Shirley Schmidt didn't pull away.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Half-an-hour later, they pulled up to the end of Wellington Avenue. There was a somewhat small building there made of concrete with very few windows. They piled out of the cruiser just as two plain sedans screeched to a halt behind them. Five minutes later, three sheriff's cruisers showed up.

Detective Lamas, his two sergeants, the FBI agents and the Pinellas County Sheriff personnel convened and discussed the best way to approach the situation.

"You think he's here?" Shirley asked as she and Alan walked toward the building.

"I don't know. It seems fairly likely. No windows, off the beaten path a bit..."

"We need to go in there."

"I was thinking the same thing. They probably heard the sirens, know we're here."

"Yes, and that could be very bad for Denny."

Shirley and Alan looked back at the circle of law enforcement. None of them were paying any attention to the two attorneys. So they made their way toward the front entrance. When Alan tried the door, however, he found it locked. "Around back," he whispered. Shirley nodded and they headed around the side of the building.

"Look, a loading dock," Alan said. To their surprise, there were two ambulances parked outside the dock. And the giant garage-like door was open.

"Bingo," Shirley whispered. "Come on."

They ran toward the door. Alan peeked around but saw no signs of life. He motioned for Shirley to follow, but her heels clacked on the concrete floor. She reached down and took them off, tossing them to the side. Now in bare feet, she grabbed Alan's outstretched hand as they crossed to a metal door on the opposite wall.

It was quiet in the hall on the other side of the door. Alan looked up and down. "No idea where to go."

"Call him. This building's only one floor. Maybe we'll hear the phone?"

Alan nodded and pulled out his cell phone, hitting Speed Dial 1 for Denny's number. They decided to head to their right, but didn't hear anything resembling a ringing phone. At the end of the hall was an elevator.

"This place is only one story," Shirley said as Alan pushed the button. "They must have an underground."

"I'll bet that's where Denny is."

"I'm guessing you're not going to wait for the police."

"No way," Alan said. "You don't have to come, you can go back out and tell them where I am."

"I'm already in this, let's just go."

Alan nodded as they entered the elevator. There were three B levels. "I guess if I were holding people captive, I'd hold them as far away from the exit as possible," he said, punching B3. "Stay behind me," he said, using himself to shield her.

The elevator opened into a long hall with a great many doors on either side. Slowly, Alan and Shirley crept along the hall. The first five doors on both sides weren't locked, but when they opened the doors, they were empty. At last they came to the sixth door on the right. It, too, was unlocked. Alan opened it. His face fell as Shirley gasped.

"Denny!" they cried out in unison, running into the room.

For there, lying on the bed, was Denny Crane. Alan shook him, and he moaned, but didn't move. His arms were tied with leather binds to the head of the bed, his ankles bound by the same types of binds to the foot. Alan opened his eyelids, and his pupils did respond.

"What the hell did they do to you?" Alan whispered, leaning over so his lips were near Denny's temple. "Jesus Christ, Denny."

"We have to get him out of here."

"I'll call Lamas," Alan said. But just as he went to dial, the room door swung open, banging into the wall.

Shirley barked her version of a shriek as Alan stepped in front of her, using his arms to keep her there. His thumb pushed the "Talk" button on his phone.

"Who are you?" one of the three burly men who entered the room asked. "How did you get in here?"

"You really should keep your loading dock more secure," Alan said flatly. He nodded down toward the bed. "What have you done to my friend?"

The burly man who'd spoken raised a gun and pointed it right at Alan. Not again, he thought.

"Jesus," Shirley breathed. "Alan..."

Alan faintly heard Lamas' voice on his cell phone. He looked the burly man right in the eye. "You know," he said as loudly as he could, "keeping people you abduct here on the third level below ground is pretty smart."

"Shut up."

"I mean, the first five rooms on the right were empty, but he's here in the sixth," Alan continued boldly. "Are there more in the other four?"

"I said, shut up!" the burly man growled. "Take them," he said to his two companions.

Just then the first man's walkie-talkie squealed to life. "Code red, I repeat, code red! Secure the labs!"

"Shit!" he cried. He motioned for the other two to follow him, and together all three ran out.

"Cavalry must be coming," Alan breathed as Shirley sagged against him.

"Thank God." She ran around to the other side of the bed, sat on it, and starting undoing the binds.

Alan knelt next to the bed and touched Denny's hair. "You'll be all right now," he said as the sounds of gunfire reached their ears. He removed the leather straps from the wrist and ankle on his side. "You'll be all right, Denny."

Denny stirred. He moaned, then opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to focus, but then he saw Alan and gave a drunken smile. "You found me," he slurred.

"Yes. Shirley and I did."

"Shhhirley?"

"I'm here, Denny."

He tried keeping his eyes open, but was failing miserably. "I...I wanted to...I didn't want to forget..."

"It's okay, Denny, everything's okay."

"Alan," Denny said, forcing his eyes open again. "I didn't want to forget...you."

"I know."

The grin never left Denny's face as Alan looked across at Shirley. "Think she'll tell?" he mumbled.

"Tell what?" Alan asked, brow puckered.

"Tell if I say...if I...say...if I tell you..."

"Tell me what?" But Denny's eyes had closed again. Alan smiled as he smoothed the curly and unkempt hair atop Denny's head.

"Damn, I was hoping to get some good blackmail material here."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Guess you'll just have to keep waiting."

The door burst open. Alan and Shirley jumped. But it was the two FBI agents. They heaved similar sighs of relief.

But neither could shake the frightening thought lurking in the backs of their minds. What had been done to Denny? And would he ever recover?

That's when they heard the fire alarm.

"Let's get him out of here!" one of the FBI agents cried. "Come on!"

With no small amount of difficulty, the two men hefted Denny between them and dragged him toward the emergency stairs. As Alan and Shirley ran out behind them, they turned and looked back down the hall, where uniformed police were freeing other patients and running their way. And down at the very end of the hall they saw smoke.

"The place is on fire!" Alan said as they veered into the stairwell.

The fire department was pulling up as they exited the building. Denny was loaded into an ambulance. Both Shirley and Alan rode with him.

Please let him be okay, Alan prayed as the paramedics tended to him. Please.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

"How's Denny?" Shirley asked, walking into Alan's office.

"Not bad. Being discharged this afternoon. He seems to be doing really well, actually."

"Good. I thought I'd update you."

"I'm eager, go ahead."

"Well, it seems the doctor performing the tests was one Dr. Li Chiu. He'd been banned from his research in China due to his unorthodox procedures."

"I can believe that."

"He came to the U.S. about thirteen months ago and set up shot there in Oldsmar. He was testing various drugs he'd developed on people different brain-related maladies like brain tumors, Alzheimer's and even schizophrenia."

"By kidnapping them?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, the entire building burned to nothing more than a concrete shell. They said it was deliberately set to destroy evidence. So they don't have any records as to who Dr. Chiu tested over this past year, but they did recover eight other people still alive, and found the remains of two bodies after the fire was put out."

"God," Alan said. "To think that madmen like that still exist. Like...a mad scientist or something."

"I know. And I thought lawyers were bad. The other thing, too, is that they have no idea what these medicines they were giving the so-called patients were made from. They've found traces of some elements in the survivors' blood, but nothing to definitively state what they were given."

"I know, Denny and I were just talking to his doctor about that yesterday. So far, though, he seems to be at a hundred percent."

"Well, let's hope he stays that way. Shimmerman is having a cow that Denny might not be able to represent him in that lawsuit next month."

"You'd think he'd cut him some slack after what he's been through."

"You know millionaires," Shirley said. "They're a bunch of assholes."

Alan smiled as she turned and walked out. He couldn't wait 'til later this afternoon. Because Denny...after nearly two weeks in the hospital...was coming home.

~BL~BL~BL~BL~BL~

Two months later...

Denny exited the doctor's office, a stunned look on his face. Alan jumped to his feet. "What?" he asked. "Denny, what is it?"

The older man looked at him, a mystified look that seemed part disbelief and part confusion. "Alan..."

"What?" he asked, moving forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Denny?"

"It's gone."

Alan looked at him for a moment. "What's gone?"

"The plaque," Denny replied, his voice barely above a whisper. The beta-amyloid. Every trace of it is gone."

"How...?" Alan's hand dropped to his side, his eyes meeting Denny's. "My God, it can't be. Chiu's drug...it...?"

"It worked," Denny finished for him. "My God, Alan. His goddamn drug actually worked. I'm..." Tears filled his eyes. "I'm cured."

"What? Cured?" Alan grinned and wrapped his arms around his friend. "My God, Denny!" He squeezed him tight and resisted the urge to jump around like a complete idiot.

Denny returned the embrace and the two stood there for who-knew-how-many minutes, Denny repeating the words, "I don't believe it. I just don't believe it."

Shirley, who'd been listening from nearby, finally approached the pair. "You can't be serious. Cured?"

"They can't explain it any other way," Denny told her as he and Alan extricated themselves. "Every trace of Alzheimer's has disappeared from my brain."

"They've convicted Chiu, he's going to jail for life," she said. "Jury deliberated only twenty minutes. I just came from the courthouse to tell you that."

"And his notes were all burned in the fire," Alan breathed, closing his eyes. "Oh, my God."

"He had the cure all along." Denny blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears from rolling down his face. "All the people he could've helped. I'm living proof! There has to be something we can do!"

Shirley grabbed Denny's and Alan's hands, one in each of her own. "I'll get to work on it right away," she said. "Crane, Poole and Schmidt is about to become an advocate for reinstating Dr. Chiu's studies. Some of his assistants must have some idea what they were using."

"And Dr. Chiu?"

Shirley shook her head as she released their hands. "He's up the creek. Too many people died as a result of his experiments. If only he'd gone about it the right way!" She took a deep breath. "Don't worry. We'll get the study started again. Somehow."

Alan and Denny watched as she left the doctor's office. Denny squeezed Alan's arm, then ran after her. "Shirley!"

She stopped and turned, surreptitiously wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Denny didn't say a word, just opened his arms and embraced her. She found herself, maddeningly, hugging him right back.

"Thank you," he finally said, pulling away enough so he could look into her eyes. Then he leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for helping to save my life, and..." He pulled away from her completely. "Thank you for being there to help Alan."

"You two are a couple of weirdos," she said, a sly grin on her face. "But you're Crane, Poole and Schmidt's weirdos."

"Denny Crane," he said matter-of-factly, then chuckled at the momentary look of horror on her face.

"Denny Crane," she nodded, and walked away.

Alan walked up and joined his friend. Slowly, shoulder-to-shoulder, they headed for the exit as well. "I'm not sure what to do. What to think."

"The point, Denny, is that now you can think. You've been given a gift. A chance to age with dignity."

"Who wants dignity when they can have Alan Shore?"

Alan laughed out loud as they walked out into the parking lot. "Where to, my friend?"

To his surprise, Denny reached out and grabbed his hand. "Home," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "I've got a couple years of catching up to do."

A smile slowly spread across Alan's face as they walked the rest of the way to the Mercedes. It was good to have Denny back. Damn good. And the best part was, he'd be staying Denny until his very last breath.

"I meant what I said to you the day you came home from the hospital. I do love you, you know," Alan said as he opened the driver's side door.

Denny grinned at him over the top of the car.

"I'm going to miss you saying your name all the time," Alan remarked as they both slid into their seats.

"No, you won't. I still want to keep them guessing."

"But Shirley knows you're cured."

Denny shrugged. "She also knows that doesn't change who I am. Besides, if I stopped acting like I have the mad cow, nobody would watch the show anymore."

"Say it." Denny's face bore a look of pure joy. "Come on, Denny, say it," Alan begged.

He puckered his lips, then smiled, then opened his mouth.

"Denny Crane."

Alan grinned. "I think we're safe for another season."

Author's Note: The estimated number of Americans with Alzheimer's is currently 4.5 million. The number of Americans with this devastating disease will continue to grow - by 2050 the number of individuals with Alzheimer's could range from 11.3 million to 16 million. Finding a treatment that could delay onset by five years could reduce the number of individuals with Alzheimer's disease by nearly 50 percent after 50 years. Increasing age is the greatest risk factor for Alzheimer's. One in 10 individuals over 65 and nearly half of those over 85 are affected. Rare, inherited forms of Alzheimer's disease can strike individuals as early as their 30s and 40s. A person with Alzheimer's disease will live an average of eight years and as many as 20 years or more from the onset of symptoms. From the time of diagnosis, people with Alzheimer's disease survive about half as long as those of similar age without dementia. Average survival time is affected by age at diagnosis and severity of other medical conditions. The federal government estimates spending approximately $647 million for Alzheimer's disease research in fiscal year 2005.*

My grandfather died of this terrible, dignity-stealing disease six years ago.

The search for a cure continues.

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*Source: http://www.alz.org/AboutAD/statistics.asp