Chapter 2 - The Horizon of Light
The viral phenomenon didn't stop at the Walmart parking lot. Within forty-eight hours, the "Princess and the Biker" movement had swept through the entire state of Missouri.
At the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital satellite clinic in Springfield, the waiting room had been completely transformed. The administration, usually strict about sterile clinical environments, had quietly looked the other way when local volunteers decorated the pediatric oncology wing with paper castle turrets, pink carpets, and strings of fairy lights.
Troy sat in a small vinyl chair that groaned under his weight, his massive frame clad in an elfish green tunic and a pair of striped stockings that Ava had insisted on that morning. He was carefully peeling the skin off an orange, cutting it into perfect little crescent shapes for his daughter, who was hooked up to a clear plastic tube feeding a toxic, life-saving cocktail into her chest port.
"Mr. Bridger?"
Troy looked up. Dr. Clara Vance, the lead oncologist whose usual stoic professional demeanor always filled Troy with a cold anxiety, stood in the doorway. She wasn't wearing her lab coat. Instead, she was wearing a blue silk cape over her scrubs.
"Dr. Vance," Troy said, standing up immediately, his hands dropping to his sides. "Is it the lab results from yesterday? Is the tumor... has it spread?"
Dr. Vance walked into the room, her expression a mix of exhaustion and a strange, cautious optimism. "Sit down, Troy. Please."
She pulled up a rolling stool, looking at Ava, who had fallen asleep against a large plush unicorn. "The tumor in her abdomen has stabilized, Troy. The chemotherapy has done its job of slowing the growth. But it’s not enough. To completely eradicate the neuroblastoma, she needs a highly specialized targeted immunotherapy treatment known as ch14.18. It’s a monoclonal antibody trial."
Troy’s heart leaped, then immediately sank into the pit of his stomach. "Where do we get it? How much?"
Dr. Vance sighed, looking down at her clipboard. "It’s currently only offered at a specialized research facility in Chicago. Because it’s an experimental trial and you are currently out of network with your basic union insurance from the mechanic shop... the out-of-pocket deposit just to get her on the list is four hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
The room went completely cold. Four hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Troy owned a 2012 Harley, a small toolbox of specialized mechanic wrenches, and a rented two-bedroom house with a cracked driveway. Even if he sold his soul to every bank in the midwest, he couldn't raise a fraction of that amount in time.
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"She has three months, Troy," Dr. Vance said softly, her hand resting gently on his massive, tattooed forearm. "Before the cells become resistant to the current chemo. I'm sorry. The system is brutal."
Troy looked at Ava, at her tiny, rhythmic breathing, at the purple tiara resting on the bedside table. His jaw tightened until a muscle in his cheek twitched violently. "I don't care about the system, Doc," he whispered, his voice vibrating with a dangerous, quiet resolve. "I made a promise to her. I'm going to get that money, even if I have to dismantle this city brick by brick."
