Dr. Lawrence Crenshaw had worked with five patients before he met me. He was highly criticized by his peers and even professors for breaking into the medical field at such a young age. When he was 21 he had begun an internship at the Gloverfield Hospital in Grand Rapids Michigan which at the time was a renowned surgical and cancer treatment facility. From there he started his practice out of Boulder, Colorado. His previous patient before me was named David Hernandez. David had a similar conditions as me. However, his lack of breath was caused by a increased amount of bacteria that had found its way into his lungs. Needless to say that David was kept in constant critical care and wasn't cleared to leave his home. Something about the young boy made Crenshaw furious. Crenshaw wasn't used to losing. He had aced every test, exam, and class he had ever taken. With his previous three patients they fully recovered from their scenarios and went on to live healthy lives. Crenshaw suggested treatment and spearheaded many surgeries to give David a fighting chance. But as you may well know...you can't save everybody.

Crenshaw attended the boys funeral and the service held after. It was the first time in his life that he felt truly powerless.

A year later he met me. I had been transferred from the care of Dr. Jackson Mare who had operated up at a clinic north. Crenshaw saw his chance at redemption so naturally he decided to help. The one thing that I liked about Crenshaw is that he never treated me differently. I had been surrounded by a couple of very undesirable characters during my upbringing. Hell a lot of people walked away from me. But out of all them it wasn't the man that felt the most responsible for me. Crenshaw would do a respiratory check on me every time we met. Then he would sit me down and we would discuss concerns, weird feelings, irregular body functions, etc. It was always the time after those details that was truly special. We just sat down and talked. We would talk for hours and hours. Most the conversations involved movies, sports, and often times school dilemmas. One conversation struck me as we opened his office door that late night.

"Do you feel in control?" inquired Crenshaw.

I looked to him, puzzled by that question. Here I was, 13 years old, been asked if I felt in control. Like I knew what the hell having my life in control looked or felt like.

"I think I do," I responded. Crenshaw smiled.

"It's often easy to confuse a peaceful like with a controlled one. Like how a storm may flow around a house, but never disturb the contents inside. You can't control what happens outside. I found that when people are forced to take control of their lives they often are left with a feeling of insecurity. I know that when I treat a patient I have peace in knowing they are getting better. But I'm not in control how fast they get better."

My confusion mounted. I wasn't seeing the point come across. "The point I'm trying to make," continued Crenshaw, "is that from here on out, meaning as you grow older, life will do everything to throw you a curve ball. Your parents may not say it, your sister may not say it, but life is indeed a tough road that everyone traverses. The best thing we can do when everything seems out of control is to let it take its course. Because eventually, inevitably, things will begin to come back into our control."

Funny, to think that 5 years ago I couldn't ask why he wanted me to hear that. In the moment it felt like that information was almost warning me of the future I would be set in. However, probably not as grim and/or terrifying as it is now.

Here I was standing at the entrance to his office. The room was all but a disaster. As if someone threw a grenade into the room and closed the door behind them. Paper lined the office, scattered into the nooks and crannies. The desk, which was parallel to the door, was tilted 45 degrees to the left. Upon its wooden exterior there was a bloody hand print. Christin's eyes slowly swelled up. Trying not to scream in agony for fear of wasting oxygen. I looked around the room to see if there were any signs of life. Nothing.

Christin braced herself against the wall. Dr. Crenshaw was my sister's idol. He was a brilliant man in the field of medicine and a respectable man outside of it. To see that he was gone was hard for her. But deep down I knew that even if we was alive I don't think he would've had any answers. A tear came to my eye. My throat started to become rough as I held back from crying. "Christin," I whispered. She looked to me.

"I'm sorry."

"He could be alive. There's no body here! He..He could've made out."

"Do you really think he made it that far. Be honest."

"How fucking dare you!! He was there for you all those years! He tried to keep your life normal and know all you have is a tear for him?!"

"I'm not trying to undersell what he did for me! Or for us...But do you think that after everything we've seen that I have anything left to shed. I don't know if its the shock or maybe the adrenaline pumping inside of me. But I know that as far as we're concerned there's not too people left around here. So I'm sorry if I'm coming off cold or just damn cruel. But thats the truth."

Christin remained quiet. I slowed my breathing and let my heart beat return to a steady pace. I stood by what I meant. I have nothing left in me but the horror and disgust that I've been exposed too. Christin was beyond distraught. She stormed out of the room and headed down the hallway. I looked over to the corner of the room to notice a small picture frame shattered on the ground. I picked it up and turned it over. It was a picture of Crenshaw and his family. They seemed to be at a amusement park. Crenshaw looked a lot younger with the grey streak's in his hair only starting to appear. His wife, Mindy, was standing next to him. I had met Mindy a couple of times during my care with the doctor. She was incredibly sweet.

I looked around the office to see if there was anything of importance. Maybe something that could confirm whether he was dead or even alive. I looked over to the file cabinets and shuffled through the folders. Patient history, prescription history and treatment solutions filled the iron cabinets. I opened up his desk and shuffled through the multiple files and scraps of paper. A couple of invoices about about mortgage rates and one coupon for a free ice cream at Sunnyside's. The files were mostly comprised of documents pertaining to pharmacy medications and cost of IV units. I then noticed a piece of the cabinet that seemed chipped and broken. It was small, but looking deep into the crack I noticed a piece of paper. I started to tear at the cheap material and before I knew it I tore the lower part of the desk's exterior off. Crenshaw had a secret compartment that had one piece of paper. I scratched my head thinking if I ever remembered him showing me this. I picked up and the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was Crenshaw's handwriting. Upon the paper read

Perhaps destiny is Devine and truthful

47.7511° N, 120.7401° W

A fire alarm went off in the hallway. I grabbed the note and rushed out to find Christin backing away from a fire that was down the hall from us. "Time to go," I said.