CHAPTER ELEVEN

"This is really confusing the shit out of me," said Ian. "I know that dementia and Alzheimer's are horrible, hateful diseases and can change a man. But I've never known it to make a man a murderer. Especially considering the fact that Gus wasn't actually diagnosed with anything. He wasn't at the stage where everyone was concerned for his well-being."

"Was there ever anyone concerned with his well-being?" asked Ghost. Ian stared at him from across the table at the airport restaurant. "It didn't seem anyone was looking out for Gus. He watched out for others, but no one watched out for him."

"I think we need to speak with an expert on the disease," said Ian.

"So glad you asked," said Code into comms. "Dr. Richard B'ahrana is the world's foremost expert on the subject, and lucky for you guys, he's at the UNLV Medical Center. I'll move your flights to tomorrow."

"Thanks, Code," smirked Ghost. "Well, let's go back to school."

"I don't want to," whined Ian. "I don't like school, Dad."

"Don't be an asshole. I'd hate to have to kill you in front of all these people."

Dr. B'ahrana was a small man with a long salt-and-pepper beard and thick glasses. Ian and Ghost found him hunched over multiple open books and his laptop. They knocked on the doorframe, and the man said nothing. Ian knocked again, harder this time.

"Yes?" he asked, not even looking up at the men.

"Dr. B'ahrana? I'm Ian, and this is my friend, Ghost. We'd like to speak with you about dementia." That got the man's attention. He looked up, smiling at the two men.

"Are you symptomatic?" he asked.

"Oh. Oh, no. Not us. Someone else we know. Knew."

"Are you sure you're not symptomatic?" he asked again, looking over his lenses. Ian laughed, shaking his head.

"Positive, sir."

"Please have a seat," he said, pointing to the chairs in his office. "How can I help you?"

They relayed the story of the cold case and a few of the things that had been pointed out about Gus' behavior, along with what they'd seen, claiming it was something someone once witnessed years ago.

"Killed someone?"

"Several someones," said Ghost. "It's alleged that he left them in his tractor-trailer in the desert to die."

"Interesting. It's possible that he left them there and forgot them, but he would have eventually remembered," said the man.

"Let me explain a bit more. Dementia isn't a single disease. It's a term we use to describe a collection of symptoms that one may experience. It's especially true if they are living with something like Alzheimer's.

"Diseases grouped under the general term "dementia" are caused by abnormal brain changes. Typically, the symptoms trigger a decline in our thinking skills. Sometimes, it's severe enough to impair daily life and, often, our independence.

"The symptoms can also affect behavior. The various forms can be Alzheimer's, vascular dementia, mixed dementia, and many others. Some of the side effects are reversible. Others are not. People used to believe, in fact, many still believe, that it's the same as senility, and it's ‘normal' as we age. It's not."

"What are some of the typical symptoms you would see?" asked Ghost.

"Well, they can certainly be wide and varied, but a few could include short-term memory, losing your wallet, keys, or purse, you forget to pay your bills or plan your meals, or even eat your meals. Dementia symptoms are progressive, which means that the signs of cognitive impairment start out slowly and gradually get worse over time, leading to dementia."

"There's no cure?" frowned Ian.

"No. I'm sorry. Is this a loved one you're inquiring about?" he asked.

"No. As we mentioned, it's a cold case we're working on. By all accounts, this man was becoming slightly forgetful. He exhibited some of the things you mentioned. Forgetting to pay his bills, walking into a room and not remembering why he was there. That sort of thing. But everyone we've spoken to said he was sweet, thoughtful, and kind."

"It's a miserable, horrible disease," said the doctor. "It robs you of every memory, everything good in your life."

"I'm curious. Is there anything that could halt the disease?" asked Ian.

"No. I'm afraid not. Even if you could, it wouldn't improve it. If you found out when, say, forty percent of their memory was gone, even if you halted it, forty percent would still be gone."

"That just fucking sucks," growled Ghost. The man chuckled, nodding at him.

"It does indeed. Listen, I've studied dementia and Alzheimer's for thirty years. I've never seen a case of anyone killing someone related to their disease. They can get violent and mean, but kill? I've not seen it."

"Thank you for your time," said Ian, shaking the man's hand.

"I hope you're able to prove innocence. It would be horrible if everyone believed that dementia created murderers. We'd all eventually be in jail."

"One more question," said Ghost. "What age does this typically start?"

"Usually, it's someone over the age of fifty. But I have seen it as early as forty."

"Thank you," nodded Ghost. When they stepped out into the heat and sunlight of Las Vegas, they looked at one another, shaking their heads.

"Brother, if I ever get to that stage, shoot me. Put a bullet in my fucking brain. I don't want to forget my wife, my kids, my grandkids. I want to remember all the shitholes I've been in and all the men I've worked with.

"Hell, I walk into rooms now and forget why I walked in there. It scares the shit out of me after hearing all of this. I mean it. If I start to slip, you have to kill me before it gets too bad," said Ghost.

"Nope. Because I'll need you there to shoot me."