The Select

THE SELECT

a novel

by

F. Paul Wilson

© 1993 by F. Paul Wilson

Smashwords edition 2010

ISBN: 978-0440218661

CHRISTMAS BREAK

THE INGRAHAM COLLEGE OF
MEDICINE

Laurel Hills, MD

Known as the "24 karat
medical school," the Ingraham (pronounced "ING gram") College
of Medicine has become one of the most respected and prestigious
institutes in the nation. Nestled in the wooded hills of Frederick
County, Maryland, less than an hour's drive from both Baltimore and
Washington, D.C., it has built its teaching staff by culling the
great names from all the medical specialties. The Ingraham faculty
is considered without peer.

The same can be said of its
student body. Every December, the nation's highest scorers on the
MCAT are invited to The Ingraham (as it is known) to take a special
entrance exam. It is a highly coveted invitation: The Ingraham is
entirely subsidized by the Kleederman Foundation—its students pay
no tuition, no book or lab fees, and receive free room and board.
(A strict condition of acceptance is that you must live on The
Ingraham campus the entire four years). But academic excellence is
only part of The Ingraham's requirements. The Admissions Office
stresses that it is looking for "well rounded individuals with
something extra, who will be committed to the
practice
of medicine in a primary
care setting, especially in areas where it is needed most."
Academic brilliance is, of course, an important requirement, but
they state The Ingraham is not looking to turn out academic
physicians who will spend their careers hunched over microscopes
and test tubes. The ideal candidates for are pre med students
who were not only top in their class academically, but who were
also class officers or active in campus affairs.

The Ingraham alumni are
considered the cream of the crop. Without exception, its fifty
annual graduates are offered the medical world's most highly
regarded residencies. Yet an extraordinary number of alumni eschew
the high paying subspecialties for primary care and can be
found practicing in the nation's poorer areas, especially the inner
cities. They have earned The Ingraham an unequaled reputation for
academic excellence and social committment.

from AMERICAN MEDICAL
SCHOOLS IN PERSPECTIVE

by Emmett Fenton
(Bobbs Merrill, 1991)

CHAPTER ONE

"Quinn! Quinn, come on!"

Quinn Cleary heard the voice but
continued to stare out over the cluster of buildings below her and
at the surrounding fall dappled hills beyond. From here on the
hilltop, the high point on campus, she'd been told she could see
three states: Maryland, of course; West Virginia to her right, and
Virginia due south, straight ahead.

And down the gentle slope beneath her
feet, perhaps a dozen yard below, sat the circle of beige brick and
stone buildings— the classrooms, the dorm, the administration and
faculty offices, all clustered around the central pond—that made up
The Ingraham.

A touch on her arm. She turned. Matt
Crawford stood there, dark curly hair, deeply tanned skin, dark
eyes looking at her curiously.

"Are you in a trance or
something?"

"No. But isn't it beautiful?" She
looked again at the manicured sloping lawns, sculpted out of the
surrounding wooded acres. "Isn't it almost too good to be
true?"

"Yeah, it's great." He gripped her
elbow gently. "Come on. We don't want to get too far
behind."

Reluctantly, Quinn let herself be
turned away from the grand view. Her long legs easily matched
Matt's strides as they hurried to catch up with the other hopefuls
following Mr. Verran on the campus tour. She was tall and
slender—too slender, she thought whenever she'd catch a look at
herself in a full length mirror. Almost boyish looking with
her short red blond hair and her mostly
straight up and down body. She'd look at herself
morosely and think that the only rounded things on her body were
all above the shoulders: a round Irish face with clear pale skin
and high colored cheeks, a round, full lipped mouth, and
big round blue eyes. She'd never liked her face. A dopey
Campbell Soup Kid face. She'd especially disliked her
lips, had always thought they were too fat. She'd looked at her
face as a teenager and all she'd seen were those lips. But now her
lips were the in thing. Full lips were all the rage. Movie stars
were getting their lips injected with silicone to get them to look
like the lips Quinn had been born with and had always
hated.

Who could figure fashion? Which was why
Quinn was rarely in fashion, and when so, purely by accident. She
favored loose and comfortable in her slacks, blouses, and sweaters.
No tight jeans or stretch pants, and good God, no lycra bicycle
pants. She'd look like a spray painted Olive Oyl. She glanced
down at her slacks and her sweater. A little behind the times,
perhaps, a bit generous in the cut, but good quality, bought on
sale.

Most people wear baggy clothing to hide
bulges, she thought. I'm hiding the lack of them.

But Quinn knew neither looks, body
type, nor fashion sense would make a difference when she and the
others sat for the entrance exam tomorrow morning. What would count
then was what was between the ears. And she was pretty sure she had
good stuff between her ears.

But was it the right stuff? Was it the
stuff The Ingraham College of Medicine wanted from its
students?

They've got to take me,
Quinn thought. They've just
got
to.

The Ingraham was like a dream waiting
to come true.

Medicine was Quinn's dream—had been since
she'd been old enough to dream—and the Ingraham was the only place
that could make that dream come true, the only medical school she
could afford.

Suddenly she heard running footsteps
behind her.

"Hey, Matt! Wait up."

She turned and saw a vaguely
familiar looking guy trotting up the walk from the main
campus.

"Timmy!" Matt said, grinning as he held
out his hand. "I thought you weren't going to make it."

"Almost didn't," he said. "Got a late
start from A.C."

"Atlantic City?" Matt said. "What were
you—? Oh, no. You didn't."

Now the newcomer was grinning. "Pass up
some easy cash? How could I?"

Matt shook his head in wonder. "You're
nuts, Timmy. Completely nuts." He turned to Quinn. "You remember my
roomie Tim Brown, don't you, Quinn?"

Where Matt was average height, dark,
and broad shouldered, Tim was a fair, lanky six footer with
sandy brown hair and impenetrable, wire rimmed,
aviator style dark glasses.

Quinn remembered meeting Tim along with
some of Matt's other friends at Dartmouth last year.

"I think so. Green Key Weekend,
right?"

Tim lifted his shades and looked at
her. His blue eyes were bloodshot.

"If you guys say so. I don't remember
much from that weekend." He extended his hand. "Nice to meet you
again, Quinn. Is that your first name or your last?"

His hand was cool and dry as Quinn
briefly clasped it.

"My last name's Cleary."

"Quinn Cleary." Tim dropped the shades
back over his eyes. "That has a nice sound to it."

Quinn felt the sudden warmth in her
cheeks and knew their already high color was climbing
higher.

"My folks thought so."

She cursed again her tendency to blush
at the drop of a hat, even at a throw away compliment like
Tim's. She didn't want him to get the idea that she was attracted
to him or anything like that. She might be unattached, but no way
was she attracted to Tim Brown. She didn't know him personally, but
what she'd heard from Matt during the years those two had roomed
together at Dartmouth was more than enough.

Timmy Brown: wild man.

From all accounts he probably had a
gambling problem on top of a drinking problem.

But what was he doing here at The
Ingraham? He couldn't have been invited to sit for the entrance
exam. They only took the MCAT's top scorers. Hadn't Matt told her
Tim was a business or economics major? How...?

She'd worry about that later. No, she
wouldn't. She wouldn't worry about it at all. It was none of her
business. Her business now was the tour. They were finishing up at
the Science Center. So far the tour had been a fantasy. The dorm
rooms were like luxury hotel suites; the labs were state of the
art; the lecture halls were equipped with the very latest in
A V technology. And now they were about to tour the major
medical research facility right on campus. This was a medical
Disney World.

But Matt and Tim were hanging back,
talking and laughing at some story Tim was telling about the casino
he'd been thrown out of last night. They'd last seen each other
only days ago yet they were acting like two old war buddies who'd
been reunited after years of separation.

Quinn felt a twinge of
jealousy. Matt was
her
friend, had been forever. Their mothers had gone to high
school together. She and Matt had fumbled through an attempt at
something more than friendship when they were both sixteen, but
once they put that behind them, they'd continued on like brother
and sister. Or better yet, because there was no hint of sibling
rivalry, like close cousins, with Matt coming from the rich wing of
the family tree, and Quinn from the poor.

She sighed and told herself to get
real. Why was she suddenly feeling possessive about Matt? There had
to be things—lots of things—that he shared with Tim that he
couldn't share with her.

"Listen," she told them. "I want to
catch this end of the tour. I'll meet you later."

She caught up with the rest of the
hopefuls. There were about 50 in the group—another fifty had taken
the tour this morning—all of them going for their interviews this
afternoon and sitting for the test tomorrow. And this was only one
of a number of groups taking the test this week. An awful lot of
applicants. Quinn had known there would be fierce competition for
each seat in next year's class, but this was a bit daunting. The
Ingraham took only fifty a year.

I'll make it, she told herself. I have
to.

She joined the lead section, all
following close behind The Ingraham's chief of security, Louis
Verran.

Mr. Verran was a short, dark, balding,
stubby man with what looked to be five o'clock shadow even
though it was only early afternoon. He could have been some sort of
middle manager at a bindery or the like. Smoking was not allowed
anywhere on The Ingraham campus, he'd told them at the outset, and
one of the duties of his office was the strict enforcement of that
rule, yet that didn't stop him from carrying an unlit cigar
everywhere. He chewed on it once in a while but generally used it
as a pointer.

Quinn could not see a cigar without
thinking of home—or rather home as it used to be. Her family's
Connecticut farm had once grown the tobacco that wrapped cigars
like Mr. Verran's, but not any more.

She returned her attention to Mr.
Verran, whose body apparently ran on a different thermostat from
everybody else's. Despite the chill December wind, he was dressed
in a short sleeve white shirt, no jacket, and seemed perfectly
comfortable. Maybe the extra pounds kept him insulated. He was
overweight, but brawny rather than blubbery—except for his face and
neck. Rolls of fat rode his open collar, pushing up on his jowls
and cheeks. He reminded Quinn of a shar pei.

"The Campus Security Office is also
located in the Science Center," Mr. Verran said as they passed the
five story building and their way to the hospital. He had a
whiny voice for such a burly looking man. "On the second
floor."

Quinn had noticed security cameras
mounted on the walls of all the campus buildings; the Science
Center was no exception. Apparently she wasn't the only one who'd
noticed.

"Is security a problem here?" someone
asked. "Has there been trouble?"