{"id":5850,"date":"2026-01-04T12:22:17","date_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:22:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/conspiracy-club-kellerman-jonathan\/"},"modified":"2026-01-04T12:22:17","modified_gmt":"2026-01-04T12:22:17","slug":"conspiracy-club-kellerman-jonathan","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/conspiracy-club-kellerman-jonathan\/","title":{"rendered":"Conspiracy Club – Kellerman, Jonathan"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Book Preview<\/h3>\n
\n

1<\/b><\/p>\n

R<\/b>aging emotions, dead tissue.<\/p>\n

Polar opposites was the way Jeremy Carrier had always seen it.<\/p>\n

In a hospital setting, no two disciplines were less connected than psychology and pathology. As a practitioner of the former, Jeremy prided himself on an open mind; a good psychotherapist worked hard at avoiding stereotypes.<\/p>\n

But during all his years of training and clinical work at City Central Hospital, Jeremy had met few pathologists who didn\u2019t fit a mold: withdrawn, mumbly types, more comfortable with gobbets of necrosed flesh, the abstract expressionism of cell smears, and the cold-storage ambience of the basement morgue, than with living, breathing patients.<\/p>\n

And his fellow psychologists, psychiatrists, and all the other soldiers of the mental health army, were, more often than not, overly delicate souls repelled by the sight of blood.<\/p>\n

Not that Jeremy had actually known<\/em> any pathologists, even after a decade of passing them in the hallways. The social structure of the hospital had regressed to high school sensibilities: Us-Them as religion, a lusty proliferation of castes, cliques, and cabals, endless jockeying for power and turf. Adding to that was the end-means inversion that captures every bureaucracy: the hospital had devolved from a healing place needing funds to treat patients to a large-scale municipal employer requiring patient fees to meet its staff payroll.<\/p>\n

All that created a certain asocial flavor.<\/p>\n

A confederacy of isolates.<\/p>\n

At City Central, like was attracted to like, and only the last-ditch necessities of patient care led to cross-pollination: internists finally admitting defeat and calling in surgeons, generalists taking deep breaths before plunging into the morass of consultation.<\/p>\n

What reason could there be for a pathologist to contact a psychologist?<\/p>\n

Because of all that\u2014and because life\u2019s hellish wrist-flick had turned Jeremy Carrier into a tormented, distracted young man\u2014he was caught off-balance by Arthur Chess\u2019s overture.<\/p>\n

Perhaps Jeremy\u2019s distractibility formed the basis for all that followed.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

For nearly a year, Jeremy had seen Arthur once a week, but the two men had never exchanged a word. Yet here was Arthur, settling down opposite Jeremy in the doctors\u2019 dining room and asking if Jeremy cared for company.<\/p>\n

It was just before 3 P.M.,<\/small> an off-hour for lunch, and the room was nearly empty.<\/p>\n

Jeremy said, \u201cSure,\u201d then realized he was anything but.<\/p>\n

Arthur nodded and settled his big frame into a small chair. His tray bore two helpings of fried chicken, a hillock of mashed potatoes glazed with gravy, a perfect square of corn bread, a small bowl of succotash, and a sweating can of Coca-Cola.<\/p>\n

Staring at the food, Jeremy wondered: Southern roots? He tried to recall if Arthur\u2019s voice had ever betrayed Southern inflections, didn\u2019t think so. If anything, the old man\u2019s baritone was flavored by New England.<\/p>\n

Arthur Chess showed no immediate interest in conversation. Spreading a napkin on his lap, he began shearing through the first piece of chicken. He cut quickly and gracefully, using long fingers tipped by broad nails stubbed short. His long white lab coat was snowy-clean but for a disturbing spatter of pinkish stains on the right sleeve. The shirt beneath the coat was a blue pinpoint Oxford spread-collar. Arthur\u2019s magenta bow tie hung askew in a way that suggested intention.<\/p>\n

Jeremy figured the pathologist for at least sixty-five, maybe older, but Arthur\u2019s pink skin glowed with health. A neat, white, mustachless beard, which gave insight into what Lincoln\u2019s would\u2019ve looked like had Honest Abe been allowed to grow old, fringed Arthur\u2019s long face. His bald head was lunar and imposing under cruel hospital lighting.<\/p>\n

Jeremy knew of Arthur\u2019s reputation the way one is aware of a stranger\u2019s biography. Once Head of Pathology, Professor Chess had stepped down from administrative duties a few years ago to concentrate on scholarship. Something to do with soft-tissue sarcomas, the minutiae of cell-wall permeability, or whatnot.<\/p>\n

Arthur also had a reputation as a world traveler and an amateur lepidopterist. His treatise on the carrion-eating butterflies of Australia had been featured in the hospital gift shop, alongside the usual paperback diversions. Jeremy had noticed the single stack of dry-looking, dirt brown volumes because they drabbed in comparison with the jackets of lurid best-sellers. The brown stack never seemed to reduce; why would a patient want to read about bugs that ate corpses?<\/p>\n

Arthur ate three bites of chicken and put down his fork. \u201cI really do hope this isn\u2019t an intrusion, Dr. Carrier.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot at all, Dr. Chess. Is there something you need?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNeed?\u201d Arthur was amused. \u201cNo, just seeking a bit of social discourse. I\u2019ve noticed that you tend to dine alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy schedule,\u201d lied Jeremy. \u201cUnpredictable.\u201d Since his life had gone to hell, he\u2019d been avoiding social discourse with anyone but patients. He\u2019d gotten to the point where he could fake friendly. But sometimes, on the darkest of days, any human contact was painful.<\/p>\n

Life\u2019s little wrist-flick . . .<\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Chess. \u201cGiven the nature of your work, that would have to be the case.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSir?\u201d said Jeremy.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe unpredictability of human emotions.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n

Arthur nodded gravely, as if the two of them had reached a momentous agreement. A moment later, he said, \u201cJeremy\u2014may I call you Jeremy?\u2014Jeremy, I noticed you weren\u2019t at our little Tuesday get-together this week.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA situation came up,\u201d said Jeremy, feeling like a child caught playing hookey. He forced a smile. \u201cUnpredictable emotions.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSomething that resolved well, I hope?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeremy nodded. \u201cAnything new come up at T.B.?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTwo new diagnoses, an adenosarcoma, and a CML. Typical presentations, the usual spirited discussion. To be honest, you didn\u2019t miss a thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Our little Tuesday get-together<\/em> was Tumor Board. A weekly ritual, 8 to 9 A.M.,<\/small> in the larger conference room, Arthur Chess presiding over a confab of oncologists, radiotherapists, surgeons, nurse specialists. Commanding the slide projector, wielding a light wand, and his voluminous memory.<\/p>\n

For nearly a year, Jeremy had been the mental health army\u2019s representative. In all that time, he\u2019d spoken up once.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d attended his first Tumor Board years before, as an intern, finding the experience an ironic grotesquerie: slides of tumor-ravaged cells click-clicked<\/em> on a giant screen, the images obscured by nicotine haze.<\/p>\n

At least a third of the cancer doctors and nurses were puffing away.<\/p>\n

Jeremy\u2019s supervisor at the time, an astonishingly pompous psychoanalyst, had wielded a Meerschaum pipe of Freudian proportions and blown Latakia fumes in Jeremy\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

Arthur had been running things back then, too, and he\u2019d looked much the same, Jeremy realized. The chief pathologist hadn\u2019t smoked, but neither had he objected. A few months later, a wealthy benefactor touring the hospital poked her head in and gasped. Soon after, the hospital passed a no-smoking rule, and the mood at subsequent Tumor Boards grew testy.<\/p>\n

Arthur sectioned a tiny square of corn bread from the host slab and chewed thoughtfully. \u201cNo loss for you, Jeremy, but I do believe that your presence contributes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEven if you don\u2019t say much, the fact that you\u2019re there keeps the rest of us on our toes. Sensitivity-wise.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d said Jeremy, wondering why the old man was bullshitting him so shamelessly, \u201canything that helps sensitivity.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe time you did speak up,\u201d said Arthur, \u201ctaught us all a lesson.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeremy felt his face go hot. \u201cI felt it was relevant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, it was, Jeremy. Not everyone saw it that way, but it was.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

The time he spoke up<\/em> had been six weeks ago. Arthur flashing slides of a metastasized stomach carcinoma on the big screen, defining the tumors in the precise Latin poetry of histology. The patient, a fifty-eight-year-old woman named Anna Duran, had been referred to Jeremy because of \u201cunresponsive demeanor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeremy found her initially sullen. Rather than try to draw her out, he refilled her empty cup with tea, got himself coffee, plumped her pillows, then sat down by her bedside and waited.<\/p>\n

Not caring much if she responded, or not. It had been that way since Jocelyn. He didn\u2019t even try anymore.<\/p>\n

And the funny thing was, patients reacted to his apathy by opening up more quickly.<\/p>\n

Grief had made him a more effective therapist.<\/p>\n

Jeremy, flabbergasted, gave the matter some thought and decided patients probably perceived his blank face and statue posture as some sort of immutable, Zen-like calm.<\/p>\n

If only they knew . . .<\/p>\n

By the time she finished her tea, Anna Duran was ready to talk.<\/p>\n

Which is why Jeremy was forced to speak up, twenty minutes into a contentious exchange between Mrs. Duran\u2019s attending oncologist and the treating radiotherapist. Both specialists were voluble men, well-intentioned, dedicated to their craft, but overly focused, baby-bathwater-tossers. Complicating matters further, neither cared for the other. That morning they\u2019d slipped into an increasingly heated debate on treatment sequence that left the rest of the attendees peeking at their watches.<\/p>\n

Jeremy had resolved to stay out of it. Tuesday mornings were an annoyance, his turn the result of a mandatory rotation that placed him in too-close proximity to death.<\/p>\n

But that morning, something propelled him to his feet.<\/p>\n

The sudden motion fixed fifty pairs of eyes upon him.<\/p>\n

The oncologist had just completed a pronouncement.<\/p>\n

The radiotherapist, about to embark on a response, was deterred by the look on Jeremy\u2019s face.<\/p>\n

Arthur Chess rolled the light wand between his hands. \u201cYes, Dr. Carrier?\u201d<\/p>\n

Jeremy faced the sparring physicians. \u201cGentlemen, your debate may be justified on medical grounds, but you\u2019re wasting your time. Mrs. Duran won\u2019t agree to any form of treatment.\u201d<\/p>\n

Silence metastasized.<\/p>\n

The oncologist said, \u201cAnd why is that, Doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe doesn\u2019t trust anyone here,\u201d said Jeremy. \u201cShe was operated on six years ago\u2014emergency appendectomy with postop sepsis. She\u2019s convinced that\u2019s what gave her stomach cancer. Her plan is to discharge herself and to seek out a local faith healer\u2014a curandero<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

The oncologist\u2019s eyes hardened. \u201cIs that so, Doctor?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m afraid so, Doctor.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cQuaint and charmingly idiotic. Why wasn\u2019t I informed of this?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou just were,\u201d said Jeremy. \u201cShe told me yesterday. I left a message at your office.\u201d<\/p>\n

The oncologist\u2019s shoulders dropped. \u201cWell, then . . . I suggest you return to her bedside and convince her of the error of her ways.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNot my job,\u201d said Jeremy. \u201cShe needs guidance from you. But frankly, I don\u2019t think there\u2019s anything anyone can say.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, really?\u201d The oncologist\u2019s smile was acrid. \u201cShe\u2019s ready to see her witch doctor, then curl up and die?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe believes treatment made her sick and that more will kill her. It\u2019s a stomach carcinoma. What are we really offering her?\u201d<\/p>\n

No answer. Everyone in the room knew the stats. Stomach cancer so advanced was no grounds for optimism.<\/p>\n

\u201cCalming her down\u2019s not your job, Dr. Carrier?\u201d said the oncologist. \u201cWhat exactly is<\/em> your job, vis \u00e0 vis Tumor Board?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGood question,\u201d said Jeremy. And he left the room.<\/p>\n

He\u2019d expected a summons to the Chief Psychiatrist\u2019s office for a reprimand and a transfer off the board. None came, and when he showed up next Tuesday, he was met with what seemed to be respectful looks and nods.<\/p>\n

Drop your interest in patients and patients talk to you more readily.<\/p>\n

Mouth off at the honchos and gain collegial esteem.<\/p>\n

Irony stank. From that point on, Jeremy found excuses for missing the meeting.<\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n

\u201cThe thing is,\u201d said Arthur, \u201cwe cellular types get so immersed in details that we forget there\u2019s a person involved.\u201d<\/p>\n

In your case, there\u2019s no longer a person involved.<\/em><\/p>\n

Jeremy said, \u201cDr. Chess, I just did my job. I\u2019m really not comfortable being thought of as an arbiter of anything. Now, if you\u2019ll excuse me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d said Arthur, unperturbed, as Jeremy bussed his tray and left the dining room. Mumbling something Jeremy couldn\u2019t make out.<\/p>\n

Later, much later, Jeremy was fairly certain he\u2019d decoded Arthur\u2019s parting words:<\/p>\n

\u201cUntil the next time.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n

Read the full book by downloading it below.<\/p>\n

DOWNLOAD EPUB<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Preview 1 Raging emotions, dead tissue. Polar opposites was the way Jeremy Carrier had always seen it. In a hospital setting, no two disciplines were less connected than psychology and pathology. As a practitioner of the former, Jeremy prided himself on an open mind; a good psychotherapist worked hard at avoiding stereotypes. But during … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":5849,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[402],"class_list":["post-5850","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized","tag-jonathan-kellerman"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5850","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=5850"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/5850\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/5849"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=5850"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=5850"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/epub-book.com\/download\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=5850"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}