You were on the phone with Reacher, catching up, after not hearing from him for a while. Though, you could tell he was a little off on the phone. The longer pauses, a couple coughs here and there, the horaseness in his voice. Something was happening, but you didn't know exactly what. Despite his protests on the phone, you told him you're coming to see him.

You knew where he was staying at, so you drove over there with some food, water, and coffee -of course- for him. You were in the midst of knocking on his motel door, when you noticed the door was unlocked. You turned the knob and walked in.

Then you saw him, wrapped up in a blanket that was previously on the bed, half stumbling, half dead on his feet as he walked towards the little living room/ kitchen table. He was sick.