1 Bungtown Rd Cold Spring Harbor, NY
Torment. Nights and days were the worst form of torture I could ever have imagined – tormenting me with its endlessness and hopelessness. There is absolutely nothing worse in the world than what I had been experiencing for the last three months.
I was planted in my usual spot. Sitting at the edge of my bed while my husband either did or didn’t sleep – I didn’t know, nor did I care. My blankets were twisted and crumbled behind me, evidence of my tossing and turning from the hours before. I stared at the thirsty-looking houseplant on my nightstand without really looking at it and listened to the screams of desperation. A sound as ubiquitous in our world as the scent of death had become.
When I thought of Mitchell I wanted to rip my own heart out. Where was he? The scream that escaped my throat as I pounded my own fists against my skull had become normal and my asshole husband ignored them. I didn’t really notice when I had actually torn out enough of my hair that there were patches of missing hair all over my head. I’m sure he noticed, but he never said anything. Though, a part of me didn’t really blame him. The first weeks he cradled and comforted me, shedding tears along with me. But now, only the slightest shift in his sleeping posture indicated that he paid attention. He stopped paying attention.
Now, we were prisoners. I was reaching the edge. The nights of me crying and begging until my throat became raw and my voice hoarse had ended. He didn’t understand. After all, he had only come into Mitchell’s life when I was pregnant with him. He didn’t understand. He said Mitchell might as well have been his biologically but I knew that wasn’t true. I remember that passing look in his eyes when Mitchell was born. That look of disappointment that Mitchell didn’t look like him. It was fleeting, lasting only a blink of an eye, but I saw it. And now, night after night – and day after day I felt it. The need to search didn’t come to him like it did to me.
Craig told me it was time to let him go, that he was gone. Just because the Gage took him didn’t mean he was gone though. I didn’t care how small the percentage was that he was still alive, I needed to search for him. Living night after night waiting for our death, barely surviving, wasn’t doing anything anyway. Craig wasn’t enough for me anymore and I knew.
The lab was no longer contained and it was only a matter of days, maybe even hours before the world knew. The infection spreading to the entire populace of the Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory sans a few of us who were mysteriously immune. My notes sat on my desk taunting me like a dangling, rotten carrot. I don’t know what prompted me to make my next move and it definitely classified me as utterly insane – at least Dr. Ruiz would think so. I then watched Craig for the next eight minutes, listening to the soft tick of the clock on the mantel like a beckoning metronome. The steady rise and fall of his chest indicating he was finally asleep. Bastard.
For the first time in months my senses were alive, firing all my synapses. For years we had studied the billions of neurons in our brain and it wasn’t until my partner, Lu Zhongyan, in Suzhou, China was able to manipulate the frontal lobe of the brain that everything became fucked up. 182 IQ did us no good and now the world would go to hell, my son with it. The last I heard from the jackass he had just sent in his findings to PLOS Computational Biology, though I doubt they’d ever make the journal.
The rough carpet felt inviting under my bare feet as I walked into the kitchen and directly to what I needed. It was the first time in my life that I was so sure of what I was doing. The metal sang against the block as I pulled the blade out, welcoming me in my grip. I don’t remember walking back to our bedroom. All I remember is standing above our bed for the last time and seeing my husbands frightened eyes as I drove the blade deep into his chest. Believe me, I was just as surprised as anyone else when I giggled at his bubbling pleas.