COSMOS magazine

Sunday, May 18

Changing into his shorts on Sunday evening, Paul Gibson remembered the email he'd been letting pile up. He shared this cramped, poorly ventilated office in Experimental Sciences with a woman graduate student but she rarely came in over the week-end, had to look after her kids. Unless he needed to make long distance calls or change clothes, Paul usually avoided the place himself. A former occupant had smoked, and the stink still clung to the walls and furniture. His own apartment, barely less grim than his office, he used mainly for sleeping and showering. True, it didn't stink of dead cigarettes, but it lacked his office's high-speed internet connection.

He hesitated at the door, returned to the desk and hooked up the laptop. Odd. Nothing new from Drew; he'd expected a report on the latest fruit fly scans and hoped for word from MTJ. Drew had seemed so moody, almost depressed. Paul hoped he was not losing enthusiasm for their research.

Hey, here was an email headed Lost and Found: I have your book. He'd almost deleted it as spam. Local phone number. Well, well, well. He picked up the phone.

"Hello, this is Jill Shannon." Classical guitar music played in the background.

After a pause to make sure he hadn't got a recorded message, he said: "Paul Gibson here. I got your email."

There was an equal pause at the other end. "Oh, yes. I have the book you left at the Center."

"Thanks for looking after it, that was careless of me."

"I know I should have handed it in to the front desk but I was afraid you might—"

"Not at all, who knows where it might have ended up? Some second-hand shop, probably. Could I come by somewhere convenient to you and pick it up?

"Sure. I'm at home, well, obviously, it's Sunday night..." Her voice trailed off. After a moment she added, "Right now if you want."

"Where are you?"

"Thirty-second and Fruth."

"Ah. I'm not far away. I can be there in... twenty or thirty minutes. Need to catch up on my running, this is a good opportunity."

"Fine. It's 3204, the white house with the stone wall around the front yard."

"Okay, see you soon."

Sunday, May 18

Jill started to put the handset down, lifted it again to her ear, gave an embarrassed laugh. "It's just as well you're not still in San Antonio, that'd be quite a long run."

But the phone was dead. He'd hung up. Jill felt her face flush.

---

By the time she tucked the covers around Alex, he was asleep. Was he tiring more easily? The episode at the pool still frightened her. No, calm down, he'd simply been playing hard all day. But a sickened part of her was preparing to hear the worst when she and Alex went back to see Dr. Collins. She lightly kissed the boy's forehead, quietly closed the door behind her. She glanced again at her watch. In less than ten minutes Paul would be here.

She started toward the kitchen to wash the dishes, hesitated, turned instead into her bedroom and assessed herself critically. In her ragged cut-offs and one of Keith's old shirts, she looked about as enticing as a street person. Well, at least the sloppy shirt partially concealed her weight. What the hell, might as well show off her most attractive feature. She pulled out the pins securing her hair in a tight knot, shook it loose, found her brush. Shiny honey-brown waves fell about her shoulders. She hadn't worn her hair this way in public, she realized, since the divorce.

Bringing her laptop and a file from work, along with Paul's book, Jill sat on the front porch so he wouldn't ring the doorbell and wake Alex. When the front gate clicked open she jumped, startled.

"Oh, hi!" Reaching for the book on the porch railing, she almost dropped her laptop. Paul bent forward on the walk in front of the porch, held his knees, breathing in deep, hard gasps. "Uh, are you all right?"

"Don't mind me," he said between breaths. "Cardiac arrest is one of my favourite hobbies."

"Sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Overestimated my knowledge of the area. I should have slowed to a walk a couple of streets back." He sat down on the top step, close to Jill's feet.

"Here's the errant book." She handed it to him, then wondered if that was too abrupt. "Could I get you something to drink? Water? Tea?"

"No, thanks. I'll be running back." He opened the book, glanced at the minimal address label. "How'd you find my email address?"

Should I mention actually seeing him at the Garcia Center? She felt herself flush. Nah. Sounds like stalking. "Google. Figured you had to be with the university."

"Yeah, I'm over here on a two-year fellowship."

"Studying what? Sorry, that's rude of me."

"Not at all. Well, I'm..." He broke off, searching for words.

"Short and simple for the poor non-scientist here?"

He grinned. "Let's see. Um, chemicals that control brain cell growth and operation. And influence how we feel and behave."

"Ah, the dreaded War on Drugs, I suppose?" Somehow he seemed less threatening in his sweaty tee shirt and shorts, sitting on her steps, than at the Garcia snack room.

"Well, yeah, these days you pretty much have to put that spin on it to get a fellowship." He shrugged. "My main interest's improving the brain's effectiveness and efficiency."

"Like, with drugs?" Sounded crazy and probably illegal, but there'd been an article in the New York Times.

"Pharmaceuticals might be part of it. Really, I'm concentrating on the genetics of intelligence. The inherited brain structures that underlie intelligence, that is. But lifestyle, too—sleep, diet, and so forth. Training."

"Marathon runs for your brain?"

Paul smiled up at her from his step. "Sure. Same principle as sports training. In fact, one of my colleagues in the psych department works with athletes to get the most out of their workouts by doing exactly that—training their minds."

"So you're not a health expert?" Her pang of disappointment told her that she'd been hoping, absurdly, for something new and wonderful that might help Alex.

"Only in mice." He smiled ruefully. "Sorry for putting you to the trouble of lugging my book around." He glanced at her laptop. "Nice machine. You write?"

"Only dry, legal documents."

"Ah, a lawyer!"

Silence fell. Jill sought frantically for some other topic, but Paul didn't seem to mind. He leaned back on his elbows looking up into the pecan tree canopy with a relaxed smile.

Oh God, he's so cute when he smiles like that, Jill thought, sort of little-boyish. She felt her mind scurrying like a mouse in a cage, searching for something clever to say. But he was getting to his feet, stretching. He hadn't even asked her what she'd been doing in the Garcia building. Now he was leaving; she'd never see him again. "Look, this is pushy of me," he said, turning back, "but could I ask you a legal question?"

Ask me anything you want if you'll just stay here a little longer. "Sure."

"My landlord's selling the apartment building, and the new owner wants to raise the rent twenty-five dollars a month, starting next month. But I was supposed to have the apartment until the end of the year at my present rent."

"I'd have to look at the lease to tell you for sure, but your landlord probably has an obligation to pay you the difference between your rent under your contract and the new rent."

"Would you?" he asked.

"Would I what?"

"Look at the lease?"

"You have it with you?" Jill felt ridiculous even as she spoke. Obviously he did not have the lease with him. "Sorry, I—"

"I could bring it another day."

"Sure. That'd be fine. After seven is usually best for me."

"Thank you, Jill. And thanks again for taking good care of my book and tracking me down. Can't tell you how much I appreciate it." He gave a wave. "Bye, then, for now."

"See ya." The gate clicked and he was gone, picking up speed.

He's interesting, she told herself, he's smart, he's cute. I wonder what it would be like to— She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and pictured the two of them together on her bed. No, I can do better than that—walking along a deserted beach. We build a driftwood fire, spread our blanket, sit and watch the sunset. His arm is around me. I caress his face. He turns to me, and we kiss passionately... She sat forward abruptly. Alex! Where's Alex while this romantic love scene's taking place?

Jill's shoulders slumped. Lusting after some guy was worse than idiotic. It was disloyal. Alex was her whole life, and now that he was ill... Dear God, every possible moment was owed to him. Her heart clutched. How could she think of taking a single minute away from him? On top of that, Paul was obviously involved with precisely the kind of "conquest of nature' she'd been opposing for years, the sort of technological juggernaut BlickPharm were trying to counter.

Anyhow, she reminded herself with a snort, coming the rest of the way back down to earth: Fat chance someone like Paul Gibson would be interested in me.

Tuesday, May 20

The Serenity Holistic Health Clinic now had neat white lettering and a logo that reminded Wayne of a bird's wings painted across the front of the window.

Dr. Pritchett seemed ready to get down to business today. The moment Wayne walked in the door, the pretty-faced little man started right in picking at him.

"I noticed you seemed to be uncomfortable in that chair last week. Would you prefer to relax in the recliner?"

None of your goddamned business, thought Wayne. He walked past the brown recliner and sat again on the wooden chair that had been pushed against the desk.

"Okay. Now, that book you borrowed," Dr. Pritchett said. "I'm wondering what you think of it so far."

Oh shit! He'd driven off without it. "I forgot to bring it back."

"Keep it until you finish." Dr. Pritchett waved a thin, delicate hand. "Have you had a chance to read any of it yet?"

"First couple of chapters is all. See, I'm not a very fast reader these days. That's one reason I wanted to read it. I was hoping it could help me to be a fast reader again, like before Melody..." Wayne could have kicked himself. It wasn't any of this guy's business.

Dr. Pritchett let a long, silent moment pass. "There are ways to improve your reading speed and comprehension. We can work on that, if you'd like to."

Thank God the guy wasn't asking a lot of embarrassing questions.

"Yeah, okay." Wayne's stomach all of a sudden felt like there was a bumble bee buzzing around inside it. Same way he used to feel when he saw Melody walking down the sidewalk toward him when he was twelve years old, all nervous inside.

Dr. Pritchett went to an inner room and came back with a different book. "Here you are, Wayne. Start reading right here." The book was open to a point about halfway through. "Don't try to rush. Just go at your natural speed. This is not a test. It's just to establish a base reading speed so we can see how much you improve when you start practicing the techniques. Begin reading now and keep going until I tell you to stop."

"Okay." Wayne began to read. The words seemed familiar; Wayne was certain he had read this book before. Holding his place with a finger, he flipped the book closed, read the title on the spine: The Swiss Family Robinson. Some assignment in eighth grade, maybe, but he had no memory of actually reading it. And yet... He remembered the story now. Pretending he was on a desert island, building a house out of driftwood. He'd found some lumber someone was throwing away, dragged it back to the side yard where no one ever went. He asked to borrow his dad's hammer, and his dad wanted to see what he was doing.

"That's not the right way to do things, Wayne. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right. Now let me show you..."

It hadn't been fun anymore, not once Dad took over. He shuddered as memory caught him. The book tumbled from his lap.

Mama has baked him an angel food cake and when he gets home from school she wants the whole family to come to the kitchen to sing "Happy Birthday." Dad looks happy and excited and tells him, "Got a special present for you, son."

Wayne's more sensible side warns him not to get his hopes up, but he can feel himself grinning. I bet Dad got me the set of dumbbells, he thinks. Ever since seeing the ad in a magazine that promised a new body within a month, Wayne has dreamed of owning those dumbbells.

"It's out in the garage." Dad turns his back and heads out the back door. Feeling some misgivings now—Dad probably wouldn't have put the dumbbells in the garage—Wayne follows, dragging his feet as he approaches the side door of the garage, which Dad has left open. When he finally gets through the door he sees his father standing by a metal work table, beaming.

"It's a table saw, son. I'd have given an arm and a leg to have one of these when I was your age."

No, Dad, Wayne thinks, you'd have pulled a dirty trick on your only son to have one of these right now.

"Well what's the matter with you, Wayne? Don't just stand there like a deaf mutant. Don't you want to try it out?" Dad turns the thing on, a viciously sharp circle of steel whirring up through a slit in the tabletop. "See, Wayne," he says. "Here's how you do it." He pushes a board into the blade, and one end of the board falls to the floor with a sharp report. "Now you try it."

Wayne backs away, scared shitless of the thing, but Payback likes the idea of cutting boards in two. He pictures himself ramming Wayne's daddy into that blade. Wayne drops away into a background of terror...

... and Payback takes over, steps up to the saw, pushes the board at the blade. Stinging pain, not much worse than being stung by a wasp, and red drops spattering everywhere, and Wayne's daddy yelling, "Look out, boy! What the hell you think you're doing?" Payback skips out again, leaving Wayne to deal with the bloody mess.

Payback raised his right hand and wiggled the sawed-off finger stumps. Hot damn! Back in control. After years of skulking in the background, he was It again.

"Wayne?" the little shit was saying, leaning forward with an anxious look. "Are you feeling okay?"

"All that fuckin' reading's given me a headache." One thing was for sure, he needed to get the hell outta this quack's office, no matter how much Fern shelled out for Wayne to come here.

The skinny little dude nodded. "Might be best to take it easy, go slowly." Just like everyone else, not a clue he wasn't talking to Wayne any more.

"Listen, doc, no offence, but there's nothing wrong with me, and I'm a busy man." Payback stood, got his bearings, walked a little unsteadily to the door. He pushed out his chest, breathed deeply. One thing he couldn't stand about Wayne was the wimp's slouchy posture. "Nice talking to you, doc."

"See you next week." The little shit was scribbling something in his notebook. The hell you'll see me next week, Payback thought.