The Man for a Missy (ON HOLD)

Prologue

"I don't understand," Genevieve sat forward in her chair, unable to make sense of what the doctor was saying. Disbelief had her blinking back tears; fear made her heart pound. "Her father's condition didn't manifest until his mid forties. You also said something about the low chances of it affecting her, too. Why is this happening?"

"I know, madam. I told you that because it's known to skip generations most times but we just had to be sure." The man said, clasping his hands on the desk, his expression grim. "The juvenile type is very rare but it does occur, which is what's happening in your daughter's case. Such deviation from one type to the other is unheard of. We can neither understand nor explain it. "

"But she's fine," She said, desperate. "There's been no pain, no weakness or stiffness......nothing. I would know. Her father always complained of those, even before he was confined to a wheelchair."

"It's different. In your husband's case it progressed slowly, precipitating chronic symptoms. She will most likely not experience any of them until the last stages."

"And you're telling me there's no treatment for whatever this thing is," She clenched her teeth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I'm afraid not. You were here. We tried everything, home and abroad. If anything, it worsened the condition. Although genetic therapy is a formidable area for us, new options are still being tested; hopefully there would be a solution soon."

"Yes, but it won't be in time to save my daughter." She hung her head, covered her face and wept.

The man, solemn, said. "We're truly sorry."

Sniffling, she dabbed her tears away with a handkerchief, regained composure. The words dashed all hope, condemning. They'd told her before, while her husband grappled for life, confined within the pristine white walls of the hospital and its aseptic smell. Once again, they would rob her family. She'd been afraid of this, knew deep down that such a tragedy would reoccur, the doubt niggling her all year long while she avoided the hospital. Now, her worst fears had come true. Resolved, she could barely speak past the lump lodged in her throat, making her whisper, "How long does she have?"

Genevieve's legs felt like lead as she drifted along the corridor, the murmurs emanating from rooms clogging her ears. One had the blinds on the door open and she glimpsed the family there, father and son comforting the injured woman who was both a wife and mother, reminding her of what she'd lost. Long ago it had been her dying husband on that bed, in that same room, with their daughter nestled next to him, sobbing until sleep brought solace. Genevieve could remember an inconsolable little girl, screaming at the comatose man, shaking him.

Daddy, wake up! Wake up! I want to play with you! Daddy!

She closed her eyes against the memory, hating the emotions it evoked. She'd never felt so helpless, so useless in her life, seeing her daughter in so much pain and being unable to do anything. It was the worst thing a mother could go through besides losing her child. After such an experience for one so young yet more sensitive than most children, the girl had gone through an emotional ordeal. Forever changed, her child was taciturn and morose; eyes that had brightened with so much life were perpetually bleak. Genevieve didn't know when she stepped outside, except now she could feel the warmth of the sun, the flurry of wind rippling her clothes and tousling her hair.

Removing wisps of hair slanted across her face as she walked, she descried Jachy lounging on a bench by her lonesome, legs swinging, immersed in some other world while those fingers rapidly moved, solving.

Captivated, Genevieve stopped beside the building up ahead, folded her arms, watched. Her daughter had always been unusual, somewhat special. Sometimes she wondered if the girl was human; other times if she was eleven at all, because her capabilities were well beyond her years. Maybe i just don't know her.Although Genevieve hated to admit the bitter truth but they were total strangers, and it had taken the death of her father to realize that. Absentmindedly, she began twiddling the ring around her finger.