Dr Jackie & Mr Hideo

Chapter 5 (Cont'd)

*

The afternoon sun cast long shadows as I walked down the street. I decided to make a detour on my way home, a quick visit to the City Botanical Gardens. Curtis had mentioned a new exhibition featuring a rare collection of exotic flora, including a specimen of the elusive Soma flower. Courtesy of Mr. Watson, of course.

The gardens were a much-needed respite from the sterile environment of the lab. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and damp earth, a symphony of fragrances that tickled my nose and invigorated my senses. I followed the winding paths, my eyes scanning the meticulously labeled displays, until I finally found what I was looking for.

The Soma flower exhibit was housed in a small, climate-controlled greenhouse, its thick glass walls shimmering in the afternoon light. A warning sign on the door cautioned visitors about the adjusted atmospheric pressure within. Inside, a single, exquisite blossom emerged from a pool of still water, its pristine white petals unfurling gracefully around a crown of vibrant golden stamens.

The flower seemed to radiate an ethereal glow, its delicate fragrance filling the air with a sweet, intoxicating aroma. It was a distinct scent, one that even mixed with other compounds, would be hard to mistake.

Which begged the question: How the hell had I confused it with a caffeine drink?

Curtis had mentioned trying to persuade Mr. Watson to invest in our research. But the eccentric billionaire, apparently, wasn't interested in de-aging technology. He'd told Curtis that aging was a natural process, a necessary part of the human experience, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the beauty of impermanence, blah blah blah.

Eccentric? More like backward and ridiculously out of touch. Like a billionaire version of a grumpy grandpa who refuses to use a smartphone because "rotary phones were good enough for me".

I leaned closer to the exhibit, squinting at the small plaque beneath the flower. It read:

The Soma Flower: Revered in ancient religious texts as the "Flower of the Gods," the Soma flower was once thought to be a mythical symbol of immortality. Rediscovered just a decade ago, it remains critically endangered and is believed to be extinct in the wild due to overharvesting and habitat destruction.

Ironic, isn't it? The flower of immortality, on the verge of extinction. Just like my career if I didn't figure out a way to get my hands on more of it.

I wondered if the other visitors, strolling through the greenhouse with their cameras and guidebooks, realized they were admiring a plant worth more than a Ferrari. I glanced around, noting the surprisingly lax security. Understandable, I guess. What self-respecting thief would break into a botanical garden to steal... plants? Especially a plant as rare and obscure as the Soma flower, with no apparent commercial market or practical application.

Except, of course, for the whole immortality thing. Which, you know, was kind of a big deal.

But they didn't know that. They just saw a pretty flower. I, on the other hand, saw a scientific breakthrough, a potential cure for countless diseases, a chance to rewrite the history of human existence. And, well, maybe a shiny Nobel Prize with my name on it.

I pushed away the intrusive thoughts. Stealing a priceless, critically endangered flower was not exactly a move that screamed "Nobel Prize material". Besides, Curtis was working his magic, charming potential investors with his silver tongue and impeccable academic credentials. We'd get our Soma flowers, legally and ethically. And in the meantime, I could focus on enjoying my newfound youth.

I left the greenhouse, feeling a sense of calm settle over me. Everything was going to be fine. No need to panic. No need to resort to desperate measures.

Instead of heading home, I decided to text Joe, and within minutes, I was standing in his cramped basement apartment, surrounded by amps, speakers, and enough musical equipment to outfit a small orchestra.

Joe and our drummer, a guy named Kevin who looked like he subsisted solely on energy drinks and adrenaline, were already jamming when I arrived. I grabbed a spare electric guitar and joined in, the music washing over me like a tidal wave.

We played for hours, the basement vibrating with the raw energy of our impromptu jam session. I lost myself in the music, my fingers flying across the fretboard, my brain blissfully free from the anxieties that had been plaguing me for the whole day.

As we finished our last set, sweat dripping from our foreheads and our ears ringing with the lingering echoes of distorted guitar riffs, I couldn't help but think: Yeah, this is good. Why rush?

I arrived home late, exhausted but exhilarated from the jam session. As I fumbled with my keys, I noticed something strange. The door to my apartment was slightly ajar.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. I hadn't left it unlocked. Had I?

I cautiously pushed the door open. The sight that greeted me was pure chaos.

Drawers were pulled open, their contents strewn across the floor. Bookshelves were overturned, their literary inhabitants scattered like fallen leaves. Cushions were ripped open, their fluffy innards spilling out like disemboweled plush toys.

It was a scene of utter destruction. Except...

Nothing seemed to be missing.My laptop was still on my desk, its screen displaying the same complex equations I'd been struggling with earlier. My spare wallet, with its meager collection of cash, was untouched on the coffee table. Even the dusty jar of loose change I kept for laundry emergencies was still sitting on the shelf.

It was like someone had gone to great lengths to trash my apartment without actually stealing anything.

***