Knocking on Death's Door

Somewhere over the city skyline, there was a bunker dug under a hill. Hidden away inside that bunker lived a senile old man, unfortunate in looks and bitter in spirit. He chose to shut himself out after retiring from his job at a university and rather forcefully too. The University council thought it was high time the doctor lived out the rest of his days peacefully, and so he reluctantly disappeared from the world's eye and hid well into the hill, alone with nothing but his books and what little lab equipment he could muster up from the University laboratory. For the next several years, the doctor fussed over his lab tests, trying feverishly to crack a code even a man of his intellect would find nearly impossible. But still, he experimented on, as though his very life depended on it.

One evening when the man was sitting at his desk, in a study room lit by a dying blub. Two large books were laid out in front of him— an encyclopedia on Biological Chemistry and another text on forensic DNA. He slumped over the books with colored pens and a notebook for recording his findings. "Yes, it's perfect," he murmured to himself. "Now, all I need is... is a..."

A metallic banging of the door echoed throughout the bunker, startling the doctor out of his train of thought. Looking down he realized his notes had become scattered over the desk top and floor. Cussing at the wretched sound, he gathered papers with shaky hands and shoved everything in a pile.

"Professor Ridley, are you there?" a woman's soft voice called beyond the door. "It's Catherine."

The doctor reorganized his notes and straightened out, his joints cracking with every movement. He hobbled to the door to allow Catherine in. A code was punched into a key pad beside the door and a series of mechanic locks were quickly undone before Dr. Ridley could push open the door. With a low creak, it swung open and a young woman with a small stature and short, brown hair stepped into the bunker. She held a basket of wine.

"Good evening, Professor." She said with a bright smile.

"Hello, Catherine," the doctor replied, showing a feeble smile. "It's been many months since you've visited."

"Yes, I know, sorry for the sudden visit, but I've missed coming by. So much has happened since I last saw you. I brought you some nice wine from my uncle's vineyard." Catherine said.

"Come in then, we'll talk over tea." He didn't have the heart to say that, in his old age, alcohol just didn't agree with him anymore. Still, without a word, Catherine gave the professor her basket and followed him into a sitting room. "Tell me, Catherine, where have you been all this time?" He made his way to the nearby kitchenette to get a kettle going over the stove.

"I've been off with family in the countryside. Not more than a month ago, Richard and I had our first child. We named him Oliver," Catherine said. She pulled out a picture from her purse to show Dr. Ridley when he came back into the sitting room with a plate of finger food. He set down the tray and took hold of the picture. It was a charming little family photo of Catherine with her husband. They held a small bundle in the middle, adorned in brightly colored clothing. The blues and yellows of their Sunday clothes popped against green trees in the background. Catherine and Richard were beaming, lost in the eyes of the little one in the blanket. Dr. Ridley sighed as he handed back the photo.

"Oh, it's lovely," he said flatly. "Makes an old cripple wish for his younger years."

"I think you've aged quite well, Professor," said Catherine. Dr. Ridley brushed off the nicety and returned to the kitchen. Still, she continued. "It's a shame they made you retire at the University. Things haven't been the same since you've been gone."

"They're idiots, all of them," said the professor.

"Well, I'm sure you've found something to do in your spare time. Tell me, what have you been up to?"

"Oh nothing much, really. Maybe an experiment or two." Dr. Ridley said. He eyed the kettle over the stove. His eyes began to stray from the kettle to the cluttered sink. The light was reflected off a knife sitting among the unwashed dishes and test tubes. His gaze rested on that knife. "Actually, I've been reading up on DNA and genetic alterations," He continued with a quiver in his voice. "There are so many fascinating things we can do with two sets of DNA. Replace limbs, cure disorders, and many more untested things. Imagine the possibilities, Catherine."

"Fascinating," she said.

Dr. Ridley rose from the couch, slowly and with pain shooting down his legs. He hobbled to the kitchen, his hands stretched out to take the knife in the sink with palms drenched in sweat. "Yes, I've been longing to give it a test, but... I've been ripped away from my lab. Those bloody idiots!"

Catherine started to bend forward to reach for a cracker and slice of her favorite cheese sitting at the top of the plate in front of her. "I'm sure they'll find some new uses for gene replacement in the future. In fact, I wouldn't doubt it for a second." She said.

Dr. Ridley had the knife clutched in his hand. "Catherine, your optimism has kept you young," he said. "I've always admired that about you. I quite wish I was more like you," the doctor crept across the room, still holding the knife by his side. The distance between him and Catherine was closing quickly. "It's been so long since I've been able to enjoy myself. Old age is utterly miserable." He found himself brushing up against the back of the sofa while she was turned away. "I long to walk without the aches, and to see without glasses, like before, but mostly, I want my mind to be sharp again, like yours." He slowly drew the knife. "I do wish you could understand."

The kettle began to boil, and a whistle overwhelmed their ears like a ringing siren. Dr. Ridley had not heard the kettle. His eyes were fixed on Catherine as she snacked on crackers. As the distance between them finally closed, he let his wobbly hand fall swiftly, and the knife dug deep into Catherine's back. Red began to seep through flower-print in her pink dress, and she let out an awful scream.

Catherine's small frame turned and twisted against the blade. She reached out for something, but he could not tell for what. All she grasped was air. It was like watching an animal try to escape a cage. Pity he thought. Her throaty screams began to die down while the kettle continued to scream. He could not see her eyes, but he was sure that if he did, he would be sick with regret. And so he kept her face out of sight. All there was to see was the shine of her brown hair, where he fixated his eyes as he eased her against the couch.

Finally, he let her rest, and gathered up what he needed. His cold laughter echoed in the sitting room as he rubbed his blood-stained fingers together, taking in her DNA. "I got it," he said to himself. "Yes, everything is going to be okay now. I'm saved at last."