The Arms of Morpheus

Chapter 9

Sitting in silence amidst the clinical whitewashed walls of the office, Noel could no longer hear a word the doctor was saying. The man seemed to be miming.

The blood test results had been returned from the laboratory mid-morning, showing what the doctor had described as "an anomaly" in his biochemistry. A PrP gene mutation: Killer prions.

From that moment he had stopped listening, his non-essential bodily functions shutting down. He had heard all he needed to.

The news had shocked him, even traumatised him, but it had not surprised him. Deep down, he had always known what the result would be. The eyes had told him, the blood test had merely confirmed it. Now, as the doctor explained the consequences of what this meant to his health and suggested unheard therapy, Noel collapsed into himself, finding solace in the deepest recesses of his psyche.

He was fully aware of what it meant, of what was happening in his head, right now, as he sat in quiet recognition.

Proteins were misforming, being inverted, changing shape from their normal helix to ribbon-like Beta strands. They were beginning to accumulate, sticking together, infecting neighbouring prions into the mutated form, starting a chain reaction that could not and would not be stopped. His thalamus - the part of his brain directly responsible for his sleep/ wake cycle - was slowly being invaded by a conglomeration of killer proteins, forming thalamic voids in his brain, turning it into a sponge-like mass.

He was conscious of its presence, but even worse; he could feel it.

The doctor continued his mime, indicating with his hand that the conversation was at an end. Noel stood, walking towards the door with one thought in his mind: How the hell was he going to tell Amelia?

                                                                                ***

Closing the door behind him, Noel placed his car keys onto a nearby shelf and walked into the kitchen. He opened the door of the tall, white refrigerator, indulging himself in the icy chill it offered. He had been sweating again, his clothing soaked.

Reaching in, he grasped a carton of orange juice and took a large swig direct from the container. Amelia hated it when he did that, but what the hell; life was for living. Enjoying the anarchy of the moment, he took a second mouthful, closing the fridge door.

Amelia stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest in a gesture of irritation. Since Noel had revealed that their daughter could be affected by a condition that she had never even heard of, things had been a little strained. His theory, although delusional, had certainly unnerved her.

She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to speak.

He looked at the orange juice; caught red handed. Damn.

'Sorry, babe. I'll finish the whole thing now I've started.' He said, avoiding eye contact.

She glared, incredulous.

'Screw the juice, Noel. What about the test results?'

He sat at the table, reading the label on the juice carton. 'Is Blake here?'

'Yes, upstairs.' Amelia said. 'I've told her Mommy and Daddy have got some adult things to talk about. She's fine.'

He pulled a chair from under the table, beckoning her to sit down. Under duress she did as instructed.

'The test result showed a gene mutation in my biochemistry.' His words were crisp and clinical. 'It's not good, Mel. The results have confirmed what I thought. I have the illness.'