A soft glow emanated from the window of an internal office and spread out over a long counter that ran down the center of the lab. Beakers, flasks, and slide mounts picked up and reflected back pinpoints of light while two thermocyclers sat back-to-back on the counter, facing out to either side as if crouching to rest before they paced off steps for a duel. Cabinets along the walls held equipment manuals, micropipettors, and spare parts for microscopes and other equipment. The window to the office revealed a man sitting before a computer. He flipped through papers and scrolled through pages on the screen, taking the time to read each.
The compact office was warm compared to the expansive lab outside. A flush suffused the man's gaunt cheeks beneath several days' worth of stubble as he opened a case study folder and located Subject CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F. His wife's life had been reduced for him to the large handful of reports from both the hospital labs and from his own study of the Cry1Ab proteins found in blood tissues of humans who consumed foods genetically modified by the company who employed him, Maverick BioScience. The information sat waiting for him every night in a folder on his computer. Each time he opened the folder, Leslie's emaciated face from the last days of her life exploded in his mind.
"What can I get you?" he whispered into her ear as he pulled the hair back to tuck it away. With his lips near her ear, she could not see the tears that threatened to spill over.
She leaned her head into his lips and he inhaled the apricot scent of her favorite shampoo. Her fingers fluttered at her side because she no longer had the strength to raise her arm and he gently took her hand in his. A fresh, glossy coat of pink polish decorated her nails. It had come to this. Tiny joys. Fresh sunflowers on the windowsill each day. New fuzzy socks. And nail polish. He had never felt so helpless in his life.
The computer beeped. He had held down a key too long on the keyboard.
The reports in front of him had been studied for so long that he dreamt about them. Long nights were filled with tossing and turning, and a brain that would not go to sleep. His mind was in a constant state of seeking what Subject CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F was hiding.
He went through the sequence of thoughts that followed opening this file every evening. First, the pesticidal crystal Cry1Ab protein. It was what made maize resistant to pests and herbicides. Plenty of research studies concluded humans lack a receptor for the protein. So it wasn't the protein. What then? What was it that nagged at the back of his brain? There was something there, something in those files that would tell him why Leslie had died. He knew it was there. Healthy women in their twenties didn't die from ALS three months after diagnosis. He just had to keep looking.
He double-clicked the final pathology report from the hospital lab and looked at the numbers and figures on the page. They had not changed since the last time he had looked at them. The proteins had not changed. TDP-43, the binding protein between DNA and RNA, so often mutated in ALS patients, was normal and stared back at him patiently waiting for him to figure it out.
"Something is missing, something is missing, something is missing," continued to play like a broken record in his mind. He swiped his finger across the screen and closed all the files with frustration, then sat back in his chair staring at the background displayed on the monitor. The Maverick BioScience logo blurred as his eyes lost focus. He needed to take a different tack.
For a second his eyes closed and he rubbed his temple with his thumb and forefinger. Maybe some of the other scientists had research notes that held clues. Sitting forward abruptly, he pulled the keyboard closer and tapped the keys to complete a content search for CJC-Bt-Cry1Ab-147F. The files from his Subject folder appeared in the search results listed before him. An expanded search system-wide found no additional files.
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Argent Glass
Mystery / ThrillerThe day Andrew's best friend tells him there's a no-fly zone near their homes changes everything. One minute they're talking conspiracy theories, the next they're hiking into a restricted zone to uncover what they suspect is another Area 51. The arm...