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Friday - September 17

Ted looks down the hallway and sees a figure standing in the shadows. He notices that Monica has come to a frozen halt and wonders why she's heeding to their beck and call. Monica tells Ted that she'll meet him at the lab. He looks at her and says, "Sure," and leaves. Ted turns the corner and looks over his shoulder. Monica stops, turns around to look at Ted, who quickly turns around and disappears.

Monica walks quickly towards the figure, and when she's within speaking distance she whispers, "Why are you here? It's not your time yet. What's wrong?"

The figure leans forward and whispers into Monica's ear. She drops her tray and asks, "When?"

"Two hours ago," the figure replies.

Monica stomps her foot, and smashes her fist into her hand and says, "What the hell is he doing? Does he know?" she asks, with great anticipation.

The person whispers, "Of course he does."

"Great! What more can go wrong? What more?" Monica vocalizes louder.

"Calm down. They received the test results, so don't panic. Just keep up your responsibilities and everything will be okay. Understand?"

Monica stares at the figure, turns around waving her arm, and walks away uttering, "Whatever!" and disappears around the corner same as Ted.

The figure watches Monica disappear as they pull a cigarette from a pack in their shirt pocket, and then lights it up. The figure inhales deeply, exhaling a hefty puff of smoke. Not caring about any rules, the figure throws the butt onto the floor, leaving it to burn out on its own.

As Ted and I wait for Monica to arrive, we eat some of the food Ted brought back from the cafeteria. I'm not that hungry. I feel like I have a hangover and need as much coffee as I can get. When I begin to pour my fourth cup, Monica walks in with the lab report.

"Where's your tray?" Ted asks.

"Oh... um... I left it in the lab. That's okay, though. I'm not hungry. But I would like a cup of coffee if there's any left," Monica asks, as she kicks off her shoes and sits on the couch. "Thanks, Ted," she says, as he brings her a cup of coffee.

"Is that the report?" Ted wants to know, as he points to the yellow envelope.

"Yes, it is. Here you go."

Ted snatches the envelope, eagerly opens it, and quickly removes the report. He sits to study the report's findings.

"John, do you still have your dad's storage box?" Ted asks.

I don't want to converse with anyone today; or tomorrow. I want Claire. I know I should be concentrating on this damn outbreak, but I can't. My heart is smashed. Claire! God, I miss you so much, baby!

"John? John? Did you hear me, man?"

"What, Ted? Sorry. I guess I'm still out of it from the Thorazine," as I give him the only logical excuse I can conjure up.

"Is your dad's storage box here? I need to look at test subject number three's last blood tests before he expired."

I nod my head to a corner, and say, "It's over there next to the white cabinet."

Ted goes to the corner, picks up the box, and then sets it on the coffee table. He fingers through the folders until he locates the one labeled "Lab Reports – Test Subject Number Three." Ted pulls out the folder, drags a chair to my desk, and then flops down. He opens the folder and begins to thumb through the old report, until he says, "Here we go! This should shed some light!"

Monica and I watch Ted attentively read each line of the report. I can see that he's hoping to find some helpful information.

"Well, Ted," I say, "what's the verdict, man? Have you discovered something that might help us with the virus? Or is it a dead end?"