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Friday - September 17

Ted continues to read, and then in a dismay tone he says, "Well, I guess that was a long shot. I thought I may have had something. But the test results prove otherwise."

"Prove what, Ted?" Monica asks.

"Gerald wrote about the future in his journal, and then test subject number three dies. Or did he?"

"Did he what, Ted?" I ask.

"Did test subject number three really die?"

I look at Ted, scoff, and say, "Of course he did. He was my uncle. My dad wouldn't lie about that, Ted. Geez, man, what are you trying to prove? Tell us."

"It was just a notion I was entertaining. But like I said, the test results have proven me wrong and, therefore, I can throw that idea away," Ted says, with a hint of discouragement on his face.

"Well, Ted, man, at least you're thinking. That's better than I'm doing," as I give Ted kudos for whatever he's thinking.

"Yes, but... I thought... I was so sure that... Well, never mind. It doesn't matter now. Let's move forward onto something else. Does anyone else have any new brainstorms?" Ted asks.

Monica and I both shake our heads no. Ted lowers his head, exhales a deep sigh, and says, "Well, I guess I can go recheck the lab reports that have been completed, in case we may have overlooked something. You want to come along, Monica?"

"Sure, Ted. Um... let me grab some more coffee and we can go."

"John, what are you going to do?" Ted asks.

Not sure about doing anything, I reply, "I need a shower. I reek! I can't even stand to smell myself. Where will you two be? I'll head there when I finish showering."

"Um, well, like I mentioned, we should start with the lab reports. So, we'll be in the lab, reading reports, and checking on anything new since last night," Ted says.

"Okay."

"We'll see you down at the lab, John," Monica says, as she goes to the door.

Ted picks up the lab reports of test subject number three's reports, and says, "Later, John."

"Later."

As I watch Ted and Monica leave, I lean back in my chair, holding a cold cup of coffee, and think of Claire. I set my cup down and open the bottom desk drawer. I remove a box containing miscellaneous stuff, nearly spilling its contents on the floor. Wondering if I should torture myself with any more agony, I decide to rummage through the memories.

The first item I remove is a handcrafted Smiley face that Claire made when I was promoted to CDC Viral Director. Made from a piece of white paper, Claire drew a circle and colored the inside of it yellow. But instead of drawing lines for its facial features, she wrote "I love you" in tiny letters, creating the Smiley face.

The next item I find is my graduation picture when I received my PhD. Claire insisted that I pose like a scholar, instead of a goofy twenty-eight year old who liked to live it up now and then.

The next item was from my dad; his class ring from high school. "Dad, what the hell have you done? You killed Claire and our son. Why, Dad? Why did you do this to us?" I threw the ring back into the box and begin to cry. I started crumbling the Smiley face picture in my fist when my office phone rings.

Not wanting to answer any calls, I figure I better, since I am the acting director of the CDC. I clear my throat, wipe my nose and eyes with my sleeve, and hit the answer button. "Hello, this is Dr. Bennett."

"Dr. John Bennett?" asks the caller.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Dr. Bennett, my name is Shamus O'Connor. I own the building that Ruth Bennett-Hanley leased an apartment from. First of all, permit me to express my condolences for your loss. Ruth, Ms. Bennett-Hanley, was an exceptional person. She never brought any grievances to my attention, and nor were there any grievances about her. All the tenants are truly saddened by her loss."