End on Extinct

Chapter One

Autumn 2027

FOLSOM 

Padded walls. At various times during the last dozen weeks, he had stared at them. Until today, they had seemed out of place. But, at last, he now understood them, their purpose in the hospital's special room, this place designed for doctors to share their devastating news. When all hope was lost, when life no longer held any control, these walls provided a place to inflict harm to one's self while processing the information.

Folsom wasn't a violent person. But a fury did roar in him at the highest moments when he felt like a victim trapped in some other rules of life. It seemed if one followed the ethics and laws of living correctly one should be spared from such heartache. 

Yet, here they were. Folsom clutched at her hand. The doctors had left them alone now to process the latest news. The most current update to her diagnosis appearing as if a knife were held to their throats.

Terminal. Stage IV liver failure. All the fighting they had done over the last several weeks held no victory. Rather in a slaughter of words, the team of doctors had declared her fate. No longer room for negotiations, no alternatives, no place for hope.

Dear Haizley, his beautiful wife of nearly fifteen years. They had moved from teenager to adulthood together, their formed identities intertwined, unable to be separated in so many ways. Over the years, they'd built a family of four lively incredible children. Established a life of happiness. Now to have all that smashed. Taken harshly away from them.

As Folsom hadn't been able to speak since the doctors left, Haizley was the one to at last break the silence. "I need to get back to my room."

He shifted his focus from the walls to the form next to him that no longer resembled his wife. The yellowing skin, the bloated body from toxins that couldn't find a way out. An orange scarf covered her head, reminding him that the vibrant blond, whose looks and energy had been passed down to the children, now held a primary focus of getting back to the pain medication for her necessary relief.

"We don't give up hope," he said directly to her warm hazel eyes.

"I think the doctors want us to prepare."

"No." He focused again on the padded walls. Together, they would challenge this. He would continue searching for an alternative for them. "We have to keep fighting." Because she was the rock, the foundation, the central love within their home. And the fun! She brought the life, the laughter, the adventures, whereas, Folsom easily could live inside his head. Problem-solving. Looking for ideas and fixes to be solved through science. "There has to be a solution, and we keep searching until we find it."

The grip of her hand tightened. Even amid her weakness, he felt her strength fighting through. "We need to prepare. That's what they are telling us. It's time Folsom to prepare for what's ahead."

If he looked back at her, the physical transformation of her body would validate the doctor's damning prognosis. It would speak that death was close ahead, so he delayed.

"I want my final days to be focused around the memories we built. The life we've had." Her other hand stacked on top of his. "We've had a good life, Folsom."

"What if there is another option?" He twisted back to meet her eyes.

"No." Her head shook slightly. "I'm tired. I just want what time is left to relive the good."

"Let's get you back," he said quietly, releasing their intertwined hands as he stood. He released the brakes on the wheelchair, but instead of proceeding just stared at the walls, wondering if punching them, banging his head on them, throwing a temper tantrum against them would actually help the pain inside.

"We find the resilience we need by holding on to the good," she spoke softly into his thoughts. "So, share with me your memories. Let's find ways now to live our best moments together. Again."

While listening to Haizley's words, Folsom headed toward the framed foam mats covered with teal-green padding. They reminded him of the high school gym where he would rough house with friends as they teased him over his year-long quiet crush, them pressuring him to ask her out. In fact, it was in that gym where he had shared his first kiss with her.

Suddenly a slew of memories hit Folsom, the music they shared, car rides, hanging out at the beach, surfing together. One of his greatest happiest moments, sharing his love of the ocean with her as they rode the waves, and the reassuring smile she had given him. All would be right in the world.

Suddenly, more of the big life memories followed: their wedding, their early married years as they worked to both get through school. Then the kids, Clark, Rex, Kate, and now little Liam. Each addition bringing Folsom even greater joy.

He pressed a fist into the padding, slow, and firm. He couldn't save her, but what if he could find a way to share with her that life she had given him, from his perspective. All the memories, from his experiences, showing her the way she had shaped and molded his life, all the joy she had given him.

"I want to give you my memories," he said, looking past the dying body to a woman so full of life.

"I want that." She smiled and he saw it, that youthful smile in the waves, the moment when he fully knew he loved her.

He could practically hear it now, her teenage laughter. Certainly, he could easily hear her laughter with the children. Running circles around the couches, the games of tag, the boys jumping off the furniture, the whole family making forts. The laughing. They all had been laughing.

Sharing each other's memories—Folsom approached this notion like another puzzle to be solved. She took the painkillers to redirect the pain. So, what if her mind took in a different perception, something that countered the body's message of pain. What if he could be the source sending that different message to her mind? Redirecting the neurons, replacing them with a different flow of information, his flow, the memories he carried of her.

"Folsom!" Her voice cut into his brainstorming.

He looked over at her while the mind still fired rapidly over the idea, the realization that his recent lab work already had something thinly like this underway, the neuron communication, the redirecting. Sure, it was a ways off, and entirely different, but it was a launching point, a place to begin.

He now saw her concern, that slight sadness she sometimes gave him, a look of confusion, or unsurety, when he became too lost in his inventive mind. "My sum," she said quietly, her nickname for him penetrating through the protective room. "Stay with me."

"It's just an idea. A solution to a need."

"I'm sure it is."

"How science could help you. Help us."

"I will always believe you are the best biochemist. And, that the world has yet to recognize your greatness. But..." she slowly shook her head, "I don't need you to fix anything right now. I just need you to stay with me."

He nodded, aware of what she was asking, but also aware of the idea which was growing in his mind. An idea that spurred hope. And hope dulled the pain.

If he could invent something to help her right now then he could be an active participant in giving her life through her final days, rather than a passive observer. He could find a way. And he would do it. He would give Haizley his memories. Show her the life she had given him.

"Yes, love." He would find her a solution.