Flores Girl: The Children God Forgot Part 1

Flores Girl: The Children God Forgot

By Erik John Bertel

Copyright 2005, 2012

Publisher 

Millennium Writing 

64 Bellewood Avenue

Centereach, NY 11720

Published 2008 

ISBN: 0-9822576-0-0, 78-0-9822576-0-9

Copyright 2005, 2012 by Erik John Bertel

Edited by Katrina Robinson, Calliope Writing Services, LLC

No part of this novel shall be copied, broadcast, or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author Erik John Bertel or Millennium Publishing.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This is purely a work for entertainment, and any similarity to any real or fictional person or event is purely coincidental.

Version 1.c

Dedication

To My Nancy,

You gave me the opportunity and that is all I could ask for.

Your Loving Erik

Prologue

On October 28th, 2004 Australian scientists announced to the world a startling fossil hominid find they had recently made in a large cave complex on Flores Island. Their discovery, called Homo floresiensis, appeared to be a dwarf variation of an early human ancestor called Homo erectus, who inhabited the Indonesian Island of Flores some thirteen thousand years ago. The adult Homo floresiensis stood three feet tall; they lived on the island with modern humans for thousands of years. Perhaps coincidentally, perhaps not, the islanders also have a local folk legend regarding a dwarf race of people that they called the Ebu Gogo.  

Since the announcement, scientists have been in a fervent debate as to whether or not the "Hobbits," as they were called by the press, were a new species or were, in fact, a group of diseased human beings. Anthropologists are now scouring the island trying to find where Homo floresiensis made their last stand when faced with the continuous onslaught from humanity.  

What follows is a fictional account of their rediscovery and the repercussions of introducing such innocents to our less than brave new world.

The most important scientific revolutions all include, as their only common feature, the dethronement of human arrogance from one pedestal after another of previous convictions about our centrality in the cosmos. 

-Stephen Jay Gould (1941 - 2002)

Sarah's Island

"Why am I here?" Sarah cried aloud to herself while shaking her head against the spiraling winds. To her embarrassment, she observed the two native guides watching her, and she wondered if they had overheard her lamentable outburst. Damn it, she didn't want to create a scene, not now and definitely not during this furious storm.  

Dark clouds continued to encircle the beleaguered boat, and Sarah could only look up and shout, "Just my freaking luck!" 

The guides could see that their passenger was uncomfortable and doing all she could do to hang onto the side of the small boat. The storm chop worsened, and the spray washed over the open boat in a continuous, unrelenting shower over the boat's occupants. The small American brunette was dressed in her customary khaki long-sleeved shirt with shorts, all of which was soaked.  

When the first spray drenched her shirt, Sarah was initially concerned about giving the native guides an unintentional show as the wet shirt clung tightly to her breasts. Now, her only concern was to survive this ordeal. Goose bumps covered her exposed, tanned legs due to exposure from the cold ocean spray, and she fought hard to avoid shivering. She could hear the boat struggling against the swells as dark, pungent diesel smoke poured from the ancient motor.  

"Why did I agree to go on this stupid trip?" she yelled in the direction of the guides. 

Supar looked back at Sarah, observing how sad and lonely she appeared. Sarah, in turn, caught Supar watching her, so she managed a small, brave smile for him that said she knew everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, she did not believe that small lie for a moment as another large wave crashed against the boat.  

The small vessel bounced from swell to swell, and Sarah refused to relinquish her grip on one of the old rusty cleats. The grey, violent storm was rapidly closing in around the small boat, causing Sarah to question her sanity for agreeing to go on this research trip in the first place. What sane primatologist would travel in a boat that wasn't large enough for safe passage in a second-rate theme park, let alone a vast ocean? For Sarah, all of the scientific research and good intentions meant little in the middle of this tempest. It was then that she realized the whole boat trip had become a metaphor for her sad, lonely life. 

Their journey began earlier that morning with little fanfare as just another routine island-hopping trip. They were traveling from Maumere to one of the many local islands that littered the Flores Sea, a trip that would normally take a half-day, at most. It was just Sarah and the two guides aboard a small wooden boat that totaled less than thirty feet in length. Once underway, the two guides were preoccupied with the operation of the boat, so Sarah sat alone, busying herself with updating her journal. The morning began with a beautiful tropical sunrise; however, as they made their way into the open ocean, the clouds rapidly moved in, and the water started to get choppy. She could hear the small motor straining against the waves, more smoke than usual filling the pristine ocean air.  

They soon spotted their island destination, and Sarah gave an outward sigh of relief at their apparent luck. However, as they got within a half-mile of the island, the boat's ancient motor started to sputter with the strain of its task. The chop continued to get rougher, and to their dismay, the motor failed entirely. The two guides became frantic in their efforts to restart the engine as the strong ocean waves began a ferocious assault on the small boat. Within minutes, they started to drift away from their island destination and were back into the vastness of the raging Flores Sea.  

The powerless boat drifted for about an hour as the seas continued their violent assault.  

"Look!" Supar yelled as he pointed to a much smaller island off their port. Sarah grabbed the old tattered navigational charts from the hold, but the island appeared to be absent from the charts.  

"Just get us there," she shouted above the howling winds as the rain streaked down her face.  

Sarah watched helplessly as the guides struggled with the motor in the inclement weather. After much effort and amid an unending torrent of unintelligible curses, they finally coaxed the tired engine to start. With the storm continuing to strengthen and after an animated debate in Bahasa, the guides decided to bring the boat onto the small island to wait out the rampaging storm. A nervous Sarah tried to use the radio to get somebody's attention, but the weather was causing havoc with the radio as well. She realized that they were truly alone in the middle of this horrific squall.  

The boat rode up and down the twenty-foot swells, causing Sarah to become ill with the unending motion. They were out of options, so taking shelter on the unknown island was their only possible salvation. 

With their approach to the island, a small voice within Sarah cried an alarm, "No, Sarah, not this island, get away from here!" Sarah did what she always did, and she ignored her small inner voice while she dutifully saved the coordinates into her GPS device.  

The skies continued to darken as the boat made its halting approach into the relative calm of a small bay. The motor sputtered and hissed the entire way as the boat slowly crept toward the shoreline. After much struggle with the waves, the two guides managed to ground the boat onto the beach.  

Supar helped Sarah off the boat, and she jumped onto the beach. The wind had picked up considerably, and Sarah decided to make her way up the dark, sloping sands of the narrow beach in order to find some sort of shelter. An intense lightning storm lit the skies above the island, but Sarah barely noticed the theatrics as she sat down. Instead, she sat on the beach holding her chin to her knees as she fought the waves of nausea that swept over her. She huddled on the beach for almost a half-hour, still feeling the seas riding up and down within her body, doing anything she could to make the ill feeling go away. While she sat, she watched the guides struggling to keep control of the boat while they simultaneously worked on the motor. Feeling guilty that she could not help, Sarah turned her attention to the gathering storm clouds that were swirling about the beach in a maelstrom of angry green-grey colors. In the distance, she saw dark rainbands advancing over the ocean as the heavier rains appeared to be retreating away from the island.  

A half-hour later, the storm finally exhausted its fury as the skies surrounding the island began to slowly brighten. Feeling a bit better, Sarah decided to help the guides with the boat. On unsteady legs, Sarah approached the boat; however, Supar could see that she was still green, so he waved her away.  

"Okay, I'm going to explore the island a little bit," she said.  

"Don't go too far," Supar replied back to her. She nodded in agreement and continued her shaky walk to the tree line that demarcated the end of the beach. The tree line was populated by a number of tall, slender palms; the ground was covered with dense, impenetrable underbrush. The storm winds subsided, and a feeling of normalcy returned to the beach as the sounds of nature began to fill the air. Sarah recognized the calls of some of the native birds and started to make her way into the dark underbrush to investigate. Being a trained naturalist, she was very comfortable exploring a strange forest; it was something she had done hundreds of times before without the slightest hesitation. She ignored the numerous branches that scratched her bare legs as she purposely made her way to a suitable sitting location. The restless birds sensed her approach, and they quickly stopped their calling while taking the time to spy on the intruder of their island world.  

Sarah found a good spot for observation and calmly settled down to watch nature. Once her movements stopped, a few quiet moments passed and the birds resumed their melancholy songs. Among the choruses she was surprised to hear the call of the Flores Green Pigeon. Sarah sat and listened to them for a few minutes, straining to hear if they were singing a different song dialect from the birds she had heard on Flores Island. 

And then there was silence.  

That's strange, the birds stopped their singing. Why? Sarah was baffled, since she had been careful to remain motionless in her current sitting position.  

At that moment, she sensed it, the very presence the birds had sensed. Something else had joined her, and that something was in very close proximity to her. Gusts blew in from the beach, causing the palm trees to sway in rhythm with the strengthening wind.  

More silence ensued when Sarah had a sudden moment of realization that it was a someone and not a something that was close to her. Sarah's experience made it so she knew when she was being watched; moreover, she could tell if an animal was checking to see if she was a predator or perhaps potential prey. She could even distinguish the inquisitive glance of an intelligent creature such as a great ape versus the piercing stare of a large, voracious cat. The forest just sounded different when the great apes stopped to observe her, but there were no great apes on these islands, and for all she knew, no people either, great or otherwise.  

"Mmmrppoohhhh," a voice murmured, followed shortly thereafter by the low, hushed tones of several other voices floating in the humid tropical air. The sudden onset of the voices startled Sarah, and she looked about in vain, trying to find their source. She heard whispering coming from the brush and felt as if somebody's curious eyes were focused upon her. Still, she couldn't see from where, or for that matter, know how many were actually watching her.  

The voices continued for several minutes, always comprised of several low, hushed tones. She was positive that there was more than one voice, maybe as many as three or more individuals conversing or rather murmuring about her from only a short distance away. They were muted, definitely male voices that she could not clearly hear or understand. They were communicating; however, it was not a language that she could readily recognize.  

No, not quite the coherent voices of people-more like the low, unintelligible mumbling of the insane. Their cadence reminded Sarah of another time, perhaps the voices of the damned, souls living in a grey netherworld parallel to her own world of light. The voices would rise up and down, grow quiet for a moment, and then continue their whispered dialog among themselves. To Sarah, this haunting went on for what seemed to be hours; in actuality, it lasted for a few minutes. Once the voices subsided, they began quietly moving, seeming to glide over the forest floor. Like any frightened animal's, Sarah's senses were at a peak as she continued to feel their presence closing in about her.  

From her vantage point, all Sarah could see was a wall of green foliage, and she felt entirely defenseless in her seated position. She was desperate to escape; however, her limbs had become paralyzed with fear, and she found herself frozen in place.. The hair on her arms stood straight on end; Sarah now knew she was starting to panic. Her breathing became rapid and shallow as fear overwhelmed her normally rational demeanor. Finally, there was a sudden reprieve: the murmuring stopped.  

Maybe the guides were nearby, maybe even looking for her. More silence. 

Were the voices gone? Yes?  

No, she could still sense someone watching her from the depths of the forest, and her heart sank.  

"Who's there?" she called out in a small, barely audible voice that quivered in the wind.  

Sarah was about to cry out when she heard the frantic calls of the guides looking for their missing American guest.  

"Sarah! Sarah, where are you?" Supar yelled out. 

"I'm over here," she said in a whisper, her voice was too small to be heard above the rising wind. Somehow she knew it was too late for rescue; they were closing in upon her. She tried to see, but her vision had become cloudy. She tried to run, but she could not feel her legs. Like a cornered animal, she remained motionless, overcome by a primordial fear that she could neither name nor see. This fear bred deep within her bones as a lower form of being that supplanted all traces of the logical human essence that was once immediately recognizable as Sarah.  

Red in tooth and claw, the unseen menace surged from the brush. Rather than fight, she offered her throat to the horrors, yet their bloodlust would not be satiated with a sudden and clean kill. She opened her mouth wide to scream, but no sounds could be emitted. In turn, her body began to violently twist and shake as if to throw off her attackers; however, there was no escape from the vicious onslaught. Each of her senses began to leave her: first her sight, followed by her hearing and, finally, her sense of self.  

They systematically began ripping her clothes from her limp torso and began tearing at her soft skin as if to prepare her body for their consumption. When she was properly readied and no longer struggling, they were able to feed at their leisure as they tore her flesh from the attached bone while remaining oblivious to the muted cries of their dying victim. No pity was offered, and having consumed her flesh and entrails, they began to crack open the remaining long bones as they gorged themselves on the rich marrow contained within. 

Her attackers were a faceless, nameless, universal terror that she could only surrender to, her flesh devoured for the continued existence of another. There was no pain, just a sad inevitability to her timeless sacrifice as she offered herself to her attackers. The weak of the species was giving up to the strong, and she was swallowed whole into the darkness.  

After the feeding was over, Sarah existed no more. Only a large, damp red stain marked her brief passage along the parched forest floor.  

Sarah had become food for another.

Sarah's Promise

Sarah awoke thrashing in her bed, bathed in a deep cold sweat. Struggling to catch her breath, she realized that she did continue to exist despite the momentary horror of her nightmare. She looked around to get her bearings while trying to focus in on her immediate surroundings. Groggy from sleep, she looked up to see the comforting familiarity of her alarm clock. Through the darkness, her eyes began to focus on the large red LED numbers.  

Shit, it was only two o'clock in the morning. Sarah sat up, touching the front of her T-shirt; it was then that she felt the dampness of the cotton cloth against her skin. Her heartbeat began to slow, and she noticed that her once pristine sheets were now soaked from her recent bout of night terrors.  

Damn, how many times am I going to have that same stupid, cretinous nightmare? How many times can I go back to the same island and relive that stupid day?  

The dream had subsided from her life for a while, but it was back with a renewed, almost hellish vigor, torturing her when she was most vulnerable: sleeping alone. It was always so very real to her, and it was always the same: A sudden storm overtakes the small boat, forcing them to the mysterious island. It didn't matter that in reality the storm was nowhere near the biblical proportions of the dream, and it didn't matter that the incident on the island had happened more than two years ago. It didn't matter that the guides had found her alone in the woods, and it didn't matter that all three had left the island safely together that day.  

No, it did matter, because deep in the forest there was a presence Sarah couldn't see, did not understand and that had, for some reason beyond rational explanation, scared her more than any other time in her life. It mattered a lot because the incident scared Sarah, the normally dispassionate scientist, out of her wits.  

Why does it always have to be some strange, mysterious island with bad weather? This is so pathetic; my life is a freaking montage of other people's inane clich\u00e9s.  

Even with that rationalization, she couldn't deny that she was scared; moreover, she had every reason to be. If only she could talk to more people about the incident-then, maybe, she could face her fears. Who knew-maybe what she really needed was quality time with an experienced therapist. However, that was the problem with being an intellectual; she knew all of the psycho-babble that would be directed at her. In the jungle, she had watched too many of her wild chimpanzee friends become food for a big cat; that said, even she knew there was more to the dream than its obvious primordial shock value. The therapist would tell her that the recurring nightmares were symbolic of her worst fears: being alone and having no one to turn to. Hell, Sarah knew she was truly alone in the world. She had been alone on that island, and she was alone now in her bedroom at two o'clock in the morning. Nothing in her life had changed since she left that damn island. There was nobody sharing her bed and, truth be told, every night she went to bed sans companion was a constant reminder of her intolerable solace.  

For Sarah, the nightmare had become a sad metaphor for her dull, seemingly pointless life. To begin with, she knew she shouldn't have been on that stupid island in the first place. Sarah was a primatologist, but she wasn't going to have much primate research to do on Flores Island. Indonesia's Flores Island may have been famous for komodo dragons and giant rats, but it had little to offer in terms of primate study. Furthermore, the famous limestone caves of Liang Bua were strictly off-limits to her as well. She was such a fish out of water that the other graduate students would rag on her, even commenting on how the komodo dragons would "go ape" every so often. It was just another example of their unending juvenile humor, always at her expense. 

Sarah's departmental associates had told her that the trip would add nothing to her resume-in essence, that the time spent on the island would be career suicide. What they had to say didn't matter much to Sarah. She was there to assist her old comrade and mentor, Professor Brightman, with his study of island speciation. Brightman was an enthusiastic follower of Charles Darwin's work, and by visiting some of the smaller islands, Sarah had hoped to identify some new fertile grounds for Brightman to continue his ongoing studies of island bird speciation. With the recent fossil discoveries in Liang Bua, Flores Island had quickly become the new Galapagos Islands for biologists looking to do evolutionary field studies on island biology. 

For Sarah, it was all good theoretical science, especially with island speciation once again becoming a hot topic among biologists. Even a casual student of Darwin would proclaim that islands were nature's great evolutionary laboratories. If a person were to take a small population of animals from a single species and isolate them on an island, a virtual explosion of new species would occur as they tried to occupy the new niches that the island afforded them. That was assuming they didn't go extinct while adjusting to their new island habitat. This process, called species radiation, was a major driving force in the evolution of all living creatures, even human beings. 

Sarah was confident that the island research would help her with her own studies of the great apes and the mounting ecological pressures they were facing in their diminishing forest habitats. In this manner, Sarah tried to find some good cause for her banishment to her island purgatory, away from her beloved chimps and gorillas that were prisoners in the university research gulags. 

Upon retrospection, the vicious truth hit her: it was all bullshit, and worse, it was all so boring and tedious. Sadly, as she reviewed her logic for the trip, Sarah realized that she was very accomplished at rationalizing her dull, rather submissive life. She knew the real reason why she was there on that island. She was acting, once again, as a very serviceable doormat for Professor Brightman, doing yet another big favor for him. Now here she was, years later, beating herself up at two in the morning for continuing to be his doormat. 

There were other reasons for Sarah's bitterness and isolation. When the other students got out of hand, Professor Brightman would put a stop to their nonsense by scolding them. He also had the unfortunate habit of pointing out how impeccably clear and concise Sarah's field observation techniques were while chiding his other students for their own shoddy work. This, of course, had the undesired effect of making Sarah even less popular with the other graduate students-well, her normally chilly demeanor didn't help matters either. Here Sarah was, a grown women past her mid-twenties, being subjected to taunts about being a teacher's pet. Outwardly, it all seemed so juvenile, yet the sexual innuendos were never far behind the childish name-calling.  

Sarah pretended it didn't really matter to her; after all, she was so close to getting her associate professor position. To Sarah, the other graduate students just seemed young and immature, not worthy of her attention or her friendship. Once again, Sarah had managed to find herself alone even amongst a group of her supposed colleagues. 

The fateful day of her jungle encounter had started innocently enough; it was just another one of her routine island hoppings departing from Flores Island. Accompanying her was one of the expedition's most trusted guides; she was the only American researcher present on this day trip. In the beginning, this would have given Sarah the creeps, especially with the way some of the Indonesian men would gaze at her. However, she soon learned that Flores men were just staring in amazement at her pale skin, since many of them had limited exposure to western women. Overall, she found most of the natives to be extremely friendly and polite, almost to a fault.  

Moreover, Sarah felt good about the day trip because one of the guides going with her was Suparman, or Supar for short. Supar was a relatively undistinguished-looking islander. He was short and dark-skinned, like most of the other Flores natives; only Supar's greying black hair gave away his advanced years. A wide flat nose dominated his large oval face and, in a similar manner, the place where his upper incisor should be prominently displayed whenever he smiled or laughed. Yes, he was undistinguished-looking; however, Supar was special because his deep voice conveyed an excellent grasp of English, and he was truly one of the more qualified guides. He was attentive, and his innate intelligence allowed him to understand what the researchers were trying to accomplish with their fieldwork.  

Supar was also very personable. More importantly, he had gone out of his way to know Sarah on a first-name basis. Every morning he greeted her with a big "hello," then inevitably asking the despondent Sarah to smile. It wasn't much in terms of human companionship, but compared to the frosty relationships Sarah shared with her fellow students, it was a welcomed change of pace.  

She also appreciated the respect Supar garnered from the other native guides, something she couldn't get in turn from her fellow grad students. He exuded a quiet dignity, and it was clear to Sarah that when Supar spoke, the other guides paid very close attention to him. Sarah knew that under his seemingly friendly veneer, Supar was sheltering a much stronger ego-one that he carefully hid from the other American researchers in the expedition. Reflecting upon the other native workers, Sarah realized she didn't have much use for them, and those feelings only intensified when the camp suffered through a rash of stolen equipment. 

The clock on Sarah's nightstand read two-thirty in the morning while Sarah's brain raced to resolve the questions and puzzles of her life that she knew were unanswerable.  

Why had she been alone that day? Recalling the day's events, she felt a degree of bitterness towards Patti, the obnoxious graduate student who had been assigned as Sarah's traveling companion for the day. Unfortunately, Patti wasn't in any shape that morning to be traveling anywhere. After having spent a week in the forest counting various bird populations, the freakishly pale Patti used her day of freedom to cavort topless with several of the male grad students on an isolated beach. The insipid slut neglected to use sunblock, and after several hours of exposure to the blazing equatorial sun, a painful, lobster-red hue had seized control over most of her body. To make matters worse, the incredibly stupid Patti had spent the night drinking at a local bar in a failed effort to kill the pain from the sunburn.  

When Sarah greeted her companion in the morning, Patti's essence consisted of little more than a raging burn with a wicked hangover. The funny part was that Sarah found this a vast improvement over Patti's normally sour disposition. Sarah quickly recognized that Patti, in her present sad shape, wasn't about to leave her tent that morning. Sarah didn't even bother trying to find a replacement, knowing the smug attitudes of the other grad students, and Patti's antics had already delayed her departure by an hour. Consequently, Sarah found herself alone when the incident happened because some other stupid and immature soul had decided to frolic in the sun the day before. When was she going to frolic in the sun, she wondered.  

When she returned to Flores, Sarah was unable to talk to anyone at the camp about the incident. She didn't trust anybody, and she was so unsure of what had really happened. Feeling that you were being observed by an intelligent presence didn't exactly qualify as a lucid scientific observation, even in her books. Indeed, most people would be fairly dismissive of the incident in question, ascribing the event to that of an imaginative young woman sitting alone in the wilderness. After all, the two guides hadn't seen or heard anything even after her repeated questioning. No, Sarah felt that it was best to keep the incident a secret until her return to the States, where she hoped she could find the right person to confide in. Professor Brightman had already left camp the week before, and she really didn't know the other academics well enough to trust or burden them with her story. 

When Sarah returned to the States, she cautiously shared her curious encounter with Professor Brightman. Her trepidation was unwarranted, as he matter-of-factly asked, "Why didn't you go back to the island to investigate some more?"  

On balance, it was a perfectly logical question. She told him that among the items stolen from the camp was her GPS device with the island's coordinates-a total fabrication. She didn't tell him that even if she had the coordinates she couldn't go back because the entire expedition had become somewhat uncomfortable for her, and in reality, she was actually too frightened to return to the island alone.  

Really, she thought, how do you begin to break the news to your mentor that you are an antisocial coward?

As she tried to make sense of it all, she drifted back to another of her strange, chimerical encounters on Flores Island. The research team had just broke camp, so Sarah had headed to the town of Maumere with the rest of the team. They were waiting for their respective flights home, and Sarah decided to leave the hotel to take her final walk in the marketplace. She was casually strolling among the vendors when a small native with a shaved head began to attentively follow her from stall to stall. He looked somewhat innocuous, dressed in a crisp white short-sleeved shirt with dark shorts; however, his staring was so intense that Sarah finally stopped and curtly asked him, "Can I help you?" 

She stared directly at him, taking care not to avert her gaze from his brown eyes. He appeared to be middle-aged, but she found it difficult to judge the age of some Indonesian people. Then it dawned on her that she was being racist-or was she really that inattentive to other people? In any case, she was several inches taller than he was, so she didn't feel physically threatened by his presence; in fact, she was more irked by his constant staring. While she waited for a response, Sarah fidgeted with her clothes in the slim chance that her apparel was somehow amiss.  

"Are you Sarah?" he asked. 

"Yes." 

"Very good, nice to meet to you," he said, continuing to stare at her. He extended his hand for a handshake. 

"Huh, okay. Same here, I guess," Sarah said, uncomfortable with this unwanted attention, and she limply shook his hand. 

"Good, are you happy?" he asked eagerly. 

"What? What's it to you? Who are you, the happy police?" she said as she walked away from the weird little creep.  

"I'm interested in all sentient creatures. I'm happy; I hope you are too, he said as he pursued the escaping Sarah. 

"This is ridiculous; of course I'm happy, if you're referring to life in general." She turned to face the brazen little man. 

"Don't think about your answer, but are you happy now?" The man looked at her while measuring her response, and he looked deep into her eyes.  

Suddenly, Sarah felt guilty for her abruptness and her apparent deceitfulness. 

"Are you happy this moment?" he asked again. 

"No, strike that answer. I'm not happy at all. That's okay, this will change; it always changes," Sarah said, then asked, "Why should you care?"  

"I'm happy now; you should be too," he stated. "All we have is now; you can't wait for tomorrow to be happy. Your life is not what you want it to be?" 

"I guess. I could, no, I should be doing more," she said. 

"Not better?" 

"No doing more is correct, it's not just about me personally. I should be doing more for others," she said. 

"You study animals?"  

"Yes, primates in general." She paused, studying her companion. "Who are you?" 

"A friend-can't you tell?" 

"No...but how do you know me? Have we met before?" she asked in a more civil tone. She was warming up to the small inquisitive man with the thin-rimmed glasses and a ready smile. She suddenly realized that he could be a simpleton, so she found it easy to smile back at him. She looked into his brown eyes just as she heard a large bell sound several times in the distant hills. Its resonating echo could be distinctly heard above the din of the busy marketplace.  

"No, we haven't met before," he said. 

"Did you just hear that church bell?" she asked. 

"No, I did not-did you? Have you had dreams of your past lives?" 

"You mean like reincarnation or transmigration? I don't believe in that." 

"Too bad you don't believe. So do you believe in fighting?" 

"No, I'm a firm believer in non-violence." 

"But would you fight to protect innocents that cannot defend themselves?" 

Sarah kept looking about as the curious stranger followed behind. She picked up her pace, hoping to lose him and his annoying questions.  

"Strange, in all the time I've been here on this island, I've never heard that church bell before. As to protecting others, of course; not to defend the weak would be cowardice."  

Funny-that's not the typical commentary you'd expect from a simpleton, she thought. "You know, I don't get this. First I get the hell scared out of me on that stupid island, and now I get a visit from Mister Happy. No offense, but what the hell is going on here?"  

"Why, the answer is quite simple: your destiny! Look in your pocket," he said. He had an earnest look about him that made it easy for her to take him at his word. 

Sarah dug through the pockets of her shorts and found a paper with three pairs of numbers scrawled on it. "What is this?"  

"You know precisely what it is; look closely."  

"Damn, those are the coordinates to my island. How?" she asked. 

"Good, I am glad to help. I trust you to do what is right. I did my task, and I must go now," he replied.  

"Are we done talking? Who are you?"  

"Yes, we are done, and I am on my way. Be happy now!" he said while turning and walking away. 

"You know this conversation makes absolutely no sense to me," Sarah said as she rubbed her brow. 

"It did to me, and someday it will to you. If I told you, everything it wouldn't be your future; it would be your past. Frankly, where would be the surprise? Where's the choice?"  

With that final comment, he disappeared into the anonymity of the crowd. Flustered by the brief encounter, Sarah walked away.  

"Now, where's that damn church?" she said, surveying the surrounding hills for the source of the bell but finding nothing.

Prior to Flores, Sarah had never attributed much meaning to her visions. However, the nightmares kept coming back to haunt Sarah, a constant reminder of her spiritual timidity and of her failure as a scientist to seek out the truth. She knew that the recent news about the digs being halted on Flores had awakened the nightmare once again, and here she was at two-thirty in the morning realizing that the totality of her life had been reduced to a simple combination of her intolerable loneliness and her myriad fears. The whole damn island nightmare was a stupid clich\u00e9 but, then again, so was her desperate, tedious life.  

Sarah had expected so much more from herself, and this empty shell that now masqueraded as her life couldn't be allowed to stand. Always present was the gnawing feeling she was not living the life that she was destined for. Moreover, she didn't know what was worse, the tedium or the loneliness. In contrast, at least her nightmares offered the promise of adventure and maybe even a little purpose to her staid existence.  

In turn, Sarah logically debated each option. Before she could come to a decision, the small inner voice became vocal once again, telling her, "You must go back to the island!" 

Crap, that strained small female voice had returned, the very same voice of reason that told her to stay away from the island in the first place; it was now telling her to go back.  

"Coward, you have to return to the island," the voice commanded. 

Stupid, schizoid voice, make your freaking mind up. She debated her future in the darkness and whether or not she should renew her Prozac prescription. This last nightmare settled it for her; at three in the morning Sarah did the unexpected and embraced her nightmare as though it were a glimmer of hope. 

She turned the lamp on, sat up in her bed, and retrieved a small notepad from her nightstand. On the pad were a series of three number pairs she had written down from the previous night's dream with the curious small man. She stared at the numbers for a couple of minutes; they were the longitude and latitude coordinates to her mysterious island. Through her dreams, her subconscious was telling her that she had to return to the island. Her destiny was now clear, so much so that even Sarah the scientist couldn't rationalize away the true meaning of her stupid dreams.  

With the paper in hand, Sarah made a solemn promise to herself to return to the island of her nightmares, one way or another. She wanted to confront her terrors and witness what she couldn't face alone that terrifying day on the island. Surprisingly, that was a destiny she could readily embrace in the early morning hours as she left her bed and diligently went about changing the damp linens.

Richard's Nightmare

And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.

-Genesis 1:26-28 (King James Version)

The early morning light danced about Richard's face as if toying with him in a concerted effort to wake him from his sleep. Richard grumbled and cursed as the light continued to intensify until it finally shone full blast onto his haggard face. The fog slowly lifted from his brain, and he smacked his lips several times, trying to identify the gunk that was plastered to the interior of his mouth. He couldn't remember the previous night, and before he got up, he carefully sniffed the air several times.  

Ah good, no smell of cheap perfume or cigarettes. As a final prelude to sitting up, he stole a peek across to the other side of his bed. Please let the bed be empty, please, please, please, he pleaded.  

He took a quick glance. All he saw was a crumpled pillow, and in the distance, a half-empty J&D bottle-a good sign for him that he had exercised some temperance with his drinking the previous night. "Thank you," he said, not knowing to whom or to what.  

He simply did not want to deal with another young trailer park girl, the kind that seemed so prevalent at the local watering holes. They were relatively easy to bed, but so damn difficult to get rid of the following day, and their early morning histrionics made his hangovers unbearable. In his normal state of mind, he would never bother with such sad, vulnerable girls; however, when he was inebriated, any attractive female was fair game for his drunken charms. Moreover, with the loss of his teaching job, he found that the frequency of his drinking sprees had increased at an alarming rate. Like all people with a serious addiction, he kept kidding himself that his drinking habit was just some benign hobby that he could readily turn on and off, only now he was too scared to try the on-off switch for fear that he might be wrong.  

He was glad that this time he had listened to himself and had focused on a singular goal for last night: getting drunk! One day, he would have to face that liquor was his addiction, but just not today. Like others of his generation, he had tried both pills and pot; however, liquor was quicker and more in tune with his overall Irish-German temperament. Moreover, he found alcohol to be a convenient and easily acquired lubricant for sliding girls into his bed. 

He wearily got out of bed and made his way to the small, dingy kitchen. This was a particularly good day for Richard because his hangover was relatively mild; the pounding in his head was merely a timid throb.  

"What a shithole." He surveyed the wreckage within his crummy apartment that comprised his present existence. 

He seated himself at the kitchen table, pouring himself a glass of orange juice in a belated effort to rehydrate himself. Following his usual morning routine, he turned on his laptop to review his email. It wasn't like he got regular emails from friends or people he even slightly knew, so he moved quickly past the numerous boner spams to check his email alerts. As he skimmed through several alerts on the ongoing local town corruption scandals, a small, curious headline caught his eye: "Indonesian Government Halts Digs on Flores Island." 

What the fuck?  

The alert had a link to a blog post, and he read on: 

The remains of a new human species called Homo floresiensis, found on Flores Island, continue to spark debate among scientists so intense that the Indonesian government has decided to intervene. The government halted all digs and evacuations at the famous Liang Bua cave as they reviewed the ongoing controversy.

The "dwarf" skeleton of this species was discovered in a limestone cave, and the size of the adult female surprised scientists. The Homo floresiensis was calculated as barely reaching three feet as an adult, and their body structure resembled older, ancestral forms of man. What also amazed scientists was the size of the skull and the tiny brain contained within. The brain was found to be comparable in size to a chimpanzee's and was just a third of the size of a modern human's. Adding to the surprise, the three-foot-tall female dated back to only 13,000 years ago, making the newly-found species contemporary with modern humans on the island. The discovery calls into question previous assertions about when man gained control of the planet from the other lines of human ancestors. The find promises to rewrite human evolution and suggests a complexity in human evolution that up to now had only been hinted at.

Other scientists contend that the discovery was that of a community of diseased modern humans and, in fact, the remains were not of a new species. They claim to have obtained confirmation that the individuals found were definitely diseased, and they now had proof of their microcephaly. Recent protests at the site by some local residents and researchers prompted the government intervention.

With the digs suspended once again, scientists are clamoring for the Indonesian government to open the island to further investigation rather than to exclude other research teams. An independent researcher who wished to remain anonymous said, "This debate is bordering on the cretinous, so now is the perfect time to investigate other opportunities on some of the other so-called non-primate islands in the region." The original research team continues to search Flores Island. 

Richard had been following the soap opera in Flores for years. Not surprisingly, the discovery in Flores had degenerated into an academic pissing match, one so full of ill will and rancor that the Indonesian government now felt compelled to step in and mediate the dispute. What a clusterfuck. But what really caught Richard's eye was the so-called comment from the independent researcher. 

He read it again: "This debate is bordering on the cretinous, so now is the perfect time to investigate other opportunities on some of the other so-called non-primate islands in the region" 

"Cretinous?" Richard said aloud to himself, but as he said the word, a strange feeling of d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu passed over him. Cretinous? Who the hell else talks like that? Couldn't be, but then again could it be her?  

Richard stared off into the distance for a few minutes, unsure what to make of the blog article. This debate had been raging for years, and still there was no resolution in sight. Richard knew that the two anthropologists responsible for the discovery mentioned several new cave complexes on Flores that they had in mind for their next expedition. There were a number of limestone caves in Sumba and Sulawesi that were of particular interest to the original team, and he was sure that other scientists were looking on Flores as well. Still, there was no mention of visiting other islands from anybody in the scientific community other than the lone independent researcher.  

Richard knew all about the find and the local legends. The indigenous human population on Flores had a number of local lore regarding the people that once lived on the island. The most striking tale was about a dwarf people the Flores natives called the Ebu Gogo, a phrase that literally meant "grandmother that eats anything".  

The Ebu kept their hair long and were small creatures, standing approximately three feet tall and resembling humans-except for their particularly long arms. The Ebu Gogo had voracious appetites, and they devoured any kind of uncooked food, including the occasional human baby. Humans were tolerant of the presence of the Ebu Gogo-until the Ebu developed a strong appetite for human flesh. Once that happened, the islanders had enough of their companions, and the Ebu were driven away from human habitation, toward the limestone caves of the island. The native folklore talked of the Ebu living among the Flores Islanders up until the arrival of the Dutch explorers, just a mere four hundred years ago.  

Wow, she was a strange, intense girl, wasn't she? He couldn't believe what he was reading in the blog, so he returned to his online research with even greater intensity.  

To all anthropologists, this was an incredibly important find. Why? Because another species of humanity had existed at the same time as modern humans, and they lived side by side not that long ago. Many scientists had inferred that humans had existed with other hominin species; however, this was proof-positive of that coexistence. Plus, it was obvious that the Hobbit's island environment had directly impacted the evolution of these dwarf humans. Challenged by a scarcity of food in their island habitat and lacking natural predators, those small, early human had been given a sizable survival edge by evolution. Earlier scientific thinking stated that man's tool use and culture made him immune to the normal rules of evolution; however these Hobbits' fossils were a mute testimony to the fact that man was subject to the same rules of nature that governed all living creatures. 

But it was the other inferences that a few renegade scientists were making that really piqued Richard's attention. They boldly suggested that there could be other major finds to be made in the Indonesian wilderness, some even younger in age than thirteen thousand years old. They even held out the promise of the ultimate find: the unlikely possibility that tucked away in some remote primordial region of Indonesia, there could be a band of Hobbit survivors still alive.  

Richard went back to the alert and stared at the screen for a while, allowing each line to sink in. In one way, he couldn't believe his luck, and he wasn't quite sure if it was good or bad. It was as if fate was tantalizing him with a second opportunity for personal redemption. If he could just get a sample of that fresh Hobbit DNA, he would have the ammo he needed to support his dissertation theory for high rates of speciation radiation among the hominins. Richard was a DNA anthropologist, a field so new that most people didn't know it existed; it also didn't receive the proper recognition it merited from the university system. Richard could get work as a forensic scientist, but that would mean spending his lifetime digging through the dirty work of killers, rapists, and other deviants of human society, and that certainly wasn't the type of work Richard wanted to lose himself in. He was a deviant, all right, but nothing that bad. 

No, not Richard; his interest was in unlocking the secrets of the past-the distant past-and that meant spending as much time working in a lab with a computer as he did in the good earth. Based on current human DNA analysis, Richard's research postulated that the human family tree was once fairly bushy and that many relatives may have gone extinct in recent years. Richard had found a number of key genetic markers in existing human DNA that he believed supported his high-speciation hominin theory. Richard knew that after death, an organism's DNA quickly broke down into thousands of small, incomprehensible segments. Richard's greatest skill was making probalistic sense of those fragmented DNA remains and connecting the isolated strands to traceable evolutionary markers. Moreover, with the Ebu Gogo, this process of speciation could still be going on currently.  

For his peers, this was all very interesting academic fodder, but Richard felt there were also some very dramatic, real world consequences to his research findings. According to Richard's way of thinking, this intense competition with other human species was one plausible explanation as to why modern humans had become so practiced at killing one another. It would appear that we had a lot of practice over the millennia if we had spent it killing our many cousins. 

Richard's theory was somewhat controversial because the existing fossil record didn't support his findings. Instead of discovering hundreds of different human species, as Richard predicted, the fossil record contained just a handful of human species. The whole exercise was similar to putting together a large puzzle of a road map with just a handful of pieces and then using those few pieced to try to discern the overall map. Only the final destination was certain, with every stop in between being open to question and endless speculation. If one were to assume five million years of human evolution, with a generation being equal to twenty years, then the puzzle consisted of almost 250,000 pieces. So far, scientists had discovered maybe a hundred different human fossils, which was roughly equivalent to having a hundred pieces of the 250,000-piece puzzle. To make matters even more vexing, researchers kept finding additional puzzle pieces that might not even belong to the human puzzle-or that could at some point become extraneous to the design of the puzzle.  

It could all be quite maddening, which was maybe why so much of the American public opted to believe in creationism. For Richard the scientist, it was easy to forget that the public didn't really comprehend the concept of millions of years or large numbers; after all, look at the number of lottery tickets they continued to buy every week under the misguided notion that they could actually win the big one.  

What made Richard so fucked up was that he envisioned these antediluvian challenges at the oddest times in his life. He'd be in a bar talking to some young chippie with her ta-tas hanging out of her halter top, and suddenly her breasts would remind him of the Chicxulub asteroid destroying that lush, stable prehistoric habitat.  

When food became scarce, the impact would suddenly turn advantage into disadvantage and act as a cruel culling machine, killing all the large fauna, including the spectacular dinosaurs, while allowing the much more numerous, less energy-demanding, smaller animals to wrest control of the planet. Any colossal disruption to the ecosystem would take a disproportionate heavier toll on the larger animals before it impacted the smaller ones. When times were tough, it paid to be small, and that was just the evolutionary stratagem that Homo floresiensis had employed in order to survive on Flores Island.  

Of course, by the time Richard would snap out of his daydream, the chick would be gone, and Richard would be left alone, wondering why the hell her tits had reminded him of the asteroid impact in the first place.  

Richard had long concluded that if you only looked at a few random fossil finds, you could get many erroneous interpretations, especially when you coupled in the vagaries of human character and ego. Moreover, Richard had personal knowledge of the frustration of digging in the dirt. He wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, but he knew that many of these extinct human species, even during their hey-day, had never reached populations in excess of a few thousand individuals. To Richard, it was no wonder as to why hominin fossils were so damned hard to find, and why as a physical anthropologist he had turned to DNA research in the first place. Because Richard knew that, deep in our DNA, he could find the secrets of our animal heritage that the earth was refusing to give up. 

Consequently, Richard dismissed the human fossil record as being hopelessly incomplete, whereas his DNA research would tell the true story of human evolution. To Richard, there was nothing divine about humankind's ascent from the lower animals. No, man's creation was a simple matter of human evolution through a combination of selection, speciation, and ultimately extinction, just like any other living creature on the planet. As they say, evolution is a tinkerer, and after two billion years of tinkering, human beings were simply the latest invention. Moreover, as was the case with the Ebu Gogo, the tinkering was continuing.  

Shit, how would he ever get a sample of that coveted Hobbit DNA? Richard's request for samples had been rejected or ignored numerous times from the teams that did the initial work in Flores. In fact, they kept much of the findings to themselves, as was the norm for this me-generation of scientists. Furthermore, Richard was no longer affiliated with a major university, meaning he lacked both creditability and academic leverage. Scientists made crucial discoveries, and they would sit on them for years before releasing critical information to the larger scientific community. In that fashion, they made entire careers out of a single fossil find. Richard admired these Flores Island researchers for making their announcement fairly early in the game; they were being especially bold in doing so. Didn't matter; he knew the Homo floresiensis remains were a soggy, spongy mass that didn't resemble hard bone and, consequently, were a poor candidate for a decent DNA sample. Accordingly, they were not about to donate a single tooth to his cause-they needed the samples for their own research.  

Over the years, the debate over the Flores Island find had become even more complicated, almost Byzantine in nature. A native scientist, with close ties to the Indonesian government, was keeping the newly discovered fossils for his own private research while the original research team was barred from returning to the caves. None of this surprised Richard, since professional rivalries and petty jealousies were commonplace in the scientific community. Despite all the rumors to the contrary, scientists were human, after all, something Richard knew all too well after his brief tenure in the Ivory Towers. 

Richard sent an email to the blogger asking: "Who made that quote about investigating other islands?" 

Later that same day, the reply came back: "I don't recall her name; some associate professor chick spoke to me about it at a conference a few weeks back." 

Just like a blogger to give a quote with no reference name. Still, was it her?  

Richard sent another email: "What did she look like?" 

An hour later, a simple three-word message arrived: "A smoking brunette :)" 

Shit, it was her. That drunken little jezebel was still cruising the academic conferences talking all sorts of shit while looking to get laid. With that comment, she had to be planning an expedition back to her island, but what the hell was her name?  

It was really pissing him off that he couldn't remember. He needed a diversion; then maybe her name would somehow come to him. Frustrated, Richard knew there would be some additional entertainment value to be found from the initial announcement regarding the Flores Island digs, and he couldn't wait to read the Internet response from the creationists, those ardent believers in the Biblical interpretation of man's creation. He knew they loved to take advantage of any sign of academic bickering, and he wasn't disappointed by their wacky response to the recent events in Flores. While other people read comics, Richard loved to peruse creationists' mangled interpretations of evolution, and he would sometimes catch himself chuckling aloud like a madman at the absurdity of their convoluted logic.  

Richard had heard every creationist argument a thousand times before, and he had to admire their zeal in denying reality. First, there was the classic, "It wasn't an ancestral form, but instead the skeleton of a singular, deformed human being afflicted with a crippling disease." In this case, they described the individuals found on Flores as being microcephalics, people suffering from a serious medical condition involving an exceptionally small skull or, in layman's terms, a pinhead. Unfortunately, the creationists neglected to mention that medical records of microcephaly never mentioned a set of extra long arms such as those found on the Flores Island Hobbits. And microcephalics normally didn't stand at three feet tall, either. Furthermore, the creationists making this ridiculous argument also conveniently forgot to address the other six skeletons found at the site. Damned disease must be catching-better start a telethon for it!  

Of course, there was the old chestnut about the strange shape of the skeleton being attributed to normal variations within the existing human population. Those arguers would cry out, "Look at the pygmies, for example," while easily ignoring the fact that most pygmies were more than five feet tall and didn't have skulls the size of a chimpanzee. A modern human of average size could sit next to a pygmy in full native dress on the subway and not bat an eye, especially if in New York City. However, if one of the Hobbits were clothed in a Brooks Brothers suit sitting next to an individual on the train, that person would be running for the subway door faster than Martha Stewart bidding adios to her West Virginia prison cellmates.  

They would say anything to avoid admitting that man had evolved like the rest of his animal brethren: by selection and by chance. There was an old quote from Ashley Montague, Johnny Carson's favorite Darwinist, that said, "Science has proof without any certainty. Creationists have certainty without any proof." No, all the creationists had was their faith, and that wasn't nearly enough for a wiseass iconoclast like Richard. 

Richard realized he must have looked quite the lunatic as he sat in his underwear, searching the net and chuckling aloud. All he needed was some complementary drool on his chin to complete his moronic look. He realized he just didn't care as he continued to shake with excitement at the find, and his tremors weren't a result of his usual Friday night hangover.  

Still, the biggest story in paleobiology of the last century was breaking, and Richard was now a spectator on the sidelines, watching the story unfold. He knew he wouldn't be allowed official access to the fossils, so he had to find another way. On the surface, this should have been a professional and personal disaster for him; however, Richard had an ace up his sleeve. A few years previously, Richard had met a strange girl who had just visited Flores Island. Cute but very intense, she had told him a curious story about a personal encounter she had experienced on one of the local Indonesian islands. If she knew where the band of Hobbit survivors could be found, and Richard knew that was a damn big if, he would be back in the game. Her recent quote to the blogger indicated that she was perhaps considering a revisit to her island. Everything was coming together for him-or so he hoped. Hell, he had nothing else to go on. But he had to wonder, why didn't she go back to that island sooner?  

Richard had to get to Indonesia, and his only ticket out was to remember the name of that strange Flores girl. His mind raced through a thousand thoughts, trying to recall the identity of the girl he had met briefly only a few short years ago. The mental gymnastics continued: Was it Marianne or Sally, possibly Kristen? It was something common, but damn, what the hell was it? Brenda? No, that was the name of his last girlfriend, idiot. Damn, who, amongst his ever-dwindling list of professional contacts, even remembered her name?  

Like so many other failed pick-up attempts, the entire encounter had been discarded to the deepest dustbins of his mind. Ah, how did the song go? "She wasn't a beauty, but she was all right." Actually, he had found her kind of cute, which was saying a lot when compared to the usual sorry lot of women who occupied the ranks of scientific academia-and was yet another reason why he remembered her. It was no small wonder why he preferred to hit on the English lit majors, thereby leaving the women science majors to the truly desperate.  

Damn it, again his mind was wandering off the subject. Was it the alcohol doing this to him?  

"Focus, Richard!" he yelled to himself as he struggled to reign himself in. 

He just couldn't recall her name, and it was driving him crazy. Richard wasn't one for much organization; he felt that too much structure was the mortal enemy of his ability to free associate ideas. Unfortunately, having no organization at all wasn't exactly stoking the old noggin, either. He went through his papers, and as an act of true desperation, to his pile of old business cards that he kept in a pitifully stained, brown paper bag. He rummaged through the pile of cards and assorted napkins, finding traces of long-forgotten meals and the cell phone number of a particularly ugly heifer he once met when he was drunk. But nary a trace of the strange Flores girl anywhere.  

What should he do? It was clear drinking wasn't going to help his memory; in fact, it usually had quite the opposite effect. There was only one option left: to go for a run. Richard always had one of two bipolar solutions for the adversities he faced in his life: go for a drink or go for a run. It was his healthier remedy for indecision and procrastination. Running would get the blood flowing and hopefully, in turn, get the old neurons in his brain firing. It had been his escape for years, and as he tried to give up his prodigious drinking habit, he found that, in a strange way, running helped to fill an unhealthy void in his life. In one sense, he found it relatively easy to give up one obsession for another, at least momentarily. Besides, Richard found that any excuse was a good enough reason to get out of his depressingly small, craptacular apartment.  

He threw on his favorite yellow shorts with his battered running shoes and started to vigorously stretch his legs. Unfortunately, he noticed that the shorts were acquiring a distinctive odor of their own. Oh well, he didn't have time now to be concerned about his personal hygiene; besides, with the departure of his girlfriend, whose delicate sensibilities other than his own was he going to offend with the fetid shorts?  

Now where the hell is my stained T-shirt? 

The only thing he liked about this sad, little town was the nearby woods, where he could run at will nearly year-round. Running cleared his mind, if he ran alone. It was a short distance from his apartment complex to the imagined safety of the woods. He began at a slow trot and could immediately feel the Achilles tendon in his right leg beginning to tighten up. As per his norm, he hadn't been bothered to stretch properly, such was his haste to escape his dreary apartment. He convinced himself, as he always did, that the leg would feel better once he got into his run.  

The deeper he ran into the woods, the more he enjoyed the feeling of being alone and unencumbered. When he was in this splendid isolation, he hated running into other people more than anything. This time, about ten minutes into his run, he spotted a young man neatly attired and wearing dress shoes walking along the same path he ran on. The young man exchanged a weird, dirty little smile with him, a smile that Richard had seen before and one that almost always gave him a frisson. In Richard's eyes, dress shoes were always a good tell about a person's motivations for being so deep into the woods. 

Richard didn't mind the occasional, friendly stray dog that would accompany him on his run. That was an impromptu, mutual relationship with no strings attached, one that he actually preferred to most of his long-term human relationships. Rarely, he encountered a dog with a different, meaner temperament, one that would eye him as a possible game animal. He had to, on more than one occasion, arm himself with a club to protect himself from the likes of that kind of stray. But it was the people that always gave him the biggest reason to pause while he ran. 

On a really good run, he lost all sense of time, and he would find himself deep in the woods running along paths that only a few knew of, never mind dared to take. When he ran along those secreted paths, he could hear small animals furiously scurrying to get out of his way. He never saw them, of course, but occasionally he would catch a glimpse of their tails as they hurried into the safety of the brush. On more than one occasion, he had run into a clearing and there was a herd of bewildered deer staring back at him. Their look of surprise delighted him. Within an instant, the deer would be off to even deeper and darker sections of the woods. 

Yet the excitement of the animal encounters paled in comparison with some of the chance people encounters he had experienced in the woods. He got his fair share of elderly walkers who were enjoying a brisk foray into nature. They usually greeted him with a friendly hello and, in this manner, announced to the world their joy at still being alive on this sorry-assed planet. Their cheery attitude really pissed him off. Or he would encounter other runners, usually so self-absorbed that they would barely acknowledge his presence other than with a quick nod or dart of their eyes.  

And yes, there were the other people, the ones not meant to be seen, like that young man he had just encountered. People who, when Richard came upon them, were startled by his presence-people who were keeping secrets deep in the woods. People with dirty little secrets, perhaps some small transgression that was quite forgivable, such as grabbing a smoke. But then there were the others who were concealing deeper and darker secrets. Perhaps they were doing drugs or, worse yet, concealing some dirty, little sexual secret that they felt could only be done during the light of the day if deep in the woods. Whatever, it was always some transgression against either humanity or nature. When they saw him, they tried to conceal their faces, or the bolder ones would shoot a weird, dirty perverse little smile at him. These were the people who really did need a personal and omnipotent God to watch over them and to keep their secret, dirty transgressions in line. Yes, they did need a God who could see deep in the woods, much like Richard could see today. 

The woods became darker when he saw the white material fluttering in the wind out of the corner of his eye. It was a girl's white dress caught on a low-hanging branch.  

Richard's imagination ran wild trying to figure out why it was lying in the middle of the woods. Would he find the body that belonged to this dress off to the side of the path? Was the young man who had just passed by a sexual predator? He struggled to rein in his thoughts, and his anxiety rose as he ran in the direction of the dress. There was just something about the woods and the nature of human beings that, when combined, brought out the worst in some people. 

The dress was lying on the ground, off to the side of his running path. Richard could now see a large, dark object lying next to it. He held his breath and saw a huge black garbage bag that was obviously stuffed with something.  

Was it the small body of a girl?  

He cautiously sniffed the air, noticing a whiff of decay. Shit, Richard knew that odor all too well from his gross anatomy studies as a graduate student. The sights and odors of the decaying bodies were so repulsive, but like a car wreck that you suddenly came upon in the middle of the night, you just had to look-or in this case, take a whiff. So compelling were the grisly sights that it was not unusual to frequently observe students casually viewing the cadavers in the university anatomy lab. One time he actually observed a couple of pre-med students holding hands as they walked from one cadaver table to the next, viewing the dissections. The young man solemnly led the girl as if they were strolling the grounds of some grand cathedral instead of the linoleum floor of a room filled with corpses. From all outward appearances, they appeared to be a fairly normal-looking couple; however, Richard couldn't help but wonder how freaky they were in the bedroom.  

The white dress started to flutter again in the light breeze, jolting Richard back to reality. He grabbed a long stick from the ground and used it to pull the top of the bag apart. As he began to peer over the edge of the bag, he caught sight of it. His heart was pounding as the haze from the hangover lifted, and Richard could clearly see a leg-or was it perhaps an arm emerging from the bag? He continued to poke at with his stick, straining the black plastic bag until it ruptured under the pressure.  

Startled, Richard jumped back as a strange mass escaped the confines of the black bag and poured onto the ground.  

"Oh shit, how stupid!" Richard yelled. 

He looked closer and observed a collection of old clothes that was bursting free from the overstuffed bag. The bag had been unceremoniously discarded in the woods, and the dress had spilled out with the other articles of clothing, including a pair of tattered blue jeans. He continued to poke around the bag until he spotted a moldering squirrel that was adding its own unique fragrance to the unsavory mess.  

"Shit! This was stupid, really, really stupid!"  

A dirty little secret all right; it was the telltale signs of a morally bankrupt civilization: the ever-increasing piles of garbage and debris that littered the local woods. Man was soiling his pretty little planet faster than it could heal itself, and he was too busy either procreating or stealing from it to even notice. It didn't matter how far Richard ran into the woods, the dirty little secret of civilization followed him wherever he went-and especially when he most wanted to be away from people.  

Why the hell would people go to the trouble of dropping their garbage this deep into the woods in the first place? Richard wondered. Can't they just be content to soil their own little corner of the world?  

"Fuck me!" Richard said.  

Besides the garbage, what really annoyed Richard was the way his anxiety was suddenly spiraling out of control at a moment's notice-something that happened more and more frequently. It was just a stupid dress, but his imagination was far too strong, and he never felt in control of his life or of himself. Moreover, whenever he overreacted in this manner, he would recall his father telling him about how a coward dies a thousand deaths. Clearly, his anxiety was one reason why he drank so much; to him, it was a clear-cut case of self-medication. Fuck this. Richard continued his run.  

While he ran, his dark thoughts continued to follow him through the wooden trails. Richard, like so many men, was not very comfortable in his own skin and consequently wasn't big into personal reflection. Frankly, he preferred to think of life as a bunch of shit that just happened to him and other people. However, when he ran, the surging blood would open the floodgates within his brain and, for whatever reason, made him more tolerant of his introspection.  

Richard's exile, as he called it, to this small backwards town in South Carolina was an unmitigated personal disaster for him. His career was dead at the university level, his having lost his associate professor position due to a lack of diplomacy on his part and a convenient series of state budget cuts. Well, his lack of diplomacy was really more an act of brazen stupidity, since he had decided to score with the department head's stepdaughter at a university function. She was such a pretty girl, and the head of the department was such an ugly, prodigious ass; how was he to know that the two were related? What were the odds?  

With each of Richard's steps, the events of the past two years rushed through his brain, and he felt himself shudder as he recalled his unending string of career missteps.  

Why the hell did he remember every fuck-up he ever did in his life, but he never bothered to remember one moment of personal glory? Had those moments of glory really been that few and far between? He was so damn close to finishing his research, though that might as well have been another lifetime, the way events were unfolding for him. With each step, he felt the failures gathering behind him and doggedly pursuing him as he wound his way through the woods. No matter how fast he ran, they continued to follow him, and when they caught up to him, each whispered into his ear a single word: loser!  

It wasn't meant to be this way-but wasn't that the lament of every loser?

Inspiration Goes for a Run 

Without tenure, Richard lost his associate position at the university, and after moving south with his old girlfriend, he reluctantly sought work in the public school system. Richard ended up in middle school, of all places, teaching biology to the Southern masses. The kids were mediocre and so disinterested in biology that he might as well have been speaking a foreign language-perhaps something like English. The soft Southern drawls of the Carolinas were taking a toll on him as well, and he found himself fighting hard not to acquire an accent. There was something about the heat in the South that made you want to slow down a bit, and Richard fought that temptation at every possible turn.  

Richard's Northern arrogance managed to keep him apart from his neighbors, and instead he looked for that one kindred spirit amongst the students-one bright kid or enlightened soul among the dross that would share his love for biology. Richard certainly couldn't find it amongst his brethren. His fellow teachers were a dull lot and were almost as disinterested in nurturing their inner child as were their students. It was as if the entire lot was chosen for a purgatory called middle school, where they would wait to put their time in before moving on to their next destination. The only thing was that they hadn't a clue as to what the next destination was going to be or, for that matter, why they were waiting in line in the first place. 

Richard found it rough going into class and seeing the same dull faces every day. He spent the summer between school years looking for a new tenure and working at a part-time job painting households to make ends meet. He had hoped to use the summer break to complete his paper; however, his present circumstances sucked all of the inspiration from him. At least, that's what he told himself. Not only was the school torturing him-they were doing so for a pittance. He knew it was an excuse, but what else could he do? What a loser he was becoming! 

The second year was even worse because he came to the sudden realization that the faces of his students were getting younger while he had just spent a year going nowhere and growing older. He feared this temporary teaching position was going to become permanent, and depression hung over him, coloring his world in grey monotone shades of despair that he didn't bother to hide. No, there would be no forced cheeriness on his part; it just wasn't in his nature. Consequently, he and his girlfriend soon went their separate ways. 

Richard's smartass attitude and demeanor ensured that a steady stream of confrontations would keep finding him during the course of the school year. Tom Gibson, the other so-called science teacher, loved to get on Richard's case. Tom was a goofy, middle-aged, religious nut who simply had to be related to somebody on the school board. There was absolutely no other excuse for him being a science teacher.  

Tom could sense a changing political tide as the country grew more conservative and, in the process, he felt bolder as he tried to score a few points off Richard. Richard wasn't quite sure why Tom liked to go gunning for him; he just assumed that professional jealousy was playing a big part in their supposed rivalry. Richard had a stellar academic record at an ivy-league school, while Tom had barely made his way through the ranks of the local community college by copying the homework of his dopey girlfriend. It was either that, or perhaps Tom had severe anti-social tendencies since he had been a bedwetter as a child and had been tormented unmercifully by the other kids. At least, that was the rumor Richard liked to share with the other teachers. 

Richard walked into school that fateful spring day on time for a change. He approached the faculty area just as Margaret the admin peered out from her cubicle. She gave him a frosty stare while looking him up and down. Margaret was a large, white, middle-aged woman with dyed red hair, and her once-curvaceous figure was now settling in some very unfortunate areas. Like her figure, her once-sassy disposition had also settled into a more truculent phase; nevertheless, Richard enjoyed bantering with her. He could tell that in a distant time and place, she had once been hot. 

"Richard, you weren't out chasing some skirts again last night, were you?" she asked with a slightly scolding twang. 

"Now where else would I be, Maggie?" 

"When are you going to settle down, boy? You can't go on like this forever." 

"Maggie, I have to keep looking knowing that you're off the market," Richard said with a grin. 

"Sugar, that flattery is getting you nowhere, and besides, when I was younger, you wouldn't have been able to keep up with me." 

"You know, I kinda like that challenge, so are you interested in taking on a younger man?" 

Maggie looked up from her work and gave Richard a once over. She fluttered her eyes at him for a brief moment before saying, "No, and stop dodging the issue. You're late." 

Richard checked his watch again. "Can't be; I'm on time for a change." 

"No, you are not; Jim wanted every teacher in early fifteen minutes today to discuss the results of the school board meeting." 

"Oh, please, to discuss what, the latest funding cutbacks along the road to mediocrity? So where is everybody?" Richard asked.  

"Where else? They're all in the sanctuary." 

The sanctuary was the euphemistic name the teachers used for the teacher's lounge. In the old days, the smoke would pour out of the room as you opened the door; however, now it was just a convenient watering hole for nervous coffee drinkers who were too cheap to buy a decent cup of coffee from the local Starbucks. A couple of the teachers were preparing for the day's lesson, but Richard's usual preparation for the day consisted of trying to get some sleep before wearily trotting off to his first class. Richard muttered a few hellos and went to his usual lounge chair to close his eyes.  

"Hey, Richard, big announcement coming today from the Kansas City Board of Education, huh? You must really be excited about that prospect?" Tom asked.  

Through the grogginess, the words struck a chord in Richard. He immediately recognized the whiny voice as Tom's-after all, Tom was the only other non-Southern voice among the faculty. Ah, God, why is this clown talking about Kansas City? This guy can barely read, never mind paying attention to a regional issue like the Kansas City School Board.  

Richard decided to play along with the fool's game. "Yeah, what about it, Tom?"  

"Hey, you know that a group of respected scientists are saying that your boys got it all wrong about the theory of evolution," said Tom.  

Oh boy, here it comes, Richard thought to himself.  

"Some are actually saying that DNA is the result of an intelligent design and that the diversity of life itself is proof of the hand of the creator," Tom said. 

"Diversity? I'm not sure what creationist's blog you're reading, Tom, but most respected scientists are going to boycott the upcoming hearings in Kansas City."  

"That's one man's interpretation; I think others would disagree with you," Tom responded. 

"Tom, why do I have to keep reminding you that we are teachers, not preachers, and that this is a public school, not a Bible school?"  

"What do you have against religion, anyway?" Tom stammered. 

"Nothing at all, though to me it's all just a matter of faith and not a matter of science," Richard said and took a gulp of his black coffee. "To my way of thinking, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of religions, and either most got it wrong or they're just different variations of praying to the same God. In any case, it's just not science."  

"What are you, an atheist? Figures," Tom said with a look of disgust. 

"No, maybe I'm agnostic; better yet, I'm a practicing Druid. However, that's the point, Tom; it shouldn't matter because I'm a teacher of science, not of theology. Mind you, I'm not saying there isn't a God, but for most religions, it's just a simple matter of man creating God in his own cultural image. Think about how many street-corner preachers and messiahs claim to personally know the word of God. And, you know, some of these guys actually start major religions."  

"Keep talking, Richard," Tom said. He put a finger to his chin and nodded with an air of sarcasm. 

"Is it really that important to you that I believe in the same imaginary friend that you do? Frankly, I just don't think it's that easy to divine the divine, and if that is true, I'm probably safe with my own belief system. Even so, that doesn't mean I should subject the kids to my beliefs. And neither, for that matter, should you subject me to yours," Richard said agitated that he had to have this conversation once again with Tom. 

"It's going to take more than your little speech to convert people to evolution," Tom said. 

Richard had gone through this debate with Tom numerous times before, but this time a thought came to him. "Wait here for me," he yelled as he ran from the sanctuary. The other teachers began talking among themselves as they debated what Richard was up to. 

Richard went to the mailroom to pick up a package that had been waiting for him. He grabbed the small package and raced back to the teacher's lounge, plunking the package on the table with an exaggerated thud.  

"There, take a look," Richard said. 

"Take a look at what? What the hell is that?" Tom asked as he shied away from the table. 

"Hey, will you grow a pair, or am I going to have to insist on you using the ladies' room from now on?" Richard tore open the package as he said this, removing a small object that was covered in foam. As he ripped the foam from the object, a small, brownish human-like skull was revealed. It was the size of a small child's head and seemed to be pieced together from a number of smaller fragments.  

"It's a cast of a Homo floresiensis skull, dating back just thirteen thousand years or so. Look at the small cranium; even a layperson could see that it is decidedly non-human, but the teeth are small and look very much like ours, definitely not ape-like. Notice the location of foramen magnum under the skull, which is a strong indicator of the bipedal nature of this specimen. Tom, care to explain away how this transitional skull fits into your intelligent design theory to me, and how could it be contemporary with modern humans? Huh? Does ID explain anything other than saying God did it?"  

"Where did you get that?" Tom asked. 

"What do you care? I got it at 'Skulls R Us' with my own money, not the school's, so relax, Reverend," Richard said.  

A dozen teachers crowded around to look at the specimen as Tom stepped away. They were actually more surprised that one of their kind had bought something for class than they were with the actual skull. Richard ranted on regarding the role of island biology in creating new species. The other teachers listened intently to Richard's commentary about the skull, but Tom just stood there and actually smiled back at Richard. Richard could tell that this goober knew something. 

"Okay, so why are you annoying me, anyway?" Richard asked. 

"Because I want to point out to you that when you show your students your little shrunken head next time, you're going to have to include a conversation about some of the other alternative explanations for its existence such as intelligent design," Tom said with a goofy smile. 

"Tom, what the hell are you talking about? Have you been sniffing the rat butts in the lab again?"  

Tom said, "The school board just voted yesterday, and the new science agenda this year is now to include a discussion regarding intelligent design. It's all here-have yourself a look." 

From across the table, Tom threw a copy of the school board agenda at Richard.  

"You know, if you came to the school board meetings once in a while, you could keep on top of these big issues. It would also appear you've got to change your biology curriculum a bit this year. In fact, don't forget to tell the kids that evolution is one of several possible theories this time around, will ya? Oh, this is effective immediately," Tom said. 

Richard read the meeting notes, observing that the school board had approved-by a vote of five to none-the new creationist-intelligent design agenda for biological studies.  

"This is bullshit! I can't teach that crap! Where the hell is Jim?" Richard stormed from the teacher's lounge. 

He was really pissed. To Richard, intelligent design was just another name for creationism dressed up in semi-scientific bullshit jargon to be foisted upon an ignorant and gullible American public. The idea that a benign creator was guiding evolution to the ultimate goal of humanity was just as bad science as the Biblical account of man's creation.  

The creationists had lost big-time with the debate on the age of the earth, so they were grasping at any other theory they could find that would negate the role of chance in man's creation. Intelligent design was now the latest flavor of ignorance, and these teachings were becoming so fanciful that some creationist clowns had developed theme parks featuring dinosaurs on the grounds of the Garden of Eden. Why in the hell would a T. Rex need nine-inch-long teeth in the Garden of Eden? Was Eve really that big a bitch?  

Richard wanted to retch at the thought of teaching this pseudo-science crapola. No benign creator would allow this level of ignorance to resurrect itself, and besides, what was next for a comeback: the Spanish Inquisition? To Richard, it was so moronic the way people would grasp at any explanation that didn't require them to think or question their role on the planet. Yet, was it really laziness? Or was it more the arrogance of man, and a desire for security that drove so much of man's offensive behavior, including Richard's own? 

Richard managed to track down Jim in one of the science labs. James Hyde, the school's science department head, was a tired, older gentleman, and he had little energy left for Richard's personal rants.  

"Jim, I don't get this. You didn't bother telling me about the school board vote? And I thought this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth century," Richard said. 

Jim looked up, sighing. "Let me guess. That idiot Tom shared the news with you first, huh? Richard, I have asked you repeatedly to attend the school board meetings, and you couldn't be bothered. That's fine, but because you don't like the way a school board vote went, you think you have a legitimate beef with me?"  

In the past, Jim's soft accent had a way of soothing Richard's edginess; however, Richard was having none of his bullshit this time around. "You've got be kidding with this change in the curriculum...intelligent design? Even the Catholic Church, which has not exactly been the most enlightened or progressive organization in recent history, has acknowledged the existence of evolution. And I can say that as a Catholic." 

Jim stared at him somewhat incredulously. Richard suddenly felt awkward with Jim's stare. "What, you're shocked I'm a Catholic? I guess you just assumed with the last name 'Staller' I was Protestant, am I right? Talk about religious intolerance. Would it be easier if I was a Baptist?" 

"No Richard, it's not that at all...I just can't imagine you belonging to any organized religion," Jim quipped. 

Richard was getting annoyed with Jim's flippant response. "Whatever, Jim, I'm a scientist, and unless you can deliver for me the son of God Almighty here to verify this so-called intelligent design theory, I'm not teaching it!" he shouted.  

Jim was both a teacher and a God-fearing Baptist, so he had little troubling go with the flow of the school board, especially in this situation. However, dealing with the ranting Richard was an entirely different matter for him. "Richard, you're not a scientist, you're a teacher. Moreover, it was voted on by the school board, and that's the direction we're going. Besides, what's wrong with an alternative teaching to evolution? It will either stand or fall on its own merits," he said slowly. 

Richard was pissed about Jim reminding him that he was a teacher. He didn't need his nose rubbed in it. 

"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong! In the real world, it already fell a hundred years ago!" Richard yelled as he glared at Jim, grabbing one of the large sample fossil rocks that he had given Jim when he had first started teaching. He lifted the rock above his head, and for a second Jim cowered, thinking Richard was about to strike him. Instead, Richard struck the fossil against the desk with a loud thud. The soft, sedimentary rock splintered easily into several smaller pieces. Richard looked at the broken shards and grabbed one to show Jim.  

"Look at the shells in this rock. Look, damn it," he said, shoving the rock near Jim's nose. Inside the rock, there was a collection of tiny shells or, more precisely, the imprints of some small half-inch shells that had been jumbled and cemented together over eons of time. They were small mollusks, tiny clams that could be found in any bay today; looking at them, one could almost hear the ocean gently washing over them. However, unlike their modern day cousins,' the faint whisper of their existence was forever imprisoned in this rock almost sixty million years ago.  

"What's wrong? ID is not science, but it is faith. If you can give me one reasonable explanation as to why God would hide the imprint of shells in rocks created tens of millions of years ago or spend a couple of billion years designing us, I'll teach your damn creationist dogma. Until that day, I'm teaching evolution as the only reasonable explanation for theirs and our own existence!" Richard said, and slammed his palm facedown on top of his boss' desk. 

"Thanks, Richard, for showing me what a fossil is; I'd almost forgotten," Jim said with a small smile. "Look, regular folk just don't know how to reconcile religion and evolution; they're still trying to work it out."  

"Yeah, a hundred years later, and they are still in denial," Richard said. "One of the premier minds of the last century was Albert Einstein. You know what his biggest failure was? It was saying that 'God does not play dice' with the universe. He got hung up on trying to resolve quantum mechanics and its concept of chance with his preconceived idea of a universe designed by an intelligent creator. He wasted the better part of his lifetime trying to reconcile the two and failed miserably. The greatest mind of our time failed to resolve the element of chance!  

"So do you think these folks are up to resolving the idea of chance and our own evolution? With twenty percent of Americans still thinking the sun revolves around the earth, I don't think the dumbasses are up to the challenge."  

Jim looked out the window and watched several squirrels cavorting on a tree trunk; he was doing anything to avoid listening to Richard's rambling monologue.  

"The church eventually adjusted to a universe that didn't have the earth at the center. Yet the minute you suggest that man's creation isn't by divine intervention, people go apeshit. You wanna know why? Because it knocks us off our divine pedestal and calls into question many of our most cherished assumptions. Most of it is just sheer arrogance on our part. This fight was never about God's divinity; it's about our own so-called right to divinity!" 

Richard stopped for a second when he saw Jim rolling his eyes, but then decided to continue the rant anyway. "Let me guess, we're getting new biology books with an intelligent design section?"  

"Why, yes," Jim replied. 

"Figures. I asked for some new lab equipment over a year ago, and I'm told there's no money left in the budget. But the school board can give the okay to spend tens of thousands of dollars on this abomination of a biology book to satisfy some asshole who has to be told how to think by some preacher." 

"Richard, to be honest with you, your speech would have been a lot more useful in front of the school board," Jim said. He immediately saw the look of dejection in Richard's face. "What's the big deal? You're going to sell evolution in a big way to the kids, and you'll give a short shrift to the creationist section. And knowing you, you'll do it all with a smirk and a wink. Richard, you're one of the best teachers we have in this school. You're smart, energetic, and funny. I know you think your talents are wasted here, but I also see how those kids respond to you, even if you don't. You haven't lost anything, and you haven't lost those kids. Just get in there and fight for the minds of those kids instead of fighting with me, okay? Or better yet, take your fight up with the school board."  

Jim was about to step away when he blurted, "You talk about arrogance? You know, you're also telling people what to think as well, except it's under the guise of science. Science is not entirely objective either; I know you know that."  

Richard was about to protest, even though he knew Jim had a small point. It didn't matter; he had already heard Jim's "you are a great teacher" speech before, and consequently he had already discounted anything Jim was going to say to him. Richard was also a true believer, and it would take more than the likes of Jim to persuade him to take on different beliefs. That was always at the core of Richard's problems; he made friends quite readily, but he never managed to keep them for very long. He was trying Jim's patience, he knew it, but he just didn't care anymore. That was the story of Richard's life: a never-ending series of strategic retreats and burning bridges. 

"Just do it, end of discussion," Jim said. He was glad to leave the lab without any physical injury. Why continue to fight with Richard when the curriculum wouldn't touch on the topic of evolution until later on in the year?  

That night, Richard was particularly motivated to drink himself into near oblivion. He arrived early at his favorite watering hole and was drunk in record time as he gathered together a small clique of women that he then continuously lavished with liquor. Richard drank his scotch while the girls about him drank an assortment of sweet kiddy drinks. He was soon without pain, but as the night darkened, the moment he always dreaded arrived earlier than usual when a sudden jolt of sobriety pulled him away from his alcoholic revelry and caused him to stop and reflect on the assortment of frivolous young women he had assembled around him. Tattooed and drenched in cheap knock-off perfume, most of the women were in their late teens, and they were finding his intoxicated ramblings very amusing.  

"When did my choice in women turn to young, vapid girls?" he pondered aloud during a lull in the music.  

One of the less inebriated girls overheard his acerbic comment and asked, "What did you just say?"  

Richard focused on her young, wholesome face when he suddenly became alarmed that she could actually be one of his students. Richard had only one hard and fast rule about bedding young women: they could not be one of his students. He was so drunk he couldn't be sure, so he abruptly left the girls at the bar and staggered home alone in the darkness of that chilly spring night. 

The last and sorriest chapter of Richard's stint as a public school teacher exploded during a parent-teacher's conference. Some of the more ardent fundamentalists, who also happened to be parents to some of Richard's students, came to the meeting with an agenda, and they were intent on forcing the department's hand regarding the use of the new biology book. Word had spread among the faithful that one of the biology teachers was insisting on using the old science book.  

One parent, an obstinate tall redneck type, made a loud point of wanting to talk to the biology teacher about evolution. After entering the school, he began the process of systematically hunting Richard down. Richard was busily talking to another parent about her child's progress and the parent's own debilitating learning disabilities. While speaking to the mother, Richard felt his accent become very pronounced, giving away his Northern roots. The fundamentalist parent overheard Richard speaking and knew he had found his quarry.  

When the mother left, the rude parent flagged Richard down. Richard took a long, hard look at the man who apparently wanted his undivided attention. The parent was dressed in a mechanic's uniform topped off with a jacket that was stained with grease. A tall, thin man, his blue eyes were small, and he resembled a redneck Randy Johnson while speaking with a pronounced drawl. He was a hard-working stiff who was actually fairly larger and a bit taller than Richard. Richard carefully eyed his opponent, realizing that these physical attributes were all-important factors to consider when engaging in a possible physical confrontation. 

"My kid is in your biology class this year. What do y'all think of the new biology book?" the parent asked.  

Richard was not one to back down from a confrontation; he felt he had a little too much Irish in the blood to do so. He looked the man in the eye and asked him, "Who's your son, sir?" 

"Steven Boyle." 

Richard knew Steven immediately. Steven was a dull, disinterested student who had a tendency to play with himself in the back of the classroom. He wasn't much of a bother, though it was clear to Richard that Steven wasn't going anywhere fast during this lifetime-unless, of course, masturbation was on the fast track to becoming a new Olympic sport.  

"Ah, Steven. For whatever reason, he doesn't seem to be particularly motivated about biology other than his own, so to speak. Also, to answer your question, I don't think much of the new biology book. It is an abomination of learning, and I have little use for religious doctrine disguised as pseudo-scientific fact. Unless a theory can be tested, it has no place in a science class. Until we define a test for determining the existing of the Lord, it can't really be called a theory-"  

"Yes, you can! We call it faith. Don't you believe in the Bible? Don't ya believe in anything?" Mr. Boyle asked. 

"No, not literally, I don't think God is that easy to divine, but let's get back to Steven."  

The clearly agitated parent said, "What? You know evolution is just a theory, and it's not proven."  

Richard was ready for this comment. "Mr. Boyle, that's a bit of a misnomer by most laypeople. In science, a theory provides the theoretical framework for an explanation that describes and supports our observations of nature. Gravity is, by definition, a theory too, and yet you have no problem observing it as reality. In fact, I would say that you're fairly grounded with it, if you don't mind the pun. Nonetheless, within the gravitational theory, there have been numerous changes. For example, when Einstein described the mechanism of gravity as the result of the warping of the time and space continuum. The mechanism may change as our knowledge base grows, but the results are still good old gravity," Richard concluded.  

Mr. Boyle looked pained with Richard's ongoing lecture as he seemed to gulp for air. Richard knew he was being a smartass, and once again, he found himself referencing Albert Einstein, knowing that in any debate he could count on the reverence many average laypeople had for the physicist's name. Besides, how many laypeople knew the names of any evolutionary scientists or, for that matter, the names of any living scientists? Had they even heard of Richard Dawkins or the late Stephen Jay Gould? No, probably not, but there was a good chance they might know the name of Oprah's latest mate. Their world was constantly transformed by the men and women of science, though most people spent their lives living in blissful ignorance of science, and frankly, most preferred it to stay that way. 

Mr. Boyle's jaw dropped at the changing course of the conversation, and he wasn't armed intellectually to put up much of a fight. Richard found it hard to remain interested in this battle of wits with what appeared to be a genuine conscientious objector on the part of the redneck parent. To make matters worse, a small gathering of other parents began to encircle the two antagonists. They were sensing the growing tension between the two, and they didn't want to miss a word or, more importantly, the possibility of a good fight. Likewise, Richard saw this as his opportunity to put on a good show and perhaps even teach the goobers a thing or two about evolution.  

"But it's still a theory!" the parent exclaimed. 

"Not if you mean theoretical as unproven," Richard said in an annoyed manner. "It's a construct for describing our observations of nature. Animals and plants live and die, and in time will evolve into new forms all without the direct intervention of God. We can even create new species in laboratories that have nothing to do with God directly-unless, of course, you count us as instruments for God. You probably had some of those new species for breakfast this morning. We invest billions of dollars in technologies that manipulate DNA, the very building blocks of evolution." 

"But what-" the parent tried to interject.  

Richard interrupted, "Jeez, there are even things call wolphins that exist because killer whales and dolphins got it on in one of the Sea World tanks. As far as I know, that was man's doing for the tourists, not God's doing-unless Jesus is making a comeback during a Sea World show on the back of a killer wolphin." Richard knew he was adding a touch of the sacrilegious into the debate; however, he was on a roll in front of the audience that had gathered about him.  

"The earth just isn't that old. It's all a big lie," Mr. Boyle yelled. "The Bible is the truth, and man is not the result of some accident. Man is God's work, and we have to accept that! You're an atheist!"  

Jim overheard the angry words between the pair, but he couldn't make his way through the growing throng of people to intercept the two combatants.  

"Hey buddy, it's not just the biologists making this stuff up; it's also the physicists, geologists, and the astronomers who are doing the dating of the earth. Most of those guys couldn't give a damn about the theory of evolution, and yet they all have this planet pegged for being about four and a half billion years old, not your six thousand years," Richard said.  

The parent shook his head and muttered, "All lies, all lies. You're teaching lies to my kid, you lousy leftist." 

Richard was tired of the fight, and an angry torrent of words emerged from his mouth. "And I'll clue you in on something else! The earth isn't in the center of the universe anymore, and I don't care if your politicians don't know if evolution is true or not. If evolution is all a big lie, how come you never find a bunny rabbit fossil in a Pre-Cambrian rock? It's rough when facts get in the way of fiction, huh? Think, man, will you? That's all I ask of the kids." There was an awkward silence among the large gathering of parents.  

"Now if you will excuse me, I have another meeting to go to, and you're now free to head home and listen to talk radio in your truck," Richard said. He then snarled a quick smile at Mr. Boyle, a smile that said go ahead, fuck with me and see what happens.  

The abrupt ending didn't sit well with Mr. Boyle, so he grabbed Richard's arm as he was stepping away. Richard quickly pushed the parent's hand off his arm, and in the process of deflecting arms, they began to jostle each other. Richard finally extricated his arms, and he began to walk away again.  

Mr. Boyle, frustrated with the ordeal, realized that his foe was evading him, and he shoved Richard in the back. Richard fell forward but caught himself before completely collapsing to the ground. There was an audible gasp from the gathered group of parents as they watched Richard stagger forward. 

Richard had enough from his opponent, and he turned around while letting loose with a big overhand that caught the charging redneck square in the nose. The nasal cartilage fractured with a crunching noise as blood flew from the broken nose, splattering the crowd of horrified bystanders. The taller man crumbled to the ground while Richard was restrained by several other parents in an effort to separate the two combatants. Some of the women started screaming in fear as they wiped the splattered blood droplets from their faces. This precipitated a mad rush for the exit doors as other parents tried to escape the ensuing melee.  

Several additional teachers intervened, and they pulled a struggling Richard from the room. As he left, Richard could overhear Mr. Boyle's incoherent cursing in the background. Richard was hastily walked to Jim's office, and while he waited, he noticed a large cut on his knuckle that had been opened with the punch. Richard smiled to himself with the realization that he had given more than he had taken. 

Jim finally arrived, and he stepped closer to Richard while angrily asking him, "Are you nuts? Have you completely lost your sanity?"  

Richard nodded his head in the affirmative.  

"What the hell do you want from me?" Jim asked in resignation. "I can't protect you now; you blew it." 

"That asshole started it! I'm out of here as of now," Richard yelled. "I didn't start this fight, but I sure as hell will finish it. You teach these morons; they don't want to be taught-they just want to be reassured," Richard said and hurriedly left the school.  

The whole episode left him feeling cold, useless, and stupid. Besides losing his job, Richard had to wait to find out whether the redneck parent was going to charge him with aggravated assault. And, of course, there was the cloud of a lingering civil suit that continued to hang over his head. The only thing that could save Richard was that any practiced lawyer reviewing the case would immediately know he had no assets to speak of, so it was more a matter of pursuing the school district for damages. So far, Mr. Boyle was content with having Richard out of the classroom, though that status quo could change at a moment's notice or with a lawyer's phone call.  

Richard's enduring bout of depression had now been going on for several weeks. Worse, depression for Richard was truly anger without the enthusiasm, and with each day, he felt his spirit slowly ebbing away from him.  

But this morning, everything had changed for Richard. The blog article had given him something he hadn't had in a long time: a sliver of hope...but what the hell was the girl's name? 

Richard was now running on a tricky patch of ground, which rudely forced him to abandon his melancholy musings. Being self-taught, Richard was not an elegant runner, and his stride wasn't very efficient-even his breathing technique was all wrong. He made up for these shortcomings by, over the years, transforming his body into an enlarged heart and lung machine, giving him an endurance edge that few other people possessed. He approached his running with the same manic commitment he reserved for his drinking habit. He also knew he had thus far been fortunate enough to avoid the usual chronic injuries that crippled so many other distance runners. With each step, the blood from his heart pumped vigorously throughout his body, surging into his limbs and finally, deep into the dustbins that littered his brain.  

This is what millions of years of evolution had designed the human body for: to be an efficient machine for walking to the next food source and for running after wounded prey. During a good run, each stride was a perfect, effortless, rhythmic step that made Richard's soul and body feel like one, rather than their usual state of constant warfare with one another. 

With his next step, he suddenly remembered her face. She was an attractive lady-almost pretty-who wore little makeup and had small features. That's right, she was a small brunette with light green, almost exotic eyes. She was a little older than him and had a nice, curvy shape. She had a tan at the time, and she had good, firm legs, if he recalled correctly, that were accentuated by her heels. That's right, she also smelled good as well. These were all key elements in his checklist for remembering any woman of sexual merit.  

He then remembered one other distinguishing characteristic about her. Man, she was such a pain in the ass! She was very bright, yet so opinionated, and she possessed absolutely no sense of humor. She didn't even find him amusing, and that was particularly insulting to Richard's fragile ego.  

Come on, how could that be? Richard knew that every ninth-grade girl in his school had a crush on him for his looks as much as his smartass ways. A sense of humor was critical in his short list of admirable qualities in a woman. With Richard's childish behavior, it was actually a necessity in order for a woman to tolerate him for any period of time.  

He approached a steeper slope, and he immediately shortened his stride to accommodate the challenging gradient. He looked down to check his footing when he caught a glimpse of a discarded Sara Lee pound cake lid lying on the ground.  

Stupid garbage, that's all I need to do-take a spill on that lid.  

He knew that a fall this deep in the woods would mean an excruciating, long walk back to the crummy apartment. He took an elongated step to avoid the lid, and with the blood surging through the vessels in his skull, it came to him, seemingly out of the void, but actually deep from the recesses of his brain.  

"Shit, that's it, her name! Sarah, Sarah Levine!" he yelled. And that's why Richard ran, not to run away from his sad, tortured life, as he did with his drinking, but to somehow remember the random, discarded fragments of his existence. With Sarah's name firmly fixed within his consciousness, Richard picked up his pace and barely noticed the precipice that lay before him. 

The Rest Will Follow 

It took Richard less than ten minutes on the Internet to track Sarah Levine down to her most recent university posting. Later that day, he managed to find a phone number for her, and he began calling obsessively. Reaching her voicemail, Richard hung up repeatedly, wanting instead the opportunity to talk to her directly. Later that afternoon, he finally caught Sarah in her office. 

"Sarah Levine?"  

"Yes, who is this?"  

"Professor Staller, Richard Staller; we met at the anthropology conference in Cleveland a few years ago."  

"Why, yes, I do remember you, Richard. How's it going, and what have you been up to?" Sarah said in a forced cheerful tone. 

"Well, not up to much-a little teaching at the public school level, though to be honest with you, Sarah, I'm not calling you to catch up on old times. I'm sure you've heard the press announcement regarding Homo floresiensis and Flores Island?"  

Sarah felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. It had been one of her momentary lapses of judgment when she told Richard the details regarding her to trip to the mystery island and her so-called incident in the jungle. She hadn't even been planning to go to the social mixer that ran after the most boring academic conference Sarah could ever recall attending. Nevertheless, for some reason, that stupid small voice told her to get out that night and have some fun.  

Sarah had been alone at the mixer, busily rebuffing the approaches of several losers when she spotted Richard listening to a grey-haired dowager as he surveyed the room. Richard was a somewhat attractive guy, at least compared with some of the other university dregs that had attended the conference, and she caught him scrutinizing her.  

Richard was tall, somewhat on the lean side, with a somewhat boyish face and a square jawline. He had brown, thick hair and, unlike his brethren, his hair at least appeared to have been combed during the past week. His clothes were cleaned and pressed; overall, he made a respectable presentation from a distance. Most of all, she had liked his light-blue eyes with their hint of mischief dancing within. In short, he had all the traits of being a typical player, and that suited her temperament perfectly; after all, she was looking for some fun that night, not a boyfriend.  

Most of the other men at the conference were barely capable of rudimentary grooming such as bathing and shaving, never mind having a full social discourse with a woman. When totally bored, Sarah often made a game of spotting the man with the widest variety of food stains on his clothes, trying to guess, for example, what they had for lunch. Previously, she had tried to figure out who had gone without a shower the longest; however, the body odor took too much of a toll on her sensitive nose. And this was from a woman who regularly worked with apes. She could excuse the apes for their odor, but she couldn't excuse people for smelling like animals. No, viewing stains from a distance was a much safer diversion. Even so, this game had its perils, too, because if her subjects saw Sarah looking at them, they automatically assumed she was flirting with them.  

No matter how slovenly these men might appear, Sarah could always count on a healthy dose of male ego to force itself upon her. If a man did approach her, Sarah found that her best defense was to either play dead or challenge them intellectually. Most of the men she met felt challenged by her intellect; after all, she was a bright person, and she wasn't about to dumb it down for some fragile male ego. After shooting down some of the other academic dregs, Sarah set her targets on Richard. For whatever reason, she had felt like flirting that night, and Richard was the only male in the room that appeared to be of the same species.  

Richard spotted the quiet brunette eyeing him, and he quickly excused himself from the talkative widow. He confidently walked over to Sarah and smiled while asking her, "How many evolutionists does it take to change a light bulb?" 

Sarah looked at him and incredulously asked, "What the-?"  

"You heard me, how many evolutionists does it take to change a light bulb?"  

"Duh, only one, but it takes her eight million years," she said, chuckling while shaking her head at his lame joke.  

Richard was undeterred by his initial failure. "All right, you heard that one before, so how many creationists does it take to change a light bulb?" 

Sarah gave him a quizzical look while Richard pressed ahead. "Only one, and you damn well know that it takes him no more than seven days."  

Sarah continued shaking her head. "Really, I haven't heard such riveting humor since grade school. That's your pick-up line? So what are you working, a pity angle with me?" Sarah asked jokingly. 

"Why, would that angle work with you?"  

"No, not really. I don't do charity work." 

"All right, those jokes sucked, I'll grant you that, but you did laugh. And after surveying the competition here, I figured I could get away with a slow start. Besides, I didn't think my standard pick-up lines would work with you, and I had to make sure you weren't one of the pod people at this conference," Richard said.  

"No, I'm not, and I was laughing at you, not at the lame jokes. You are right though, these people do make tedium seem exciting. So is that your best shot at picking me up?"  

"I was going to ask what a fine-looking lady like you was doing here with these losers." 

"What, I don't qualify as a hottie?" Sarah responded, flashing him a big grin.  

Her eyes suddenly caught his attention. They were light green and uniquely shaped, not quite almond-shaped, but very different. Richard realized then that she may have been quiet, but she wasn't shy-not by a long shot. Emboldened by her flirting, he decided to press ahead.  

"To be honest with you, any adjectives I could use to compare you with this crowd is damning with faint phrase," he said. He then looked about at the other attendees while grimacing. 

"Very well put. I'm Associate Professor Sarah Levine." She extended her hand for a collegial handshake. Richard grasped her small hand with his and held on for a few extra moments while looking into her eyes. 

"Actually, I didn't know what line to use since I observed you shooting down all the other guys here." 

"You know, they deserved to be shot down, so please don't disappoint me," she said with a seductive smile. 

"You got a deal, but this usually works a lot better for both of us if you're drunk, so allow me to get you another drink," a smirking Richard said, and the two headed over to the open bar together.  

"Scotch on the rocks for me and for the lady?"  

"Ah, a white wine-no, I have that all the time. Make that a scotch for me, too," she said. Richard gave the bartender a couple of bucks and handed the scotch to Sarah. He then escorted her to a quieter section of the meeting room. 

Richard liked the spunky little brunette, and after introductions, he gave her a brief overview of his research. Sarah could tell that he loved talking about himself, and she actually understood his work on species radiation in hominins through DNA analysis. Most other women would have chewed their right leg off to get away from that conversation with Richard.

Bright kid, he had thought to himself, even though she was actually several years his senior. Sarah talked about her work as a primatologist and some of the papers she had published, making it clear to Richard that she was no lightweight. Smartest kid in her class, they would say about her, and she knew it. 

Richard had been impressed with her work, but not enough to keep the academic talk going. He wanted to have some fun and, after all, she was an attractive girl in any room, boring or otherwise. For Richard, that was only type of girl truly worth pursuing because if he was going to be tortured by a woman-and they all did torture at some point-he might as well be tortured by an attractive woman.  

Richard interrupted her by commenting, "That's a hell of a nice tan you've got going there, girl. I would love to see your tan lines." 

"Hmmm, that was a bit obvious, Richard, and why do you assume I have any?" she replied with a small smile. 

Richard thought that sounded encouraging, and he was about to offer his inspection services when she followed with, "Anyway, spend two months in Flores and you'll develop a darn good basecoat. For now, I'm going to keep the tan lines to myself, thank you."  

Richard wasn't dissuaded from his pursuit. She continued to talk only to have Richard interrupt her once again by asking, "You went to Flores, huh? So did you visit the caves at Bin Laung?" 

"Ah, no," she said.  

"What, you're a primatologist visiting Flores, and you didn't go the caves? I'm not an expert, but if I recall correctly, there are no primates on Flores Island-other than the two-legged human kind, right? That had to be a big career move for you. So why were you there?"  

Richard was being a smartass, and maybe it was the second glass of scotch, but Sarah decided to show off. No, the boring tales regarding the bird studies would not do in this situation. Sarah smiled at Richard, looking at him straight in the eyes.  

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you. You know there can be more than one species of two-legged primates," Sarah said. Richard drew closer to her, noticing that as she spoke, her nostrils flared ever so slightly. 

"Yeah, maybe thirteen thousand years ago on that island," Richard replied. 

"Don't be such a cretin, Richard. That's such boring, old school thinking."  

"What?" he asked as he pondered her use of the word cretin. 

"It may not have been that long ago," she said with a big smile as she stirred her drink with her finger. 

"Get out of here-where?" She now had Richard's attention, but she turned away from him, looking out at the rest of the room while playing coy. 

"Well, I can't say, but on one of those so-called non-primate islands, I think there's a major discovery to be made-just there for the taking, as they say," she said as she instinctively turned to face him, standing on her toes to look up at him.  

Maybe it was the alcohol, but Sarah found herself talking more loudly than usual. 

"You saw something on Flores?" Richard pressed closer to her. He loved the look in her eyes with the pupils widening; this girl knew how to flirt. He started to notice her perfume, and he struggled to place the scent. This cute girl also smelled good, and she was wearing a white blouse under her blazer that nicely offset her tan. The top buttons of her blouse were undone, and he found himself fighting hard to resist the temptation of looking down at the shorter woman's cleavage. For a small girl, she had a nice pair, and he wondered about her cup size before regaining a modicum of self-control by repeating his old pickup mantra: "Focus on her eyes, Richard, the rest will follow." 

Sarah commented, "No, not on Flores, but on one of the other islands off Flores; there's something on that island."  

"Come on, what? Bigfoot?"  

She continued in an excited but hushed voice, "More like I felt something while I was in the woods; I mean, it was an intelligent presence. It was far different from what I've sensed when I'm in the jungle with other apes such as chimps or gorillas. I heard murmuring coming from them, some type of vocalization, very non-ape like."  

"You're being a bit vague for me. Just what the hell did you see or hear, kiddo?" Richard said, smiling.  

"I didn't see anything, but someone is there, and I'm going back to find them," Sarah said with great determination. "Have you ever heard of the Ebu Gogo?" 

"Yes, what about them?"  

"Well, think about destiny," Sarah said, smiling at him with that sparkle in her eyes. 

"Destiny?" Great! This chick is spending way too much time alone in the jungle on some Godforsaken island. He was beginning to question what that wild-eyed look in her eyes a few moments ago really meant. He had assumed she was flirting, but now he was having second thoughts about her true motivations. Was she a flake, or a member of some weird cult? Whatever the case, for Richard, horniness would always win out over personal safety, and he decided to press ahead with the peculiar brunette.  

They talked a little more, and Richard started to tease her about working with apes. That was a big gaffe on his part since that was tantamount to attacking her family! Sarah found his humor to be somewhat juvenile, especially when it was at her expense, and she grew tired of the flirting game. She soon gave Richard the dreaded goodbye look and told him she was calling it a night, despite his adamant protests. Before she left, they had politely exchanged email addresses. 

A few days after the conference, Richard had the opportunity to read some of Sarah's research in the journals, the very same professional journals that he had been hoping to submit his work to. He had expected to find her articles to be a mix of some soft, touchy-feely, humanist anthropology. Much to his surprise, Richard soon saw that Sarah wrote her articles on primates with the cold, unblinking eye of a scientist. Observations, facts, and deductions were the mainstays of Sarah's publications, not subjective humanist feelings.  

Sarah's research on the great apes focused exclusively on the study of empathy. Empathy, the ability of one sentient creature to put themselves in another creature's shoes, was a critical ingredient in the unique makeup of human beings. That unique human ingredient also seemed to be an important characteristic of primates in general. Research in macaque monkeys identified a region of the brain that fired in response to their own activity, or even if they watched another monkey perform the same action. Called mirror neurons, their presence suggested the innate ability of primates to put themselves in another creature's frame of mind. Research indicated that much of the primate's brain was wired specifically for interaction with other primates. The ability to predict the behavior of other individuals in the troop would give an individual a decided edge in manipulating others. Even in chimps, there had been suggestions that they knew how to lie to other primates-even to their human researchers.  

Sarah's work was continuing the research of others in the field in suggesting that this basic primate capability was integral in understanding human behavior. And Sarah wasn't just content to publish academic work-she was an active member of the online animal rights community as well. Going on a hunch, Richard did a search on "cretin" and "apes", and he found numerous blog entries from an individual going by the handle "CRAZY4APES." It had to be her because in one exchange she wrote that "the primate's innate ability to manipulate and empathize lead directly to the good and evil duality we are now witness to in human beings." She continued, "Empathy allows humans to feel pity and sorrow for others, while on the other hand, it allows a man to join others of his kind in fighting a war-truly a double-edged sword." To Sarah, apes were clearly on the first step of the evolutionary ladder to a Theory of Mind. The other person strongly disagreed with her assessment about ape empathy, but Sarah punctuated her closing argument by labeling that person a "cretin".  

All of this reading about human emotions made Richard feel a bit dirty since he was a meat-and-potatoes type of science guy. Furthermore, he had to admit that he was somewhat of an emotional cripple with an obvious dislike for analyzing his own feelings. Still, Sarah's work couldn't be ignored, and the ramifications could be far-reaching. Obviously, damage to certain areas in the human brain could result in a variety of neurological diseases. Could damage to mirror neurons result in autism?  

Richard then reflected on the full spectrum of classic sociopath behavior that was manifested in a loan solitary child who tortured small animals for a vicarious thrill, to the secretive sexual perversions of an obsessive serial killer, and finally to the demonstratively public displays of genocide perpetrated by your garden variety war criminal. The ability of some people to intimately kill others, without the slightest hesitation or remorse, perhaps even to enjoy it, was a trait that most humans had some considerable difficulty coming to terms with. People just assumed these behaviors were the product of a flawed soul, but what if all of these horrific behaviors could be attributed to a deficiency of the brain, leading to a means of detection and, finally, to an inevitable remedy? It sounded almost flippant; however, could future Hitlers and Stalins be cured with the proper medications or treatments? 

No, as Richard saw it, Sarah's work was important in linking the evolution of primate emotions to our present human behavior. Despite Sarah's deep respect and reverence for the great apes, science was the dominant theme in her writings. She certainly wasn't a flake, so that made her comments about the "intelligent presence" on the island even more vexing to him. As the Flores discovery gained momentum, Richard knew he had to stay in touch with the brunette, but then life happened, like a sledgehammer to the testicles. The juxtaposition with the Flores discovery was why he remembered meeting her in the first place. Plus, he always had a yen for small, dark-haired girls with big boobs.

Upon hearing his voice once again, Sarah wished she had never said anything to him. She suddenly felt nauseous.  

"I see that you like giving anonymous quotes to bloggers about finds on non-primate islands," he said.  

Taken aback by Richard's boldness, Sarah decided to play it safe, so she got defensive about the topic. "What do you mean, Richard?" she asked in a somewhat agitated voice, wanting to hang up on him. 

"That night, you told me that you sensed an intelligent presence on one of those Indonesian islands; plus, there are a few anthropologists thinking there are more than just bones to find in the area. Hell, they're talking about searching the caves and forests, not just for fossils, but for living specimens! You're the one that mentioned the Ebu Gogo that night." 

"You're getting way ahead of yourself, Richard. I didn't tie this into Homo floresiensis; you just did. I had too much to drink that night at the conference. And besides, of what concern is this matter to you?" Sarah asked.

The phrase "this matter" caught Richard's attention. To his ear, Sarah's last comment was a tell, and that's why Richard hated phone conversations. If he could see her face, he'd know instantly if she was planning a trip back to Flores. He knew she was playing defensive ball, doing anything she could to stonewall him.  

"Come on, Sarah-or should I call you CRAZY4APES? Please don't snow me; I know what you're planning. Your blog comment was a dead giveaway!" Richard said.  

"Sorry, Richard, I have to go." She abruptly hung up on him. Sarah realized that wasn't too polite of her, but she was truly shaken by Richard's call. She knew Richard's meddling could queer the entire expedition for her. 

There were many ways to describe Richard. Angry, impetuous, arrogant, and sometimes even stupid, but he wasn't a quitter. Richard decided to meet with her face-to-face at her university. Hell, he had no job after the incident with the redneck creationist parent, so a road trip was not out of the question for him. Richard looked up her address and decided to drive to her university the following day.  

He spent the entire day tracking down Sarah until he finally caught up with her at the school's primate lab. He went into the biology building on campus and asked one of the security guards if they knew where Sarah Levine could be found. He showed the old guard his expired university card, explaining that he had a meeting scheduled with the associate professor. The guard, who was more interested in reading his copy of the National Enquirer, ignored the card and gruffly pointed Richard in the direction of the Primate Labs.  

When he entered the lab, Richard noticed the distinctive ripe odor of caged apes, an odor he found repulsive even as a kid when he visited the local zoo.  

She was on her knees as Richard entered the lab. At his first glimpse of Sarah in over two years, Richard literally took a step backward at her grubby appearance.  

Dear God, how drunk had he been that night when he first met her?  

Sarah looked like a homeless person in her filthy sweat clothes and dirty hair. She was sweaty while smelling of disinfectant and ape shit, never mind her missing makeup and tan. A startled Richard tried vainly to remember what he saw in her in the first place.  

Sarah had been working with several chimps, and she was now taking some time out to feed and play with them. While feeding them, she had decided to clean their neglected cages. The other graduate students responsible for cleaning the cages were to be found slacking as usual; consequently, Sarah decided to pitch in to help her animal friends.  

She was extremely surprised by the sudden arrival of Richard. She quietly escorted Jojo, a five-year-old juvenile male chimp, out of his cage, and then moved closer to Richard. She was horrified that Richard was seeing her in her present disheveled state; she was even more horrified that he had been brazen enough to track her down. Plus, the look of undisguised disgust that registered on Richard's face didn't go unnoticed by Sarah. No woman wanted to receive that look from any man, no matter what her circumstances might be. 

"Sarah, how are you doing? Richard Staller," he said, extending a hand to shake with her. However, Sarah's gloved hands were covered in a mix of fruit mush and who knows what else, so she graciously declined to shake, gesturing to the mess on her hands. 

"Uh, what's that on your cheek?" he asked.  

"Food?" she hesitantly replied as she tried to wipe her cheek with her forearm.  

Richard decided it was best for all not to pursue that particular line of inquiry. 

"Really, Richard, how did you get in here? You know you caught me at a really bad time." 

"Why? You look great!"  

"Huh, thanks a lot," Sarah said. 

"No, really, what is that beguiling odor in the air; is that a new perfume you're wearing?" he asked, faking a sniff. "No, no, let me guess.... Is it Monkey Business?"  

Sarah made a small disgusted face at the comment. "Trying out new material, I see. So besides being the straight woman for your new standup act, is there any particular reason why you're here-uninvited, I might add-to see me?" She dramatically turned away from him and in an animated manner continued the meal preparation. 

"Well, Sarah, you kind of ended our phone conversation very abruptly, so I figured I would look you up. I remembered your story about the island and the intelligent presence you sensed. Or should we cut to the chase and call that presence the Ebu Gogo? You know, how somebody intelligent was watching you in the woods and, even more importantly, how you know where they are," Richard said. 

"Public school, huh? You must have really enjoyed teaching biology to the great unwashed. I mean, a man of your superior learning and capabilities shouldn't be allowed to lower himself by having to mix with the local yokels," Sarah said. 

"Thanks for the sarcasm, but I guess I deserve it. It wasn't that bad until I banged heads with one of the born-again fanatics. They didn't care for the way I refused to call intelligent design a theory. I had an altercation with one of them one day during a parent-teacher's conference. The jerk actually shoved me."  

"Let me guess. You weren't the least bit belligerent?" Sarah said in an obvious effort to sidetrack Richard. 

"A bit, maybe, but that jerk was asking for it. It really became a small donnybrook. I bet they're still talking about it to this day," Richard said.  

Sarah shook her head. "I'm not quite sure what a donnybrook is, but I'm pretty sure it's not Latin for a scholarly debate. Allow me to guess again: Your scholarly debate with the parent turned into a fistfight, am I right?"  

In response to her question, Richard hung his head down in apparent shame. 

"Ah, good times, huh? Richard, you are such a cretin. That's exactly how they wanted you to react."  

Richard was about to speak, but he paused for a second. He had been subjected to a variety of different curses before, had even been called an idiot and moron numerous times, but cretin was now becoming a regular addition to the list of disparaging adjectives people had used to describe him. Interesting choice of words from a strange little woman; moreover, she didn't even pronounce the word correctly.  

"Perhaps, but you know it could have been just the excuse I needed to get the hell out of there. I kind of felt trapped. A heretic amongst the true believers, I guess," Richard said. He looked away from her in an effort to try and hide his apparent repulsion regarding her present physical condition. 

"Well, you missed a perfect opportunity to win converts amongst the less committed," Sarah said, smiling at him. He had started to hate that stupid, little smug smile of hers.  

"Sarah, do you know what it's like to teach the great unwashed? You sit here in the Ivory Tower preaching the gospel to the choir. They've already bought into evolution, with all of the iconoclastic ramifications those beliefs entail. Out there, in the real world, they haven't. They still believe in angels, saints, and miracles, and they hate you for trying to upset their perfectly stupid little world! They don't want to think, and they sure as hell don't want you to challenge them. I guess I don't quite fit the bill as a missionary for evolution."  

"You don't fit the bill for much, do you?"  

Wow, Richard thought that comment was uncalled for; she was really letting him have it with both barrels. It was readily apparent to him that Sarah wasn't warming up to his boyish charms. Must be her dirty sweats talking. 

"So, besides catching up on old times, why the visit now?"  

"I know what you saw that day on that island off Flores-"  

Sarah slammed a can of food she was opening on the counter to stop Richard from talking. "Damn it, I don't even know for sure what I felt, so I'm positive you don't know," she said with her finger raised. "If you recall, I didn't see anything." 

"Well, I figured we put together an expedition and search outside Flores where nobody else is looking. I figured you can use my help with-" 

"I don't need your help, thank you," Sarah said, abruptly interrupting Richard.  

"But you are going; I mean you're planning to go back to your island, aren't you?"  

"I'd rather not say. I try to keep my lies to a minimum; it just makes it that much easier to keep track of the occasional lie," Sarah said. 

He knew it; he was right about her! What was even worse was that she was deliberately shutting him out from her expedition. Richard felt his stomach tighten, and he started to feel a bit desperate.  

"Look, just add me to the team as a junior member; give me a chance to work with you!" he pleaded. 

"Richard, Dr. Brightman is putting together the team, and he has already invited a DNA anthropologist. I'm not sure there's a position open, but I can check for you." That would be a cold day in hell!  

When she said those words, Richard thought he detected a trace of a smile on her lips. Figures! No lipstick, slightly chapped and thin lips to boot, he noted to himself as he looked away. He bit his own lip and tried to gather his wits about him. A sense of panic was starting to grip him, yet there was little he could do to regain control of the conversation or of his destiny. 

Out of desperation, Richard blurted out, "Maybe I could keep you warm at night, you know, bumpin' uglies!"  

The minute Richard said it, he knew it was a stupid, rude remark that wasn't at all funny, especially to someone who wasn't drunk. Too late...the damage was done.  

As a rejoinder to his last comment, Sarah scrunched her face again and pursed her lips as if to chastise him with a single, fleeting look. "Really, that's not necessary; I'm perfectly capable of staying warm on my own, especially on a tropical island. And I'll keep my uglies to myself, thank you."  

They continued their animated discussion while Jojo, the male juvenile chimp, sat docilely in the corner busily playing with a piece of fruit. He was getting bored, and he wanted attention from Sarah. Worse, he sensed the growing tension between the two bipeds in the room. Consequently, he started to get unruly by making loud calls, and he soon escalated into a full rampage by throwing his toys about the lab. Richard didn't even realize the animal was free from his cage, so he was taken aback by the chimp's outburst, and he instinctively took a step back toward the other end of the lab. The noise from the enraged chimp became deafening in the confined space of the lab. Richard knew all too well how strong chimps were and, ouch, as a reminder, he thought about a news story about a rampaging chimpanzee that had ripped apart a man's scrotum. The ape began a full charge at the two. Richard froze for a moment, not knowing how to react to the apparent onslaught from the crazed chimp. 

Sarah stood straight up to face the attacking chimp. "Jojo, stop it now, damn it!" She yelled while staring him down. The juvenile male backed down, giving a small whimper as he scampered away from the two. The rampage ended, and a relative calm returned once again to the lab.  

Richard was thrown off by the attack and visibly shaken by the male chimp's rage. Did that bitch actually plan that little display?  

Sarah commented, "You know, he's like most of the males I've met in my life: all noise and very little substance." 

Richard smiled in an exaggerated manner at her, as if to say, "Ha, ha." "Very funny, I bet you staged this just to see what I would do..." 

"That's fairly paranoid of you, especially since you're the one visiting me without an invite. Sounds to me like somebody's off their meds today," she said in a falsetto. She spoke without looking at him, busying herself with the preparation of meals for the other animals.  

Richard felt his career opportunity slipping away from him, and he was drawing a blank on what next to say to her. He sat down, putting his head in hands while rubbing his eyes, then his head. Sarah paid scant attention to him while she continued with her work in the lab.  

A few awkward minutes passed, and she asked, "Excuse me, Richard, do you have anything more to say?"  

He did. In fact, he had much to say, words that were far too vicious to utter. He felt the blood pounding in his head and his anger building until his face flushed a warm red, a sure indication of how conflicted he felt. He was angry with Sarah for her righteous, schoolgirl attitude, plus he was angry with himself for having to go to her with his hat in hand in the first place. He wanted to let her have it so badly, but the small voice of reason within him restrained him and finally muzzled him. Here he was with one identifiable moment in his life that could make or break his career-no, actually his very existence-and he stood at the precipice wondering what to do next. Usually, those moments passed right by him, identifiable only by his terrible hindsight, but this moment stood out, stopped and challenged him to make the right choice. 

Finally, Richard made his decision. He decided not to explode, thereby avoiding his usual scorched earth policy of human relations.  

"Ah, fuck me," he muttered under his breath. 

"Did you say something?" she asked. 

"I think I should be leaving," he said, trying not to scowl at her. "I'll leave you my phone number in case circumstances should change with your team. I mean, you're not totally opposed to working with me if something should change, are you?"  

"Of course not, and if things should change, you will be the first person I contact. Goodbye, Richard," Sarah curtly replied.  

He wrote down his phone number and left the lab muttering. The lab door slammed behind him, and an eerie silence fell over the caged animals.

After Richard left the lab, Sarah gathered Jojo and ushered him in the direction of his cage. Before putting the chimp up, Sarah stopped to give him a big hug.  

"Good boy, I can always count on my Jojo to make a scene! Now tell me, did that big ape scare you?" she cooed to him as the chimp returned her hug. 

Nobody of Consequence 

Should a seeker not find 

a companion who is better or equal, 

let her resolutely pursue a solitary course; 

there is no fellowship with the fool.

The day after Richard's unfortunate visit to the primate lab, Sarah decided to make a hasty call to her mentor and friend, Professor Daniel Brightman. Sarah had heard about the Flores Island news weeks before Richard, through her university grapevine, a connection that Richard was now sorely lacking. After hearing about the Indonesian's government intervention, Sarah had immediately contacted her old mentor for a meeting to discuss her proposed expedition plans. She wanted to move quickly, fearing that Richard's interference could somehow wreck those very same plans.  

Sarah pulled up to Brightman's colonial house and practically ran to his front door. Once there, she meekly knocked on the large red door. Brightman's wife, Helena, answered the door and rolled her eyes at the sight of the shorter, younger, casually-dressed woman.  

"Oh, it's you. Dan, she's here again," Helena called out disgustedly in the manner befitting the arrival of a stray cat rather than a visit by an esteemed colleague. 

Sarah gingerly thanked her as she waited in the foyer for Brightman. Brightman was expecting her visit, and he was genuinely happy to see her. He ushered Sarah to his cherry wood den and the two took a seat in some old worn Queen Ann style chairs that faced each other. 

"Your wife still doesn't like me, does she?" Sarah asked. 

"Never mind Helena; that glacier doesn't like anybody, including myself. Besides, we have more urgent matters to discuss."  

"Professor, have you given any consideration to my proposal about putting together another expedition to Flores Island?" Sarah was nervous and a little unsure of how Brightman was going to react to her somewhat strange request. Would he consider it an imposition on his time and his friendship? 

Brightman was the only person other than Richard that knew of Sarah's bizarre experience on Flores 2, as she called it. Brightman knew where the conversation was going, and he had anticipated Sarah's call shortly after the latest Flores announcement.  

"Sarah, I told you before, call me Dan; you're making me feel ancient with that Professor crap after all of these years.  

"Yeah, I've been following their discovery for some time, and it's great stuff. Imagine another species of Hominin living at the same time as modern man on that small island. The stuff of dreams and legends, that's what this is. Mindboggling what we don't know yet, isn't it?" Brightman paused for a moment, eyeing Sarah. "Are you still having those dreams about your island experience?" 

"Yes, but frankly, they're more like nightmares. Professor-I mean Dan-I was hoping to get back, ah, you know..." She trailed off, hesitant to complete her sentence.  

Sarah never used the phrase "you know" unless she was nervous-very nervous. Brightman looked at her and asked, "You want to go back to that island, don't you?"  

"Yes, I do; I know it's there."  

"What's there, Sarah? The Ebu Gogo, our little Hobbit friend?" Brightman asked.  

"I don't know. Something very different is on that island, and I need to find out what. To do so, I need help putting an expedition together. Most of all, I need your help." She looked right into his eyes and managed a small smile for him.  

Brightman immediately knew that he couldn't say no to her. Sarah was his brightest student; she always stayed in touch with him through the years, and he considered her a genuine friend. Moreover, he couldn't help but notice that she was young and attractive, albeit a bit too serious for his taste in younger women.  

"I trust you, Sarah, as well as your intuition. I assume you have the location of the island tucked safely away?"  

"Of course I do."  

"So nobody else knows about the island?" Brightman enquired. 

"Nobody of consequence," she replied. 

Brightman noted the peculiar comment, but he decided to leave it alone. "I assume you want to, with me, be co-heads on this expedition?"  

Sarah nodded affirmatively, knowing full well this could be another deal breaker with Brightman. "If that's okay with you?" she said demurely, deferring to her senior partner.  

Brightman sighed, "I'm fine with that, and frankly, you've earned it. I'll call in a few markers and see what I can do to get funding. Nevertheless, we need to come up with an alternative excuse-I mean, rationale-for this expedition. We'll just say we want to do some more bird studies. We can't very well let people on to the fact that we're big game hunting now, can we?" he said with a wink.  

Sarah's usual quiet demeanor erupted into squeals of delight, and in the process of hugging Brightman, she nearly knocked him off his chair.  

"Dan, what's going on in there?" his wife yelled from the hallway. 

"Nothing, dear!" he yelled back, motioning to Sarah to tone it down. 

"Well then, I'll start putting this trip together right away. You do want to go right away, I assume?" Brightman asked, finding himself getting caught up in Sarah's enthusiasm.  

She smiled and, surprisingly, kissed him on the cheek. "Absolutely, we can't waste a moment. Let's put this dream team together as soon as we can."

The following morning, Brightman drove his car to his campus office feeling incredibly upbeat. He was mentally running through a list of key contacts he would need in order to pull the Flores 2 expedition together when he decided to put the car radio on and settled on listening to a pop love song. He actually enjoyed the song, which was somewhat out of character for him while listening to such apparent drivel.  

He didn't know what to make of Sarah's curious encounters on Flores 2, but the thought of spending several months with her on this expedition had begun to excite him. He was slowly beginning to realize that he was attracted to her, even though he was twenty years her senior. Her sweet face appealed to him, and the smell of her perfume continued to linger in his mind. He knew it was wrong, but it was fun to fantasize about her; moreover, he convinced himself that it was nothing more than a harmless flirtation. Besides, wasn't he more of a father figure to her? 

Brightman hit the accelerator, forcing the small car to outpace the sluggish morning traffic. He experienced a vicarious thrill with his driving, frenetically darting in and out of the line of zombies. At this point, he knew he was dying to feel anything that brilliant bright morning. The traffic light ahead suddenly changed color, and he was caught in the middle of one of his crazed maneuvers when he realized he had to make a right turn.  

Brightman jammed on the brakes, thrusting him forward against his seatbelt while causing the car to come to an abrupt stop at the traffic light. He looked at the other drivers to check their reactions. Good news: The other zombies barely noticed his brazen moronic maneuver. He waited impatiently to make a right-hand turn onto the road and to get the car moving so that he could once again feel something. The light turned green, and as he turned the car, he remembered one time watching Sarah in the lab feeding some of the animals.  

She was attentive and caring with each of the chimps. Normally, Sarah was a bundle of nervous, occasionally full of noisy energy; however, that time she had exhibited a quiet grace he had never before been witness to. She was bending over one of the cages when he caught a clear view of her d\u00e9colletage as her old and loose-fitting sweatshirt fell away from her shoulders. He politely turned his gaze away, but not before noticing that her pale breasts hung downward in her white bra. Just as he turned away, she had looked up at him and smiled like an innocent angel. He instinctively smiled back at her. Brightman had not looked at his wife in that way for nearly a decade-maybe even longer. Ever since that day, Brightman had convinced himself that Sarah never caught on that he was looking at her breasts-or so he hoped. After all, he had two daughters that were nearly her age. 

Why are breasts such a potent sexual signal for men? he wondered as the scientist in him wrested control from his genitalia for a brief moment. Oh, to heck with that nonsense; let's face it-she really is a very attractive-  

Tires screeched, glass shattered, and a loud metal thud filled the early morning air. According to the police report, witnesses said they heard a loud crashing noise and observed a large SUV with blackened windows plowing into the much smaller compact sedan. The force of the crash had pushed the driver's side a good two feet into the middle of the silver sedan while the momentum of the impact had deposited the smaller car onto the shoulder of the road. The SUV hesitated for a few moments and then sped off without stopping to inspect the resultant carnage.  

The small car rested along the edge of the road, surrounded by plastic and metal fragments littering the asphalt. A sea of broken glass shimmered in the early morning sunlight, barley suggesting the devastation contained within the broken car. The surrounding traffic slowed, then stopped to watch the calamity. With traffic at a standstill, the morning air became still again, except for the hissing of steam escaping from the ruptured radiator of the car. A fire started in the engine compartment, and before a Good Samaritan could intervene, the car began a slow but increasingly furious burn. The radio continued to play the mindless love song until it, too, was finally consumed by the roaring flames.  

After the fire was extinguished, the local coroner was called to the crash site to retrieve what they euphemistically called in the trade "a roast." Brightman's remains were unrecognizable by his family members; however, the dental records did confirm that Professor Daniel Brightman, noted researcher, devoted father and husband, was indeed dead that brilliant, bright morning.  

A day later, Sarah called Brightman's house and after getting repeated busy signals, reached one of his daughters.  

"I'm sorry, I guess you didn't hear. Dad died yesterday in a horrible car crash," the young girl said in between sobs.  

"What-Dan? When?" Sarah asked.  

"We don't know who, maybe a drunk in a large SUV, they just took off," the girl muttered. "The car caught fire..." 

"Oh God, I'm so, so sorry; I didn't know," Sarah said in a stunned, quiet monotone. 

She quickly said goodbye to the daughter and hung up, staring into the distance. Sarah had lost her mentor, friend, and her dreams, all in one careless accident. A few moments later, she then realized that without Brightman, her expedition was finished. Brightman was the only one who believed her story. Without him, Sarah had nothing in her life. Alone in her small room, Sarah sobbed uncontrollably for the loss of her friend and her dreams. 

A day later, Sarah attended the wake for her deceased mentor. The university crowd was out in full-force for the wake; waves of faculty and students arrived to pay homage to the great educator. Sarah mingled, trying to talk shop with some of her old colleagues. The room was crowded with people at the back of the chapel and with a few venturing to be up front, near the closed casket.  

Surprisingly, few were talking about or even interested in the Flores discoveries. Sarah tried to talk about the recent headlines, but she could sense that her colleagues were somewhat put-off by her boldness, especially given the circumstances. Instead, they all exchanged memorable stories about Professor Brightman and the companionship that he readily shared with both his fellow faculty and students. Sarah felt awkward among so many people, particularly because the majority of them were either casual acquaintances or total strangers. She didn't want to talk about Brightman because she was so close to an emotional breakdown. She was also failing miserably in her quest to try to find out if Brightman had spoken to anyone about the expedition to Flores. 

To make matters worse, Sarah was not well received by Brightman's family. She had spent too much time with him and was not the least bit shy about calling his house whenever she felt necessary. Brightman's wife and daughters had little tolerance for Sarah, for they all, at one time or another, had viewed her as a threat to their domestic tranquility. Sarah gathered her strength and approached Brightman's wife so she could give her condolences to the family. Brightman had often joked about how frosty his Helena could be, and her intimidating looks bore witness to his comments. She, too, was a professor with her own singular career, and it was amazing that they had found the time to conceive their two daughters. Helena had seen far too many young girls come and go through the university ranks, and Sarah was just another one that seemed to have overstayed her welcome at Helena's house.  

Sarah approached Helena nervously while picking at her freshly-cut nails, and she dug deeply into her skin. She had cut her nails in anticipation of the rigors to be expected from the expedition; that now seemed liked such a waste of time. Helena was a tall, thin woman whose fragile frame was more than compensated for by her nasty disposition. She never seemed to smile as though out of fear that if she did, she would lose her edge on the world.  

Sarah began to speak when the taller Helena hastily pulled her aside while commenting, "Dear, please save your tears and condolences. I never really liked you from the start. You always seemed so needy; you were especially demanding of Dan's time. Moreover, I didn't appreciate the fact that Dan knew more about you than about his own daughters. Really, did you ever sleep with him?" Helena asked.  

Sarah was stunned by the boldness of the question. "What? No, I did not." 

"Oh, it doesn't matter, dear; it's not like you would have been the first. Please go now, and don't come to the burial tomorrow. Say your goodbyes to Dan, and leave my family alone."  

Sarah was devastated by the conversation with Brightman's wife. She had never considered the depth of ill will she had engendered with Brightman's family. In tears, Sarah made her peace with Brightman, and she headed home alone. 

Once home, Sarah replayed Helena's bitter words in her head. Yet, as bad as that episode had been, Sarah was more upset with her own display of blind ambition at the funeral, especially with her own awkward efforts to talk with her colleagues about Flores. For God's sake, the man had just died, and her blind ambition had her talking shop with her peers. What a great human being I am, huh?  

She called her mother for a comforting word, yet she really didn't know what to say to the woman who had borne her. Instead, her mother exchanged a few trite words that were of little comfort to Sarah. Since the death of her father, Sarah had come to rely on Brightman as the father figure in her life. For as long as Sarah could remember, her mother had been a shadowy presence throughout her childhood-there for her, but never a significant force in Sarah's existence. 

Several days later, Sarah was back in the primate lab cleaning up once again. She felt at home with the chimps, and they readily accepted her lavish attention. Sarah saw the sadness in their eyes and their complete dejection at being imprisoned for the entirety of their earthly life. She understood their despair and felt at one with the caged primates in the oppressive lab. 

Sarah was cleaning the lab when she found a paper scribbled with Richard's phone number. She recalled her own recent embarrassment, and Sarah's face reddened at the remembrance of her own shabby treatment of Richard. Despite his apparent boldness, Sarah could have treated him better. All sentient creatures deserved some measure of respect, and she was pretty sure that Richard almost qualified as being sentient. 

With nothing to do but to reflect on the strange turns in her life, Sarah realized that few people would believe her story, particularly with the media frenzy surrounding the Homo floresiensis find and the possible link to the Ebu Gogo legend. If she approached others about her incident on the island, they would just dismiss her as an attention-seeking crank. Nobody would believe her story-that is, nobody but Brightman and Richard.  

"I've got nothing to lose; I might as well call Richard and apologize to the big ape, right, Jojo?" she said to the chimp as he played catch with her. Jojo smacked his lips, which Sarah took as a yes.  

Sarah called Richard several times and had no luck in reaching him. She hesitated to leave her name, but on the third call, she decided to leave a message.  

"Richard, it's Sarah Levine; we've got to talk. About the other day in the lab, well, I'm sorry. I was a bit surprised by-"  

Richard had been screening his calls in a vain effort to avoid engaging with the lawyers involved in his civil suit.  

"Sarah, is that you? What is it?"  

"First, let me apologize for being such a bitch to you at the lab the other day," Sarah said.  

"That's all right; you were just being a bitch in response to my being a complete and total ass. Hey, it happens; I did catch you at a bad time. So, Sarah, why'd you really call? I assume it wasn't just to exchange regrets, right?"  

"You're right. I've made a complete mess of everything. Dan is dead..." And then Sarah did the unthinkable; she started to sob on the phone to a relative stranger. 

"Dan who? You mean Professor Brightman? How?" Richard asked. 

"A car accident, a hit and run. He's gone, the expedition is gone; it has all turned to..." At this point, Sarah placed the phone down and began quietly sobbing.

More tears, and Richard listened for a moment as he waited for Sarah to compose herself. He couldn't understand what she was saying, and once again he didn't know what to say in turn to Sarah. The raw emotion she was displaying had taken him totally off-guard. Furthermore, he was ill-prepared to comfort her, especially after he had been wallowing in his own self-pity for the past two weeks. Since the incident at the lab, Richard had resumed his nasty drinking habit and had been tucked away in a perpetual alcoholic fetal position, hoping that his nightmare would soon pass. Sarah had been fortunate to catch him during one of his more lucid moments. How does this damn Flores girl always manage to keep me off-balance? 

"So what are you planning to do?" he asked. 

"What do you mean; do what? I'm doing nothing. The team was never put together! Dan hadn't spoken to anyone before his death, as far as I know. I'm so screwed. With the recent press coverage on Flores, nobody is going to believe my story, short of you and Dan," Sarah blurted out in an emotional torrent. 

There was an awkward silence on the phone. Richard quickly thought about ways to turn the situation around to his advantage, and he struggled to free his brain from its current alcoholic haze.  

Just keep talking, just say anything, Richard. Then the words that could only be described as desperate words from a truly ignorant man emerged from his mouth: "Let's put it together ourselves; we'll plan and run the expedition."  

"With what? Are you nuts?" Sarah asked in a hysterical tone. 

"Look, all we need is some money and some minimal equipment. All we have to do is prove they exist! Maybe we put together some camping equipment, some small excavation equipment, video and digital cameras, nothing too crazy. I've got access to camera equipment that I can borrow from my brother."  

"Richard, I've been on these expeditions. They cost a fortune in time and money-" 

"You're absolutely right, if you're talking about a planned university expedition. Look, a standard academic expedition is put together by a mob of lazy bureaucrats spending other people's money. They haven't a clue about being lean and mean. And really, this isn't a big dig; we're just looking for critters. We don't need much for that," Richard said. He wasn't sure if even he was buying this line of bullshit, but what did he have to lose at this point?  

"As for funding for the trip, we're going to have to get really creative about using personal funding. You know I could never say no to a big, fat cash advance. Plus, I can sell my SUV. It burns a little oil, but hell, it still runs pretty good. You've got to have something, anything we can use to raise money to hire guides and, you know, bribe the occasional government official?" he asked, a hint of hope in his voice. 

The bribing comment caused Sarah to chuckle. "That's crazy! How do we get official clearance?"  

Sarah knew she had a good point, and Richard fumbled for a moment before answering. "Okay, babe, you and me, we're just two tourists-no, make that hikers-taking a tropical vacation to Bali. You got a passport, right? We'll pack, take as much equipment as we can with us, and then take a side trip to Flores from Bali. Don't forget the suntan lotion! From there, we'll charter someone to take us to your island, find whatever we can, and ask permission or beg for forgiveness later."  

"This is nuts, Richard. You really expect me to take this proposal seriously?" Sarah asked. There was silence on the other end of the line, and then they both turned silent for a brief moment.

Sarah was in a quandary. Any other choice meant that her dreams could slip away, seemingly into oblivion, and perhaps with it, any possible meaning to her tedious life. She didn't know which of the two ideas were crazier: putting together an unsanctioned research expedition with no funding or throwing her lot in with Richard, the complete and total cretin. She certainly couldn't go there by herself.  

Damn, what other options do I really have? 

Some dream team this would be-more like a team of miscreants. Sarah knew that the prospect of a Richard-led expedition would be a nightmare in the making for her. There was an old proverb that said wishing for suffering made the suffering disappear, but this new arrangement bordered on the sadomasochistic. Yet at this point in her life, all Sarah had left were her nightmares. Really, how bad could Richard be? 

Sarah broke the silence by commenting, "Let me think about this for a day or so, okay, Richard? I'll call you back. And by the way, thanks for the pick-me-up. You're not such a complete ass after all, are you?" 

"We'll see what you have to say about that a few weeks from now. Goodbye, Sarah Levine." 

After the call, Sarah pondered the strange twists and turns her life was suddenly taking. Jeez, in a few short days she went from a fully sanctioned academic expedition with Professor Brightman to a surreptitious Bali road trip with an apparent reject from a second-rate frat house. After a night of tortured internal debate, and much to her own surprise, Sarah called Richard the following day. 

Richard answered the phone with a startled voice. "Sarah? I really didn't expect you to call back so soon after I threw that crazy proposal at you. Hey, I know what I said sounded a bit nuts, but I was kinda of talking out loud-"  

"Richard, let's cut to the chase. I'll do this, but with one stipulation. Is that okay?" she forcefully said.  

"Shit, you must be desperate. Great! So what's the stipulation?" Richard asked. He pumped his arm in silent celebration. 

"I'm the head academic on the team, which also means I'm in charge of the expedition, in fact, of everything, and I do mean everything. Okay? Is that going to work for you, me being the boss?"  

"Whatever you say, boss, just as long as you give me access to some fresh Ebu DNA!" Richard said. 

"I'm so glad to hear that. Let's meet tomorrow and get this expedition going as soon as possible."  

Richard was excitedly pacing about the room and was about to say goodbye when he remembered to ask the most important question he could ask of any boss. "All right, we'll get started right away, and one other thing-how much money do you have in the bank?"  

The Flores Girl Sequel: The Sacred and the Profane

Be sure to follow the continuing adventures of Flores Girl in the sequel, The Sacred and the Profane. The sequel will be available as an e-Book in fall 2012. For more information about the sequel, please visit: http:\/\/www.floresgirl.com\/the_flores_girl_sequel.htm

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