Seven Point Eight

by Marie Harbon

  “Have you made your decision?” he asked, with a cool and rather arrogant demeanour.

  She gave him a stare of resentment.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you realised the futility of your interest in modelling?”

  “I’ve realised the futility in thinking you care about what I want,” she answered.

  Max sighed.

  “Have I got to lock the door again?”

  “No,” she said, face deadpan, “I’ll ring him.”

  He looked unsure if he could trust her but nevertheless, she followed him downstairs to the office, where he showed her to the phone. Max sat in the chair while Tahra dialled Malcolm’s number. She felt sick with remorse as she told him the bad news.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t model for you anymore.”

  After a long silence, Malcolm responded.

  “What do you mean by ‘can’t’?”

  “I…have other commitments and responsibilities.”

  At that point she started to cry, despite her urge to suppress the tears and she sobbed into the phone. Max looked on nonchalantly.

  “What’s wrong?” Malcolm enquired. “You’ve got me really worried now.”

  “I just don’t have any choice at the moment, it’s not my decision to make.”

  “Of course it’s your decision, you’re a grown woman.” The concern in his voice sounded genuine. “Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

  “I can’t tell you,” she sobbed.

  “Tahra, hold on, I’m coming over.”

  “No, no, please….”

  He’d already hung up. Tahra didn’t say anything to Max. They just stared at each other; she through her tears and he with a sternness that disturbed her.

  “Are you happy now that you’ve ruined my life?” she said, with scorn.

  “I think the term is ‘saved it’. As I said, you relinquished your choices when you came here.”

  Miss Tynedale entered the office at that point, and offered a total lack of sympathy. In fact, she’d alerted Max the day Tahra stumbled in drunk. It turned out that the night she tripped up the stairs, Miss Tynedale awoke, fearing a burglar and just caught sight of Tahra in her dress as she staggered into her room. She knew of Tahra’s hangover and had phoned Max in the States. He’d responded by flying back to London the following day.

  “Tahra,” Max said, “you’re going to have to accept a few home truths. What you’re doing here is vitally important, too significant to throw away on a modelling contract.”

  “Did it occur to you that I wanted to see the world?”

  She’d stopped sobbing but still wiped the tears away from her eyes.

  Max sighed.

  “A strange thing to escape the lips of a very talented remote viewer.”

  She sniffled, crestfallen then told Max exactly what she felt about him.

  “I hate you.”

  The words were toxic to him. She saw him swallow hard and a look of panic briefly flickered across his face, but then he brushed it aside, leaving the office in silence. Tahra wandered into the communal living area, slumped in a chair and stared out of the window, wondering what could have been. Max returned to his office for a short while, shuffling papers and preparing to get back to business as usual.

  Half an hour later, she heard a knock at the door and because Max lingered in the hallway at that moment, he answered it. Tahra watched from the doorway of the living area.

  “Hello, Tahra lives here, doesn’t she?”

  Malcolm had remained true to his word and come to her aid. Tahra was touched by this and stepped into the hallway.

  “I’m here,” she said.

  He saw her, face still tearful and stepped inside, much to the chagrin of Max. Looking around the hallway of The Institute, he wondered what on Earth this place was.

  “You all right?” he asked, moving towards her.

  She couldn’t answer and he put his arms around her. Max stepped forward, anger rising again.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “What have you done to her?” Malcolm demanded of Max, who tried to contain his indignation.

  “Merely told her the truth.”

  Malcolm looked exasperated.

  “What is this place?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she replied.

  “Why? I don’t understand.”

  Malcolm looked at her, finding a tearful silence then he looked at Max, accusingly.

  “What are you running here, a brothel?”

  Max narrowed his eyes.

  “The operations that run here are strictly confidential. You’re intruding in an area where you are not welcome so I suggest you get the hell out, now. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself involved in.”

  Malcolm looked at Tahra with a genuine sympathy in his eyes.

  “I can’t leave you in this awful place.”

  Tahra just wanted to hug him and Max eyed the way he gazed at her.

  “Did you fuck her?” he asked, with an icy conceit.

  Malcolm looked confused.

  “What do you mean, ‘did I fuck her’?”

  Tahra felt embarrassed and gazed down at the floor.

  “It’s a simple enough question,” Max stated, and repeated the question with vehemence. “Did you fuck her?”

  Malcolm looked as if something had clicked within. He and Max stared at each other for a short while, Max trying to control his temper and Malcolm resisting the urge to punch Max. He turned to Tahra.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t win with this asshole in charge of your life.”

  In response, Max seized him by the collar of his jacket and shoved him hard up against the wall. They locked eyes, hateful of each other for different reasons, and Max vented his frustration by repeatedly slamming him against the wall. Tahra tried to intervene and break up the altercation.

  “Leave him alone, he doesn’t deserve this. Let him go.”

  Keeping Malcolm tight up against the wall, he ceased his actions and fixed him with a stare. The conflict appeared to hold in a stalemate until Max finally released him. He concluded the matter by virtually hurling him into the street.

  “And stay out!” he barked.

  Malcolm straightened his jacket and gave Tahra an exasperated look, as she viewed the scene with consternation and embarrassment. Fixing his eyes on Max with an expression of disdain, he delivered his parting words.

  “You know, your jealously will destroy her eventually.”

  Malcolm walked out of Tahra’s life, giving her one last glance of apology. Max closed the door, victory written all over his face. With a vehement and icy stare, Tahra stormed up the stairs and returned to her room. Flinging herself on the bed, she sat there dejectedly for a minute, frustration boiling up.

  Unable to contain herself any longer, she picked up shoes, a brush, books, the radio…anything, and one by one, she hurled them at the door with a scream.

  What the hell had she gotten herself into?

  ***

  Max and Tahra ignored each other for a few days but when he re-appeared at her door, he looked troubled. Turning him away wasn’t an option, so she let him in and he sat on her bed. Despising his proximity, she sat in the chair in the corner of the room. Silence made the air thick, and Max broke the tension.

  “Do you really hate me?” he said.

  She didn’t answer immediately but eventually conceded, “Yes, I do.”

  He accepted the answer but then proceeded to defend his actions.

  “I only want what’s best for you, Tahra. As I said, you’re too important to be wasted.”

  It did little to reverse her acrimonious feelings.

  “What can I do to change your mind?” he asked.

  “Let me go,” she answered promptly.

  “You know I can’t do that, I have an agreement with your father.”

  She sighed.

  “Okay then,” she figured she’d test him out, “show me the world, s
how me the life you denied me.”

  He fell silent for a moment, a long moment and she didn’t expect a reply but he gave her the one she least anticipated.

  “Okay.”

  Tahra almost performed a double take.

  “What?”

  “Okay,” he repeated. “I have contacts in the States and I can find work for both of us. Visas can be obtained quickly. You want to see the world, I’ll show it to you.”

  “Really?”

  The atmosphere in the room began to thaw.

  “Absolutely. We can leave in a few weeks.”

  How could she refuse? He must have felt some remorse and she realised that, in his own way, he must care enough to make this concession for her. She began to feel both a sense of nervousness and excitement.

  “Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

  Max looked relieved and stood up, Tahra copied. She couldn’t read his expression, but did he regret making the offer or was he getting something he wanted too? It looked like he had nothing more to say and he moved to open the door, as obviously now there were plans to make but he paused before leaving.

  “Did you….have sex with that photographer?” he asked, this time with humility.

  She met his concerned gaze and replied, “No, I didn’t.”

  He seemed satisfied with the answer and left. She sat on her bed, contemplating a new future. It compensated for the grievous past two days and gave her a sense of hope, however, what did Max expect of her? Was she prepared to return his feelings? Would they just fight? For a while, it would be just the two of them, in the States. Tahra decided she couldn’t give in to him, she just couldn’t.

  10

  Blood

  Friday 10th April 1992

  Since the appearance of an entity in her bedroom one night a few years ago, Ava had secured a new job at a biological research lab, like the being had suggested. The entity had referred to it being the right path and that it wasn’t charity, it was necessary. She preferred to carve her path independently, but her uncle had made such an enticing proposition, she couldn’t refuse.

  For about a year now, she’d worked in a biological research lab, studying the genetic structure of a whole range of pernicious and destructive viruses such as Ebola, AIDS, and SARS, plus high level security biological agents and potential weapons of terrorism. It necessitated full biohazard suits at times, and security doors that could only be accessed by a code.

  Due to her uncle’s connections, a highly significant long term contract lay on the horizon, working on a new and ambitious initiative. The Human Genome Project sought to identify all the estimated twenty to twenty five thousand genes in human DNA, and determine the sequences of the three billion chemical base pairs. Because she’d studied genetics, it almost seemed like she was tailor made for the project. However, it was business as usual at the lab.

  The virus team were a decent bunch of people who all lived near the research lab, which was in Cambridgeshire. They often socialised after work, and had a dark sense of humour at times. Gary, the team’s newbie, had been the victim of a few practical jokes. Pretending to accidently release tuberculosis may sound childish, but it was the crew’s way of extending their welcome, and the humour took the edge off the seriousness of their research.

  Ava tried to hide the fact she was the boss’s niece. Derek, the team leader, had shrugged it off as it made no difference to him, although some begrudged how easily she’d walked into the job at first. Thankfully, her easy going nature had won them over within a month, and they accepted her as part of the team. When Gary started at the lab, he became particularly interested in her connection to the boss, but she answered his questions succinctly and changed the subject.

  Most significantly, the hallucinations had been subdued. She just wanted a normal life, although it soon became clear to Ava that would never happen. Friday the 10th of April changed that.

  Ava and Gary were on the late shift, which involved clearing away and accounting for the viral samples, which lived in the secure refrigerators. As they tidied up, they discussed the virus and bacteria league table, which were the most destructive. New staff had to partake in what was, in essence, Bio-Science Top Trumps.

  “I’d give AIDS the top score,” Ava said. “It doesn’t kill you but lets everything else do its dirty work. AIDS leaves you completely helpless against even the common cold.”

  She keyed in the door code and they both entered the lobby area, where they put on their biohazard suits. They kitted up, including the head gear and the gloves, then keyed in the code for the storage room and entered. Once inside, they headed for the refrigerators and opened them up.

  Gary begged to differ in the debate.

  “There’s a little known bug called Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease, originally linked to the consumption of brains. It’s rare but fatal, dementia progresses very rapidly and there’s no treatment.”

  “Well,” Ava countered, “the only people who could become infected are cannibals, and I don’t know many of those.”

  “Unless you count the current animal feeding strategies in the farming industry. What are cattle really fed? If they consume brains in their feed and we eat the beef, there’s nothing to stop us contracting the disease.”

  Ava returned the volley, giving it a little spin.

  “True, but consider Black Death, a disease of squalor with the potential to decimate a population. Bubonic plague affects the lymph system, causing swellings known as buboes. Eventually, the infection overwhelms the nervous system, inducing neurological and psychological disorders. The septicaemic form attacks the bloodstream, producing a rash within hours and death within a day. Remember the nursery rhyme ‘ring o ring o roses, a pocket full of poesies, atishoo, atishoo, we all fall down’? The ring of roses referred to the rash and the sneezing to some of the symptoms. We all fall down, well, that’s obvious…”

  “However, you need an infectious rodent population riddled with fleas, unless of course you want to unleash it as an act of terrorism. I think Ebola beats them all hands down,” Gary declared with confidence. “It starts with a fever, and joint and muscle aches, bit like the flu really but it clearly isn’t flu, it’s something far worse. Your throat gets sore, you feel weak, followed by diarrhoea, vomiting, and stomach pains. Then your body starts to haemorrhage, you bleed out of the nose, mouth, and even your anus. Ebola dissolves your organs, literally eating you from the inside out. Can you imagine the horror of bleeding out of your eyes because your brain was liquefying?”

  Ava shuddered at the thought of it.

  “Very prolific in Africa today,” Gary added.

  Gary took hold of a vial of Ebola from the fridge, and looked at it with a mixture of awe and dread.

  “Nasty little bastard, isn’t it?” he said, keeping it in his hand. “There’s no approved vaccine or treatment for this baby. Sure, we’re experimenting, but we haven’t got the antidote yet. We wouldn’t want this to get out, would we?”

  He gave the vial a little shake, in awe of its destructive power. After a moment of contemplation, he replaced the vial and began to count the samples of bubonic plague, while Ava counted the Ebola. In fact, she counted twice.

  “Aren’t we supposed to have twenty one vials in this refrigerator?” she asked him, puzzled.

  “Yes. Aren’t there twenty one in there?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Double check,” he insisted.

  She pulled the rack further forward and found one hadn’t been replaced properly, it was lying down at the back, as if someone had been in a hurry. On checking the seal, she found no leakage and placed it securely in the rack.

  “We got twenty one,” she confirmed.

  They breathed a sigh of relief, closed up, de-suited, and locked up the lab for the weekend. They slipped on their jackets, Ava still attached to wearing the red silk scarf she’d mysteriously found a few years ago in her handbag, and they headed for their respective cars. Gary seemed to chang
e his mind, and made his way over to her.

  “Say,” he began, slightly nervous, “do you fancy grabbing a bite to eat?”

  Was this a date or just a social invitation? His manner didn’t make it clear either way, and although she didn’t find him attractive, she did enjoy his company. What was the harm?

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  They found a reasonably priced Indian restaurant, chatting about work, music, and the team over a delicious Tikka Masala. Gary raised the subject of her uncle again, so she artfully deflected the topic of conversation to something less controversial. After the meal, she assumed they’d go their separate ways, but he surprised her again.

  “Do you wanna pop back to mine for a coffee?” he suggested.

  Ava seemed a little reticent, and lowered her eyes, unsure of his intentions.

  “Just to be sociable,” he added, “no pressure, like. I live close to the lab, so you can easily return to your car.”

  This sealed the deal for her, and she decided not to refuse an offer to extend her social life outside work.

  Gary lived in a flat above a shop, located on the main road leading to the centre of town. It was furnished to a basic standard and looked like he couldn’t be bothered to settle in on a permanent basis. He had few possessions to his name, except for a good quality sound system and piles of CDs. On entering the room, he selected a CD, twiddled the volume dial, and checked the sound. He put the kettle on and made conversation from the kitchen, while she browsed his CD collection.

  “Your music taste is very eclectic,” she said, loud enough for him to hear.

  “Yeah, I guess, I take a little something from all the different people I meet. Sugar?”

  “No thanks,” she called out.

  Before long, he emerged from the kitchen with two mugs and they stood chatting next to the CD collection.

  “My cousin adores music,” she said. “He plays the guitar and piano. One day, I might find his work in your collection!”

  Gary seemed interested.

  “Cousin? Would that be your uncle’s son?”

  Gary’s obsession with her uncle returned to haunt the conversation. However, something else began to alarm her even more. She swayed suddenly on her feet, feeling quite dizzy. Gary fixed her with an unconcerned stare.