by James Cole
“Hello?”
“Did I wake you?” a meek voice asked.
It was Jinni.
“I was just dreaming about you,” he replied groggily. “How was your trip?”
She went on to tell him all about the ceremony in excruciating detail and exuberance. He wondered if Jinni had plans for her own wedding and if he were part of those plans.
“Where were you last night, Jeremy? I left a message on your recorder.”
Jeremy hadn’t checked his machine.
“I guess I was at the library,” he lied. “My exam is Wednesday, you know.” Jeremy failed to mention how, after the weekend activities, he had decided to skip the test.
“I thought we might have dinner tonight. Want to?” she asked hopefully.
“I would, but I really need to study.” Jeremy felt too drained to accept.
“Yeah, alright,” she said, disappointed. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Jinni.”
Jeremy did miss her and he hated lying. And, in spite of the mind-blowing events of the night before, he still loved Jinni. Besides, he had no idea if he would ever see Monika again.
“Call me tomorrow?” Jinni asked.
“I will,” he promised and hung up the phone.
Chapter 17
Monday, November 10
Jeremy could scarcely listen during Monday’s lecture, not that it would have done much good anyhow. Comprehension of the current subject matter hinged on having a solid understanding of the prior material and that ship had long ago sailed. At least Jeremy knew he was not alone as his friend Tavalin occupied the adjacent seat on that same clueless dock.
Instead, Jeremy spent the hour daydreaming about Saturday night, the time of his life, and of Monika, the new infatuation of his life. That she left without leaving a clue as to where she could be found or even who she was only intensified his desire to track her down.
Jeremy parted ways with Tavalin and rode the elevator directly to the fifth floor. June and two other members of Dr. Cain’s inner-circle research assistants were working in the lab when Jeremy entered. On Jeremy’s approach, June motioned him to follow her into the adjoining incubator room where they could talk privately.
“The initial results checked out,” she said excitedly. “Your mitochondrial DNA is bigger than everybody else’s, by a factor of four.”
Jeremy had not expected this. June had all but assured him that the initial assay that showed the same result must be flawed in some way.
“What could cause such a thing?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is the next step to determine the sequence?” asked Jeremy.
“It’s already done,” June announced proudly. “I ran it though the sequencer overnight. As you know, normal human mitochondrial DNA consists of 16,569 nucleotide pairs that encode for 37 genes. Your mitochondrial DNA consists of 66,776 nucleotide pairs. There is nothing remotely similar to anything like this in the literature.”
Jeremy’s head spun as he tried to assimilate the meaning behind the results. “And you are sure about all this?” he asked.
“To be completely sure we would have to repeat the entire process from start to finish, but I feel pretty confident what we’ve got is accurate.”
Jeremy put great faith in June and her abilities. If she said the results were correct, he knew he could believe it.
“What’s the next step?” he asked.
“Next, we determine if there are any functioning genes within all this extra genetic material.”
“What else could it be, if not genes?”
“It could be that you simply have extra copies of the same genes, that some kind of gene duplication took place. Or, the extra part might consist of nonsense DNA that doesn’t code for anything. In either of those cases, the functionality of your mitochondria would be the same as everyone else’s. Having extra, non-functional DNA is notable as it has never been documented before, but it would be truly remarkable if you have extra, unique genes that add to or somehow change the function of your mitochondria.”
He asked, “If I do have unique genes in there, could that explain my increased physical abilities?”
“As you know,” June replied, “we started all this with the idea that you are getting extra energy output from somewhere. If these postulated unique genes somehow increase the energy output of your mitochondria, supercharging them so-to-speak, then we would have the answer to your question and the answer would be yes.”
After the triathlon and his VO2 max endurance results, Jeremy knew there was something there, something worth researching. However, he would never have dreamed that they would make such progress after only a few short weeks.
“I don’t know what I would do without you,” gushed Jeremy. “There’s no way I could have done any of this alone. Thank you, June, for everything.”
June stood close enough that he was able to easily reach his arm around her back to her opposite shoulder and give her a good squeeze. It wasn’t a full-fledged hug but at least it expressed a measure of his gratitude and affection.
“You are welcome, Jeremy. I am very excited with the results, but…” Her voice trailed off.
“But what?” asked Jeremy uneasily.
“I think it’s time we confess to Dr. Cain.”
Jeremy hadn’t seen this coming. “I was hoping we could keep it a secret, June. Why now?”
“I don’t know,” she stammered, clearly uncomfortable. “What we are doing is dishonest and I’m afraid that we are going to get caught.”
“All I really want to do is finish this first phase,” Jeremy said, pleading his case. “If we find that my mitochondria are, as you say, supercharged due to this extra genetic material, we would have our breakthrough. Having those findings in hand would give us a lot of leverage, regardless of what we decide to do with them.”
“And then we tell Dr. Cain?” she asked.
“If we were to go to Dr. Cain with findings as impressive as those, I think he would overlook the fact that we conducted the unauthorized research using his facilities.”
In actuality, Jeremy could see no benefit in confessing to Dr. Cain, neither now nor later, but he needed to quell June’s concerns. If this turned out to be a significant discovery, Jeremy would have to work out a plan whereby he and June would receive the lion’s share of the credit, as it should be.
“I don’t know, Jeremy. I’ve got a bad feeling about all this.”
“If you can just hang in there a little longer,” pleaded Jeremy, “the end is in sight.”
Jeremy convinced June to go along with his plan but by the time he did he also had a bad feeling – not only for corrupting June but also concerning the bottom-line question they had yet to satisfactorily address:
What changed my mitochondria in the first place and, besides the obvious effect of increased endurance, what are the full ramifications of that change?
Chapter 18
Thursday, November 20
It was night and Jeremy found himself, once again, on Sticks River Road. Except for the accompanying music of Singe, Monika’s gift to him, he was alone in his car.
Almost two weeks had elapsed since Monika left the compact disc, along with the farewell note on his bedside table. During that time, he had become intimately familiar with the songs included on the Requiem compilation. Online, Jeremy could find absolutely no information related to Singe or their album except for some brief mentions in obscure blogs. Every post he read originated from someone present at the Halloween show and every blogger wanted to know where they might find a sample of the band’s music. Apparently, Singe’s only public performance was the one Jeremy witnessed, and the band had not yet officially released any tracks. Jeremy had no idea how Monika came to possess a copy of the album. Jeremy felt privileged, considering the rarity of the recording which now blasted authoritatively from his car stereo speakers.
Requiem was a concept album. Even though the compact d
isc was sectioned into tracks like any other, each song transitioned smoothly into the next with no fade-to-silence breaks in between. A reoccurring melody tied the whole of the album together. In the earlier songs, it was hidden in the underlying layers beneath the main thrust of the music or deftly obscured as an alternative version of the same melody. As the album progressed, the melody became more and more manifest until, finally, during the title-track, it burst forth unadulterated from the hidden depths at full bore.
On the night of his date with Monika, this, the most climatic song of the album, rolled around at the precise moment that the Unreal imparted that first sledge-hammer whack of exultation. Now, every time Jeremy heard that song, he thought of that night and the intrigue of that moment at the break in the road; that big-bang instant when the universe of his experience and pleasure exploded. From that moment on, he had become obsessed with the trifecta of Monika, the Unreal, and the music of Singe.
Desiring to capture every nuance of the music, Jeremy bought expensive, studio-quality headphones for listening at home. He burned multiple copies of the compact disc so as to have it as his companion wherever he might be. He ripped it to his portable digital music player so he could listen while running and while riding his bike or motorcycle. Absent Monika and the Unreal, the music of Singe became the next best thing.
From his perch atop the pier at Sticks River Landing, Jeremy stared out over the still waters of the lake. He had to think for a moment to recall that today was Thursday. Saturday night would mark two weeks since his date with Monika, and he still had not heard from her. Despite the guilt he felt for deceiving Jinni, he knew he would not hesitate to run with Monika again if she resurfaced. Sitting here, in the spot they shared, Jeremy yearned to recapture the feelings of that night, but to no avail. Restless in his frustration, he clambered to his feet and wandered aimlessly past his car, toward the back of the parking lot and the picnic tables nestled at the edge of the woods.
Without warning, a melodic chant floated in on the chilly lake breeze.
Jeremy froze.
A strange harmony of voices drifted in and out like the reception of a radio station on the edge of its range. At first it seemed the unsettling sound originated from a long way off, but then Jeremy, his fear brimming, thought that maybe its source was much closer, perhaps just ahead in the edge of the woods. All at once he sensed a presence. Was someone there, concealed in the darkness, watching him? Chills of fear prickled his spine and called every follicle to attention.
Fighting hard to suppress the urge to run, he turned and with the longest of strides hustled back toward the car. Though afraid that somebody or some thing might be following – for some reason he thought of Grady’s devil dogs – he did not look back but focused on the goal of reaching his car.
Safe inside his car at last, Jeremy locked the doors and fishtailed off, tires spitting gravel. More than once he checked the rearview mirror to make certain no one was following. About halfway back to town his curiosity waxed and his fright waned to the point that he considered turning around. At the very least he might ride back to the lakeside and listen for the noise and scan the area using his headlights. All this could be accomplished from the safety of his car.
Then again, maybe he should just forget about it. He recalled an adage he had heard somewhere – something about stupidity masquerading as bravery. He could not help but remember Grady’s vague warning of danger in Reefers Woods as well as the substantiated violent deaths – those of the hippies at their commune and the suicide that reportedly occurred in the very parking lot just vacated. There was also the case of the biologist who ventured into Reefers Woods, never to return.
At the stop sign where Sticks River Road intersected the highway, Jeremy turned right, away from home. Three turns and a couple of minutes later he wheeled past the sign for the Rose Hill Apartments. As he parked at his friend’s apartment, it occurred to him that despite the name, it wasn’t that hilly out here and no roses graced the landscape.
Jeremy rushed down the steps and knocked loudly, even as he opened the unlocked door of the basement apartment. “It’s me,” he called out. “I’m coming in.”
“Yes? Oh yes, please, why don’t you just barge right in,” Tavalin said sarcastically. “What’s gotten into you?”
“The weirdest thing just happened.”
Jeremy recounted his experience at the lake.
“Satanic chants, huh?” reiterated Tavalin skeptically.
“I’m not quite sure what it was, but at the time that’s what went through my head. I think we ought to check it out.”
“Right now?” Tavalin asked incredulously. “I don’t know, Jeremy. You know we’ve got class at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“I know,” replied Jeremy, “but it’s not like you’re studying anyway. How many times in your life will you get the opportunity to investigate satanic chants in the middle of the woods?”
“Any sane person would hope never to get such an opportunity.” Tavalin mimed quotation marks with his fingers.
“Whoever said you were sane?”
Realizing that further argument would be futile, Tavalin sat up and pulled on his shoes.
In Jeremy’s car, Tavalin continued with his token protest. “Seriously, do we have to do this?”
“I just want to see if we hear anything.”
Tavalin groaned, and muttered some mostly unintelligible words, though the last few Jeremy deciphered as, “…one of your wild goose chases.”
“What?” asked Jeremy with a grin.
“Never mind.” Facetiously, Tavalin added, “Just get me back home in time for class in the morning, okay?”
*****
When they arrived at Sticks River Landing, Jeremy swept his headlights slowly across the woods behind the parking lot. Unless one counted the pasty-white possum that gave them the evil eye before scurrying off into the underbrush, they saw nothing related to the devil or the worship thereof. Jeremy lowered his window and listened. All he heard were the typical night sounds. Tavalin chose to keep his window closed and, Jeremy noticed, his door locked.
“You know,” Jeremy said a little sheepishly, “I suppose it could have been the wind whistling in the rocks.”
“Or coyotes,” Tavalin suggested. “Now that that’s settled, can we go home?”
“Yeah, I guess so. If someone were here, they’re gone now. So much for this little adventure,” said Jeremy as they topped the hill and left the lake behind.
“I might get some sleep after all.” Tavalin reclined his seat an extra notch and got comfortable for the ride back to town.
However, Jeremy wasn’t ready to give up so easily. Without warning, he veered left onto one of the several narrow, dirt tributaries that branched off the main road. The unexpected maneuver slung Tavalin sideways against the passenger-side window.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed Tavalin. “I thought we were going home.”
“Maybe what I heard originated from a point farther away then I first thought, maybe somewhere out this way.”
Tavalin winced as a limb scratch-squealed up the side of the car.
“Man, you are scratching the hell out of your car. We better back out of here,” he said.
“Just roll down your window and break it off.”
Tavalin did as instructed and was in the process of rolling the window back up when Jeremy thought he heard something.
“Did you hear that?” asked Jeremy.
“I didn’t hear anything.” Tavalin replied indifferently.
Jeremy cut the engine and lowered his window.
The chirping legs of a thousand crickets greeted his ears, their grating racket magnified by the absolute darkness. Jeremy held his breath and listened. In the blackness he became aware not only of the steady drumming of his heart but also of his trepidation.
At last a whoop seeped in from outside, still far off but definitely human.
“There!” Jeremy exclaimed. “You
heard that, right?”
“It’s just a coyote, Jeremy,” Tavalin insisted. “Your imagination is getting the best of you.”
“I did not imagine it. Somebody’s out there.”
“So what if they are? Could be somebody out on a date,” remarked Tavalin, who seemed bound and determined to quash Jeremy’s interest. “This would serve perfectly as a lover’s lane.”
“Let’s check it out,” Jeremy said as he cranked the engine. They pushed deeper into the woods until Jeremy thought he saw a shimmering something amongst the trees. A little closer in, the red glow revealed itself as light reflected from a pair of taillights.
“Alright, just like I said, somebody’s parking,” said Tavalin, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “We can leave now.”
“Just a little closer.” Jeremy eased the car forward.
“Come on, Jeremy,” grumbled Tavalin. “Let’s get out of here.”
Tavalin was starting to stress out, and Jeremy was about to give in except that there was something familiar about that car.
Jeremy inched closer.
“Do you see any heads?” Jeremy asked.
At the end of the road, a half-dozen cars were parked, bumper to bumper, all apparently empty, their occupants who-knows-where.
And then a startling recognition: The car last in line was a black convertible – a Ford Mustang. Though it was dark and all they could really see was the car’s rear end, Jeremy would have bet money the model was 1969, the same as Monika’s vintage Mustang.
“Don’t you think we should go home now?” pleaded Tavalin.
There was only one place to turn around but that space too was occupied by one of the mysteriously placed cars. Jeremy was forced to back his car over the considerable distance until they reached the pavement that was Sticks River Road. He swung the car around and headed back toward the lake – away from town.