Syndrome

by Thomas Hoover

  Then she considered calling Stone Aimes, but she decided that would seem pushy. The truth was, she'd enjoyed talking to him and she'd been surprised at how comfortable she'd felt. Looking back over the elapsed years, she couldn't remember exactly why they split up. There must have been a good reason, but now she could only recall the good times. A picnic in Central Park, or the time they took the Staten Island ferry at night just to see the inspiring downtown skyline.

  With those jumbled thoughts cluttering her mind, she finally got around to remembering she hadn't checked her phone machine. She got up off the couch and went into the bedroom.

  There were three calls and at first she thought she was too exhausted to check them.

  But no, that was irresponsible. She was running a business…

  "Hi, Ally, it's me." The voice was Jennifer's. "No emergency, but call when you get in and let me know how it went, okay?"

  Not tonight. There was too much to explain and she was too tired. She went to the second message.

  "Hi, it's me again. I need you to look over the Jameson design, that Italian-marble bath. They're having trouble getting the ocher. Some kind of strike at the quarry. What can they substitute? But remember, it's got to be absurdly overpriced or they'll assume it's crap. If I don't hear back from you, I'll fax you some stuff in the morning."

  Okay, she thought,these rich clients love to show off. I'll get them what they should have ordered in the first place, knowing them. Stone from the quarry near Agra, where they got the marble for the Taj Mahal. That ought to be ostentatious enough. It’ll take an extra couple of months, but that will impress them even more.

  As she considered going to the third message, she had a feeling of misgiving, though in truth there were several people she wouldn't mind hearing from.

  Or maybe the Dorian Institute had called about Nina. Maybe she'd freaked. This whole thing was happening way too fast. In any case, she didn't really want to talk to anybody right now. What she really wanted to do was sit and think, maybe run the whole thing by Stone and get his take. ..

  She decided to check out the third message.

  "Hi, it's your intrepid reporter, just checking in to see how it went today. It's just after eight, and I'm at home. I may not be able to afford this place much longer, given all the excitement I've had today, so call me while I still have an apartment and a phone."

  She felt a ripple of excitement and the feeling pleased her. Maybe shedidhave someone stable and rational in her corner, someone who understood the risks and possible rewards of going forward with the procedure.

  She'd put his number in her Palm, which was in her bag, and she went back to the living room, poured herself a glass of wine, and then retrieved it.

  She heard him pick up on the second ring.

  "Hi, it's Ally. Thanks for checking on me. I'm really not in the greatest shape at the moment."

  "Oh yeah? So how'd it go?"

  "Well, I met Dr. Miracle. . " She paused. "I don't know quite how to handle you, Stone. Are we having some kind of reunion? The affairredux. Are we friends all over again? Two days ago, all we had were memories. Then I start getting phone calls from you. I still don't know what I'm supposed to think."

  "I'll tell you whatIthink. We're playing this by ear. I don't know what you've been doing for the years that I haven't seen you. I don't know what you know about me. So this is kind of like a blind date with a lot of baggage."

  "I agree," she said, then hesitated. Her resolve was melting. "I might as well say this. Is it too late to come down and talk? I thought I was tough enough to handle this on my own, but I definitely could use psychological support."

  "Give me the address. I could use a little support myself. I got threatened today, I think, by somebody who would like to crush me like a bug. And easily could. I'll spare you the ironies, but you and I may have more in common than you think. My interest in the Gerex Corporation has just gotten extremely personal."

  After she hung up, she felt energized and she decided to give Jennifer a call after all. In truth, she wanted to tell her about Stone and to get her take on whether seeing him was a good idea. Aren't these second-time-around things always doomed?

  "Hi, Jen. I'm home and I'm making all kinds of fateful decisions."

  "So what happened? Are you going to be a guinea pig for that clinic?"

  "Is that what you think it amounts to?" She couldn't tell how serious Jennifer intended to be. "I'm still debating it Mom loved the place."

  "Well, good. Good for her. But you're still not sure aboutyou?"

  "I'm leaning. ." She paused. "Jen, somebody I used to see in college is on his way down here right now. He's a medical reporter, but the truth is, I don't know why I asked him."

  "I guess if I were your shrink, I'd ask, 'How do you feel about that?'"

  "If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't need you to be a one-woman support group." She bit her lip. "He's doing a book about stem cell procedures. So in a way it's a lucky break that he appeared exactly when he did."

  "Yeah, Ally, if you ask me, it sounds like it was a lucky break in more than one way. An old flame reappearing can be a positive sign. It's high time something happened in your life."

  You're righter than you know, she thought. I'm ready for this, whether I admit it to myself or not.But is there going to be any chemistry when we actually see each other?There used to be a lot.

  The embarrassing thing was, her first thought was to wonder if he was still terrific in bed. She remembered thinking he was very adroit back then, but back then she didn't have much experience to compare him with. Mainly, thinking about him now made her painfully aware she was overdue for some closeness.

  Tuesday, April 7

  10:22 PM.

  What's she going to think of me?Stone wondered as he knocked gently on the door. She'd buzzed him up from the lobby without a word.

  More to the point, he thought, what am I going to say if she wants an opinion about whether she should undergo the procedure or not? So far, the only evidence I have that the clinical trials are working is circumstantial, the patients who've been through the sequence and discharged. So how can I, in good faith, advise her one way or the other?

  But, he then concluded, I'm getting way ahead of myself. She may take one look at me and decide she was right to dump me the first time.

  Nice building, though. Housing for grown-ups, not like the one-bedroom starter setup I've been reduced to.

  He knocked-he always hated the idea of ringing a bell on an apartment door-and a second later, it opened.

  Alexa Hampton and Stone Aimes just stood awkwardly for a moment and stared, taking each other in. Finally. .

  "You look… great." They both said it simultaneously, and that served to make the moment even more awkward.

  "Well," he said finally, into the silence, "youdo." And he meant it. There was, however, a lot of strain on her face, in her eyes. The mark the years had left seemed more psychic than physical.

  "You don't look so bad yourself."

  "God, it seems like a lifetime ago when we went to our separate corners," he said after another long, contemplative pause. Then he stepped in and she closed the door. He didn't try to peck her cheek, for which she looked relieved. ”Tell me how you're doing, really."

  "You really want to know? Okay, this afternoon I had a heavy-duty heart checkup. Nobody wants to put odds on this thing, but my condition is getting worse." She led him through to the living room.

  "Then we should talk," he said looking around. "I love your loft, by the way. You make me envy you. You should see the makeshift quarters I live in. I'm sort of waiting for my ship to come in."

  "The truth is, Stone, that I no longer know the first thing about you or your life. And I think I'd like to."

  "Had we but world enough, and time," he smiled "We'll get around to the catching up, but I don't flatter myself that you asked me down at this hour to reminisce about our respective pasts."

  "You've already got
me figured out." She made a face. "I don't know whether I like that or not. By the way, would you care for something? You used to like scotch, right?"

  "The operative part of that statement is 'used to.' These days I try to avoid anything harder than beer. I was starting to have an ethanol dependency problem. I think it's a common occupational hazard for a reporter."

  "I don't keep beer around. It's fattening. How about some diet cranberry juice?"

  "Maybe I'll have that scotch after all." He laughed. "I have a feeling it might be more suited to the occasion."

  "Know what, I think I'll join you." She walked into the kitchen and started making the drinks. "On the rocks, right?"

  "Good memory."

  "Stone, I asked you down because I've got to make a big decision." She was bringing the drinks into the living room. "Tonight. You're the closest thing I've got to a knowledgeable sounding board. You have some idea of the risks and rewards here. So do I check into the Dorian Institute and let them start injecting doctored-up stem cells into me or not? Turns out that's what Van de Vliet wants to do."

  "We're in worse trouble than we thought." He took a scotch. "You've at least seen the place. I don't have a shred of actual physical evidence that those clinical trials are producing results. I can make inferences from what I see on the Web site, but it's nothing you can take to the bank." He ventured a sip, then looked up. "By the way, did you get a chance to ask about the patient who got dropped?"

  "Oh shit, I forgot." She sighed. "There was so much going on, with Mom and all the rest, that it completely slipped my-”

  "Don't worry about it," he said with a sigh.

  Come on, Ally, she thought,this could be really important. You've got to get focused.

  "I'll try to remember tomorrow."

  "I do think it's kind of vital. But be careful not to mention my name. I've … I've just acquired some problems of my own with the Gerex Corporation."

  "What kind of 'problems'?"

  "Let me take a rain check on answering that. Suffice to say, they're not thrilled about the idea that I'm doing a book in which they're prominently featured." He paused. "Look, Ally, there's a lot going on here. Including that patient who was dropped for some reason that nobody wants to disclose. But if you do decide to do it you couldn't have a better physician. Karl Van de Vliet is quite possibly the world's leading researcher in stem cell technology. On the other hand, this is the first time there've been actual human trials. If anybody tells you there's no risk, then they're not behaving ethically."

  "Well, the way things stand now, I'm due out there at the institute at tena.m. tomorrow. If I want to, I can be formally entered into the clinical trials on the spot. I've passed my qualifying exam."

  "You know the trials are almost over. It's like they're taking you at the last minute."

  "That's what he said. I'm going to be the last … whatever. My friend Jennifer just called me a guinea pig. Van de Vliet also said I'd have to stay out there for at least a couple of weeks, probably longer. That's going to be a bloody drag, since things are really busy down at CitiSpace now."

  "Ally, given what I know, or don't know, I don't have an entirely good feeling about this. It could be they're hiding something, but I don't have a clue what it is. It's quite possibly connected to that patient who got terminated. And when I tried to raise this with Gerex's attorneys, no less person than Winston Bartlett himself went ballistic."

  "What are you saying? That I shouldn't do it?"

  "Hey, I can't make that decision for you. But one possibility would be to just play along for a day or two and see if you can't find out a little more about what went wrong with the patient who was dropped."

  "Stone, that's maybe a little paranoid. Couldn't a single patient have been dropped for a whole bunch of different reasons?"

  "Of course, but it's not that simple. A patient was dropped from the Gerex clinical trials, and there was no official reason given in the data file. It made me curious enough that I had our paper's attorney pass along a question about it to their attorneys. That motivated Winston Bartlett to come personally to threaten me. So why is a guy who runs a huge conglomerate suddenly afraid of one tiny question? Is there some problem, some reaction to the procedure that they're terrified will come to light? Ultimately millions and millions of dollars are at stake. I want the book I'm writing to tell the whole story, not just the part they'll want to have told. That's why God put reporters on earth."

  "Shit, Stone, I'm glad you're here. I think I told you on the phone, I had someone I loved very much disappear on me some years ago, and I'm feeling very alone at the moment." She looked him over. "Okay, I'll ask. We're adults. Are you married, divorced, attached, unattached, seeing someone, alone and suicidal, what? I mean, where do things stand here?"

  "Where things stand is that I'm very happy that I stumbled into you after all the years. And yeah, I've got a little history. At least I'd like to think so. But nothing is going on at the moment." Then he told her about Joyce, the divorce, Amy. "And what was that you said about having somebody disappear on you?" He studied her, reaching back for the feelings that were still buried. Seeing her was bringing it back. "What did you mean by that? Disappear like a missing person, or disappear as in up and split, or-"

  "He was my husband, Steve, and he was a political consultant. He was in a single-engine Cessna that went down in the rain forest in Belize and I miss him terribly."

  "I'm so sorry, Ally. Nothing that's happened to me comes close to that tragedy."

  "It gets worse. A few months before that, my dad had an accident with a Browning shotgun that was no accident."

  "Jesus. What's that line about how the troubles tread on one another's heels. Was he depressed? I guess that's a stupid question."

  "He thought he was going to lose his business. After a lifetime of work. What do you think?"

  "Ally, I'm really sorry about all that."

  "Well, I suppose it could be worse. As I recall, you never knewyourdad, did you?"

  When am I going to tell her the truth?he asked himself.

  "Let's get off the history topic tonight, what do you say. We'll both get ourselves depressed."

  "Agreed." She sipped at her scotch. "So … you're saying I should play along and see if I can find out something about this discharged patient, the mere mention of whom causes grown millionaires to become unhinged?"

  "It's whatIwould do," he said, finishing off his scotch and settling the glass on a coaster on a side table. Then he got up. "I have to tell you, Ally, you look awfully tired. I'd love to be responsible for keeping you up all night, but I doubt that would be a humane act."

  "It might remind me of a time long ago and not so far away," she said with a faint smile. "But you're right. When I get this tired, I can precipitate an episode."

  "I'd offer to drive you out there tomorrow, but that would just get you in trouble. They probably have orders to shoot me on sight. I'm the number one persona non grata with the top management of the Gerex Corporation at the moment. So I'm the last person you want to be seen with. Right now the only way you're going to find out what they're hiding is if nobody suspects anything. Which means you've got to show up alone."

  Maybe that's true, she thought. But you're a person I'd like to be with tonight.

  "Thanks for coming over." She walked over and pecked him on the cheek.

  You're vulnerable tonight, she told herself, wanting to ask him to stay. Don't start making any big life decisions.

  Chapter 16

  Tuesday, April 7

  10:32p.m.

  Winston Bartlett looked at the white phone on the oak end table beside his chair and argued with himself about picking it up and calling the Dutchman. When Van de Vliet was at his office at the institute, they communicated by encrypted videophone. By this time, though, he was usually home, but he still hadn't called to say what had happened with Alexa Hampton. Now they would have to talk over an open line. Damn him.

  After his explosive
run-in with Stone Aimes-damn him too-Bartlett had gone up to the Park Avenue place to check on Kristen first hand and try to console her. But he wasn't actually sure she recognized him; at times she seemed to and then at other times she would just stare at him blankly. Her mind increasingly had an in-and-out relationship with reality, and today was an out day.

  The time had come to be deeply concerned about her. She couldn't be kept under wraps forever. He had checked her into the Dorian Institute under an assumed name, Kirby Parker, to try to avoid any publicity. Now that was the only name she could remember. How had the Syndrome done that to her?

  Kristen Starr, whose identity was known to several million watchers of cable TV, could no longer remember her own name. Karl had worked with her every day, but no medication he had tried had even minimally slowed the Syndrome's progress.

  The Beta had seemed so promising. Kristen's body had been rejuvenated-her face was looking like she'd had perfect plastic surgery, and there'd been no discernible side effects. It was everything they’d all hoped for. Kristen was elated and even the normally cautious Van de Vliet was buoyed.

  Yes, the Beta was so close. Karlhadto find a way to make it work.

  In spite of all Winston Bartlett's entrepreneurial derring-do, he always knew he was at the mercy of time. He was getting ever closer to that final dance with destiny. But. . but what if the Beta could be made to work the way Van de Vliet theorized it might? Was there the possibility the music would never stop?

  Nursing a second Glenfiddich, he looked around the room, the third-floor study/bedroom, finding it pleased him as always. This room of his five-story mansion was a handmade gem from New York's turn-of-the-century Gilded Age, with molded plasterwork ceilings and brass doorknobs and mahogany paneling. Favorites from his superlative Japanese sword collection lined the walls, giving him constant joy. He wanted to live to enjoy it for another three score and ten.