The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One

by Sam Nash

  “Well, that’s the million-dollar question, honey, and the start of some very exciting studies.”

  Mary tipped her shoulders away from him and analysed his facial response. He was enjoying this a little too much. If this is an example of his bedside manner, no wonder he didn’t go into General Practice. “I’m glad my brain excites you. So, there are no tumours, growths, anything that could kill me?”

  “Not that I can see, but you do have a very high concentration of gyri.” Parth pored over the images once again on the screen.

  “Is that bad?” She had palpitations thrumming in her chest.

  “Not at all. They are the folds on the brain surface. More gyri and more fissures, or grooves, means larger surface area – bit like a dolphin.” He traced the pen tip along a fissure across her brain, illustrating his point.

  “Marvellous. First, I’m Einstein, now I’m an aquatic lifeform.” She stood up, allowing the back of her knees to skid her chair backwards, making a harsh grinding noise.

  “Oh, don’t be like that, darling. This is wonderful news.” He dropped the pen and stood up next to her.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Mary could not warm to his elation, particularly if it meant more tests. She stooped to reach her satchel from the booth floor and went back into the MRI suite to retrieve her clothes. Parth trailed after her and watched while she finished buttoning up her blouse.

  “Don’t you want to stay and see the electrical activity in your brain? We can hook you up to…”

  “Nope. I’m going home.” She pushed past him and thumped the door to the waiting room open with a clenched fist.

  “Take care on your bike, love. See you later.” He yelled, but she was gone.

  ***

  Outside the Biochemistry Building, Mary looked up at Cyril’s office window, but saw no signs of life. She gave a fleeting thought to collecting her helmet from her locker then dismissed it. Unlocking her bicycle from the stands, she rode it at speed right through the campus, scattering students and lecturers and ignoring the shouts of “Oi! Pedestrians only,” on her way towards the park. Suddenly ravenous, she stopped at the supermarket and bought a veggie wrap, a drink and some porridge oats for the ducks, before steering her push bike along the cycle paths of Victoria Park. It was exhilarating. The smell of freshly cut grass, mixed with a tinge of diesel fumes, the late blossom raining in drifts and obscuring her vision and the slightly elevated risk of falling without protective headgear. All the sights, sounds and smells pummelling her senses as she free wheeled through giant puddles with legs splayed, giggling like a child. Muddy water soaked her plimsolls and caked on her brake blocks, but what did that matter? She was not dying. Her brain might be a cross between a genius and an echo locating sea mammal, but she was alive, invigorated and feeling refreshed.

  Mary was also famished. She found a bench by the duck pond and dismounted, leaning her bicycle up against the backrest. The falafel wrap hit the spot nicely. Throwing a handful of oats onto the water’s surface, she sat back down to wait for the ducks to notice her presence. The sun was high overhead and the light rays converted the pond into shimmering glass. She looked about for a bench with shade, but they were all taken by the elderly or young mothers with infants in pushchairs.

  I shouldn’t have been so snappy with Parth. She thought. I’ll cook him something nice to make up for it. He was only trying to help and I did break his scanner. Oh God. I broke his MRI machine. How the hell did I do that? Faulty wiring perhaps? And the biochem heat lamp, centrifuge and photocopier? Not likely. I bet Einstein didn’t have this trouble, Flipper neither.

  The ducks paid no attention to the oats. They made themselves busy gobbling up chunks of wet bread from a little boy and his grandfather on the opposite side of the pond. They prefer to swallow duck junk-food to healthy oats. Hey duckies – they are feeding you empty calories, in the same way that Parth is feeding me palatable lies. I’ll make Parth a nice veggie lasagne, garlic bread, candles the whole nine yards. Then I will steer the conversation round as to why he and Yelena are lying to me. With her plan fermenting pleasantly, she put the oats back in her bicycle basket and rode off to the shops for groceries.

  ***

  The salad dressing sat in the centre of the dining table, separating into two distinct liquids. The garlic bread balanced on a baking tray waiting to slide next to the ceramic dish of lasagne, bubbling away in the oven. White wicked candles perched in their best crystal candlesticks and Mary stood on top of a step stool on the landing, cleaning the light fittings of dust. The bedroom door was open. She could see the time display of the alarm clock on Parth’s bedside table. He’ll be home soon. I just have time to look up Out of Body Experiences on his tablet before he arrives.

  Aristotle lay sprawled at the foot of their bed. She tickled him between the ears as she passed. Nearing the bedside cabinet, Mary realised the iPad was no longer there. Neither was it hiding in the drawers. He must have moved it to his office while I was in the shower this morning. A mild feeling of déjà vu hit her as she descended the stairs and breezed into Parth’s man-cave. For the first time in their marriage, Mary felt like an intruder in her own home, sneaking around her husband’s spaces uninvited.

  That’s peculiar. His laptop isn’t here either. She tried the drawers in his desk - locked. Pulling the door of his office closed on her way out, she went back into the lounge diner and located Parth’s laptop, sitting on the side unit behind the settee. Lifting the lid, she pressed the power button and waited for it to spring into life.

  The clicking and grinding and flickering LEDs woke the machine. She waited patiently for it to sort itself out, poised and ready to click the familiar desktop internet icon. To her dismay, Mary discovered that her husband had password protected the laptop, denying her access to any of its files or software.

  Chapter Four

  Mary stood watching the cursor fade in and out on the screen. In seven years of marriage, she and Parth had shared everything; food, money, fears, hopes, dreams and desires, their bodies and even during desperate times when they had been travelling, their underwear. It seemed inconceivable that he would lie to her, let alone shut her out of parts of his life altogether. The cursor flashed inside the password box in time with the beat of her stinging heart.

  “Hi, honey. What are you doing?” Parth had arrived quietly through the back door.

  She stood for a moment, unable to articulate her feelings, slack jawed and on the edge of tears. She blinked them back. “I was going to look something up on your laptop but I’m locked out.”

  “Ah yes, sensitive case study for work, one of the classified ones, darling. I’ll create your own profile on it, then you can have your own password if you like.” His answer felt rehearsed. He had pre-empted her surprise. “What were you going to look up?”

  Considering her response carefully, she replied; “I wanted to see if there were any examples of people having an effect on electrical equipment.”

  Parth rushed to her side, dropping his precious rucksack to the floor in a heap. His tone altered, no longer the jaunty banter of husband and wife, his voice hardened to stone. “Did you switch the webcam on?”

  She spotted the tiny green light glowing above the screen. “How could I? I haven’t got your password.”

  Parth slammed the lid closed. “Maybe it just needs charging up. I’ll sort it out later.” He gathered up the laptop and carried it into his office. She heard it creak as he dumped it on his desk. A discreet chime sounded from his mobile phone, notifying him of a caller. Mary moved closer to the partly open door to listen in.

  “No – you can’t…” Parth blustered. “I need more time. It’s too soon, you have to give me more time.” He hung up and ran his fingers through his silken hair, reappearing in the hallway, with an enforced smile.

  “Who was on the phone?” She shuffled backwards in time with his advancing steps.

  “It was Yelena, she wondered if you wanted to go shopping sometim
e this week for a new ball gown. I said we were about to eat and that you’d call her back later.” They moved into the kitchen and he watched her put the garlic bread in the oven. She played along, waiting till after she had plied him with a glass or two of red wine before tackling him with more serious matters.

  “What’s wrong with my black dress?”

  “Nothing, you look lovely in it, but wouldn’t you like a new one for a change? You always wear that one. People will think it’s the only one you have.” He grabbed a bottle of Zinfandel and applied his nail to the foil covering the neck.

  “It is the only one I have.” Mary twisted the dial of the kitchen timer to ten minutes and rested her back against the worktop.

  “Precisely. We need to impress the investors. Let Yelena help you pick out a nice new one, matching shoes and what nots too.” He fiddled with corkscrew, the metal arms flailing in balletic dance, then plunged the sharp point into the bottle top.

  Mary bit down on her lip. Choose your fights, Mary. Stay calm. She chanted inside her head. “How did the meeting with Yelena go this morning?”

  “Good, thanks. We discussed what approach to take at the ball with the potential new investor. Game plan all in order, so to speak.” The cork popped. Parth opened a wall cupboard and retrieved a wine glass.

  “Uhuh.” They obviously think I am moronic, a docile moron. At least I can use that fact against them. “I’m sorry about your MRI scanner today, I really can’t explain what happened…”

  “Let’s not talk about that now.” Parth interrupted. He decanted a full glass of wine, sniffed it and took a huge gulp down. “Can I pour you one, honey?”

  “What’s got into you? You know I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol for over eight years.”

  “I know. But you seemed a bit tense and I thought one glass might help to relax you.” He took another slug and collected his bag from where he had dropped it. Reaching inside, he pulled out a brown plastic bottle filled with tablets. “Here, I got you some multivitamin and minerals from the department. You have been looking quite tired lately, perhaps you need more iron in your diet.”

  She peered with suspicion at the bottle. “They’re unlabelled.” A week ago, she would not have noticed the container. Her trust in him had eroded of late, like the band of her wedding ring where it had jostled against the soft gold of his grandmother’s handed down diamonds. Steadfast bonds wearing thin with time.

  “Yeah?” Parth shrugged.

  Mary took the bottle from him and put them on the kitchen windowsill with her migraine medication. Parth kneaded a knuckle into his tear duct, and waited for the raw lids to open. Standing there with his head tilted to one side and his shoulders sagging as if he had come home from years in the trenches. She relented. “Thank you, Parth. That was very thoughtful of you.”

  The timer dinged. He lit the candles and poured his wife some Elderflower cordial, refilling his wine glass at the same time, almost to the brim. Mary served their food. As she placed his plate before him, he caught her hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “You and I are alright, aren’t we? Have I done something to upset you?” Those rich dark eyes and sweeping lashes met hers and disarmed her.

  “No, Parth. Everything is fine.” How could she confront him? She had no solid evidence with which to accuse him of anything. He clung to her, searching for a sign of contentment. The moment was heavy with expectation. He wanted more from her, reciprocal affection or a declaration of feeling. Mary knew what he wanted to hear but her devotion had emaciated to loyalty. She broke the impasse. “Are you all set for our next study session tomorrow night? What will you have us doing?”

  Parth sighed and released her hand. “Yes, it’s all prepared. You’ll find out tomorrow. Did you remember your grandfather’s birthday card?”

  “Oh blimey, no. I must sort that and order him a hamper for delivery. Thanks for reminding me.”

  There were a few minutes of hushed eating, Parth gulping his down, eager to finish. “Would you like some more garlic bread?”

  “No, thank you, my love. That was delicious.” He pushed his cutlery together on the plate and dropped the napkin on top.

  “You’re welcome.” She scraped the last few mouthfuls of food to one side with her knife and lay the fork down. “Parth, I really think we need to discuss what is happening to me…” There was a hiatus of activity. Their gazes met, hers earnest and imploring, his alarmed and distressed. A rabbit trapped in a snare. “Why do I keep blowing up electrical equipment?” The wire snare tightened around his neck. He spluttered, unable to prevent her from speaking.

  “I need a long soak in the bath. You don’t mind do you, darling?” He drained the contents of his glass and held the arms of his chair, awaiting her response.

  “You have just eaten a heavy meal.”

  “A long shower then.” He rose and pushed his chair under the table. Parth pecked the top of her head as he passed and made his way up the stairs. Mary rushed after him, but he was taking two steps to her one and he left her lagging behind.

  He tried to close the door but she caught up and entered the bathroom with him. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

  “It’s been a long day, that’s all, love. You could join me?” He pulled his shirt off over his head without unfastening it and held her in his arms, kicking the door closed behind them. He slid his hand inside her blouse and trailed his fingertips up her spine, unclasping her bra before turning his attention to the buttons at the front.

  “But I need to talk about it…”

  Parth kissed her into a silent, willing submission.

  ***

  Mary woke, before the alarm clock sounded, next to a snuffling cat. Parth had risen early and engrossed himself in secret activities in the den. After her failed attempts at discussion ended in shower sex, she decided to bide her time and give Parth some distance. She bathed, dressed and grabbed a muesli bar on her way to retrieve her bicycle from the garage.

  It had rained overnight and the roads were slippery. A double decker bus made her heart race when it overtook her, almost skimming her back wheel. The driver indicated left, stopping immediately in front of her to let passengers disembark. She swerved, just in time to avoid collision. Making headway along the bus lane, the same driver repeated the same dangerous manoeuvre again. Incensed, she screeched her brakes to a halt and kicked out at the back of the bus. Steering around the vehicle once more, she drew level with the driver's open window.

  “You arsehole! Are you trying to kill me?” She roared, clamping her grip around the brakes.

  “Roads are for vehicles, darlin’. Use the cycle routes and get out of my way.” He wore a supercilious grin and a dated moustache, flecked with nicotine.

  “Arrogant wanker!” She screamed, leaning on the rounded corner panel of the bus. The driver chuckled, pulling the lever to close the doors and putting the coach in gear. Mary could feel the fury brewing in her chest, her breaths shortening across her teeth. Balancing stationary on her pedals she balled up a fist and smacked it on the side panel of the bus in temper.

  “Bastard!” The engine, choked, chugged and ground to a stop, jerking the passengers forward in unison. As she rode away smiling to herself, she heard the driver turning the ignition over and over again, trying to coax it into action. “Hah. Mess with me and I will fry your electronics. There might be some benefits to this after all.”

  ***

  The Biochemistry department was already buzzing with activity when Mary arrived a full half hour before her scheduled time. Locking her satchel away and putting her lab coat on, she wandered through the first-floor main prep room to see what all the commotion was about. Cyril Plender was in his office with a group of post graduates. An assembly of technicians dawdled around the bench near to the window in Cyril’s office door. The discussion looked intense, with Cyril wagging his finger and looking stern at the students, before dismissing them with a clipboard of notes between them.

  “Just make sure
you keep me informed, of everything. Every tiny iota of progress.” He hitched up his trousers by the waistband and pulled his lab coat closed.

  Cyril spotted Mary. She winced and tried to make a run for it, admonishing herself for getting caught up in events.

  “Ah, Mary. I trust you are feeling better today? Feeling up to work I hope?” He fiddled with his ID badge, adjusting its position on his lapel.

  “Yes, thank you. I am terribly sorry about what happened.” She turned away, hoping that would be the conclusion to his discussion.

  “Good, good. Let’s not worry about that now, shall we? Anyway, new project, Mary. Lab Twenty-Six needs a full spring clean. The boys have a new brief and will be putting in their glassware requests by lunchtime today. Can you make it a priority, please? Anything they need as soon as humanly possible. Also, can you fast track an application for a class one drug licence? Need to order quite a bit, very quickly. I’ve already contacted the Site Managers Office to get someone over to fit additional security to the lab door. Perhaps you could assign one of your team to be their dedicated technician?” He smelled of a mixture of antiseptic cream and bacon. It was overpowering.

  She took a step back, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Any particular class one drug, Cyril?” Mary removed a notebook and pencil from her top pocket and stood poised to make notes.

  “Yes, Dimethyltriptamine.” A streak of encrusted egg yolk bisected the lateral stripes of his tie. He scratched a nail against the stain and then licked his thumb, rubbing the saliva into the weave. Rocking on raised heels in the doorway of his office, he regarded Mary.

  “You are cooking up the hallucinogen DMT?” Mary raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t want to openly accuse her boss of creating recreational drugs in a British university. The parallels with a particular fictional television series about a desperate chemistry teacher, were evident to both.

  “The new project is classified, Mary, and sanctioned by the board. Need to know only. If you could start the paperwork now, please. Oh, and they’ll need you to order some MAO inhibitors, just the A form should do.” Cyril closed his door in her face and returned to his desk, picking up the land line telephone.