Days' End (2 page)

After the laughter had died down, Alastair had moved his bagpipes to the floor so Nysa could sit. He fetched new drinks.

Handing her a glass, Alastair had introduced himself. “I’m Alastair by the way. I live here. Who, might I ask, do I have the pleasure of embarrassing with my bagpipes?”

Nysa smiled. “Nysa, Nysa Knight. I came with my friend Sam. Nice place.”

They had spent the rest of the evening on the couch talking. He had been surprised to learn that she was a doctor and berated himself silently for being so preoccupied with her looks that he hadn’t really considered her intellect. What had impressed him most, however, was not only how deep her knowledge was, but how broad. They’d spent the evening discussing a variety of topics and she had an opinion on them all, and the facts to back them up. Alastair had been mesmerized by her eyes and had spent the evening lost in them. The attraction was mutual.

The evening had passed quickly and both were unwilling to let it end. When Alastair had asked if she would like to go back to his apartment, Nysa quickly accepted the offer. They hadn’t been at his place for long when their emotional bond turned physical. What Alastair had intended to be a brief kiss became long and passionate. As Nysa caressed his shoulders and held him to her, Alastair’s hands had moved down to her waist, and he’d admired the contours of her body, thin but far from feeling like a bag of antlers.

They moved to the bedroom, pausing only to remove their clothes and for another lingering kiss, Alastair pinning Nysa to the wall. She was the perfect height for him. He didn’t have to bend down to kiss her nor did he have to look up at her.

Alastair had been surprised by Nysa’s passion. They spent the evening wrapped in each others arms, until they both had collapsed exhausted. They had been together ever since.

They had had their share of difficulties though, primarily because of him. Alastair had always been a heavy drinker, but it wasn’t until their first anniversary that he’d realized it was a problem. They’d returned the next year for the Halloween party, except this time they didn’t wind up in bed together. Once again, he’d had too much to drink. He remembered exiting the freeway at Venice, could once again feel how he had lost control of the car and struck the barrier separating the exit from the on ramp. The car had flipped and they had both spent the night in the hospital. The next day, he’d had a couple drinks to kill the pain. But the pain kept getting worse, and so did his drinking. He’d missed quite a few days of work because he was still passed out and had shown up hung over for the rest. He’d finally been forced into attending AA meetings by his boss, who threatened to fire him if he didn’t go. He’d thought it all a crock of shit the first few times he went, but he kept going back, sometimes loaded.

One night, listening to a speaker talk about his life, Alastair had started to understand that he had a problem and that these people understood and could help. After all, they’d lived it, and they’d conquered it. He’d gotten a sponsor and had his last drink at 1:33 P.M. on December 3, 1999. It had been a Jack and Coke, his favorite drink.

Alcoholics Anonymous was where he’d picked up smoking; smoking and coffee. He couldn’t figure out how anybody could be in AA and not smoke. Everyone stood outside before the meeting smoking like a chimney, and as soon as there was a break there was a crowd outside the door puffing away. Then everyone gathered again after the meeting to smoke and rehash the meeting. It was only a matter of time before he took up the habit, standing outside smoking next to ashtrays the size of trashcans, always with a hot cup of coffee in his hand.

I don’t know that I will ever be forgiven for what I have done. My best friend and mentor is dead, and I am to blame. How could I have been so blind to their true intentions? I don’t think I can take the pain much longer. Everywhere I go people look, point, and throw stones. Their hatred for me is very clear. I deserve it; I have betrayed the finest man the world has ever known. Please forgive me.

January 2

Nysa woke up early, showered, and got ready for work. She dressed quickly in a pair of black slacks and a white blouse, stepped into her shoes, and grabbed her purse. She kissed Alastair softly on his stubbly cheek as he slept and slipped out the front door. Making her way around the apartment complex to the parking lot, she climbed into her ancient blue Mazda, snapped on the radio to KROQ, and drove quickly but prudently to work.

She was excited about how far she had come in her research. She tapped her foot and sang along as she made her way slowly through traffic toward the freeway, careful to avoid the ever present assholes. Nysa had been working at the UCLA Medical Center since 1995, doing studies in cloning applications and techniques for the last three years. Although still quite young, she was considered one of the most knowledgeable in the field of cloning techniques.

While she had never actually cloned an animal, she had developed several important methods used in procuring the DNA required to begin the cloning process. It wasn’t difficult to clone something that you had handy, like a cow or sheep, but she wanted to enable science to study dinosaurs, caveman, or even, perhaps, an historical icon like Abraham Lincoln. The possibilities were endless. For now, she would just focus on the tasks at hand, developing procedures to retrieve complete DNA samples from aged remnants, or at least fragments large enough that the strand could be reconstructed.

Nysa arrived at her lab before anyone else as she did every morning. She quickly checked her samples before going to her lab to prepare for the day. Hanging her purse on the hook on the back of her door, Nysa made her way over to her desk and sat down. Her first order of business was to check her incoming e-mail. As she scrolled through her inbox, deleting the constant influx of garbage, she spotted an address she didn’t recognize, but not one pitching Viagra or the newest method of penis enlargement. This one was direct and to the point. The subject line read: Job Opportunity for Nysa Knight. As it had obviously been personalized and didn’t appear to be spam, she opened it.

“Dr. Knight,

I am very interested in your career. Based on extensive research on you and your peers, I have selected you as my primary candidate to head up a private project. I will provide any equipment and funding you need to complete the project and upon completion will compensate you generously for your time and effort. I must warn you however, I do not tolerate failure. If you accept this offer, I expect your full dedication until such time as the project comes to fruition. If you decline, I’m sure that Dr. Robert Platte will be happy to seize this opportunity to make history. Please reply back with your decision by midnight tomorrow, as I intend to move quickly on this project. If you accept, additional instructions will follow. If you decline, good luck and farewell.”

Nysa wasn’t quite sure what to make of the e-mail. She knew that she had a good reputation among her peers, but being selected to lead a project would be a giant step forward in her career. And as for that cheating bastard Robert, even if she didn’t accept the offer, she would let this individual know what kind of pig he was. A boyfriend in grad school, Nysa had caught him in bed with her roommate one night when she came home early from a study group. She’d broken up with him immediately despite his protests that it had just happened, and that it didn’t mean anything. What a pig. And that line—didn’t everyone in the movies use that line when caught cheating on their significant other? At least come up with something original, she’d thought to herself.

Pulling herself back to the present, the more she thought about the mysterious offer, the more confused she became. Finally she decided to discuss it with Alastair and make her decision then. For now, she had work to do.

All day she pondered the e-mail and tried to make heads or tails of who had contacted her. She hadn’t recognized the sender address, and the e-mail had not been signed. And how had this anonymous person come to choose her? Her mind raced with questions: What exactly was the project? When would it start? What would she need? Would she accept?

Her life was becoming normal again. Alastair had quit drinking. She had been able to redirect her focus back on her work, and her career was again on the rise. She was well liked and respected among her peers. Did she really want to risk the unknown at this point? She would have to request a leave of absence for an unspecified amount of time. Good luck on that, she thought. She might have to leave UCLA altogether. Was she willing to leave all that she had accomplished behind? Thoughts and questions rattled around in her head like bingo balls. It became difficult to concentrate on the job at hand.

After finishing at least some of her work for the day, Nysa called it quits. After scribbling some last minute notes, Nysa logged off and headed home. When Nysa arrived she found dinner waiting for her. Alastair had finished early at work and had surprised her. While the dinner wasn’t anything to write home about—spaghetti and salad—she appreciated the effort. She kicked off her shoes, flung her purse onto the couch, and sat down at the table opposite Alastair. She let her hair down out of the bun she had put it in that morning and dug in.

“How was your day, babe?” she asked after wolfing down a few bites.

“Same old routine,” he replied. “Just sat at my desk all day programming and thinking of you.” He gave her a wink. “How about you?”

She hesitated. “I got something strange today.” Nysa then related the contents of the e-mail she had received that morning. “What do you think?”

“Strange is an understatement. This person seems to know a lot about you. I don’t like it. Does it bother you?”

“Not really,” Nysa replied. “He brought up Robert, which was a little weird, but it just seemed like he did it to bait me. It’s still common knowledge around the lab what happened, so it wouldn’t have been too hard to find out.”

“I don’t know. It sounds a bit off to me. Do you have any idea who it might be or who he might have talked to about you?”

“No,” Nysa replied. “None. I was thinking about it at work but I haven’t heard anyone say anything about someone nosing around. I also don’t recognize the e-mail address. Not that it’s difficult to hide who you are through the Internet.”

“That’s for sure,” Alastair replied. “I don’t know,” he continued. “It sounds weird to me, but if you’re interested, I guess it can’t hurt to listen. If not, just tell him. Either way, be careful. No getting into vans with the windows painted or anything, okay?” Alastair teased. “But seriously, if you have any doubts or think there might be something dangerous going on, give me a call.”

“Deal.”

With that settled, Nysa and Alastair finished their dinner while discussing current events, various problems at work, and any juicy gossip they’d heard. When they were finished, Nysa cleared the table and, while doing the dishes, continued to ponder the offer. Who knows? It could be the opportunity of a lifetime.

When she finished drying the last of the dishes, she retired to the study, signed on to her work e-mail, and sent her reply. After a long hot shower, she went through her nightly routine of brushing her hair.

“Fifty-seven, fifty-eight…oh screw it,” Nysa murmured, tossing her brush on the vanity. She made her way back to the bedroom, climbed into bed, snuggled in next to her man, and drifted slowly off to sleep.

It seems that I am to be punished for my sin. Humanity has left me, I am left with only a small reminder of the man I once was. Death cannot come quickly enough, yet I fear it is a long way off for me for I fail even in my attempts to end my own life. How should I fill my days? Do I try and become the man I always should have been, or do I embrace the man people believe me to be? I don’t know. Maybe as this miserable life passes, I will find a way to redeem myself, or at least put an end to my misery.

January 3

One nice thing about arriving at work before everyone else was the privacy it afforded should one need, for example, to check on other job opportunities. While this was her work e-mail, it was not monitored and read by her supervisors as in so many other businesses. When she entered the office she went through her normal morning routine, although slightly faster than usual.

As she sat down to check her e-mail, she realized that she was slightly nervous. A few butterflies flitted around in her stomach and her palms were a bit damp. She rubbed them on her slacks and signed on to her computer. She scanned through the barrage of crap in her inbox until she saw it.

“Dr. Knight, I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am by your decision. A representative of mine will contact you shortly to further discuss the details of your employment.”

A representative? Shortly? Could this be any more vague? She read and reread the e-mail to make sure she hadn’t missed something. She was beginning to wonder if this was some kind of hoax, a bad practical joke. She chewed on the end of her pen as she tried to plan her next move. Eventually, she logged off and got back to work. She was attempting to extract some DNA from a sample obtained from King Tutankhamen, compliments of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. The work was a bit monotonous but helped keep her mind off the morning’s e-mail.

By the time she paused for a rest it was almost noon. A few people had wandered into the lab over the last few hours but most had extended their New Year’s holiday for a few more days. Nysa put her equipment away, grabbed her purse, and wound her way down the corridors on her way out.

She walked out into the afternoon sunshine and called Alastair on her cell phone to tell him about the cryptic e-mail she had received, but she hung up when she reached his voicemail. As she put her phone back in her purse, she was approached by a tall, well-built, and handsome young man wearing a three-piece suit that Nysa doubted was off the rack. His belt, shoes, and briefcase matched, and he wore a tie that seemed to bring it all together perfectly. His dusty, light brown hair was conservatively cut. He approached her without hesitation, extended his right hand and gave her a firm, quick handshake.