Days' End (5 page)

“Whoever takes over my research shouldn’t have any problems. If you go into my desk you will find all of my notes typed, labeled, and filed. Thank you again for everything. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

Dr. Larson nodded her understanding. “Thank you for your hard work, Nysa, and good luck. If you ever need anything, feel free to call. You’re not off my Christmas list just because you no longer work for me.” Dr. Larson smiled and extended her hand.

Nysa shook hands with her mentor and turned to leave the office.

“And Nysa,” Dr. Larson continued. Nysa stopped and turned to face her boss. “Don’t kid yourself. You’d be a great research scientist even without my influence. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Nysa smiled, thanked her mentor, and left the office.

“Well,” she thought, “it’s official now. No going back.”

Although anxious, excitement overwhelmed her and the rest of the day passed in a blur of test tubes, micro-pipettes, Petri dishes, and calcium chelating agents.

I traveled with Gottschalk and the German army north along the Rhine in a quest to relieve my boredom and increase my fortune. I am traveling with roughly 10,000 troops in an effort to purge our homeland of Jews. Cologne fell fairly easily and I was able to acquire quite a bit of property in the process. How ironic that the Jews are being slaughtered for their role in the crucifixion and here I am profiting from it.

January 10-29

The next few weeks were spent preparing for Nysa’s departure. Nysa and Alastair spent as much time together as they could afford, opting out of all dinner invitations, couples nights, and parties. They didn’t make big plans, deciding instead to spend their time inside together, laughing playing games, making love. A couple of times they went out to catch a flick and dinner, and they made a trip to the aquarium, but for the most part they spent their time naked in the apartment ordering in. She used some of her free time to secretly write little letters to Alastair. It was going to be a surprise for him, so she would sneak into the study while he was napping or in the shower. She put each note in an envelope and sealed it. On the outside she put a date for the letter to be opened. She wanted to make sure Alastair didn’t forget her while she was gone, and she hoped that a little love note to read every week or two would help make sure it didn’t happen. She also used the digital camera and the remote to take some pictures of herself for him to enjoy in her absence.

She put all the letters and the memory card in a shoe box, gift wrapped it, and hid it under the bed.

January 30

She was packed for her trip, but not ready to go. She wanted more time with Alastair, who’d taken the day off of work to see her off. How was she going to get through this project without seeing him, or at least speaking to him? She went to the bedroom and retrieved her gift for him. While in the bedroom, the doorbell rang. She rushed back into the living room as Alastair answered it. The man at the door was in his early to mid-twenties and, oddly, dressed in a tuxedo. Nysa glanced past him to the car at the curb and was shocked to see a beautiful white 1951 Rolls Royce. It was immaculate—not so much as a single particle of dust could be seen on the entire car. Alastair turned back toward the apartment.

“Hon, your ride is here.”

She made her way through the living room toward the front door. As she passed the coffee table, she set down the box and walked to Alastair.

“There’s a little something for you for when I’m gone.” She nodded toward the box. She couldn’t look at him. Her throat felt tight, her eyes brimming with tears. Alastair took her in his arms.

“I’ll be right here when you get back, Nysa, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” He pulled her close. She felt his heart hammering in his chest and smelled the faint odor of his shampoo intermingled with the stronger scent of his cologne. She closed her eyes and tried to etch this moment into her mind. She wanted to be able to come back to this memory frequently while she was gone, to feel him in her arms. After a moment she pulled back, leaned up, and gave him a kiss.

“Don’t forget me, okay? I love you more than you know.”

“I won’t,” replied Alastair. “I love you, too, and I do know.”

He kissed her again. When they finished, Alastair picked up her bag and opened the front door. They followed the driver down to the car where he opened the door for Nysa. She and Alastair shared one last hug and kiss before saying goodbye. Nysa climbed in, the driver closed the door, took her bag from Alastair, and placed her bag on the front passenger seat before walking around the car and climbing in himself. Alastair watched the car drive slowly down the street and disappear around the corner.

Nysa’s trip was uneventful. She struggled to keep her composure; she didn’t want to seem weak in front of anyone she didn’t know. The car took her to the Santa Monica Airport where she was driven straight out onto the tarmac. Nysa thought it strange as she’d always had to go through the security and boarding process on every other flight she had ever taken. Instead she was driven up to the foot of a set of stairs that led up to an impressive-looking private jet. Nysa stepped from the car and made her way up to the cabin while the driver took her bag back to the cargo hold.

It took a while for Nysa’s eyes to adjust to the dim light after stepping in from the bright afternoon sun. The cabin was incredible. All of the woodwork appeared to be actual cherry. The chairs were so big they looked like La-Z-Boys. The soft lighting and taupe coloring of the seats gave the cabin a very comfortable and relaxing feel. Already onboard were two other passengers, Mr. Stevens and an older gentleman sitting in a chair across the aisle from him. Dressed in a suit that had to date back to at least the early eighties, and with a stoic look on his face, he reminded Nysa of a history professor she’d had in college. As walked down the aisle both stood. Mr. Stevens greeted and introduced her.

“Dr. Knight, welcome aboard. This is Dr. Shannon Leyden. Dr. Leyden, Dr. Knight. You two will be working closely together on this project. Dr. Leyden specializes in the reconstruction of fragmented DNA; Dr. Knight specializes in the extraction of said DNA from difficult samples. As I’m sure you two have speculated, we will be cloning something very unique. Dr. Knight, may I get you a drink?”

“Yes, please,” Nysa replied. “What do you have?”

“Whatever you would like, Dr. Knight. We have a fully stocked bar on board.”

“A vodka and cranberry, please,” Nysa replied politely.

Mr. Stevens walked the short distance to the bar, poured her a drink, and brought it back to her. He handed it to her as she continued standing, awestruck with the beauty of the aircraft. It didn’t surprise her that the glass in her hand appeared to be made of crystal and was of an elegantly intricate design. She took a small sip and continued to survey the cabin.

Mr. Stevens made his way back toward the front of the plane. “If there is anything else either of you would like during the trip, please let me know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll let the pilot know we are ready to depart.” The lawyer disappeared into the cockpit.

Nysa took an empty seat and buckled herself in. Mr. Stevens returned to his seat and sat down, behind Nysa and across from Dr. Leyden. During the flight, Nysa turned her seat around, and she and Mr. Stevens made small talk. Dr. Leyden was aloof, keeping mostly to himself. They all avoided the issue of the project, an unspoken understanding that the questions that could be answered would be addressed tomorrow.

Nysa’s insides were in complete turmoil as she contemplated the task ahead of her. Would she be able to do the tasks assigned to her? Would the project be a success? What would become of her afterward? Would Alastair still be waiting for her? She fidgeted and squirmed in her seat as she pondered these questions. While not wanting to get smashed before her arrival at the facility, Nysa allowed herself two more drinks in an attempt to relax.

The flight and landing were smooth, and the plane was met by a town car at the Colorado Springs Airport. The luggage was moved from the Cessna and the three of them climbed into the car, Mr. Stevens taking the passenger seat.

They drove in silence, heading north toward Denver on I-25. Every now and then, Nysa would steal a glance over at Dr. Leyden. He appeared to be deeply engrossed in his study of the back of the driver’s head. A tall lanky man, he had to be uncomfortable with his long legs pressed into the back of the driver’s seat. If he was, he gave no indication of it. The only time he ever moved was to slick back his short grey hair or to smooth his goatee.

Nysa found the landscape breathtaking. Coming from Los Angeles, she had grown accustomed to graffiti and trash as the primary sights on her drives around the city. Out here it was completely absent. It had recently snowed and the peaks of the Rockies glistened as the afternoon sun glided slowly toward their summits. She sat and stared as they drove past the rolling hills and small towns of Colorado. They were quaint and cute, apparently untouched by the evils of big-city life.

Another thing that amazed her was the lack of traffic at this hour. Had they been on the 405, they would never have gotten above thirty, but they rolled along at a steady seventy-five miles per hour. They exited just south of Denver, Exit 191 according to the freeway sign, and headed west toward the Rockies. Odd, Nysa thought, that an off-ramp wouldn’t have a name, merely a number. They drove slowly through the rising and falling landscape until finally turning down a secluded road. After some time, Nysa realized that she hadn’t seen one house or business since turning off the main street. She tried to catch a glimpse of some sign of human life through the increasingly thick pine trees. Finally Nysa gave up her search.

Eventually they passed through a checkpoint and arrived at what appeared to be a Bed and Breakfast. The outside was weathered, worn, and completely ordinary in appearance. Inside was state of the art. The lobby was so clean Nysa thought surgery would be safe in there. It was a lab in and of itself, organized, minimalized, and as efficient as possible. There were no islands with vases of flowers, no small tree tucked into the corner—merely an open space with spotless white tile floors. The ceiling was painted in the same overwhelming white, giving the room a very sterile feeling.

The driver brought in their bags and disappeared through a doorway to Nysa’s right accompanied by Mr. Stevens. Straight ahead, a small, stern-looking woman behind a counter beckoned her. She stood about five and a half feet, with a medium-build, and sandy-blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun. She wore no make-up that Nysa could see, and her business suit looked like it had just come back from the dry cleaners, heavy on the starch. Nysa and Dr. Leyden proceeded across the small lobby to the counter.

“Dr. Knight, Dr. Leyden, thank you for joining us and welcome. My name is Bekki, and I am here to assist you in any non-project related matters. If you want a movie to watch in your room, you see me. If you want a book, you see me. Jackets, blankets, video games, shoes, whatever it is, you see me. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” they replied in unison. Nysa fought the urge to salute and click her heels.

“Very good,” Bekki continued. “Dr. Knight, you will be in room 158; here is your key. Please take the elevator to your left to level B-15 and follow the signs to your room.” Bekki turned to Dr. Leyden.

“Excuse me, miss?” stammered Nysa. “Where did my bag go? And this place is only two stories, not fifteen.”

“Your bag will be in your room when you get there. It was taken through security to ensure no mobile phones, laptops, or other forbidden devices were being brought onto the premises. Your room is on level B-15, down, not up. Is there anything else?”

“No. Thank you.”

Fifteen floors down? “Wow, don’t judge a book by its cover,” Nysa muttered as she made her way to the elevator. She entered the elevator and pushed B-15. Nothing happened. An automated voice came over the speaker instructing her to insert her room key into the slot and press her desired floor. After doing so, the elevator began its slow descent, announcing its arrival with a pronounced ding. She stepped off the elevator and had no difficulty locating her room as there was only one other on the floor; hers was left and the other right.

“Wow,” she whispered upon entering her room. She entered a living room roughly the size of her apartment in Venice. In contrast to the lobby, the finest pieces furnished her room. In the middle of the room and surrounded by matching coffee and end tables was a luxurious couch that she hesitated to sit on. Across from the couch, to her left, was an enormous plasma screen television.

She turned to the right and walked through a set of double doors to her bedroom. Her bed looked more comfortable than a cloud and sat facing an ornate entertainment center holding yet another massive television.

The bathroom, while having a traditional door, also had a large opening that could be closed off with shutters should someone desire privacy. Through the opening, Nysa saw the bathtub. It pulled at her like a siren calling a sailor. After a long day of travel, she desperately needed to relax. Although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon, she was exhausted. She turned on the water, adjusted the temperature, and plugged the tub.

As she surveyed the room, she noticed a large bath kit behind the bathroom door. In it were bath oils, salts and bubbles. She selected lavender-scented oil, added it to the tub and returned to the bedroom to undress. She noticed her bag placed neatly on her bed, a letter on her pillow with her name typed across the front and, oddly enough, what appeared to be a window on the far wall. Upon closer inspection, she realized it was another television designed to look like a window, playing a steady image of an open field. The tall grass swayed in the breeze, the lone oak tree dropping an occasional leaf. Even the faintest chirping of birds could be heard.