The Potion: A genetic engineering thriller!

Chapter 13

James had barely slept a wink the whole night.

Every creak outside, the wind rustling the neighbor’s wind chimes on the front porch, any noise startled him awake. He slept with his phone under his pillow just in case he got a distressed call from Ronald. James had still not heard a peep from his friend, and he was not sure what he should do at this point. In the back of his mind, he feared that he had done something wrong to upset Ronald and he had cut him off from all forms of communication. But surely that wasn’t the case, otherwise, why would he be on a leave of absence at work?

No, something was definitely wrong with Ronald, and James was going to find out. One way or another.

It wasn’t until the sun had started to come up that James’s anxiety settled, and he fell into a deep sleep. He had many lucid dreams, some of Amelia warning him that something was coming, others with Melanie in danger and him helplessly trying to save her. They flashed in his mind in what felt like 10-second intervals until he woke up in a puddle of his own sweat. He had never had such lucid, almost prophetic dreams before. Was it the vaccine?

Looking at the time, it was 7 o’clock in the evening. How had he slept that long?

Jumping out of bed, he fumbled to grab anything off the floor that didn’t smell like car grease or oil and rushed out the door. Suspiciously, it seemed like his stalker had given up, or at the 102 very least, made it less obvious that he was tailing him. He didn’t spot any strange vehicles parked on his street, and so he hopped into his pickup and made his way over to Ronald’s house for their progress appointment.

It had been weeks and there had been no major signs of change, but still, they continued to check just in case something momentous happened. The second dose had been a dud, and based on Ronald’s findings, the serum creates an immunity for itself after it is absorbed by the cells, causing them to resist additional absorption. That meant, from this point forward he would continue to age like usual, but chances were, if he was going to die of old age, James would be one of the oldest humans to die from “natural” causes.

Recent events made him wonder if that was going to happen, though. Not if the stranger with the black scarf and hat had anything to do about it.

He pulled into Ronald’s driveway. Everything was the same as it usually was. It was odd to come so early in the evening; normally. Early-evening dog walkers and joggers were still out. It felt less lifeless and ominous. However, he couldn’t wait any longer to talk to him about everything that was going on. He parked his truck beside Ronald’s car, dusty from not having moved for many days. That meant, he not only had been taking time off work, but holed up in his house the entire time.

That wasn’t a good sign.

Normally, Ronald would be waiting for him at the front door and open it as soon as he stepped onto the porch. That didn’t happen this time. He decided the polite thing to do was to knock first before using the emergency key Ronald gave him after the first night in the lab. He waited, and waited, but there was no movement from inside. Not even the shuffling of 103 footsteps. Taking in a deep breath, he fished out his keys and unlocked the heavy, leaded-glass door, stepped in, and quickly closed it behind him.

He didn’t bother checking the rest of the house. If Ronald was in here, there was only one place he was bound to be.

lab. But everything seemed so quiet and still. No clinking of test tubes or shuffling of equipment.

James's heart thumped wildly in his chest and he descended the stairs. As soon as he rounded the corner, he knew something was wrong. The lab was ransacked. That much was evident, even with the giant plastic curtains acting as a barrier. He pushed past them and found papers scattered everywhere. Tables were knocked over, a wooden chair was broken in half, and the computer was in pieces on the floor.

“Ronald?” he called out softly, although the deafening silence made it sound like he had yelled it at the top of his lungs. “Ronald, are you down here?” Only the hum of the lights above echoed in his ears. Taking a step forward, that’s when he spotted something on the white floor.

Blood.

A few steps further, he saw Ronald’s lifeless body propped up against the desk, but slouched and clearly dead. His phone sat precariously in his bloody hand. James’s heart ached, knowing he was likely calling someone for help. All this time he’d been down here, alone. Tears spilled down James’s grief-ridden cheeks. He could not bear to see his greatest friend like that a second longer. He was afraid to touch him, mostly because he didn’t want any fingerprints to come back to him. This was 104 clearly a crime scene. He was careful about what he touched and where he stepped, avoiding the blood pool. But then it dawned on him that his fingerprints and DNA were all over the lab. That meant that the cops would be wanting to talk to him. That could not happen!

Letting out a slow, sad breath, he backed up to retreat up the stairs when something peeking from under Ronald’s desk caught his eye. At first, he thought it was perhaps the murder weapon, but he quickly realized it was Ronald’s keys. Whoever did this must’ve fought with Ronald, knocking them underneath the desk. He quickly retrieved the keys, knowing that there was something valuable on the USB. Something worth killing for.

“I’m so sorry,” James murmured as he slowly backed out of the plastic. “Rest in peace, old friend.”

***

There were two things James Scott was absolutely sure of.

First and foremost, he was going to make it his mission to find the people who killed Ronald and make them pay for it. Even if it took him the rest of his life to do so, then so be it! Secondly, he was now thoroughly convinced that everything Ronald had said about the pharmaceutical industry was true. It exists in an evil and lawless bubble. They were willing to kill for his research, and since James was living proof that his formula worked, he was in danger, too. He had to leave. There was no other choice. As much as it pained him to leave the house Amelia had found for them to grow old in, it was no longer safe. He cynically wondered if Melanie could sell it for him. Then it hit him...My God! Melanie could be a target, too! The thought rattled him. He was no longer the James that woke up this morning. The gut-wrenching revelation was that, like it or not...he had to flee!

When he pulled onto his street for what would be the last time, James got that weird feeling again. He parked a few houses down and walked up the sidewalk. It took a few seconds for him to register that the front porch light was off. He specifically remembered keeping it on because long ago, Amelia had stumbled on the dark steps, fracturing her ankle. So the light stayed on forever after that.

Slowly, he crept up the porch steps, feeling slightly foolish as it was his own house. If any one of his neighbors caught him, they’d surely call the police. He twisted the doorknob and held his breath as he opened the door. He froze, tilting his head up to hear any signs of movement. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, gently pulling the large butcher knife from the knife block. His gun was upstairs in his nightstand drawer. Why he hadn’t taken it with him, he didn’t know. But that was a moot point, right now. He went room by room downstairs, all of which had been thoroughly ransacked. Not finding any intruders downstairs, he slowly crept up the broad staircase, avoiding the familiar creaking boards. He reached the master bedroom and entered cautiously, leaving the door wide open behind him.

He wanted to be able to hear any threat that might still be lingering. Someone had been here. That much was violently obvious, but they had just missed each other. Had he stuck with his usual routine and waited until nightfall he probably would’ve suffered the same fate as Ronald. But he couldn’t take the risk of sticking around any longer. Grabbing a suitcase from the closet, he stuffed it with as much of his clothes as he could. He retrieved his shaving hit from the bathroom and a briefcase 106 from the closet which he piled as many pictures of Amelia and their life together before quickly heading for the garage.

It occurred to him that the only vehicle he’d been seen in was his daily driver pickup. His gaze fell on the dusty canvas that covered the second love of his life. His treasured Jaguar. Pulling the cover back, he revealed a low-slung, meticulously sculpted sports car gleaming in the overhead light so elegantly as to make a king drool. Every line was perfect, not a scratch on her flawless, deep, liquid-smooth finish. Chrome glinted as though lit from within. His thoughts went to Amelia, and all the hours she had spent polishing and even wrenching on the car. Well, Babe...I hate to leave here, but I have...no, WE have to go. After loading everything up in the tiny trunk, he took his phone out and dialed Melanie’s number.

“Hello?”

“Melanie?” James sighed with relief. “Melanie, it’s me, James.”

“I know it’s you, I have this thing called Caller ID,” she threw out, sarcastically, instantly regretting it.

“Right,” James replied. I guess I somehow deserve that. “Listen, there’s something I have to tell you but I don’t have much time.”

“If this is about the serum, I don’t want to—”

“Ronald is dead!” he blurted, not wanting to engage in petty banter.

“Oh my God!” Melanie breathed, then went quiet on the other end for a few seconds before she let out the tiniest sob. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“They killed him,” James seethed.

Guilt twisted in his stomach. He wished he had been there to protect his friend. Perhaps together they could’ve been able to fight off his attacker. If only he’d checked on him sooner, maybe they could’ve gotten him to a hospital, or given him a dose of The Potion himself.

“Who is ‘they’?” she asked, a mix of worry and fear creeping into her voice.

“The snakes he warned me about,” he growled. “The insidious thieves who are after his discovery, Melanie!” Tears welled up as his rage grew with each breath. “You didn’t tell, did you?” he asked in a panic. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if Melanie had been the one that ratted them out.

“Of course not!” she scoffed defensively. “I didn’t like the way you were handling this whole thing, but I didn’t say anything to anybody. Not even Sofia,” she concluded, feeling a little wounded at the implication.

“Of course, not,” James relented. “Sorry if it sounded like I was accusing you,” he sniffled, “I’m not in a good place, right now. Look, they’ve trashed my house, so I have to bug out. Melanie, I am so sorry, but I may have gotten you mixed up in something dangerous. Please pay attention to everything around you,” he pleaded.

“James, you’re scaring me.”

“Just be careful, alright? I have to go before he comes back.”

“He who?” she asked, the fear element in her voice rising.

“A man dressed in black. He wears a scarf and a hat to cover his face, but not so much it would be obvious. Whenever you go out, check to see if he’s following you. If he is, go to the police, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Melanie?” He could hear that she was crying and wanted nothing more than to go to her place and comfort her, but that would do more harm than good. “I have to go now. You won’t be able to reach me at this number anymore, but I’ll find a way to contact you. Stay safe...and Melanie...I, uh, I think I...love you. No...I’m pretty sure I do,” he confessed in a constricted voice. “I hope that’s okay.”

He wasn’t prepared for the heartache if she didn’t say it back, so he didn’t give her the chance. Hanging up the phone, he dialed a new number as he got into his Jaguar and backed out of the driveway.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I’d like to do a wellness check on Dr. Ronald Clark. No one’s heard from him in a few days and he was put on stress leave at his work. I’m just worried and would like someone to go see if he’s alright.”

“Absolutely, we can do that for you. Can I take your name?”

“Dr. Cameron, I’m his supervisor,” James lied.

“Alright Dr. Cameron, we have some officers and an ambulance dispatched to his location, we’ll call you back if there’s been an emergency.”

“Great, thank you.”

Once the woman on the other line hung up, James tossed his phone out the window far enough ahead that he ran it over within seconds. It was satisfying to hear the crunch beneath his tires, but more knowing he had nothing else on him that was trackable. It was just him, enough clothes to last him a few weeks if he played his cards right, his Jaguar, and the open road. But no Melanie...for now.