Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise

by B. C. CHASE

  “You've got that right,” he said, laughing.

  And the memory froze as he felt a sharp pain deep within him. That sweet smile, radiant with her sparkling eyes...

  Dead.

  But the memories... They were alive and well. Each one brought a new kind of pain, laid another stone on his monument of grief.

  His cell phone rang. The caller ID read, “CDC 202-342-3993.” He welcomed any distraction, so he answered immediately.

  Jet

  When the meeting adjourned, Aubrey returned to her seat. Now, the phone in her lap buzzed. The screen said “Henry Potter.” She answered it, “Hello?”

  His sharp voice came on the other end, “When I call you, it's not because I want to gossip. It's because I need you here, now. In the future, don't bother answering, just get over here. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sorry, yes.”

  “And I'm certain Maggie would have explained this to you.”

  She was silent. Aubrey wasn't sure if this was a question or a statement.

  “Didn't she?”

  “Yes, she didn't. I mean no, she did. She did.” She waited for a response, feeling foolish.

  The response that came from him verbalized her feeling:

  “Idiot.”

  And the call ended.

  After she recovered from the shock of the call, Aubrey was mad. She was just mad. Maggie had manipulated her into this job and now she was trapped on a plane with a new boss who was clearly a British jerk. And, to make things worse, she didn't even know where the plane was going! She decided she would find out. But first, she was going to give this Henry Potter a piece of her mind.

  She swung open the door to his office. And immediately all her bravado disappeared. She couldn't explain it, but just something about the man standing there behind his desk disarmed her. It could have been his suit. It could have been the lavishness of his office. It could have been something within her that longed for approval; but whatever it was, she froze.

  Henry shook his head impatiently and said, “Okay...here you go again. What does one typically do when entering a room?”

  Aubrey's head spun. She couldn't think. What had she done wrong now?

  “Merciful heavens. What rock did Maggie find you under? Aubrey: one knocks. So go out and knock on the door.” Henry was rubbing his temple in exasperation.

  Aubrey backed out, feeling dismayed, absurd, and angry all at once. After the door was closed, she raised her hand and paused. This was really going to be difficult to do. But she just couldn't deny this inexplicable urge to please him. She knocked.

  “Come in.”

  She opened the door and entered.

  “Let's not have a repeat of this lesson, shall we? Knock next time.”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, I called you here because I don't have time to wait for Maggie to explain how I like things done. First, we'll go visit the closet so you can familiarize yourself with my mode of dress. Come along.”

  As he walked past her, Aubrey couldn't believe what she had just heard. Did he actually say “visit the closet?”

  From the hallway he called, “Do you expect me to whistle at you like a bitch? Come along!”

  He led her to one of the on-jet suites where there was a queen size bed, armchair, and generously sized closet, all surrounded by mahogany walls. Then he proceeded to elaborate on every facet of his attire, from which suits matched which shirts to what socks he preferred to wear with which shoes (shoes he expected to be polished and at-the-ready all the time). He had a large a collection of ties, each one especially selected for specific outfits.

  Aubrey knew she wouldn't remember any of this. She blurted, “I can't remember all this!”

  “Lucky for you, it's all on a chart in your phone,” Henry said.

  They moved on to his toothpastes, mouthwashes and other toiletries, which he expected her to keep in stock. He had exacting procedures for sanitizing and storing all of his morning accoutrements.

  Then it was his phones.

  He had two phones, each the same exact model. In the morning, he required the first to be neatly wiped and ready for his use. Mid-day, he anticipated to switch to another polished, print-free phone. And in the late afternoon, another. He demanded that they be wiped, first with Windex and then an isopropyl alcohol solution (to kill any and all microorganisms, he said).

  And so it went. Every part of his day spelled out, no detail overlooked. To Aubrey, it was readily apparent that obsessive-compulsive didn't even begin to describe him. In fact, he was practically like a baby in the extent to which he demanded his needs be met. The longer he went on and on, the less intimidating he became until Aubrey concluded that Henry was not a first-class British jerk at all; he was just a moron.

  “Aubrey, are you listening?” he said, apparently perturbed by the far-off look in her eyes.

  She smiled with the patronizing gaze of a mother and replied, “Yes, of course I'm listening, Henry.”

  As he continued, now spelling out the importance of keeping her skirt free of lint and her general appearance tidy, she realized that this was not just a job; this was a higher calling: this man needed to be rescued from himself.

  That's what she thought, at least, until he dropped the bombshell.

  “Of course I'll expect you to undergo gene replacement therapy,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “I'll cover the cost, but there are two things with your appearance that don't meet my approval.”

  “Oh, yeah? What are those?” Aubrey said, her eyes narrowing. She had never heard any complaints before....

  “First, your hair. Either you can have gene replacement if you want a long-term change, or you can simply dye it. I don't give a damn. But it cannot stay blonde.”

  “What?” Aubrey exclaimed in shock. She couldn't believe he would insist on a change to her hair color of all things.

  Henry said, “Studies have shown that women blondes are not as respected as brunettes. If you're going to be by my side as I do business, I need you to be as respectable-looking as possible. If you want to be more respected for the rest of your life, allow me to pay for a treatment.”

  “And what's the second thing?”

  “Bust reduction.”

  Aubrey was aghast, “You've got to be kidding me.”

  “Not that I need to explain this to you, but countless studies have shown that women with smaller busts are perceived to be more intelligent. I need my personal assistant to look as intelligent as possible. And, again, I'm offering this charitably, as treatment that would be to your benefit long-term.”

  No, he didn't need rescuing after all, Aubrey thought. He was just a jerk. She also wondered something else about him. “Are you gay?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you gay? As in homosexual?”

  He appeared confused, “No. Why would you ask that?”

  She rolled her eyes, “No reason.”

  Suddenly Maggie interrupted them, “Sorry to intrude, Mr. Potter, but we're almost there.”

  “NP-452,” Henry said, rising from his desk. “Count on a dozen governments to come up with a name like that. Let's see if she's worth a damn.”

  St. Joseph's Medical Center

  “So what's our verdict, John?” Doctor Kingsley asked into his phone. “What does the lab have for us?”

  Doctor Burwell had been receiving calls like this from Kingsley ever since the Sienna Petersen case had come down to the morgue. Kingsley had been the woman's OBGYN, so it was understandable he was concerned. Doctor Burwell said, “Whatever it was, it wasn't good; they sent it to the CDC.”

  “They did what?” Doctor Kingsley's voice was suddenly tense. Then, “I'm sorry, where did you say they had it sent?”

  “They sent it to the Centers for Disease Control. Her death was definitely not related to the miscarriage.”

  “Are you sure about that? Miscarriage can cause all kinds of secondary problems.”

  “
Well you know what I said about the miscarriage. She didn't have one.”

  “I know what you said, but you know there's no other alternative.”

  “I sent pictures to a friend. A gynecologist.”

  “You could have sent them to me.”

  “I'm sorry, I know she was your patient. I didn't want to upset you.”

  “What did your 'friend' say?”

  “He said never. He said that, as recent as it was, the cervix would have been open and there would have been some blood at the very least.”

  “Hmm. Well, I still think she flushed it,” Doctor Kingsley asserted. Then he changed the subject, “So admin is sectioning off the fourth floor?”

  “Yes, they're putting Sarah and me in quarantine. They asked us to go voluntarily until the Maryland authorities decide what to do. They also said the CDC would need an executive order to enact a quarantine. You know how bureaucracy is...”

  Doctor Kingsley grew serious, “But John, this is ridiculous. The woman had a miscarriage and died. There isn't any kind of pathological threat. You're seriously not going to stay there are you?”

  “Yeah. I am.”

  “I'm going to fight this for you. It's not right.”

  “Richard, I know you're upset. This was your patient. You feel responsible. But it should make you feel good to know she didn't die of a miscarriage. She was sick.”

  “You know I think of you as a son. You've been my protégé around here. But I'm telling you, she miscarried and died. And I'm going to tell the CDC, too.”

  94 Golfpointe Road

  Travilah, Maryland

  “Is this Mr. Wesley Peterson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm Doctor Phillip Compton, Director of the Centers for Disease Control. I wanted to speak with you personally because I want you to know how seriously the CDC is taking this situation. I understand you lost your wife unexpectedly and I know that this must be a very terrible time for you. Please accept our condolences.”

  “Thank you,” Wesley said, a little surprised at the call. The man's tone said 'I am important, I'm used to being in charge.'

  “I am very sorry for your loss, as is everyone here at the CDC.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I know our people have held interviews with you, to get information about her case... But has anyone given you her cause of death? Anyone from Maryland, I mean?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, well, while I cannot give you any specific information, what I can tell you is that it was not the miscarriage which caused it. It was a disease.”

  Wesley was incredulous. While he agreed it wasn't a miscarriage directly, a “disease” seemed awfully far-fetched. In fact, to Wesley, this sounded like some kind of cover to keep him from the truth, “A disease? She was fine until that night.”

  “So I understand. However, a disease definitely was the cause of death.”

  “What disease?”

  “That I cannot say.”

  “You don't know or you cannot say?”

  “I know more than I can say, but I don't know everything—far from it. And that is partly why I am calling. Between then and now, whom have you had contact with?”

  “Well, I'm staying with my parents. I drove over here from Towson.”

  “Did you stop anywhere along the road? A toll booth or anything at all?”

  “No.”

  “Didn't even go to the bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “And you haven't seen anyone else?”

  “No, I just drove straight here.”

  “Okay, thank you. It would be wise for you to isolate yourself until we find out more about this and you can be tested. Since we don't know everything, we need to stay on the safe side.”

  “Yes, so I've been told. What about my mother? Should she be quarantined, too?”

  “At this point, I cannot impose a quarantine on anyone. It will be up to your local authorities in Maryland to determine that. And I also should stress that there has been no evidence that this has spread to anyone beyond your wife as far as we know. However, you might think it wise to alert your mother that she should stay out of contact with others.”

  “So we had a funeral scheduled in two days. What about that?”

  “I would cancel it.”

  “What about her body? The hospital said they won't sign the death certificate until they can put a 'cause' on it.”

  “I'm afraid that her remains will not be accessible to you for the time being.”

  “I see. So if I cancel the funeral, people are going to ask why.”

  “Tell them something they will believe. Even at the risk of looking selfish: 'I can't handle a funeral now' would do. Just please don't tell them the true reason. I don't want to cause undue alarm....”

  Wesley suddenly wondered if this would be good person to relate his assessment to. He was eager to talk with anyone who would listen and possibly help. “My wife didn't have a miscarriage, you know.”

  “You mean she wasn't pregnant?”

  “Oh no. She was fourteen weeks pregnant. What I mean is that her doctor told me that she flushed the baby, but I was there that night and she didn't. She thought the baby was on the bed until I saw that it was missing.”

  “Okay...”

  “So she didn't flush it, but it was gone.”

  “Hmm,” Doctor Compton sounded patronizing.

  “Hear me out, please! The baby just disappeared. I'm telling you this because I don't know who else who might be able to help.”

  There was silence on the other line. “So what do you think happened to it if she did not miscarry?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, in my mind, the only other alternative would be that someone came into your home and took the fetus from your wife, unbeknownst to her or to you. How would you propose that happened?”

  “All I'm saying is that the baby disappeared, but she didn't flush it!”

  “I'm sorry, but I have to side with the doctor you spoke to. She must have flushed it. I know you'd like to believe differently, but we must come to terms with reality sometimes, even if it's uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Wesley said, but his feelings did not agree with his words. Wasn't there anyone who would listen to him, even if he sounded crazy?

  With a little introspection, he realized that he wouldn't.

  “Mr. Peterson?” Doctor Compton said.

  His reply came out sounding defeated, “Yes.”

  “Missing children in any state fall under FBI jurisdiction.”

  “Oh?”

  “If I were in your shoes, I would contact the FBI and report your child as missing.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Best of luck to you.”

  “Really. Thank you,” Wesley's voice cracked. He was overcome by suddenly having a slight suggestion of hope.

  China Academy of Sciences

  Oddly, Doctor Ming-Zhen's paper on the man-eating deinocheirus had been easily approved for publication in a prodigious journal by the anonymous scientists who peer reviewed it, yet became the subject of unrelenting castigation and dismissal from everyone else. Peer review was an excellent system by which academics could either anonymously censor others with whom they disagreed, or hide from controversy after they signed off on truth that the public couldn't stomach. In this case, none of the original reviewers of the paper came forward to support Doctor Ming-Zhen. Not one.

  No one believed that he and his team had found Homo sapiens within the belly of a deinocheirus, especially a deinocheirus that was so complete in its preservation and so surprisingly menacing in its construction. The whole thing simply seemed so entirely implausible, and even with all the evidence, no one was willing to recall Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's adage, “Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”

  Before long, Doctor Ming-Zhen was horrified to hear many calling his discovery an absolute hoax, from the human r
emains to the deinocheirus itself. As this line of thought gradually came to be accepted by the media and, with them, most scientists, he was angered not only because of how unjust it was for him personally, but even more so because of the damage it did to his team of pupils.

  Then, the unthinkable happened.

  One evening he was watching the news on a large screen, his wife standing behind him, when two of his students appeared on an interview. Undoubtedly buckling under the tremendous pressure brought to bear and determined to salvage their own careers, they told the world that the fossils were a chicanery and that their esteemed professor was a fraud.

  One was the carouser Chao. The other, his precious Jia Ling.

  His wife placed a hand on his shoulder. “I am very sorry,” she said.

  He could not muster a response. He was utterly devastated, and he was filled with a terrible rage against Chao, who had doubtless pushed Jia Ling into this treachery.

  In short order, Doctor Ming-Zhen was labeled the greatest fraud of paleontology.

  After that blow, the issue became a simple matter of faith, with a very small number of his closest friends and colleagues quietly accepting Doctor Ming-Zhen's testimony (because they knew his character), while the rest of the world chomped at the bit in zealous outrage, practically ready to have him hanged for scientific heresy.

  Because he was the head of the Academy of Sciences Institute of Vertebrate Paleontology and Paleoanthropology, the institution itself was castigated. Calls were made for his resignation. He found himself shunned at the institution by all but a handful of professors.

  Because he did not resign, the Academy of Sciences, and, by virtue of equivalence, all of Chinese paleontology took the fall. There were many claims from the West that this was only the pinnacle in a series of fallacious discoveries. Papers were rejected for publication on the basis of mere suspicion. New discoveries were ignored, scrutinized to the point of exhaustion. It was a catastrophe for Chinese science.