Paradeisia: Origin of Paradise

by B. C. CHASE

  Jinkins looked sadly to Lady Shrewsbury for support, but she said, “I am very sorry, my dear Ignatius. But Mr. Potter would only help us with the understanding that he was the law. This is going to be a difficult change for all of us, I'm afraid.” She turned to Henry, “But that does not give you the right to engage in rude and seditious behavior! It would behoove you to find a more diplomatic modus operandi for yourself, Mr. Potter.”

  Unmoved, Henry said to Jinkins, “My offer remains. Will you stay on with us?”

  His face filled with sorrow, he stroked his pet's head several times and then said, “I couldn't leave Paradeisia, Mr. Potter.” It sounded like he was speaking about a child rather than an island.

  “Very good,” Henry said. “The first thing I must insist upon is that you put your animal away. The next is that you take us down the shaft.”

  “Portal,” Jinkins corrected.

  “And the third is that you produce these mythical balance sheets of yours.”

  And with that, the kinkajou leaped down to the floor and furiously attacked Henry.

  St. Joseph's Hospital

  Doctor Kingsley, still wearing his mask, said sadly, “I'm very sorry, John. I know Sarah was special to you.” At that moment, two police officers with masks approached.

  “Doctor Kingsley? Doctor Richard Kingsley?” one of them asked.

  “Not now,” Doctor Kingsley said, holding a hand up.

  “Sir, this is very important.”

  “In a moment,” he said tersely. The officers nervously backed away.

  Doctor Kingsley turned around, back to all the other physicians who had been trying to save Sarah. They were zipping her body into a bag. The same kind of bags Doctor Burwell opened every day.

  Doctor Burwell backed away from the scene and turned around. Slowly, in a daze, he walked through the curtains and out of the area.

  When they were done bagging the body, Doctor Kingsley turned around to look for Doctor Burwell. But he was gone.

  Doctor Kingsley was stripping off his gloves when his cell phone rang. At that moment, the officers once again approached him, but he held up a hand to take the call. It was his mother-in-law.

  “I've been trying to reach you all day but the lines are busy. I'm so sorry.”

  “Yes, there's a lot going on with this virus.”

  Her voice was serious, “Rick...I'm so sorry. Martha is dead.”

  He looked up at the officers. In disbelief he said into his phone, “I'm sorry I didn't hear you. What did you say?”

  “It's Martha...she's passed away, Rick.”

  In a daze, he lowered the phone to his side and asked the officers, “Are you here to tell me about my wife?”

  One of them looked down at his feet while the other nodded, saying, “She showed the symptoms an hour ago and passed away before they could reach the hospital.”

  “Where is she?” Doctor Kingsley asked.

  One of the officers nodded down the hallway, where a stretcher was being wheeled by five people in scrubs.

  Doctor Kingsley left the room. He took steps down the hallway, meeting the stretcher. He uncovered the body.

  His wife's mouth was stained with blood, her sickly yellow eyes open in a gaping stare. Her lips were pale, almost white.

  Without a word, he turned around and walked farther down the hall, through a door, down the stairs. He stepped out of the ground floor door and went straight to his Aston Martin. He hated to see it now.

  He opened his car door and started the engine.

  Leave. He was going to leave this place.

  United Nations Security Council

  The vast auditorium was silent; the thousands-strong audience were on the edge of their seats. Now feeling totally at ease, Doctor Martin leaned back in the squeaky chair as he continued, “You all should recall the devastating tsunami in the Indian Ocean. It desolated the entire region, killed over a quarter of a million people, but left very few animals dead. Why did the animals survive?

  “Well, when you look at the evidence, a theme begins to emerge. In Thailand, thirty minutes before the tsunami struck, a herd of buffalo looked out at the sea and stampeded up a hill. An hour before the tsunami, elephants at Yala National Park, Sri Lanka, were seen trumpeting and running from the beach. Bats flew inland, dogs refused to go to the beach, flamingos abandoned low-lying areas, and zoo animals rushed into shelters and wouldn't come out. These animals all had one thing in common: they knew the tsunami was coming.

  “Extraordinary, you say. Not really. This is nothing new or remarkable.

  “The ability of animals to anticipate disasters reaches far back into antiquity. The Greeks and Chinese have historically trusted their animals to warn them of impending earthquakes.

  “It is a well-known fact that, during World War II, families relied upon their pets to alert them of air raids long before the sirens sounded. These animals knew that planes were coming when they were hundreds of miles distant, well in advance of their ability to hear them.

  “Dogs in London are known to have warned of German V2 rockets, rockets that were faster than the speed of sound. It is a physical impossibility that the dogs heard the rockets. So how did they know?

  “Well, it seems that these animals have an intuition, a sixth sense, if you will. And they are very well attuned to it. I have recorded 177 cases of dogs responding to the death or suffering of their absent owners and 5,000 cases of similar psychic phenomena in animals of all kinds.

  “Among these phenomena, and one which myself and others have tested scientifically through experimentation, is what I call the 'intention effect.'

  “We have, in video, documented that home alone dogs know not only when their masters leave for the house, but when their masters decide to leave.

  “How do we know this, you ask,” he chuckled. “Well quite simply, actually.

  “Dogs frequently run to the door or window in anticipation of their owners' arrivals. By setting up situations in which masters depart by various means from various locations at abrupt and unexpected times, we can watch the dogs through video and document exactly when they ran to the door. The statistics show that, overwhelmingly, they run to the door at the moment their masters intend to leave for home.

  “So, given this evidence, we come to the inevitable question: How do the dogs know?

  “Well, it might be related to this other strange phenomena. Has anyone heard of Moon the dog?”

  No one raised a hand.

  “Well, Moon was driving cross country with his master when they stopped for a quick break. Something spooked Moon, and he disappeared in a flash. The master searched everywhere but was unable to turn up his faithful animal. Eventually, the master returned home in despair.

  “Now, Moon disappeared seventy-seven miles from home. Between the dog and the house were all manner of obstacles: miles of desert, a rushing river, a mountain range...all of it unfamiliar terrain. Despite this, weeks later, Moon appeared at the door. How did the canine have the slightest idea where to go?

  “Well, perhaps the same way that Skittles that cat did. Skittles was lost while enjoying a vacation 350 miles from home. When he returned 140 days later, he was skin and bones and his paws were raw. But he made it nonetheless.

  “Of course that's nothing to the cat in Russia that traveled 1,300 miles across Siberian wilderness to get back to his family. The journey took three months.

  “And what of Smokey the cat of Australia, who was picked up by scoundrels and shot thirteen times in the head and left for dead. He showed up on his family's doorstep a week later, having drug himself there despite his wounds. Medical care fully restored him to health.

  “These are but a few of thousands of such stories, and not only stories about domestic animals, but wild ones. By watching wild wolves, for example, the researcher William Long noticed that the animals seemed to display behavior that was inexplicable by natural means. The animals had an intuition about the others' whereabouts, the sixth sense.<
br />
  “I propose that we do, too. After all, we use it every day.” Responding to the looks of surprise on the representatives' faces, he smiled, “You want to know how. I'll tell you.”

  94 Golfpointe Road

  QUARANTINE

  CONTAGIOUS DISEASE

  NO ONE SHALL ENTER OR LEAVE THIS PREMESIS WITHOUT THE PROPER DOCUMENTATION ISSUED BY THE CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION. (USC 42 PART G)

  NO PERSON EXCEPT AN AUTHORIZED AGENT OR EMPLOYEE OF THE CENTERS FOR DISEASE CONTROL AND PREVENTION SHALL ALTER OR REMOVE THIS SIGN. (USC 42 PART G)

  ANYONE VIOLATING THIS REGULATION WILL BE SUBJECT TO A FINE OF NO MORE THAN $1,000 OR BY IMPRISONMENT FOR NOT MORE THAN ONE YEAR, OR BOTH. (USC 42 PART G § 271)

  That's what was printed on the orange signs posted all over the lawn and taped to the majestic white colonial on Golfpointe Road. Cordoning off the lawn was caution tape, and as if that wasn't enough, someone had painted gigantic red X's on the grass. Media trucks were all over the road, and police cruisers were parked at the curb. Camera crews with over-made-up reporters were everywhere, jockeying for the best view of the house. And the policemen were milling around, bored to death or posing for the cameras.

  Wesley Peterson and his mother, Cynthia, stood by an upstairs window looking down at the scene.

  Cynthia was shaking her head, “I'm not blaming you, of course, but is all this really necessary? Those police are just standing there like homeless people. Susan will never let me live this down.” She put her hands out, “I mean look what they've done to the lawn! And all the tape?”

  “It's the government, mom. If they can find an excuse for tape, they'll use it,” he said. He knew his mother was not really this pretentious. He suspected she was really griping only to downplay the gravity of the situation.

  “Our home used to be the pride of the neighborhood. Now it’s the spectacle of the neighborhood!”

  “As soon as my test results come back negative, they'll take this all away.”

  A silver car suddenly pulled up as close as it could get to the house. A man in jeans and a leather jacket emerged and stood with a phone to his ear.

  Wesley's phone rang. He answered it, “Hello?”

  It was the man outside speaking: “This is Special Agent Jarred Kessler with the FBI. I need to talk with you.”

  Wesley's heart jumped, “Great. What's up?”

  Jared’s response surprised Wesley: “Have you received any request for ransom?”

  “Uh, no. Why?”

  “Good. I'd like to speak with you in person. Does that place have a back door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me there.”

  “You know we're under quarantine,” Wesley said.

  “Yeah, I know. I'll see you at the back.”

  Jarred was standing on the large wood patio off the sliding doors at the rear of the house, just as he had promised. Wesley opened the door and said, “I won’t shake your hand. Don't want to transmit anything, just in case...”

  “Okay, that works for me.”

  Wesley led him into the formal living room where they took seats. His mother went off to the kitchen to “get drinks,” though he knew she'd be listening closely.

  Jarred said, “You probably know I'm not the agent assigned to your case.”

  “Yes. The last time I heard from him was when I reported it. He didn't sound very interested.”

  Jarred nodded knowingly, “Ah. Well, I don't want to disappoint you, but I'm not here about your case.”

  “No?” Wesley couldn't hide the fact that he was disappointed.

  “No. I'm on another case, but I thought you might have some information that could be helpful to me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, you've said that your wife was pregnant, and then she wasn't, and the baby had disappeared. Into thin air.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think happened to it?”

  Wesley hesitated. “Well, I guess I think someone took him.”

  “So here's your challenge:” Jarred raised his hand to accent his words, “What did your unborn baby have that a kidnapper would have wanted? Every criminal has a reason for what he does.”

  Suddenly there was a crash and a cry from the kitchen. Wesley leaped up, shouting, “Mom? Are you all right in there?”

  His mother cried back, her voice agonized, “Wesley! Help!”

  Wesley and Jarred dashed toward the plea. When they went through the doorway, they saw Cynthia laying on the floor, shattered glass and ice cubes catching the light all around her.

  CDC

  Doctor Compton walked down the fluorescent-lit hallway, Doctor Guy Giordano at his side wringing his ball-cap in his hands.

  Most of the other PhD's at the facility wore lab coats, but Doctor Giordano hated what he saw as pompous bunk: either you had it or you didn't, and a lab coat didn't prove anything. Doctor Giordano wore what he'd always worn growing up in his home city: a button-up black shirt, jeans, a chain with a crucifix, and a Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap.

  Guy said, “Are you sure I should be at this meeting? I don't wanna piss her off again.”

  “Don't worry about Karen. I have you here for a reason. If you have something to say, say it.”

  Doctor Giordano snorted with a smile, “So I'm your fall guy.”

  “You got it,” Doctor Compton said. Suddenly, his phone rang. Looking at the ID, he said “Speak of the devil.” He answered, “I'm afraid it's bad news, Karen. Very bad.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Three new deaths matching the symptoms, and one new case. The new case came from a house we already had quarantined. The cadavers of the other three are being brought to our lab.”

  “Please tell me they were all in Towson.”

  “Yes, except for the new case. But like I said that house was already quarantined and there's almost zero risk there was transmission from there.”

  “Quarantine Towson. We have the authority now.”

  “Already in motion.”

  “And what's the word on the virus symptoms? Any way to contain it?”

  “When you get to the meeting we'll tell you what we know.”

  Kinglsey

  Doctor Kingsley had stopped at the convenience store and picked up some bottles of something strong. He drove out to the woods by the Loch Raven Reservoir and drank all of them. Then he slipped back into his car and, without buckling his seat belt, floored the gas, pulling onto Route 146. He swerved along the road, passing the acres of wild woodland on either side until he sped onto the Dulaney Valley Road Bridge.

  There, against the white backdrop of snow-covered trees, the silhouette of a man stepped from the bridge guardrail into the road. With eyes that seemed ghost-white, he looked at Doctor Kingsley and raised his arm out towards him.

  Doctor Kingsley swerved just as the bumper struck the man, throwing his body up over the windshield. As if in slow motion, Doctor Kingsley saw the head hit the wiper well and the arms flailing as the body cascaded up off the left side of the windshield. But at the same instant, Doctor Kingsley felt the right side of his car lifting wildly into the air.

  The car flipped several times to jolt over the top of the rail and plunge into the frigid water. As the water boiled up all around him, chilling him to the bone at first his legs, then waist, now chest, he did nothing to try to escape. Doctor Kingsley did not even unbuckle his seat belt. He simply closed his eyes and prayed,

  “Hail Mary, full of grace.

  The Lord is with thee.

  Blessed art thou amongst women,

  and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God,

  pray for me a sinner,

  now at the hour of my death.”

  China Academy of Sciences

  It took two days, but finally the head of the Academy of Sciences called Doctor Ming-Zhen back to his office. When he arrived, his superior motioned to a chair, “Tell me how the platypus as a
nything to do with dinosaurs?”

  “The platypus is local to Australia. That much, I'm sure you know.”

  Zhang grunted.

  “It has the eggs of a reptile, the bill of a duck, the tail of a beaver, the feet of an otter, the fur of a mole, the eyes of a lamprey—that's a blood-sucking fish—the sex chromosomes of a bird, and a cocktail of venom that includes three proteins all its own. It has mammary glands and produces milk, but is lacking teats so the milk seeps out of its skin and pools in crevices for it's young to lap up: they wouldn't be able to suck on teats since they have bills.”

  Doctor Ming-Zhen explained that the creature had so many aspects derived from so many different animals that when the original English discoverers sent a pelt back to Europe in 1798, it was thought that somebody had sewn the duck beak on as a hoax—they even checked for the stitches.

  “But of course no one had sewn on a duck beak. The platypus, as it turns out, derives its DNA from a menagerie of creatures. When its genome was fully decoded, it was found only to be 80% mammalian, and had genes found previously only in reptilian, bird, amphibian, and fish DNA.”

  “What does that have to do with Antarctica?” Zhang asked.

  “I'm getting there. But first, let me tell you about another example: the leatherback turtle.”

  Zhang raised his hand in resignation, “Tell me.”

  “It has been assumed that sea-going reptiles invaded the water via evolution numerous times, even in prehistory, despite the obvious insurmountable obstacles such as air-breathing lungs and dependence upon external sources of heat. This has been assumed because there are many different types of sea-going reptiles which could not have possibly all evolved down the same tree branch—for example, sea-snakes could not have evolved from sea turtles or vice versa. They would have had to take to the seas independently within their family lines.