Dark Biology

by Bonnie Doran

  “Well, long time no see. Or hear. Ready to book another cruise?”

  “Yes, and a long one this time. Europe, or maybe the Mediterranean. I’ve had enough of my job for a while.”

  Tony chuckled. “Hasn’t everybody? Let me see what I can do. When do you want to leave?”

  “ASAP.”

  “Can I call you back this afternoon?”

  “Sure. I’ll be home all day. Catch ya later.”

  Chet shoveled the remaining fried rice into his mouth. As he ate, he glanced past the otherwise bare dining room wall to the corkboard jammed with newspaper articles—”Ebola Wipes Out Village,” “West Nile Virus Strikes Colorado,” and “Influenza Will Hit Early This Year.” He cleaned the kitchen while listening to a Bach fugue on his top-of-the-line stereo system.

  The phone rang. He ignored it. The answering machine clicked on.

  “Hey, Chet, it’s Tony from Cruise Adventures. I found a deal for you. It’s a transatlantic cruise, leaving Fort Lauderdale for fifteen days total. But—”

  Chet plucked the handset from its base. “Across the Atlantic? You must be nuts. How long does that take?”

  “Seven days, but you’ll love it. The ports of call include the Bahamas, Bermuda, Portugal, Spain, and England among others. The cruise line’s running a last-minute special. I can even get you into a London hotel if you want, but that’s extra, and only the ritzy ones are still available.”

  “Hang on.” Chet grabbed a pen and scribbled on a note pad. “So what are the dates?”

  Tony hesitated. “The thing is, they do this route only in April, and the ship sails in two days. Can you be ready that soon?”

  “I was born ready.”

  “So do you want me to book the cruise?”

  “Sure. I appreciate your work on this.”

  “No problem.” Tony gave him additional details, including the price, and told Chet he could pick up the tickets the next morning. Chet declined Tony’s offer to book airline flights, preferring to make his own arrangements.

  After hanging up, Chet smiled. Although the trip was a bit more expensive than he expected, he deserved it after Hunt’s treatment. He hadn’t had a vacation in, what, two years? Long overdue. Now if he could only charge it to his expense account…He shook his head. He knew better than to risk that kind of trouble with the boss.

  Glancing again at the vial next to the phone, Chet frowned. What should he do with it? He could infect his boss, or return it to the lab, or destroy it, or…He cradled his chin in his hand. An idea formed. Of course. He’d add a little detour to his itinerary.

  Chet pulled out his laptop and set it on the dining room table. He browsed for an online travel service and booked a one-way trip from Atlanta to Denver, leaving tomorrow afternoon, and another from Denver to Fort Lauderdale. He didn’t reserve a return flight from London, uncertain how long he would want to stay. He always wanted to keep his options open.

  Chet slid his laptop into its case and tucked the vial inside. He threw in a packet of origami papers and his e-reader, loaded with medical thrillers. Then he stepped into his bedroom to finish packing.

  His parents would get a little surprise.

  10

  “I” Minus One Day

  Carol fingered a wisp of her overgrown bangs as she waited for the seminar to start. When she’d signed up, reservations told her the weekend was nearly sold out, but she still hadn’t anticipated the hotel’s cavernous conference center to be so packed. The straight-backed chairs in once-popular burgundy made her fidget.

  She glanced at her husband, eyeglasses perched on his nose, head buried in a science fiction novel. Mike claimed he had to keep his mind occupied, but it looked like an escape tactic to her. Escape real conversation. Escape intimacy.

  Escape marriage?

  Carol shifted in the uncomfortable chair. She’d gone the last two years with a silent partner. At least he’d agreed to attend the seminar. Her lips curled into a not-quite smile. Desperately she clung to the prayer the seminar would improve their relationship, but hope had faded to a murky gray. What would it take to reignite their love? She clutched a dog-eared copy of her favorite women’s novel, identifying with the heroine’s desire for an affair—with her husband.

  Carol shivered and shrugged on her sweater. She had forgotten how chilly a hotel’s conference room could be. “It sure is cold in here.”

  “Hmmm?” Mike’s eyes didn’t leave his book.

  “I said, it’s cold.”

  He lifted his head, inserting a sales receipt as a bookmark. “I like it. Better than roasting to death. By the way, that roast was good last night.”

  Was he being sarcastic? “I thought it was a bit tough.”

  “Maybe a little. You should buy it from that organic place. A coworker raves about their meat.”

  Carol crossed her arms. “It was on sale.”

  “Honey, we can afford better beef.”

  Heat rose up her neck. She tried so hard to make a dinner that would impress him, but she always overcooked it or undercooked it or something. She could be nominated for the world’s worst cook. Now he was starting an argument right before a marriage seminar. She blocked the lava flow of anger before she told him what she really thought.

  As Mike left to stretch his legs, Carol tamped down her emotions and turned on a pleasant smile for the couple sitting next to her. They’d introduced themselves earlier, but she couldn’t remember names in spite of her attempt at mnemonics. George the Jolly? Betty the Beatific? They seemed the least likely to need a marriage seminar. They were the kind of elderly couple that had grown to resemble each other—same eyeglasses, silver hair, and sweet expressions. They were holding hands.

  “Have you attended this conference before?” Betty’s gentle smile included Mike as he returned to his seat.

  “Nope.” Mike’s terse response rankled Carol. Then he added, “But you seem like veterans.”

  “Worth and Laura are dear friends. We seldom get to attend their seminars. We’re so glad they decided to hold one in their hometown.” Betty glanced at the still-empty stage then turned her attention back to Carol. “We live in Centennial.”

  “We’re from Littleton.” Carol found herself warming to this kind woman with wise eyes.

  “Oh, you’re so close. Maybe we can get together after this is over. We’ve met so many new friends through these seminars.”

  “Maybe,” Mike said.

  “We’ve formed an ongoing group with some of the attendees. You know, to focus on relationships.” She leaned over to whisper in Carol’s ear. “Have to keep the home fires burning.”

  “I resemble that remark.” George gave a mock-angry snarl.

  Betty reached into her voluminous purse, pulled a business card from its depths, and handed it to Carol. “If you’re interested, e-mail me.”

  Carol glanced at the card. “You sell cosmetics.”

  “Yes, dear. Now that the kids are grown and moved away, I wanted to do something fun.”

  Cosmetics. Carol had to admit her makeup could use an update. And her wardrobe. And her waistline. “Maybe you could help me with makeup colors sometime.”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Fun?” Mike raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like as much fun as a root canal.”

  Betty’s laugh tinkled like a delightful wind chime. “Men. Even George doesn’t get it, but at least he tolerates my enthusiasm. Most of my sales are to established customers, but it took years of hard work to build up my clientele. George is my biggest cheerleader.”

  “It helps support her habit.” George dead-panned his words.

  Betty lightly slapped his forearm. “Honestly. Just because I enjoy bridge with the girls—”

  “Bridge?” Carol’s interest went up a notch. “You play bridge?”

  “Yes, dear. Would you like to join us? We meet every Tuesday evening. We can always use new players.”

  “Or victims.” George winked.

  “I’d like tha
t, but I’m not a very good player.”

  Betty patted Carol’s arm. “Oh, don’t worry. We play, drink tea, and talk. We do it just for fun.”

  “For fun and the teacups,” George said.

  “Teacups?” A confused frown crossed Mike’s face.

  George rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they play for teacups. They keep track of their scores for the month, and the girl with the best overall score wins a cup and saucer. My wife has enough to start her own tea shop.”

  “So what do you do when they’re playing for teacups?” Mike actually sounded interested.

  “Bowling with the guys.” George’s eyes twinkled. “Had to do something in self-defense. Beats listening to the hens cackle, though I love to sneak a scone or two when they’re not looking.”

  “Well, I never.” Betty struck a faux-offended pose, nose in the air, and turned away.

  “I like to bowl,” Mike said. “Carol and I were in a league once, but that was before her surgery. I’ve missed it.”

  Carol raised an eyebrow at her husband. “I never knew you were so disappointed.” You never told me.

  “I didn’t want to rub it in, since you can’t swing a ball anymore.” Mike turned to the elderly couple. “Carpal tunnel.”

  Carol sighed. “The surgery was months ago. It didn’t help much.”

  Betty patted her hand. “You poor dear.”

  Carol wondered at the sudden lump in her throat. Betty seemed to radiate compassion. Carol barely listened to the rest of the conversation. So, Mike really missed bowling? Had she given the impression she didn’t want him to bowl alone? She couldn’t remember ever discussing it.

  Mike glanced at the podium as the speaker finally mounted the steps. Carol lassoed her stray thoughts. She’d sort out cosmetics, bridge, and bowling later. The four of them sat and turned their attention to the front as someone introduced Worth Hildebrandt.

  ****

  Showtime.

  Worth scrutinized his image in the mirror as he struggled with his red tie and checked his makeup. He grimaced. He hated the greasepaint but knew it was necessary. A film crew was videotaping for a future DVD, and his ruddy face would glow in the camera lights without a little powder.

  “Ready, Worth?” Laura sparkled in her red dress, its simple lines emphasizing her trim figure.

  “Yes, except for this blasted tie.” He blew out his breath as he yanked it apart for the third time.

  Laura untangled it and reached on tiptoe to create a perfect Windsor knot. “I always liked this tie on you. Makes you look distinguished with your salt-and-cayenne hair.”

  He huffed. “And chokes me half to death.”

  Laura smiled. “Not as much as I will if you don’t behave.”

  “It’s getting a little frayed. Do you really think I should wear it for the taping today?”

  “Just tell them why this particular tie is so important. It’s the best way to get their attention.”

  Worth nodded. He never wore any other tie. Taking her hand, he led her out of their room.

  They stepped onto the stage as the audience applauded. Worth inwardly chuckled when he realized he and Laura were waving almost in sync.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Worth raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “I’m so glad you’ve made the effort to come. Let’s open our meeting with prayer.”

  The room hushed.

  “Heavenly Father, thank You for gathering us here. You know each of us and why we’ve come. Some are expecting more excitement from their marriage, some more peace. For some, it’s a last-ditch effort to save their relationship. Regardless of our circumstances, Lord, we pray You will stir us to put You first in our lives. Challenge us, encourage us, rebuke us for Your name’s sake. In Jesus’ name we pray. Amen.”

  The participants remained expectant. A few coughed and sneezed. It wasn’t cold and flu season, but Worth’s own allergies always kicked up in the spring. The room was especially frigid. Worth usually removed his suit coat but was glad the cameramen insisted he leave it on.

  “Now, you may be asking yourself why you should listen to what I say. I can’t know your individual struggles as I might if I were counseling you. But I can empathize with you and give you practical tools to help in your marriage. The only reason I can do that is because I’ve walked where some of you are walking now. I know what it is to go to bed and wonder if your spouse would be there in the morning. I’ve been both the spouse wondering whether my wife would stay, and the one who didn’t come home.

  “Laura and I are here for one thing. To help you with your marriage the way God helped us. You’ve heard the rumors. The media can be, shall we say, overenthusiastic in reporting flagrant sin in prominent Christian leaders. Let me set those rumors to rest.”

  Worth took a deep breath. As many times as he’d said the words, they always twisted the guilt thorn a little deeper. “I committed adultery. With multiple partners. Many of you have heard of my indiscretions and my being drummed out of the pastorate. I deserved it. It wasn’t any fault of my wife’s. I was prideful, lustful, unfaithful.”

  He glanced at Laura, whose eyes filled with tears. Worth swallowed. Hard.

  As he continued his confession, he spotted a young man with a television camera in the back of the room. He wasn’t part of the film crew. Worth recognized the network logo. Figures. He’d been unable to escape the media since he’d started his ministry several years ago. Tape away, son. You’ll only get an earful of grace.

  “In spite of that”—he stopped as he waited for the lump in his throat to shrink—“in spite of that, God restored our marriage. We love each other more than ever. Tomorrow will be our thirty-fifth anniversary.”

  The audience erupted in a standing ovation. A few yelled congratulations.

  Laura picked up the thread of their opening remarks. “The road back was a rocky one. We’re not going to sugarcoat it. We both shed a lot of tears. There were times I wondered if it was worth the effort. I can tell you it was. How many of you read those sweet, inspirational romance novels?”

  The response of the audience always amused Worth. Most of the women raised their hands, along with a smattering of brave men.

  “We’re here to tell you that in real life, it doesn’t happen that way.” A few chuckled at Laura’s statement. Some rolled their eyes in a “duh” gesture. Worth surveyed the crowd, noting the reactions were typical.

  Laura continued. “Marriage is not a ‘happily ever after’ tale or a story of ‘I love you, and you love me, so that’s the way it will always be.’ It requires blood, sweat, and tears. Tears of repentance, sweat of emotional effort, and blood—the blood of our Savior who died so we may live.”

  Worthington cleared his throat. “Let me tell you a story. It’s about this red tie I’m wearing…”

  11

  “I” Minus One Day

  Chet boarded the crowded plane and fought his way to an aisle seat in the back. No room to stow his carry-on. He grumbled as he surrendered it to a flight attendant for checking. Situation normal. He preferred first class, but that wasn’t an option this afternoon.

  He slid into his row and placed his laptop on the middle seat.

  “Hey, ’scuse me, please.”

  Chet stepped out to let a Goth with fluorescent pink streaks in her hair slip past him. He resumed his seat and fiddled with the overhead light and vent before buckling in.

  The girl turned to him. “Hi. Going to Denver?”

  Duh. Chet nodded.

  “I’m headed to Golden, actually. I’m going to School of Mines. Majoring in electrical engineering. Do you live in Denver?” The words tumbled out in one breath.

  “No.” He opened his case, extracted a package of origami papers, and lowered his tray table.

  “I really like Colorado. I’m in my third year now. School’s tough, but I learned to ski last winter. I like spring skiing. Did you come here to ski?”

  Let’s see…Chet extracted a piece of black paper and started folding.


  “You do origami? Cool.”

  He continued folding and handed the finished product to the girl. “Here. An Egyptian Slit-Faced Bat. It suits you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She threw his masterpiece on the floor, made a rude remark, and turned her back on him.

  Mission accomplished.

  A few stragglers still boarded. One man whose head nearly scraped the ceiling pointed at the middle seat next to Chet. Chet returned the table to its locked position and stepped into the aisle again.

  “Whew!” The man pulled his leather attaché to his lap and drew his knees to his chest. “Just made it. Glad I got the priority line at security.” He dabbed sweat from his forehead. His eyes flitted from Chet to the Goth to the window as the plane pulled away from the gate. “I’m an accountant. Holmes and Company. What do you do?”

  Great. Another gabby. Chet flashed a winning smile. “I study maggots in decomposing bodies.”

  The man paled. He fumbled in his case for a small bottle, shook out two pills, and chewed them. “Dramamine,” he squeaked.

  Chet smirked. He lowered the armrests, stowed the origami papers in his case, and retrieved his e-reader.

  An unremarkable flight.

  ****

  Chet rode the packed terminal train to baggage claim and retrieved the rest of his luggage. He stood at the counter of the rental car agency, burying his face in the e-reader. The check-in process always took forever. He selected a luxury sedan and drove directly to the event’s hotel, located in the middle of the Denver Tech Center.

  He waited in line at the registration desk as a high school basketball team checked in—all seven hundred of them. He’d watched them file in from buses. If he’d only been two minutes earlier…

  When his turn finally came after an eternity and a half, he asked for the penthouse suite. Might as well treat himself. Leaving his heavy suitcases in the trunk, Chet retrieved his overnight bag and took the elevator to the top floor. He quickly changed into sweat pants, T-shirt, nylon jacket, and running shoes. He pulled a baseball cap low over his eyes, hidden behind a pair of grocery-store glasses. He admired the disguise then used the elevator to descend nine floors to the lobby for his reconnaissance mission.