Elixir

by Charles Atkins

  ‘You like this house?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Good closet.’ Sean pressed Frank back against the wall.

  ‘It is.’ Frank pushed into him, his hands around Sean’s broad back.

  A throat-clearing noise intruded.

  ‘I’d say get a room,’ Dalton remarked, ‘but seems like you’ve got one.’

  ‘This place will do,’ Frank managed. He didn’t break gazes with Sean. ‘It’s got nice closets.’

  ‘Good,’ Dalton said. ‘I’ll have the paperwork drawn up. It comes furnished, but we can bring in a decorator and get it more to your taste.’ He fixed on Sean, his expression unreadable. ‘We’ve got a few more things to go over … we’ll be down in the kitchen.’

  As soon as he left, Sean stole another lingering kiss. ‘This is an excellent date, Frank. But I don’t trust either one of them … especially Dalton.’

  Dusk fell as the details were hammered out around a butcher block table. It was clear that Leona intended to make good on her Santa promise of everything Frank needed to bring his research to fruition.

  ‘The biggest question, Frank,’ Leona said, ‘is how fast can you produce your telomere compound? That is the rate-limiting step, correct?’

  ‘With the sequencers I just saw, it won’t take long. It’s basic, followed by a couple additional steps. Grace and I should be good to go in a couple days, three tops. You’ve got everything else I need at Hollow Hill, and I’ll use your dialysis suggestion. But …’

  ‘But what?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t just leave my other patients, and I’ve got my classes, and—’

  ‘Dalton.’

  ‘On it, Mother. Frank, we’ve got you covered. We’ll make a donation to the hospital to more than cover any inconvenience, and MIT will piss and moan and throw some poor doctoral student in to cover your classes. The tortoise, the bird, and your rats are in transit as we speak. We’ve got this.’

  Sean looked at Dalton. ‘You sure know a lot about Frank.’

  ‘Of course, we do,’ Leona said. ‘And if you’re going to be a part of this, we’ll know a lot about you as well, Detective Brody.’

  ‘Big business,’ Sean said.

  ‘Yes. Big business, big money, and Frank’s research has tremendous potential. It’s going to save lives.’

  ‘I get that. And you’re the lucky ones to sign him.’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ she said. ‘As apparently … so are you.’

  NINETEEN

  ‘I don’t like this detective,’ Leona told Dalton, via car phone as she headed home to Greenwich and he was en route to Manhattan for a bone-dry series of budget meetings.

  ‘Agreed. Still, he could prove useful.’ But Dalton heard her unstated directive – Detective Sean Brody is a problem. Fix it.

  ‘In what universe?’ she asked.

  ‘The one where I live.’

  ‘Really. You think you can divert him? Frank resisted what you offered.’

  ‘Don’t know until I try. Frank is an anomaly. And if not, Mother, people who get in your way are prone to misfortune. Also, he’s potential leverage. Which we’ve little of.’ He braked as the traffic slowed and three lanes merged to two for the agonizing stop-and-go entry into Manhattan through the Midtown Tunnel.

  ‘Points taken. So how goes our Frank the Saint Save-the-Children cancer study? You’ve had three days, where are we?’

  ‘We’re good.’ He knew that anything less would set her off. ‘What I’d not counted on was how quick those families said yes. No hesitation from any of them.’

  ‘They’re desperate,’ she said. ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘It’s Garfield. I told them it’s his study and they didn’t need anything else. Just, “where do we sign?” The man has something, some quality …’

  ‘Dalton. What aren’t you saying? Do you have a little thing for him? I thought we were done with your boy phase.’

  ‘I like him, he’s compelling, something about him draws people in. Which is fascinating considering how little he thinks of himself.’

  ‘Wounded birds,’ she offered. ‘Never cared for them.’ A brief silence. ‘We need to move fast. How long before he or the detective catch on?’

  ‘Frank so far has no experience with human studies. Everything looks perfect, and barring a leak, we should get a month, maybe longer. But that month will give us the answers you need, correct?’

  ‘I hope so. I need his telomere compound and the process. Worst scenario we work backwards from the molecule. Though it’s risky. Somehow, he’s figured the impossible. And all those years with Jackson … all that simmering paranoia. Jackson trusted no one.’

  ‘They’re set to close his case,’ Dalton said.

  ‘A pointless robbery. Trinkets for drugs. And then the moron winds up dead from an overdose. A strange symmetry there.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Jackson believed pharma was the root of all evil. In the end, we caused his death.’

  Dalton startled. Does she know? ‘I don’t follow. How does a random robbery for drugs have anything to do with pharma … with us?’

  ‘Connect the dots, Dalton. Without us there would be no opioid epidemic, or whatever they call it. We created the market for synthetic opioids. Convinced doctors and the whole healthcare industry that pain was the fifth vital sign. And shame on them if they didn’t dole out the oxies and percocets.’ She chuckled. ‘I remember when we released Tranxic patches. Potent and non-habit forming … at least the first part was true. But doctors believe what they want, especially when delivered by a pretty face with a box of donuts and coffee for the office staff.’

  ‘And now it’s cheap fentanyl from China.’

  ‘Yes, and everyone is happy. Except the dead junkie, of course.’

  ‘And Jackson.’

  ‘A waste … a sad waste.’

  Dalton said nothing. He waited.

  ‘Tidy, too. And as you observed, the murder proved a catalyst for Frank. So regretful and a good thing … at least for us.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dalton said. ‘And now on to the main course. You’ve made a believer of me, Mother. Or maybe he has.’

  ‘Jackson knew,’ she sighed. ‘It would kill him again to know that he’s the one who led me to Frank’s potential. But until we pry this potion out of his head and into our hands that’s all it is, untapped potential.’

  ‘And an extra hundred years of life. Seems a bit pie in the sky.’ He advanced two car lengths and stopped.

  ‘It’s not. The best friend, Grace Lewis. All tucked in?’

  ‘Yes. Like those parents, people follow him.’

  ‘Good. A happy Litchfield family out to save the dying children.’

  ‘With a study that will never see the light of day,’ Dalton added.

  ‘Pity that. But Frank, for all his brilliance has missed the forest for the trees. Jackson saw that. It’s why he wanted Frank to cease and desist. The minute you manipulate the telomere to stabilize the cell, you reset the biological clock. The ramifications are unprecedented.’

  ‘Dying cancer children aren’t a bad place to start. Think of the upside for UNICO. A cancer drug that actually works. It would be a first.’

  She snorted. ‘Not going to happen. Not on my watch … and not on yours. The minute his molecule, and whatever process gets it into the nucleus becomes public, the hordes will descend and reproduce it. The Chinese and Russians don’t give a shit for patents. Just look at the dozens of fentanyl analogs pouring in. It’s not an option. Garfield’s telomere compound, if it does what he and we think it does, will not be shared, at least not in the usual way. Your question, what would someone give for an extra hundred years? is the right one. What’s the answer? A million? Ten million? A bill stalled in the senate? But cart and horse.’

  ‘Yes,’ Dalton said. ‘And on the matter of misfortune for our detractors, I see we’re out of the woods with Renepicide. They want to settle.’

  ‘No. Not a dime. Their case imploded. With the w
histle blower dead and discredited they have nothing. File a countersuit for legal fees and defamation. Break them.’

  ‘Bad luck for him. Bad luck for them.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Bad luck. One more thing, Dalton.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’

  ‘This study with the telomere compound. I’m adding a test subject. One Frank can’t know about.’

  ‘You’re certain of this?’

  ‘Very. I can’t wait. I need you to make this happen.’

  ‘It’s risky. Frank is squirrely enough as is. I don’t think this is the time to throw a curve ball.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘If he only produces enough for the six children?’ Dalton asked.

  ‘Then one of them gets a placebo,’ Leona said.

  ‘And this mystery subject. Do I get to know their name?’

  ‘Don’t be coy. You know,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Mother. But are you certain? It could go south, he’s only tried it on rats. I’m not the scientist here, but genetic manipulation seems like a big deal. Like you’d want to know about potential side effects or—’

  He heard a sigh.

  ‘Calculated risk,’ she said, and ended the call.

  TWENTY

  Frank blinked as sunlight flooded down through the atrium windows. It bathed citrus trees, six terminally ill children and their parents, half a dozen nurses in Disney-themed scrubs, a Galapagos turtle, and a swearing Macaw. He batted back tears, this is really happening. He ticked off the days it had taken to set this stage. Ten. Not even two weeks. Not possible.

  His cheek tingled and itched from where his mother had clawed him. He’d not been wrong about her intent. The Hollow Hills microbiologist had called him less than twenty-four hours after he’d given her the sample. ‘It’s fecal, e-coli and some campylobacter pylori, but something else, too. I’ll need another twenty-four hours but thought I’d give you the first results.’ She’d contacted him twelve hours later. ‘There’s MRSA in it. And that’s not fecal. Quite a cocktail.’ He’d thanked her, contacted Croton, and insisted on speaking with their CEO, Colette Stong. She’d been polite, but he felt patronized.

  ‘We all have bacteria under our fingernails,’ she’d said.

  ‘Not this mix. I hope you took care of those guards.’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to share that information.’

  ‘Right. This was a murder attempt.’

  ‘That’s a stretch, Dr Garfield. But your concerns are noted.’

  He touched his cheek and rubbed the thick antibiotic cream, he’d applied four times a day, up and down the wounds. They were healing. But he knew enough not to mess around with MRSA, which once it took hold, earned its reputation as the flesh-eating bacteria.

  A tiny hand tugged at his lab-coat pocket. ‘Doctor Frank.’

  ‘What’s up, Jen.’

  ‘This is nothing.’

  ‘No,’ he replied, ‘this is everything.’

  ‘No, silly.’ Her china blue eyes were wide open, there was mischief in her smile. ‘I’m talking about Killer’s poopoo.’ She settled back into her Barbie-themed pink infusion pod as a nurse wiped her forearm with an alcohol prep.

  He marveled at Jen’s disregard for the needle. No fuss. Not from the beginning. ‘It’s just my body,’ she’d told him months back when she’d been in the midst of a brutal, and ultimately futile, round of chemo. ‘It’s not really me. I separate me from my body. I hardly feel it. When I die that’s what happens. So I’m practicing.’

  ‘OK, what’s the deal with Killer’s poopoo?’ he asked, as the nurse hunted for a usable suitable vein.

  ‘It’s got lettuce in it. And it’s huge. Not like Harvey’s or mine.’

  ‘Every animal poos different,’ he said. Hoping the pediatric nurse, who’d been retained for this project, along with five others, lived up to her resumé. He watched as she tied the tourniquet, patted Jennifer’s arm to pop a vein, and with a single shot, got the tiny needle in, taped down, and flushed with heparin.

  Relieved, he looked up and down the lush space dotted with bright plastic infusion pods, each customized to their occupant. Leona had delivered … ‘Think of me as Santa.’

  Melvin, the program officer, skirted around a potted tangerine. ‘It’s good isn’t it. Everything is set?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. And where did you find those dialysis units? I didn’t know they came in colors.’

  Melvin beamed. ‘We retrofitted and painted them. Did it over the weekend. They came out well, I think.’

  ‘And now, using the atrium. This is beyond my expectations. And the infusion pods, where did you find them?’

  ‘That was Melanie’s doing,’ he said giving credit to his assistant. ‘She asked each of the kids about their favorite toys and stuff, raided a furniture store, and presto-chango Barbie, dinosaur, and NASCAR infusion pods, all with gel foam mattresses and hypoallergenic. But kids aside, everyone loves our new Killer and Harvey exhibit. Now are you certain everything is set?’

  ‘It is.’ But what if it’s not. What if …

  ‘Well, if they’ve got to be here for four hours, seems the least we could do to try and keep them happy and comfortable. Though your bird …’

  ‘Yeah, he swears.’

  ‘But everyone loves the tortoise. Never knew they ate so much, but not a problem. I’ve got to check on a few things,’ Melvin said. ‘You have my number. Again, if there’s anything you need, get me or Melanie.’

  ‘The two Mels,’ Frank said, having in a few short days gotten to appreciate the efficient duo.

  ‘Exactly. And Dr Garfield?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good luck. I realize this is need-to-know. But I can tell this is big … so good luck to you … and to them.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Grace, who’d been attending to five-year-old Carter Jeffries with his undifferentiated sarcoma that had already cost him his right leg, joined Frank. ‘Excited?’

  ‘Terrified.’

  ‘This space is amazing.’

  ‘I know. No expense spared.’

  Jen, nestled in her pink pod, overheard them. ‘Can I play with Killer?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Grace said. ‘But hopefully after. We’ve got tons of games and videos. It won’t be too boring.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And this is a lot prettier than St Mary’s, and we get to play with the horses, right?’

  ‘Eventually,’ Grace said.

  Frank gazed out at the western hills. Beyond a manicured lawn, walking paths, and dotted benches and picnic tables for the UNICO employees, was a tree line hemmed with razor-wire-tipped fence. He listened to Grace and Jen, his thoughts distracted. This is too fast. But it’s here. This is happening.

  Like medical rounds at the hospital, he started at one end of the room, and checked in with each of the six: Lakeesha Thomas, Ben Bradley, Carter Jeffries, Jen, Tara James-Morgan, and Logan Tanner, all with advanced malignancies, all under ten. He smiled and chatted with them and their parents.

  He read hope in the adults’ eyes. What if this doesn’t work? What if something goes wrong? Why are they trusting me like this?

  ‘I don’t know where she gets it from,’ Jen’s mother, Marnie came over with a purple juice in a sippy cup. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She glanced at her daughter’s catheter, handed her the drink and turned to Frank. ‘Can I talk to you in private?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I want to hear,’ Jen said.

  ‘It’s grown-up stuff, hon.’

  ‘Mommy.’

  ‘I just wanted Dr Garfield to explain the new drug to me again. It doesn’t even have a name it’s so new.’

  Frank nodded. ‘It’s got what’s called a registry number, UB482 and I don’t know that I’d call it a drug.’ His gaze was fixed on a nurse as she attached an IV tube to Lakeesha’s bright red dialysis machine that Melvin’s minions had modified. Each child had one, in colors that matched their cozy pods.

  Ca
rter Jeffries’ parents, Petra and Ken, at the adjacent station overheard. ‘OK if we listen in?’

  ‘Sure.’

  And from up and down the strange makeshift ward parents flocked around Frank. They have put so much trust in me. What the fuck am I doing? He looked at their faces; they ranged from twelve-degrees-beyond exhaustion to emotions he couldn’t describe. Some he’d known for more than a year, all of them he’d talked through painful decisions and heart-breaking test results. What do I say? ‘Thank you for agreeing to participate in this study. I know that you’ve signed lots of paperwork and had things explained and … just thank you. Here goes. UB482 is not a drug, it’s a complex molecule that attaches to the ends of the DNA, onto something called telomeres. It makes them longer and keeps them from allowing the DNA to unravel in ways that allow things like tumors to form.’

  ‘How?’ Daryl James-Morgan asked. He and his husband Douglas had adopted Tara when she was three. Within a year she’d been diagnosed with a rare leukemia. Their last two years had been a hellish series of life-threatening infections, toxic radiation, and the realization that their dreams for a family and a future with Tara were not to be.

  Frank paused. These were smart people who’d been through the wringer. He searched for words that would bring them clarity. It felt like being back at MIT, only there he usually lost half his class. Do better. ‘Think of our DNA as a recording of everything that makes us us. Recordings can be duplicated. That’s what happens inside most cells. But not every part of the DNA can be replicated and that has to do with how it’s twisted and folded up. Not every bit is exposed to the machinery that makes copies.’

  Heads nodded. ‘As we age the telomeres, those bits at the end shorten up and the DNA is no longer in its tightly folded configuration. Parts that should not be reproduced are now exposed and get copied. This is how many illnesses, including tumors, originate.’

  ‘But Jen is so young,’ Marnie Owens said.

  ‘I know. All of your children are. And while they have different kinds of cancer the out-of-control cell proliferation all stems back to their DNA and things being copied that shouldn’t. UB482 will bind to the end of the telomere, lengthen it, and let their DNA tighten.’