“Why don’t you invite Richie over one night this week?”
she was saying.
“Maybe I will.”
“I think it would be nice,” Marsha said. “I’d like to meet him.”
VJ nodded.
Marsha smiled, shifted her weight. “Your father and I are going out for a little while. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
“We won’t be gone long.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Five minutes later VJ watched from his bedroom window as Victor’s car descended the drive. VJ stood for a while looking out. He wondered if he should be concerned. After all, it was not usual for his parents to go out on a weekday night. He shrugged his shoulders. If there was something to worry about, he’d hear about it soon enough.
Turning back into his room, he took his stamp album from the shelf and went back to putting in the mint set of early American stamps he’d recently received.
The phone rang a long time before he heard it. Finally, remembering that his parents were out, he got up and went down the hall to the study. He picked up the receiver and said hello.
“Dr. Victor Frank, please,” the caller said. The voice sounded muffled, as if it was far away from the receiver.
“Dr. Frank is not at home,” VJ said politely. “Would you care to leave a message?”
“What time will Dr. Frank be back?”
“In about an hour,” VJ answered.
“Are you his son?”
“That’s right.”
“Maybe it will be more effective if you give him the message. Tell your father that life will be getting progressively unpleasant unless he reconsiders and is reasonable. You got that?”
“Who is this?” VJ demanded.
“Just give your father the message. He’ll know.”
“Who is this?” VJ repeated, feeling the initial stirrings of fear. But the caller had hung up.
VJ slowly replaced the receiver. All at once he was acutely aware that he was all alone in the house. He stood for a moment listening. He’d never realized all the creaking sounds of an empty house. The radiator in the corner quietly hissed. From somewhere else a dull clunking sounded, probably a heating pipe. Outside the wind blew snow against the window.
Picking up the phone again, VJ made a call of his own.
When a man answered he told the person that he was scared.
After being reassured that everything would be taken care of, VJ put down the phone. He felt better, but to be on the safe side, he hurried downstairs and methodically checked every window and every door to make sure they were all securely locked. He didn’t go down into the basement but bolted the door instead.
Back in his room he turned on the computer. He wished the cat would stay in his room, but he knew better than to bother looking for her. Kissa was afraid of him, though he tried to keep his mother from realizing the fact. There were so many things he had to keep his mother from noticing. It was a strain. But then he hadn’t chosen to be what he was, either.
Booting up the computer, VJ loaded Pac-Man and tried to concentrate.
The fluorescent lights blinked, then filled the room with their rude light. Victor stepped aside and let Marsha precede him into the lab. She’d been there on a few occasions, but it had always been during the day. She was surprised how sinister the place looked at night with no people to relieve its sterile appearance. The room was about fifty feet by thirty with lab benches and hoods along each wall. In the center was a large island comprised of scientific equipment, each instrument more exotic than the next. There was a profusion of dials, cathode ray tubes, computers, glass tubing, and mazes of electronic connectors.
A number of doors led from the main room. Victor led Marsha through one to an L-shaped area filled with dissecting tables. Marsha glanced at the scalpels and other horrid instruments and shuddered. Beyond that room and through a glass door with embedded wire was the animal room, and from where Marsha was standing she could see dogs and apes pacing behind the bars of their cages. She looked away. That was a part of research that she preferred not to think about.
“This way,” Victor said, guiding her to the very back of the L, where the wall was clear glass.
Flipping a switch, Victor turned on the light behind the glass. Marsha was surprised to see a series of large aquariums, each containing dozens of strange-looking sea creatures. They resembled snails but without their shells.
Victor pulled over a stepladder. After searching through a number of the tanks, he took a dissecting pan from one of the tables and climbed the ladder. With a net, he caught two creatures from separate tanks.
“Is this necessary?” asked Marsha, wondering what these hideous creatures had to do with Victor’s concern about VJ’s health.
Victor didn’t answer. He came down the stepladder, balancing the tray. Marsha took a long look at the creatures.
They were about ten inches long, brownish in color, with a slimy, gelatinous skin. She choked down a wave of nausea. She hated this sort of thing. It was one of the reasons she’d gone into psychiatry: therapy was clean, neat, and very human.
“Victor!” Marsha said as she watched him impale the creatures into the wax-bottomed dissecting pan, spreading out their fins, or whatever they were. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” Victor said. “Be patient for a few moments more.” He took a scalpel and inserted a fresh, razor-sharp blade.
Marsha looked away as he quickly slit open each of the animals.
“These are Aplasia,” Victor said, trying to cover his own nervousness with a strictly scientific approach. “They have been used widely for nerve cell research.” He picked up a scissor and began snipping quickly and deliberately.
“There,” he said. “I’ve removed the abdominal ganglion from each of the Aplasia.”
Marsha looked. Victor was holding a small flat dish filled with clear fluid. Within, floating on the surface of the liquid, were two minute pieces of tissue.
“Now come over to the microscope,” Victor said.
“What about those poor creatures?” Marsha asked, forcing herself to look into the dissecting pan. The animals seemed to be struggling against the pins that held them on the bottom of the tray.
“The techs will clean up in the morning,” Victor said, missing her meaning. He turned on the light of the microscope.
With one last look at the Aplasia, Marsha went over to Victor, who was already busily peering down and adjusting the focus on the two-man dissecting scope.
She bent over and looked. The ganglia were in the shape of the letter H with the swollen crosspiece resembling a transparent bag of clear marbles. The arms of the H were undoubtedly transsected nerve fibers. Victor was moving a pointer, and he told Marsha to count the nerve cells or neurons as he indicated them.
Marsha did as she was told.
“Okay,” Victor said. “Let’s look at the other ganglion.”
The visual field rushed by, then stopped. There was another H like the first. “Count again,” Victor said.
“This one has more than twice as many neurons as the other.”
“Precisely!” Victor said, straightening up and getting to his feet. He began to pace. His face had an odd, excited sheen, and Marsha began to feel the beginnings of fear. “I got very interested in the number of nerve cells of normal Aplasia about twelve years ago. At that time I knew, like everyone else, that nerve cells differentiated and proliferated during early embryological development. Since these Aplasia were relatively less complicated than
