Feeling as if he were in an alternate universe, he looked to the left again. Two black refrigerator-like containers stood side by side, and Dopp surmised what they were: an incubator and a freezer. He felt the force of righteousness pull him in their direction, and he replaced his gun in its holster as he walked up to one and swung open the door, expecting to feel either heat or cold emanating forth. But there was no temperature change. This machine was not even on. Inside, however, stood several glass petri dishes containing red fluid. Dopp gasped. They looked just like the dishes that held embryos prior to in vitro fertilization. Horrified, he reached for one, cradled it in his palm, and hurried to the row of microscopes. It had been five years since he was last an inspector, but his old laboratory training had been thorough. He switched on the microscope at its base, but nothing happened. Why was everything here unplugged? He placed the dish on the counter, crouched down under it, and moved a half-filled metal wastebasket to find an outlet. There it was, along with a limp cord. He plugged it in and stood back up.
Now the microscope turned on. He carefully placed the dish under the lens, and looked through it. Instead of a clump of cells bound by a spherical mass—a primitive embryo—he saw a spread of individual cells. It was, undoubtedly, the spawn of a destroyed embryo.
A violent roar ripped from his throat, abrasive against his vocal cords. He shook with outrage, filled with unparalleled fury: How many babies had died?
He spit onto the microscope’s lens, wishing to inflict his horror onto anything that deserved it, anything that contributed to what was likely a massacre of unimaginable scale. A fighting urge snaked through his veins. He was in a branch of Hell, set up in a church. The energy in his arms reached an uncontrollable peak in his fists, and he lifted the heavy microscope and hurled it to the floor. It hit the ground with a noisy smash as parts broke off and glass shattered near his feet. He kicked the bulk of plastic that remained and it struck the wastebasket under the counter, knocking it over. A stream of empty soda bottles, a half-eaten apple, and paper garbage poured out. Dopp stood with his shoulders heaving, catching his breath, still shaking.
Then he noticed a crinkled piece of paper on the floor, in the midst of the broken mess, on which was scrawled a very familiar name: Arianna. He crouched down and snatched the paper, smoothing it out.
“Dear Arianna,” it read. “It’s taken me a long time to realize I want to tell you this, but”
The rest of the page was blank. Dopp’s interest was piqued. On the floor, mixed with shambles of the microscope, were a few other crumpled balls of paper. He reached for one of them and unfolded it. This one was much longer, an entire page of scribbled blue ink.
“Dear Arianna,” it started again.
I hope this is the last weekend of your life that you have to suffer. You have no idea how hard it’s been for me to watch you get sicker these past few months. But what happened today will change everything—of course it’s unknown, but I have every reason to believe that it will work. Theoretically, it’s perfect. I can’t wait for this week to pass. And when it does, you’ll be the bravest patient your clinic has ever seen. All I want is for you to live, Arianna. The world can’t afford to lose you.
Dopp’s mouth hung open as he quickly skimmed the rest of the page, with particular words catching his attention: walk, fantasy, hope, pioneers, I love you, Sam.
Who was Sam? And what had happened today that would “change everything”? Dopp glanced at the upper right-hand corner of the page: “January 21, 2028.” That was exactly one week ago. One week ago was the day she had lied to Banks about her “sister’s baby,” and then rushed out of her office—could that event be connected to this? He studied the letter again, feeling his eyes drawn back to the page; and then two entire sentences jumped out as if they were blazing red: “I can’t wait for this week to pass. And when it does, you’ll be the bravest patient your clinic has ever seen.”
Dopp bolted into the air, stuffed the letter into his shirt pocket, and ran out of the lab, bounding up the stairs, tripping blindly down the alley. He reached the street and turned left, then around the corner. His car was waiting on the curb, and he jumped inside and wrenched on the ignition. A feverish pulse throbbed in his head, and his breath pinched in his throat as he slammed on the gas and fumbled to grab his cell phone from his pocket. He started to drive with one hand on the wheel as he called Stewart, the sullen inspector who had monitored her all day at the clinic.
It rang several times before his monotonous voice came on the line. “Hello?”
“Stewart,” Dopp said. “Did you see Arianna do anything unusual today at the clinic?”
“No, like what?”
“Like get any sort of medical attention?”
“No, she was in her office all day with me.”
“You’re sure she didn’t receive any kind of treatment?”
“How could she? I was there the whole time. What’s going on?”
“I just found her secret lab,” Dopp breathed. “Underneath an old church.”
“Holy Jesus. Where?”
“Avenue C and Tenth. Gotta go.”
Dopp hung up and called Trent. After
