Shortlisted - Day 0001-0002

The apartment door was still open when Gareth Levant exited the elevator with heavy steps, heart pounding, thoughts numb with his wife's words echoing in his head. He stepped inside, passed his duffel bag on the floor and paused, the door closing behind him.

Silence.

It struck a tone in his soul he couldn't bear. Automatically, he scanned the living room. Everything looked the same as when he left six months ago. But something felt off. It took him a moment to notice the difference.

The pictures of them together were missing. The photo of them on their wedding day had stood on the table beside the sofa. Looking around, he saw only pictures of scenery and her—all the ones of himself or of them together were gone. He strode to the bedroom and surveyed it. None of his belongings were visible, so he checked the closet. He found his stuff there and noted the lack of Caitlin's clothes.

So she'd already packed. This entire event had been planned.

He'd spent six months of his life enduring the most grueling training he'd ever experienced, only to come home to this. He'd placed in the final two hundred of the LS selection program and had come home to celebrate and make that decision, only to have her do this.

Why? Why hadn't she told him of her diagnosis? He could have requested an emergency leave. Did she not tell him so he wouldn't be disqualified?

To hell with the LS program! Nothing compared to Caitlin dying. She should know that about him, so why not tell him?

Nothing added up about this whole situation, and he wasn't getting anywhere staring at the empty clothes hangers in the closet.

He returned to the living room and sat on the sofa to gather his thoughts. After a while, he spoke to the room, "Ancilla, open Caitlin's files."

The wall monitor before him lit up, displaying the files in neat categories.

"Ancilla, search for all incoming communications with a medical tag on it."

"Medical communications are sealed and private."

"Family member request: husband, Gareth Levant. Override."

"Override accepted."

A list of correspondences appeared in chronological order, the earliest starting five months ago, along with several doctors' names.

"Ancilla, show all outgoing communications to these medical tags, as well."

The list grew longer with a lot of back and forth. He started with the earliest, a request for an appointment. As he read, a story retold itself. Requests to come back and do more tests, the test results, then referrals to other doctors for more tests. Medications prescribed, then changed, then changed again. The end of the story came three-and-a-half months ago, positive test results for Ahron's disease, then a whole new list of prescriptions.

He didn't know much about Ahron's disease, but everyone knew it was fatal. Why hadn't Caitlin told him?

"Ancilla, try Caitlin."

A moment's pause. "I am sorry. Caitlin has blocked communication from this number."

A single curse word escaped him, and he jumped up from the sofa. He headed for the kitchen to look for some wine. But he stopped short in front of the refrigerator. Its door used to have little pictures of all their vacations together—instead, it was empty.

He stared at the blank door for a long time, unwilling to accept what was happening. What was Caitlin doing? What was going through her mind? It hurt that she had turned away from him, but he couldn't understand why, and that hurt most of all.

In the fridge, he found a bottle of wine as he thought he would. He reached for the cupboard to get a glass, but his emotions got the better of him. To hell with it. He took the bottle back with him and dropped onto the sofa.

"Ancilla, research Ahron's disease. Start with general history and overview, then basic medical treatments."

He opened the wine bottle as the wall monitor started showing a documentary on the disease. As the opening credits rolled past, he pulled a long swallow from the wine bottle. It was a tart wine, the way Caitlin preferred hers. The documentary's narrator began talking, and Gareth forced himself to focus.

"All higher primates have twenty-four autosomes, in other words, pairs of chromosomes, for a total of forty-eight chromosomes. Humans, however, have twenty-three chromosomes from each parent, for a total of forty-six. In losing two chromosomes, humans became vastly superior to their primate cousins, despite their DNA remaining ninety-seven percent identical to chimps, and ninety-five percent identical to gorillas.

"So how did humans lose two chromosomes, and in doing so, become superior to primates?"

An expert replied, "In humans, what was originally the second and third chromosomes of the primates are fused together, creating the human number two chromosome. This is called a Robertsonian translocation—a critical and enormous difference. Nature is fully capable of creating such an oddity in mutation, in which chromosomes can combine end to end."

An animation took over as the narrator commented, "However, in this case, we can assume this single-cell mutation developed into a fetus that was born and survived to reproductive age. The fact that this Robertsonian translocation mutation was not fatal or severely debilitating can be considered an extremely fortuitous event."

A realistic image of a fetus grew into adulthood to deliver an offspring within nine seconds before switching to a graphic close-up of a chromosome.

The expert's voice continued. "This mutated second chromosome is fused at the telomeres. Telomeres are protein caps at the ends of each DNA strand, and they serve to protect the chromosomes, similar to the end caps on shoelaces. Without the end caps, shoelaces become frayed, and the same thing happens to the DNA strand without these telomere end caps. A damaged DNA strand eventually damages the chromosomes, causing cells to stop reproducing properly.

"In healthy DNA-based organisms, the damage to the telomere usually happens very slowly. Each time a cell reproduces, the telomere cap becomes a little shorter, until the telomere drops off and the DNA stops replication. The organism then dies of old age.

"Centromeres are sections of DNA that tie two chromosomes together as a pair and are usually located somewhere in the middle of each chromosome strand. They are critical blueprints in the cell division process and ensure that cell division happens correctly in order for life to exist. The mutation that occurred to create humans, the fusing of the primate's second and third chromosomes, placed the fused primate's telomeres in the middle of the DNA strand, where only the centromeres should be. This means humans essentially have two centromeres where there should only be one.

"But telomeres play a stopping function, whereas centromeres only play a role in cell reproduction. Basically, it's a conflict of interest. Considering that the two are next to each other on a pair of chromosomes, one would expect it to create a DNA-tangled mess during cell division. The telomeres need to be deactivated to prevent them from inhibiting the cell's proper function. Fortunately, the transposed telomeres in the human chromosome number two are deactivated, thus allowing proper cell division.

"The odds of a Robertsonian translocation mutation occurring, along with two simultaneous gene edits that would make the mutation viable, to produce such a vastly superior species compared to primates... are astronomical."

Gareth had taken his fourth swig of wine, wondering what evolutionary biology had to do with Ahron's disease, when the documentary changed pace. First came the interviews with people with the disease, then with doctors. A brief background on its first discovery diagnosis followed. Finally, after another long exposition, the focus switched to an expert responding to the question.

"What is Ahron's disease? It's when one or both telomeres in chromosome number two get activated.

"For those with both telomeres activated throughout the body, death comes quickly—the body's cells simply stop dividing. For others, for whom only a portion of the cells deviates from the norm, death comes slowly as cells die. Difficult to diagnose, this rare disease usually affects a specific group of specialized cells within the body—brain cells, nerve tissue, muscle tissue, or blood—causing a range of symptoms."

The narrator picked up the thread. "Medical science doesn't know why the telomeres activate after being dormant and stable all through childhood, or in rarer cases, into adulthood. Some researchers believe it's environment- or pollution-related since there's no history of Ahron's disease in any of the patients' family forebears. All treatments have been unsuccessful to date, but there is hope that a cure will be found."

Sighing, Gareth put down the bottle and massaged his forehead with both hands. "Ancilla, turn off the monitor."

He was tired. Tired of listening, tired of trying to think, tired of the pain of not understanding.

He should rest. But he didn't feel right about sleeping in the bed without Caitlin. Instead, he got comfortable on the sofa and let the alcohol take him to sleep, not caring enough to take off his standard-issued shoes and uniform jacket.

The last thought that ran through his mind was, maybe, just maybe, Caitlin would come home in the night, and he would be there to greet her.

∞

Gareth awoke in the morning, stiff from lying on the sofa.

Caitlin! He swung his feet to the floor and cast his gaze around.

Then he remembered. His brows furrowed as he tried to come to grips with his new reality. He didn't want to accept it—it hurt too much, and he had a dull headache.

"Ancilla, has any communication arrived from Caitlin?"

"Negative. No new communications of any kind."

He stood up, sluggish with the aftereffects of the wine, and glanced down at the coffee table to check how much he'd drunken.

The bottle was empty. No wonder he felt the way he did.

Scolding himself, he made himself some tea in the kitchen and returned with a mug in hand.

"Ancilla, open the files from last night."

The monitor lit up with the categorized files.

"Ancilla, open expense reports and bills."

What he was looking for, he didn't know, but he wanted to gain an insight into Caitlin's frame of mind. He found purchase receipts for museums, entertainment shows, tourist travel guides, restaurants, and motels from all across the region. It seemed she was seeing the world, starting locally and expanding outward. He couldn't blame her—he just didn't understand why she hadn't included him. He would have given her the whole world if she'd asked, and the moon too.

It hurt too much to continue looking, so he closed the file, took his empty cup back to the kitchen and ended up standing in the center of the bedroom.

It was as if he could feel the presence of his wife soaked into the very walls of the apartment. Especially in here. He started examining things to see what she'd taken and what was left behind.

Knickknacks on the dresser, miscellaneous items in the bedside lamp table drawer. His mind and hands examined each item, one by one. They all belonged to Caitlin, therefore they were precious to him. But not to her, for she'd left them behind.

Or maybe... she'd left them for him...

The bookshelf with her favorite books held everything he remembered, except one. Her favorite book of poems. Several new books had been added, but he was unfamiliar with the authors. Without his thinking, his hands pulled one out, and he paged through it. Author Nigel Phrine—his poems seemed to be mostly about passion and sensuality. Overwhelming pain seared through Gareth's head, and he put the book back and turned away, rubbing his temples.

It took a few moments before he could open his eyes again, and his gaze fell on the window sills.

Dust.

The way daylight spilled into the room highlighted the thin gray layer. He scanned the room. He hadn't noticed the dirtiness in the corners of the room before, the patches of dust on the bookshelf, on the bedside tables. Checking the bathroom and kitchen, he realized the apartment hadn't had a decent cleaning in a while.

If he'd been diagnosed with a fatal disease, he might have not seen the point of cleaning either.

Here was something to do to keep himself occupied.

His mind switched to work mode, masking all other thoughts that caused pain. Except it hurt having to get his civilian work clothes from the box in the closet. He changed clothes and went on a top-to-bottom cleaning spree. When Caitlin came home, she would find a wholesome home. Besides, locking his emotions away as he focused on his tasks was a relief.

Without his Command training, he wouldn't have been able to deal with the current crisis. It kept him focused on the immediate and not looking ahead into the future. The day passed, and he worked into the evening until the entire apartment sparkled and smelled of fresh, flowery cleaning agents. He didn't quit until he ran out of things to do or clean.

But Caitlin still hadn't returned.

Satisfied with his efforts, Gareth turned around in the living room, examining all he'd accomplished. Then he noted the time displayed on the wall monitor.

It was late in the night. He hadn't eaten all day, but he felt no hunger for food.

He should eat.

The choice to ignore his own advice was easy. He took out another bottle of wine from the fridge without looking at the label and returned to the sofa.

"Ancilla, replay the Ahron's disease documentary."

The documentary restarted. This time, he paid attention to the interviews of the victims before the alcohol overcame him, and he drifted to sleep. He slept without dreaming or awareness of the passage of time. When the knock on the front door startled him awake, he was surprised to find it was morning.

≈ ∞ ≈

©2023 by kemorgan65 and RavenRock2112