“Here we go,” Annie says, closing her eyes and leaning her head back. “Get it all out.”
“But we aren’t talking about divinity! This is the pinnacle of scientific innovation!”
Annie silently waves for me to continue.
“I mean, how do we define death?” I ask rhetorically. “The medical community can’t even agree.”
She only nods; she’s heard all this before.
“I am simply proposing that there are situations in which a patient is declared dead due to blood loss, pulse, and respiration, but could be saved by Compound Y.” I punch the air, frustrated. “I mean, fuck, Annie! Where is their curiosity? Where is their vision?”
“No idea,” Annie says dryly.
“Anyway,” I say, leaning back against my desk, “you’re right about Vince being against the resurrection studies. If he were put on the team, he’d undoubtedly derail my research. Or worse.”
“You don’t think—”
“That he’d destroy it?” I cut in. “Or that the vials of Compound Y would vanish or be mysteriously compromised? Maybe. Either way, I think we should move them until we have permission to continue the research.”
Annie goes deadly silent, her jaw slowly falling open. “Move the compound? To where? Your fridge at home in a little box markedEMERY’S MENSTRUAL VITAMINS?”
“Don’t be silly, my fridge doesn’t even lock.”
“That’sthe part of the plan you’re worried about? We’re talking about a top secret experimental compound. Would having it off-site even be legal?”
“Honestly, Annie, it’s all so classified I’m not sure there are laws governing this kind of thing.” Pausing, I look over at her. “I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.”
Annie stares mutely ahead. I think she might be dissociating. I don’t blame her. I would if I could. “What aboutyourold fridge? Does it lock?”
Annie looks aghast. “At the vet clinic?”
I nod. Annie sold her clinic to a friend but helps out on occasion and has access whenever she needs it. I can practically feel my eyes glimmering with hope. Ten years ago, Annie was the neighbor I would pass nightly as I shuffled up to my apartment at midnight and she was walking down to the street to exercise one of her roughly ten thousand foster dogs. After a few conversations initiated by one or another of her hounds escaping her grasp and bounding back up our steps for kisses and scratches, it became clear that she was not only a talented and loving veterinarian but a brilliant scientist to boot. A light bulb crackled on in my brain, and in the end, it was surprisingly easy to tempt Annie into saving animal lives in the uber-private sector for quadruple her current salary and full payment of all her vet school loans.
“Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have pets,” she told me once. “The moment an animal becomes difficult or expensive, they want to put it down. My job is literally to save them.”
Kindred souls, we are. Judging by the look on her face now, she might be regretting that.
“Em, I amnotputting Compound Y near the hands of Todd the Dumbass Vet Tech.”
“He’s not going to touch a box that’s labeledEMERY’S MENSTRUAL VITAMINS.”
“That was a joke!”
“Annie, it took me years to get this formulation perfect. I am not letting Vince get his hands on it!”
We startle as a knock lands heavy on my office doorframe just before the devil himself leans in.
With my heart racing, I glare at Vince, hating his egotistical face.
“Have I come at a bad time?” he says. I never understood where he got his vaguely British accent. He grew up in Iowa and went to the University of Nebraska. I once heard him brag about winning a cornhole tournament at the state fair. A Brit he is not. “I just heard my name. Shall I return post–gossip sesh?”
My pulse thumps at his timing. “I was just saying I have the best sandwich waiting for me in the staff room fridge.”
“Ah yes, can’t let me”—holds up bony finger quotes—“?‘get my hands on’ yoursandwich.”
Annoyed, I wave him on. “Did you need something, Vince?”
His brow relaxes, hand sliding into the pocket of his dark trousers. “Just came here to offer my condolences on the downward turn of your big day.”
