Dr. Hugh Mann Page 4

  Dust mites died by the billions, counted grains of sand around the world did not have the numbers to match. Mannites did not shriek in victory as they overran the dust mites’ defensive positions. Dust mites in kind did not seek mercy as they fell. The much more aggressive Mannites did what they were genetically programmed to do, survive by all means necessary. Destroying what stood in their way and breeding as many of their kind as possible to further their path was as hard wired into them as it was into any other species. That mankind had assisted in their victory was a fact lost on the Mannites.

  Within hours of the deaths of their natural enemy, the Hugh-Manns’ population nearly doubled; the progression was developing at a geometric rate. Dr. Mann shuddered as sample after sample was slid into the viewfinder; they did not so much procreate as they did spontaneously appear.

  “I do not think this is a good idea, Dr. Sheckler,” Dr. Mann said as he stood up from the eyepiece.

  Dr. Sheckler, a scientist barely into his thirties, had been struggling to find his way into the world of higher academia. His peers had always considered him a whelping pup completely in over his head. And now that he had finally discovered something big he would not let anyone, not even the great Dr. Mann, take this from him.

  “What are you talking about, Doctor? I have found two compounds that combined not only kill the enemy but have no ill effects to us or to your discovery. I do not see what part of this you think is not a good idea.”

  “Let me rephrase, Dr. Sheckler. I find no fault with your agent. My problem lies with the fact that I am not so sure we should be killing the dust mites.”

  Dr. Sheckler looked physically taken aback. “How can you say such a thing! Do you feel no affinity for the Mannites that you discovered and are now named for you! They are our history, Doctor.”

  “Oh, please do not tell me that you believe the vitriol that the rags write about. You of all people, Dr. Sheckler. You have looked at as many slides of them as I have. Have you yet seen a village, much less a single building? Have you seen one large buxom beauty hiding behind her man?”

  Dr. Sheckler had been completely sucked in by the hype much as the vast majority of people in the country and now the world had been, even though he had evidence to the contrary at his fingertips. The printed word was a powerful medium and he had been ‘conditioned’ his entire life to believe whatever was imbedded onto paper.

  “Just because I have not ‘seen’ those things does not mean they do not exist!” Dr. Sheckler shot back. “It is much like our God.”

  Dr. Mann wanted to argue that point too, but to what end. He would never be able to convince the young scientist of his folly and the only things he would be able to show for it would be a scratchy throat and a wasted two hours.

  Dr. Sheckler extracted himself from the lab as quickly as he could, heading straight for the Dean’s office. He waited patiently in the waiting room as the Dean’s receptionist went in to let him know that an unexpected visitor had come.

  “Tell him to schedule an appointment, just like everyone else,” Dr. Sheckler heard from the slightly opened door.

  “Sir, he says he has news regarding the Hugh-Manns.”

  “Well why didn’t you say so, send him in,” the Dean said, all smiles now as Dr. Sheckler was led in.

  “Dr. Spindler?” the Dean asked extending his hand.

  “Sheckler,” the scientist said, accepting a quick pump hand shake and then sitting down.

  “Right. What can I help you with?” the Dean asked.

  “I’ve found it, sir!” Dr. Sheckler blurted out excitedly.

  The first thing that came into the Dean’s mind was that this man had finally stumbled across his penis and discovered its true use. The Dean smiled with his inane thought. “What did you find?” the Dean asked, half hoping that his initial thought was the truth.

  “I have found a way to kill the dust mites and preserve the Hugh-Manns.”

  The Dean knew that his thought would have been much funnier, but this was much better, much better for his career, his future. His university, yes, HIS university was already emblazoned upon the minds of the world. Now it would be indelibly stamped there for all eternity. “You are sure of this?” the Dean asked. “Did you get any independent verification?”

  “Dr. Mann verified it, sir.” Dr. Sheckler said, sensing the change in the Dean’s demeanor. He could sense a hunger building in the room, a hunger for power. “But there is something more, Dean Saunders. Do you mind if I speak candidly?”

  ‘Go on,’ the Dean motioned

  “I feel, sir, that Dr. Mann has lost faith in his discovery. He… he did not want me to share my discovery with you.”

  “It sounds more like professional jealousy than a loss of faith in the pursuit of truth.”

  “Perhaps, Dean.” Dr. Sheckler was inwardly pleased that the great Dr. Mann could somehow be jealous of something he himself had discovered.

  The Dean sat idly, letting Dr. Sheckler ramble on about the various potions he had tried until he had stumbled across Solution 217b as it was designated. This gave the Dean ample time to plan out the next news conference to unveil the Hugh-Manns’ savior, with him leading the way.

  * * *

  The Dean heralded the scientific report as the second greatest discovery of our time. The world rejoiced with the news. Directions on how to prepare the simple compound was translated into no less than thirty-seven languages. There was hardly a corner of the world that did not employ the dust mite poison.

  It was three days later when the mounting number of mysterious deaths began to raise concerns and questions. Vigorous men, hale of health and strong with youth were among some of the first to fall. World War I battlefields were decimated with what the newspapers began to call the Spanish Flu. At least 50 million people worldwide died from that ‘flu’ and another 200 million were infected, most of those having their lives shortened significantly.

  The United States government was the first to discover the truth behind the deaths. Autopsies of the deceased service men showed their bodies riddled with parasites that survived long after the host had expired: these parasites were the very Hugh-Manns the world had fought to save. This knowledge was imparted to other governments with extreme prejudice. It would be much better to have this run its course than to have to tell the public that they were endangering themselves and their families with directions they had received from their leaders.

  The president of the United States had been quoted as saying that “The people of the world needed a thorough weeding anyway.”

  The mites had been pushed to the very edge of extinction before the first bleach resistant mutants had started to pass their genes on to their fellow Mite-ians. As quickly as the Spanish ‘Flu’ had started, so had it ended. News of the Hugh-Manns had been relegated to the realm of near fantasy. Stories that were more prevalent than anything before were now just fading memories.

  * * *

  It was a blistering hot day in July. Marissa sweltered under the noon day sun at Café Venetia as she waited for her father. All of the tables inside where it was blissfully cooler had been taken; she had been relegated to a table out on the veranda. An umbrella that would stop little more than a firefly’s light was her only protection from the fireball in the sky. Marissa had only agreed to this luncheon after much cajoling from her father, and he had not even deigned to show up. After her third iced tea she realized that he had once again forgotten about her. She was not upset, that particularly feeling had been burned out of her long ago. much like the head of a match that had been struck years previous. No, not upset, disappointed perhaps but not upset. She paid the check and left. As she walked down Beacon Hill she could not shake the sensation of being an ant under an intensely powerful magnifying glass. Beads of sweat formed directly below the brow of her white hat.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said as she looked up at the sun, hoping that somewhere in the vastness of the deep azure sky a cloud would materialize and
lend some relief. The only white thing in the sky was a lone seagull she thought might not be of sane mind. “Anything that wants to be closer to the sun today must be mad,” she smiled.

  Marissa walked into the next store she came across. It did not matter much what it was, cobbler or baker, candle stick maker or deli, she would fabricate some reason to be in the blessed shade. Although a pastry shop would have been her first choice, an antiques store was not too far behind. The store was at least twenty-five degrees cooler inside than outside, and the soft smell of aged wood permeated everything. It was comforting, much like the scent of her grandmother’s house.

  “Can I help you, miss?” An elderly man said from behind the counter, newspaper in lap as he sat in a large chair that seemed oddly out of place behind the register.

  ‘Ownership has its benefits,’ Marissa thought of the stately old man. “No, kind sir.” Marissa thought about telling the man that she was looking for a present for her fiancée, but it was too hot to lie. “I just wanted to get out of the sun.”

  “Can’t say that I blame you, it’s so hot I believe that the cicadas have taken the day off.” With that he resumed his reading of the newspaper. “If you do need anything please just ask, otherwise feel free to stay as long as you wish,” he added, never looking up from the written prose in his lap.

  “Thank you very much,” she smiled. He nodded his head in return. She literally felt like a kid let loose in a candy store. Besides the proprietor who did not look like he was getting up anytime soon and herself, the place was empty, and better yet, cool. The front part of the store was dominated with various pieces of furniture, from Victorian aged desks and credenzas to ancient maritime chests and ornately carved pianos. The back part of the store had display cases full of jewelry, buttons, and all manner of personal items. Marissa found herself drawn to this section, and she didn’t completely believe it was to do solely with the significant drop in temperature as she got farther away from the large glass windows that made up nearly the entire front of the shop.

  Her finger trailed down the glass case as she surveyed all manner of mementos until she came across a white gold locket. The etching on the front was a depiction of a rose with a thorn; a small ruby was inlaid next to the thorn in the shape of a tear.

  “If I didn’t know any better I would say that was supposed to be a drop of blood,” Marissa said.

  “Did you say something dear?” the old man yelled from the other end of the store.

  “Nothing,” she said loudly, toning it down a bit when she realized that the man had uncannily good hearing. “I was merely looking.”

  “Have you come across the Blood Locket?” he asked back.

  “How could you possibly know?” she asked, placing her hand on her chest.

  She could hear him alight from his chair. A small groan was followed by a series of pops and creaks as his aged body fought to go into motion.

  “You really did not need to get up, sir,” she said. All of a sudden a sense of nervousness invaded her being.

  “Nonsense young lady, I am merely saving you some time. You would have stood there for a few minutes longer wondering what was inside before you called for me.” He smiled a genuine smile.

  “But how did you know?”

  “I have had that piece now for two months and every, and I mean every woman that has walked into my shop has found their way to this case and this piece of jewelry.”

  “Then why not move it up front?” she asked again, her uneasiness returning as the old man approached.

  “As much as I would like to sit all day, I have to get out of that chair sometimes or these old bones will just stop moving. Would you like to hold it? Some don’t, they just want me to hold it closer to them so they can look at it.”

  “Is… is there something wrong with it?” Marissa asked. Her clinical half sneered at her superstitious side. She laughed nervously.

  “I do not believe it to be cursed,” he answered seriously, standing up with the locket dangling from his liver spotted hand.

  The pull from it was simultaneously hypnotic and repelling at the same time.

  “Oh my…” Marissa said as her vision tunneled for a moment and then expanded back to its normal order.

  “Are you alright, miss? You looked like you might have had a spell,” the proprietor asked solicitously.

  “I think… that it might have been the heat catching up with me,” she said as she gripped the edge of the case.

  “Let me just put this away.”

  “No, no,” Marissa said, extending her hand in invitation. As the locket touched her palm it was cool, almost cold to the touch. A mild shock spread out from her palm and through her body. “Did you feel that?” she asked the old man. His confused look was all the answer she needed.

  She rubbed her thumb over the face of the locket and immediately pulled back as her tender flesh caught on something. A small wound roughly the size of a thorn prick welled up a single droplet of blood.

  “Oh my!” the old man exclaimed as he handed her his handkerchief. “That has never happened before.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine,” she said. She looked at the locket closely, wondering what she could have possibly cut herself on. Even the hinges were of exceptionally fine quality and were as smooth as buttered silk. She turned the locket over looking for a possible culprit on the back, but all she found was a small neat inscription: ‘ E All of my heart is yours M.’ It should have sounded sweet, but the wording just seemed wrong to her. It had a sinister ring to it but she could not put her finger on it. ‘Or maybe she had,’ she thought darkly as she absently sucked on her wound. The old man looked mortified at her gesture, but she didn’t notice as she rolled those words over and over again in her head.

  Marissa fingered the clasp.

  “I do not think that is such a wise idea miss,” the old man said, holding his hand out for the locket.

  The jewelry opened to reveal a picture of an ethereal beauty. The woman that stared back at Marissa from the photo had eyes as black and cold as onyx. A twinge of a smile had the left corner of her lips upturned but there was no humor in the gesture. A palpable menace radiated from the image. The old man barely caught the chain as it slipped from Marissa’s fingers.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said as she recovered from the episode.

  “It is quite alright, I knew enough to be ready for it,” he said as he began to place the jewelry back in the case.

  “What are you doing?” Marissa asked in alarm.

  “Miss?” the store keeper inquired.

  “I must have that!” she fairly shouted.

  “Are you sure?”

  Within five minutes, the transaction complete, Marissa headed out into the blissfully blistering heat, thankful of how it began to warm her bones.

  * * *

  Dr. Mann sat idly as the overbearing military presence inside the laboratory catalogued and boxed everything. All of his work, whether it had anything to do with the Hugh-Manns or not. Dr. Mann had not been fooled by the government’s willingness to call the world-wide epidemic the Spanish Flu. The timing, with the world-wide release of Speckler’s compound, had been entirely too coincidental. He had performed his own experiments on some of the lab’s monkeys, and when they began to die just as quickly as the populace he had been able to put the equation together. He was not an expert in the field of forensics but when he began to perform his own autopsy on one of the female monkeys, he was astounded but not completely surprised to see the wriggling vermin that still swam through her blood ways.

  * * *

  “Father, what are you doing here? And better yet, how do you know where I live?” an indignant Marissa asked.

  “I have known where you have lived for quite a long time,” a harried Doctor Mann answered.

  Marissa didn’t know whether to be happy that her father showed enough thought to find out where she lived, or concerned that he had even bothered.

  “Can I come in? It is
quite cold out here,” he said, looking nervously about at the surrounding neighborhood. It appeared to Marissa that her father was looking for someone or something.

  “It is not overly cold, and besides you have what appears to be a very warm jacket on,” Marissa said tensely. Her father’s uneasiness seemed to be rubbing off on her. “Why are you looking around so?”

  “I am doing nothing of the sort,” he said with his face pointed back towards the road. “Can I come in now?”

  “What are you carrying?” Marissa asked apprehensively.

  “Doctor Mann!” a young good looking man said, opening the front door wider as he came up from behind Marissa. Marissa looked over her shoulder with a withering glare which her guest either completely ignored or missed entirely.

  “Jonathan Talbot?” Dr. Mann half stated as he tried to root around in the social portion of his mind.

  Jonathan beamed. “Yes sir! That’s me! Come in, come in!” he said, pushing Marissa out of the way to allow the doctor room to enter.

  The doctor hesitantly put one foot on the door stop, took one final look behind him and allowed Jonathan to take his jacket, but not his suitcase. “What will people think?” the doctor asked Marissa as Jonathan closed the door and hung up his jacket.

  “They will think what a lovely couple that lives in such a lovely household!” Marissa shot back.

  “Marissa, that is no way to talk to Doctor Mann… I mean your father. Sir, I must admit that I was a little surprised when you did not show up at our wedding, but I thought the esteemed doctor must be doing something extraordinary to have missed the event.”

  “You are married?” the doctor asked his daughter.

  “A month and a half ago,” Marissa answered, turning away abruptly.