Catch your Death

“Action packed, with scenes changing quickly. At the end I was craving more!”

Chapter 1

Two hours earlier, Quincy had called. ‘Ruby? I have to see you right away.’
‘Right now?’ Her finger hovered over the microwave reheat button, her leftover chili bowl waiting inside. A treat after two hours of Brazilian Jujitsu class.
‘That’s the meaning of ‘right away’.’
‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’
‘No.’ 
He sounded anxious and impatient at the same time. She’d interviewed Professor Quincy at his office for the weekend edition of The Tribune two weeks earlier. The internationally renowned academic had made important contributions to epidemiology in the past, and now explored brain activity. He spoke of complex issues with clarity and without condescension. The interview had gone well, and now, for some urgent reason, he had more to add before publication. She couldn’t refuse him.
The address he gave her was a ten-minute drive away. When he opened his door, he scanned her face like he was recalling her from a different lifetime, before nodding and opening the door wider.
‘Ah, Ruby. Come in, come in,’ he said. 
Quincy appeared to have suffered storm damage. Usually quick and precise in his movements, he now moved like a man decades older. He led her to his dining table covered in a few piles of paperwork and a teacup, no saucer, and sat down.
‘I’m going to tell you a story, and it must not leave this room.’
‘This sounds like a really terrible movie.’ She settled herself in a chair opposite him and laid out a note pad and pen.
‘Oh, I wish. I wish this were all a movie.’
‘Tell me,’ she said, turning on her phone recorder.
‘Please, no record of this conversation.’ 
‘Um, I can’t possibly recall everything you say, though,’ she protested.
‘I can, and I’ll be happy to refresh your memory. Call me anytime.’
Yeah, right. A dubious offer from anybody, even a straight-arrow like him.
‘It’s safer for you,’ he added.
She closed the recorder app and waited. The Professor had dressed well, without being described as dapper, the previous times she’d met with him. Tonight, he sported a more dishevelled look. His hair had been slept in once, maybe twice, and left that way. Fresh stubble prickled his face. His sweatshirt showed evidence of mealtimes.
‘As you know,’ he said, ‘many stressful memories bury themselves in the subconscious as a protective mechanism. But if they’re not accessed and dealt with, they can produce anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder.’
‘Most people leave them buried, don’t they?’
‘A solution that only works for part of the population and leaves the rest with acute social problems. The subconscious is not easy to access. So, I’ve been working on an outcome to allow people to access it at will.’
‘Wouldn’t that freak out most people?’
‘Not under supervision. We’d have safeguards in place. I wondered if combining certain drugs with small doses of LSD, which has the property of allowing the brain to interpret information in a fresh way, would be helpful.’
He had to be kidding. ‘What if a person took this drug and started hallucinating like crazy, having a complete meltdown?’
‘Young lady. Sedatives are available, you know.’
Young lady? The Professor was only ten years older than her. What was it about academics that made them act like they were born a century earlier?
‘So, what happened?’
‘You have no idea how long you have to wait for a testing facility to become available.’ He sipped from a teacup that must have been cold but he didn’t appear to care. He hadn’t offered her any; normal for him. She hoped his social skills weren’t passed onto any offspring. ‘I was only looking for unpleasant side-effects. Impatience got the better of me.’
‘Uh oh.’
‘Yes, uh oh. I took a dose. Twenty milligrams’
‘Well, you’re still here with us, so I guess any side-effects weren’t so bad.’
‘True, nothing is truly unpleasant if you’re a scientist, but one astonishing side-effect emerged. My neural activity multiplied a thousand-fold. I’m speaking metaphorically, of course.’
The hell he talking about? ‘What does that mean in real life?’
‘It started much like an LSD experience, because I saw things in a different light, in more detail. But I could also remember so much; almost everything I’d said, heard, or seen.’
‘Like what?’
‘I can quote your previous interview with me word for word if you like.’
No way.
‘During the interview, you said, ‘Um’ 43 times.’
Jesus. 
‘I wasn’t counting at the time, you know, the information came to me when I recalled the moment.’
‘Like a photographic memory?’ Shit. She’d have to edit every sentence before it left her mouth.
‘More than that. At first, I thought I had triggered a kind of condition on the autism spectrum, close to genius level. But I soon realised incoming information didn’t overwhelm me like with normal autism. I could block out unimportant content.’
‘So, you’re now much smarter than you were before you drank this potion?’
‘Please,’ he said, looking pained, ‘do not use the word “potion”.’
‘Sorry. How smarter are you?’
‘Immensely. When you have this much brainpower, it’s like being a psychic Sherlock Holmes. You can assemble so much information in such a short time. At first, I assumed I completed cognitive processes in mere fractions of a second, but it became apparent the answers were arriving in chunks. Complete solutions on a plate. Like somebody was handing them to me.’
‘Well, um.’ Ruby said, trying to grasp what she’d just heard. ‘Isn’t this a world-changing discovery? Nobel Prize material?’ He seemed pretty calm about the whole thing. Maybe his physical fatigue had drained his mental energy as well.
‘Oh, it’s much more than that. It’s up there with the invention of language, which separates us members of the homo sapiens species from every mammal that came before us. Of course, I am just giving you a rough outline here.’
‘I can’t get my mind around all this.’
‘Well, somebody can.’ He took a sip from his empty cup.
It occurred to her that he was so caught up with what his mind could do, he was struggling with the more physical aspects of life. Probably hadn’t even looked in the mirror for several days. ‘Shall I make another pot of tea?’ she asked.
‘Sure.’ He held out his cup like she was a waitress. ‘Get one for yourself if you want.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ The gentle barb passed him by. ‘Who is this somebody?’ she asked as she poured the teas.
‘I made one mistake,’ he said when she sat down with him again. ‘I talked. After two days, I was astonished at the results, I shared some information with a colleague.’
‘He wasn’t delighted and excited?’
‘More like subdued and noncommittal. He advised me to stay silent for the time being, and not to remove any samples from the laboratory.’
‘Oh. They’d consider you a security risk?’
‘More like a valuable asset that unfriendly countries might seek to control.’
‘Sounds reasonable.’ How could a brilliant guy like him be so paranoid? He had shown nothing of this in the previous interview.
‘It’s not.’ His voice firm. ‘We’re not an expansionist country. We don’t seek to control other peoples. Our government would use this against its own people.’
‘No way.’
‘Way. To protect my work, I transferred the last batch of the drug into a sterilised hand-sanitiser bottle and brought it home.’
‘Professor Quincy, the government will want the formula no matter what you do.’
‘That’s why you’re here. If I disappear, then run the information I’ve given you.’
‘Then they’ll come after me.’
‘Sure, but you know nothing more than what I’ve told you, and you don’t have the drug sample. After you publish, you’re no longer a threat. Others, political parties, civil rights activists, will take up the issue of the missing professor. Your paper is strong on civil liberties.’
Oh yeah? His assumptions were pretty unrealistic.
He swallowed his fresh tea like it was cold already, and said, ‘I’m starving. All the time. My brain is burning excessive amounts of energy. I’m exhausted all the time.’
‘Not a problem,’ Ruby said, rising. ‘I’ll grab a pizza down the street, and I’ll be back in minutes.
’The keys are on the hook by the door. Let yourself back in.’

◆◆◆

So, there it was. She couldn’t have been absent more than twenty minutes, thirty tops, and they had snatched him. Nothing left but a conversation with no notes, no recording, no proof of anything Professor Quincy had said. Her editor had a supple sense of what a story consisted of. Documented facts were essential; their absence meant you were over promoted. Time to step down, even.
But maybe, just maybe, one thing could save her. She returned to the bathroom and surveyed the room. A lone glass bottle sat next to the basin. ‘Anti-bacterial hand-sanitiser’ said the label. ‘Germ-free’ in smaller letters underneath. Where’s the best place to hide a hand-sanitiser bottle that doesn’t contain hand-sanitiser? In plain sight?
She opened the cabinet doors above the basin and found no other likely container. There wasn’t the time to search longer. The professor-snatchers would return as soon as they realised there was no drug sample in the laboratory.
Ruby slipped the bottle into her handbag, opened the pizza box, took her slices out, shoved them a plastic shopping bag. Left him the ham and pineapple just in case. She replaced his keys on the hook and let herself out.

Chapter 2

As Ruby drove home that night she shuffled all her ideas into order. Interviewee-vanishing had never been war-gamed in journalism school.
The most logical explanation, the first damn thing that had entered her head, was that Professor Quincy had been taken. Crazy, but all the evidence pointed to that conclusion. He’d suspected that he was being watched and would be silenced before he could make his work public. If true, the authorities had elected to move swiftly, because they sure took a big chance in removing him halfway through an interview.
They’d panicked, right? Unless they had bugged his apartment, they had no idea what he’d revealed. What if they were coming to get him and had to abort their mission when she arrived? A quick check of her number plates, and they’d know who she was. That had sent them into panic mode, for sure. When she left the building but didn’t return to her car, they monitored her movements. Once she entered the pizza joint, a five-minute walk away, they knew how much time they had. And they moved in.
Now, they were waiting for her at home.
Of course.
Or following her now.
She kept checking her rear-view mirror for a tail, but all the cars behind her were the same—two headlights shining. She fumbled her phone out of her bag with one hand and stuck it in front of her face. The phone stayed blank, not enough light for face recognition login to work. She flicked her eyes back to the road and stood on the brakes to avoid rear-ending the car in front. Jesus.
She pulled over to the kerb. Best to stay alive until you upload the story, she told herself. Australia needs you. The phone accepted her password, and she dictated a fast summary of her interview and the subsequent disappearance into her work email. She added that she thought she was being tailed home. Now, if I disappear like the professor, the world will know why. Even if nobody cares, they’ll know why. She tapped SEND.
When she arrived at her apartment block, she sat in the car park for a minute, waiting for somebody to approach the car and order her out. Didn’t happen. Maybe they’re inside. Ready to grab her, drug her, and take her out quietly.
She hustled herself inside, moving fast to her ground floor flat. Get this over with. Maybe call her office phone and leave a voicemail open. It might catch the sounds of her struggling valiantly with her captors. Turn her into an internet sensation. Uh oh. Forever be the interviewed, not the interviewer. Forever linked to this one moment. I’d rather be dead.
Her flat was the size of a shoebox. Okay, maybe two. You could tell if you were alone immediately. Even if somebody were hiding, their auras or something would penetrate hers, and when you know, you know.
Nothing. Her heart rate slowed, and the adrenaline slipped back to wherever the hell it came from. She’d skipped dinner to meet Quincy and, as her nerves relaxed and made themselves comfortable, her stomach reminded her of this. She opened the shopping bag and pulled out the pizza slices. The toppings had shifted a little during the ride home, but she didn’t care. Eating always helped her think, a genetic gift she adored. Another gift from her ancestors: her body’s refusal to add any weight no matter what she ate.
Blessed with bony shoulders, and a chest that all the wadded tissues in the world couldn’t make shapely, Ruby had accepted that her path in life relied on brains, not Instagrammable beauty. She wrapped the slices in a damp paper towel to help recapture their freshness, put them on a plate, and microwaved. Perfect. Kind of.
Snaffled the first one and yanked her laptop open. Get everything down; make it more presentable later. She hammered the keyboard with a rough summary of the conversation before she forgot any part of it. Fifteen minutes later, she uploaded the file to her work folder at The Tribune and a copy to her own Google storage. No buzzer from the front, no knock on the door. Whew.
‘If I was warned to stay silent,’ Quincy had said, ‘it’s because somebody’s nervous. Nervous of what I might know, and what I can do with the knowledge I have.’
‘Meaning who?’ Ruby had asked. 
‘Put it this way. Anyone who takes this drug would be one of the smartest people in the world, if not the smartest. The government would not want this person to work for an unfriendly nation. They would figure they best be locked away. I’ve been critical of this government in the past. There’s no love for me there.’
He was overreacting. This wasn’t China or Russia; this was Australia. Academics didn’t disappear from the face of the earth if they displeased the government. He must have worked himself up into a state of anxiety. The effort of dealing with brainpower that was now thousands of times faster than before had exhausted him. It exhausted her to think about it.
On the other hand, he’d disappeared, and if he were hungry as she had been, he’d be waiting impatiently for the damn pizza, not racing off somewhere. And the note, the sticky note that wasn’t in his handwriting, definitely wrong.
Ruby picked up her phone, brought up his number, keyed in a message. R U okay? Too familiar? She tried a new, softer approach. Sorry to have missed you this evening. Can we meet tomorrow? I hope all is well. Ruby. Y
es, that was it. That was fine. Sounded professional and caring at the same time. Minutes later, her phone pinged a reply. I apologize for my abrupt departure but something came up. I’ll be in touch soon. Professor Quincy.
Professor Quincy? No way. He’d only ever signed off with a Q in the few messages they had exchanged previously. He wasn’t the overly formal type that insisted on the use of his title. Did he deliberately change his signature to signal that he wasn’t free to speak? Or did somebody else send the message?
Ruby finished the second slice, and poured herself a glass of pinot gris, sipped it once, put it down, and wait for a genius solution to arrive. Nothing. Not even a tickle, or a faint germ of an idea.
Damn.
The series of interviews had taken a long time to set up. Usually, a more senior reporter would’ve been allocated to do this. However, the only one possible was basking on her sandy butt in Bali, and Ruby had the call. A lucky break, and if she messed this up, well…
A night that had started so promising had become confusing, nerve-wracking, and filled with unanswered, gnawing questions. The kind of night that would make the Dalai Lama punch a hole in the wall.
Ruby gave up. Time for her third method of problem solving—sleep. She pushed a chair against the door handle in case these mysterious abductors had lock-picking skills, and flopped into bed.

◆◆◆

In the morning, she sat on the edge of the bed and called the professor. Got his voicemail.
I’m not available etc…
Bloody hell. They, whoever they were, could stall her like this forever. Time for a face-to-face. With somebody, anybody.
After a breakfast of oats in cold milk, and lemon tea, Ruby climbed into her ’06 Yaris and headed for the Oakleigh campus of Bolte University.
The receptionist in the Faculty of Medicine, a precise woman in her forties, wore a lapel badge announcing her as Linda. A plexiglass barrier protected her from stray germs that might float in. She regarded Ruby’s approach with the steely confidence of someone who commanded legions.
‘Is Professor Quincy in today?’ Ruby asked. ‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Linda, not bothering to check any screens. ‘Can anyone else help you?’
‘I’m Ruby Moskewitz from The Tribune, and I interviewed him last night for a major article about his work. But he had to dash off on urgent business, and he was supposed to contact me this morning. He hasn’t, and isn’t responding to phone calls. I’m wondering if everything is okay?’
‘I’m not acquainted with the Professor’s private moments. All I know is that he’s not here.’
‘The thing is, Linda, he was so keen for this interview to be published, and at the moment it’s definitely unpublished. I need to know when I can find him. Can you contact his department and ask them what they know?’  
When you use a person’s name in conversation, it is supposed to make them more disposed towards you. Not this time. Linda narrowed her eyes, and her lips tightened. She held her stare for several seconds before reaching for a phone.
‘Mr Pugh?’ she said. ‘It’s Linda Devereux from reception. There is a journalist here from The Tribune asking after Professor Quincy to finish an interview, and she’s wondering if he’s liable to come in today or not.’
Linda listened to his answer before saying, ‘Thank you’ and hanging up. ‘The Professor has come down with a fever and is being held in quarantine for extra safety. He’s a most important member of the faculty, as you would know, and we don’t want to risk his condition worsening. We would also like you to not make this known, to avoid necessary stress on his family.’
A bunch of crap. ‘Are you sure he’s ill? He was fine last night. He was very fine, he even ordered a pizza with me. And when I returned, he was gone. Is it normal for people to go from being fine, to being feverish and incoherent in twenty minutes?’
Linda remained unmoved. ‘You do realise that the medical staff here are highly qualified. They have the best facilities, they do not make mistakes.’
‘But—’
‘I’m passing on instructions from those who have the Professor’s best interests at heart.’ Linda raised her voice just enough to establish who was in charge here. ‘I’m sure you’ll understand.’ She cocked her head and pursed her lips to show that any arguments Ruby made wouldn’t and couldn’t be taken seriously.
There was nothing more to be gained from battling with ‘ol Vinegar Lips here. But she’d kind of admitted that Quincy was nearby, a confirmation that the authorities had taken him. Not exactly the government, not if he was being held at the Faculty. But maybe this was an arm’s length operation. 
Ruby left the building. An old professor she’d met briefly once, hurried toward her across the quadrangle. His straggly white locks streamed behind him.
‘Professor Xavier,’ she greeted him. ‘How are you?’
He stopped and beamed at her. ‘Hale and hearty, dear Ruby. And yourself?’
‘Same. I’m looking for Professor Quincy to complete an interview he asked for, but he’s not around. Do you know where he is?’
He leaned forward, tapping a finger on the side of his nose. ‘Oh, it’s all a bit hush-hush at the moment, and not for publication, Ruby, but it appears he swallowed something he was working on and has taken ill. He’s being monitored, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.’
She put on her concerned face. ‘Is he all right?’ ‘Absolutely.’ The Professor waved a breezy hand in the air. ‘I heard he walked in here last night and he’s going to walk out.’ He backed away. ‘Must run. Bye.’
Two separate sources had now confirmed that Professor Quincy was in the building. It wasn’t the end of the story—it was a start.

Chapter 3

Ruby called her editor. An email would have been less stressful, but Dominica Ryan hated them. If anyone dared send one, Dominica picked up the phone and barked questions at her anyway.
This time, Dominica answered with a ‘yeah?’ and Ruby got straight to the point. ‘I spoke to the Professor last night,’ she said, ‘and he disappeared halfway through the interview.’
‘You ever thought of using breath mints?’
Bitch. ‘He had a great story to tell, much better than another sensational medical breakthrough that never comes to be.’
‘Do tell.’
‘Well, I’m sworn to secrecy, but what he told me practically shocked me out of my pants.’
‘I wish I’d seen that.’
Oh, another thing about Dominica, she loves crude innuendos. Thinks they’re funny as hell. Which they can be, if you like bawdy 1930s music-hall humour. Most of the journos on the paper had agreed on the theory that she used it to unsettle people, because she thought having people on edge would produce better copy.
‘So… I thought we should delay this while I search for the guy. I’ll document every step of the journey, and we’ll have a better piece at the end, even if I end up with no professor.’
‘Look, sweetheart, why don’t you summarise it for me to see if it’s worth dropping a piece on the latest injury to some star footballer?’
‘As I said, my lips are sealed.’ The thing was with Dominica: if she sniffed out the real story, she’d force somebody to write a hundred excitable words to justify a provocative headline. And destroy Ruby’s chances of regaining any rapport with the professor. ‘Can’t, sorry.’
Dominica drew a long, loud breath. ‘That’s the kind of rat-bag news that can ruin a girl’s morning. Hand in what you have, and we’ll set the scene for further revelations.’
On the face of it, this sounded like a good idea. Because what was the chance of locating the professor and finding what happened to him? On the other hand, she’d made a promise, and she was loath to break it. She was quirky that way. ‘I can’t help it. A girl has to protect her sources, I’ve heard.’ ‘
You love to disappoint me, don’t you?’
‘Sorry, I usually aim to please.’ You could practically hear Dominica’s eyes rolling, clanking like steel balls.
‘OK, I’ll hold the story as long as you can assure me it’s as good as you say. But if anybody else gets it before us, you’re dead to me. Got that?’
Gee, thanks. A missing or quarantined professor would be noticed damn soon. ‘If I can’t uncover any more information, I already have enough for a front page.’ ‘
Really? You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?’
‘I would lie to you about many things, but not about that.’ To her surprise, Dominica laughed. Maybe the cow had a human side.
‘Well, haha, my little one. I miss your face around here. You should drop into the office more often. A bit of networking wouldn’t hurt you; mingling with your colleagues might facilitate useful cross-pollination if you don’t mind me being homely in my drift.’ She was giving up. Beating Dominica in an argument was enough of a thrill to make a girl walk taller for the rest of the day.
‘Ruby?’ Dominica said. ‘Because I like you, I’m going to give you the extra time. Two days. No, don’t thank me, you deserve it. Don’t call me again unless you’re informing me you’re coming in with good copy. Okay? I have to go.’
Two fucking days? Find Quincy, pick his brain for several more hours, polish two thousand words of complex material, and grab sleep time somewhere in there? I love you, too, Dominica.
Ruby called the press office at the Bolte University. ‘Hi,’ she said to the first voice that answered. ‘Ruby Moskewitz from The Tribune. I’m having trouble contacting Professor Quincy. Can you help me?’
The woman at the other end said, ‘Please hold for a minute. I’ll get someone who’s handling Professor Quincy’s information.’
Heels clicked on a hard floor as their owner walked off to find the professor’s information handler. Something was up.
She returned. ‘I’ll put you through to Heath. He can tell you everything you need to know.’
‘He’d better,’ Ruby said aloud. ‘Or I’ll run with what I have.’ She heard breathing on the line and realised the woman had already put her through to this Heath. He’d been listening.
‘Heath Fotheringhay here, how can I help?’
A voice warm enough to ripen young fruit, and he actually sounded genuine. God, these PR people were getting slick. Soon they would rule the world. Wait, they did already.
Ruby introduced herself again and explained she needed to see Professor Quincy to complete the interview. Before Heath provided a neatly rehearsed answer, she took a breath and delivered her broadside. ‘They told me downstairs at reception that Professor Quincy became ill and put into quarantine. But I interviewed him late last night, and he was perfectly fine. I only left him to bring in some food he asked for. Sick people are never hungry. When I returned, he’d vanished. Not even lying on the couch, gasping for breath and ambulance. So what gives?’
Heath was no slouch in the slickness department. ‘All our information comes from the top,’ he said. ‘Straight from the medical staff looking after the Professor. That’s all I have. I’m afraid I can’t make up my own mind about what ails the professor and give you a different story.’
‘I wasn’t looking for a different story, Heath, but you know what us reporters are like.You hand out bullshit press statement, and we’ll start asking questions. First question: what are you hiding?’ ‘
Hey, we’re not hiding anything. I’m doing the job I’m supposed to do. I get given information from the medical people, and I hand it on to the people like yourself.’ ‘Yeah well, it’s a fairy story, and I need more details than you’ve given me. I have a partly finished interview with the professor where he told me about a highly interesting project. Last night. Got that? Last night. He asked me to hold off till he got permission to release the information. In his curious absence, I no longer feel bound to respect his confidentiality. In fact, if the professor’s death is announced, then we’ll have the best headline ever: Professor Dies as Wonder Drug Disappears.’ 
This was quite a stretch, threatening a click-bait headline on a death that wasn’t even hinted at, but shit, that’s what the scum in the gutter press did, and it got results. ‘
I’m horrified you would even think like that. You’re from a respectable media outlet.’ ‘
‘Okay what about this: Professor Disappears, Wonder Drug Suppressed.’
‘What is this ‘wonder drug” stuff?’
‘Something he told me about.’
‘Ruby,’ Heath said. ‘May I place you on hold while I consult with a colleague?’
‘Sure, but come back with good news.’
Heath returned with better than she expected. ‘The situation is sensitive. Let’s not discuss it over the phone. Can meet you for lunch later today? I’ll fill you in with as much as I can.’
Today?And lunch! Ruby gave him her number. ‘I’m in Oakleigh, so make the venue close by, can you? Text me the time and place. Bye.’
She was onto something; somebody was getting nervous. PR people didn’t make immediate space for you unless you were very special. 
And Heath had virtually admitted the quarantine line was fake.

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