Dr. Sickle Part 2

After the ceremony ended, Dr. Sickle headed for his limousine to return home. As he drew nearer to his means of escape, The Medal of Freedom he so proudly adorned around his neck, had morphed into an unwanted burden. The ribbon binding the medal to his neck felt as if a hangman’s noose, choking, forcing Dr. Sickle to struggle, gasping for each breath of air.

Oh, how he wanted to rip away that torturous object and cast it out of his life, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t raise his hand to his neck. Strange, what pride can make a man endure.

As the limo pulled up to his doorway, Dr. Sickle stepped out and climbed up the stairs. As he began his ascent, it seemed as if each step he took was heavier than the last. After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Sickle reached the front door, and upon turning the knob and pushing the door open, he was greeted by brilliant light sparkling from crystal chandeliers. The vast size of the hallway and the vaulted ceilings echoed the sounds of silence, for no life beyond his, existed within it walls.

His children flew the coup years ago and as for his wife, she tired of the neglect he gifted her and sought a more peaceful life. Pets were out of the question, of course. Too many times has he seen laboratory dogs suffering needless experimentation. As much as he desired, he couldn’t look at one without being reminded of the suffering he inflicted upon them.

Dr. Sickle walked softly, trying not to hear his own footsteps, for any sound he made, echoed back at him mockingly, reminding him how empty his life was.

How could I live like this? he asked himself, though he already knew the answer. I am a man and what makes you a man is knowing you’re willing to do whatever is necessary to beat your adversaries and when you have them drowning in defeat, you will draw water from their oceans of tears and pour it down their throats. Shows of mercy is for the weak and they have no place in my life. That’s what makes a man. As for Jack Lewis, the boy who’s notes I stolen from, his was only one name from an endless list of my victims.

The thought of how many people he’s brought down to their knees thrilled him, but at the same time, the guilt for causing their demise weighed heavy on his conscious. I must be tired. Normally I would even consider their feelings. Exhausted, Dr. Sickle retired to his bedroom.

As soon as he passed through the bedroom door, he threw his suit jacket in the corner knowing in the morning, the maid would obediently pick it up and send it to the cleaners. A moment later, he had put on his pajamas and was ready to turn off the lights. As he was about to turn off the light switch, he took a quick glance in the mirror and discovered he’d forgotten something. The Medal of Freedom still hung from his neck.

How silly of me, he thought. He laced his fingers around the ribbon to remove it, then thought better of it. Instead, he stood there staring at his own reflection, admiring how grand he looked. The medal which had weighed on him earlier, now elated his spirits, for he began to ponder on all the opportunities it represented.

Even at the age sixty-eight, countless doors of possibilities would open for me. How many interviews and conventions will I be invited to? My name will become a household name. Watch out, Oprah. I’m coming for you. He began to smile. Perhaps I could write a book. As that idea crossed his mind, he laughed to himself. Why should I write it? I can hire someone to write it for me. Maybe Jack Lewis will do it and I can steal his work, like I did before. How ironic that would be.

Perhaps when I become famous, wife will see the errors of her ways and come crawling back to me. As the for my children, who haven’t even called me in years, will be knocking on my door, begging me to let them in. It took all of Dr. sickle’s willpower not to kiss the medal, for to him, this was The Medal of Freedom, in more ways than one.

I’ll be free of my life trapped in the lab or stuck behind a desk. Colleagues from around the world will be calling me, asking for my advice. I don’t believe in God, but if there’s something close, it would be someone like me. Yes, I think that much of myself and if the truth be told, I think I should be worshipped for all of my achievements.

Forcing his eyes from the image in the mirror, Dr. Sickle turned his gaze towards an empty pedestal sitting on the dresser. Knowing he was going to receive this medal, Dr. Sickle had it made just so he could wake up and be able to admire it the first thing in the morning.

But now, it was time to place his treasure in its stand. Gently, Dr. sickle removed the medal from around his neck and as he was just about to place the medal in its place of honor, it slipped through his fingers.

His hand flailed as the medal began its descent, but when he attempted to stop its fall, his fingers only found empty space. Helplessly, Dr. Sickle watched as his treasure fell and collided with the hardwood floor. The medal sung a note of anguish, as if a bell was struck. The reverberated off the walls and continued to echo down the hallway. Though the sound lasted for only a moment, it was enough to wake Dr. Sickle from his dreams.

As his mind began to clear, he realized his wife was never going to return, and his children still have forgotten of his existence. Tomorrow, his desk will await his arrival, and as for the lab assistants, they will greet him, when he walks through the door. Dr. Sickle’s world is what it is, and nothing will ever change that.

With all the tenderness he could muster, Dr. Sickle picked up his fallen treasure and placed it on the pedestal. Stepping back, he admired it sparkled from the bedroom light, until it enthralled him.

Perhaps all is not lost. I may not be able to change the world I live in, but maybe I can change what world we live in.

A plan in how to achieve his goal came to mind, and it was a devious one. The plan was cold and heartless, making Dr. Sickle the perfect person to execute it.

Unfortunately, it would take a long time to complete, perhaps several years. He smiled to himself. No problem. I have the time.

Looking at the clock, he calculated it was late afternoon in China. Picking up the phone, he dialed a number he committed to memory.

The phone rang once, then he heard a Chinese accented voice answering, “This is Dr. Chow of the Hanwu Viral Research Center. How may I help you?”

“This is Dr. Sickle, the director of NAID. I hear you are seeking funding for transmittable viral research. I might be able to assist you, but I have a stipulation. I’d like to see the funding be used towards further research in gain-of-function. If you are able to help me in this matter, I can assure you I can make this funding available to you.”

The sound of Dr. Chow smiling could almost be heard. “For you sir, anything is possible.”

After hanging up the phone, Dr. Sickle gazed upon the medal. He was certain it was smiling back at him.