Chapter 5

‘I need to call my parents! Now!’

Melissa eyed Blaine through the plastic visor. She had known this would come. Careful not to demonstrate undue emotion and thus catalyse his own reactions, she handed back his clothes—decontaminated, laundered and dried—and considered the best way to negotiate the matter.

‘Blaine, if you call again it will only concern them more. Besides, do you really want them caught up in all of this? Didn’t you say your dad was leaving today for his first international conference in years?’ She watched him closely, waiting for him to detect her sincerity. ‘You know, Blaine, they’ve had a lot to deal with through the years.’

Melissa had seen the extensive list of natural and pharmacological remedies and procedures the Coltons had trialled over time. Though none were highly effective, all were costly. They believed that long term this saved Blaine’s vital organs and central nervous system from permanent damage. Yet she understood these treatments, along with the life-saving care and devices they had acquired on his behalf, had forced them to make some harsh financial decisions. But finance was just the start—and Blaine knew it. She paused to let the facts sink in, and saw his eyes cloud slightly.

She seized on this sign of vulnerability. ‘Have they ever spoken about how they felt when you were diagnosed? All that hope of rescuing a needy child, only to discover your life expectancy was less than ten years.’

Blaine’s eyes shot up and locked on her face. They were dark, accusing.

‘That’s a lie! My parents knew. They adopted me to help save my life.’

She took a long breath and shook her head. ‘Blaine, I’m sorry. I thought they would have told you. I suppose it must have been such a shock, and then to carry the burden of your care into your late teens ... I understand them wanting to explore every treatment option within their means.’

‘They said I was a gift—special, just for them.’

She watched him flush, as if he realised the childishness of his words. ‘Blaine, they may have felt that, but I’m telling the truth. You can trust me. I have a copy of your medical records. It’s there in black and white. Your condition wasn’t diagnosed until after your adoption.’ She softened her tone. ‘It must have been quite a challenging commitment for them.’

Blaine fixed his focus on the end of his bed. ‘Can’t I just let them know I’m still all right?’ He glanced up, his brown eyes dulled with uncertainty.

Melissa smiled but Blaine didn’t respond. She realised belatedly he wouldn’t be able to see her mouth. ‘Of course. I’ll call them again.’

‘Why can’t I speak to them?’

She shook her head and tried to emanate sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, Blaine. It would only complicate things more if you gave them another reason to worry.’

‘And they won’t now?’

‘I’ve told them you’ve had to go for more tests, that it’s nothing to worry about and you’ll be home in a week, or so.’

Blaine’s eyes darted up like two beacons blazing with hope. ‘A week? Really?’

‘We’ll see. But Blaine …’ She held his gaze. ‘… you have to know I’ve got your best interests in mind. I don’t want you to be hurt. I want to protect you. That’s why you must stay here until we can sort things out with the regulating body. And that’s why I wouldn’t lie to you about your diagnosis.’

His shoulders hunched as he nodded. Melissa watched him for a moment more before swiping her ID card at the door and leaving.

The door had scarcely closed when Blaine heard a colleague call Melissa from the other side of the anteroom. Even when she had decontaminated and passed on through, their voices were clear.

‘Mel, it reacts with everything!’ It was one of the coats from the lab.

‘Everything?’

‘Well ... let’s just say there aren’t a great deal of microbes in Ramer’s stocks that we’ve not had a cross-reaction to.’

For the benefit of surveillance, Blaine feigned disinterest. Best to let them think a nearly eighteen-year-old rehabilitated vegetable knows nothing about immune responses and genetic engineering.

Turning onto his side, he honed every auditory sensor on the voices at the door. Dr Hartfield sounded sceptical. ‘And in just a few days you’ve been able to culture and test all of his isolates?’

‘Well ... no ... and his biochemistry’s a bit odd. Do you think that could be part of it?’

‘Did you report any toxic metabolites? And the reality is, Blaine’s biochemistry will always be inconsistent until the treatment is properly regulated. Even then, it will never be “normal”.’

There was a long pause. Blaine waited for the colleague’s reply, but evidently they’d started to move away, for the man’s next words were barely perceivable.

So, it cross-reacts with ‘everything’.

Blaine ran through the viruses he had previously considered might have been genetically modified, then used to deliver his treatment. A couple of tropical diseases were top of his list, but he knew even HIV had been utilised for similar applications. Yet, if he was right, nothing had ever quite matched his lingering symptoms.

Now he knew why.

Professor Ramer must have engineered the viral vector from a multitude of microorganisms.

He stopped.

Perhaps he was wrong. If not, then certainly the genetic material delivered into his system seemed to have generated cross-reactions with an array of microbes in immunological testing. It was as if the Professor had handpicked the genes he wanted and put them together with a desired host.

For the first time since his treatment, Blaine felt a claw of fear. He knew that when DNA was joined together then, given the right sequences, previously repressed genes could be activated, or even non-existent open reading frames unintentionally created.

Previously repressed genes were one thing, but an entirely new sequence could produce anything. What if the persistent fevers are from a toxin being expressed? What if that toxin slowly builds up in my system until I can’t manage it any longer, unless I take my medication?

The hook of fear pierced deeper. What if Professor Ramer invented a new disease and, through me, released it to the world? Surely he did animal trials and wouldn’t have infected a human host if he wasn’t confident of the outcome! But what if he didn’t ...?

No wonder they’ve got me here. I’m a walking biohazard!

Dr Hartfield’s comment about unauthorised GMOs puddled in Blaine’s head.

If I was any other species, I would have been destroyed without question. That’s what she said.

Doubt crowded his mind as her remarks regarding his adoption tapped at his heart.

He’d been told his condition had first been diagnosed as a ten month old. His birth mother had been advised he should be ‘terminated’. Of course, the more politically correct term was DNR, ‘do not resuscitate’. Euthanasia had been approved. Essentially the directive was to let nature take its course—with a little bit of help from the medical profession.

But was that the truth? Had his parents intervened selflessly? Or were they victims of cruel fate, thinking they were getting an unwanted baby with several simple developmental delays due to a temporary health problem?

Blaine’s parents had told him they’d been on the adoption waiting list for years, undergoing all manner of assessments. By coincidence, or divine destiny as they claimed, they’d been visiting the same hospital where he was receiving inadequate care and heard of his plight. They applied to adopt him under the special needs category and were eventually approved.

It had always been beyond his comprehension as to why they’d picked him with all of his disabilities. They talked about heaven’s choice for them—sang him songs of hope and saving grace. He’d never been wholly convinced.

Was Melissa Hartfield right?

With a twist of a knife in his heart, he remembered the diamond pattern on the leggings of the woman who stood in front of his wheelchair and berated his mother for wasting her public resources on a child that nature had destined to die. And the stone-washed jeans of the man who spat at … He corralled the bleak memories and sent them away. Only the present question mattered.

Did Mum and Dad lie to protect me—or themselves? Have they lied about anything else?

These thoughts struck a wound deep in his heart.

The gene therapy had changed his life. Professor Ramer had never claimed he was attempting anything other than a radical, aggressive approach. Blaine had nothing to lose.

Now I’ve got everything to lose. I’m an illegal, potentially infectious GMO. I’m faced with the same threat as when I was a baby. Unless I can be ‘downgraded’.

Blaine rolled onto his back and ground his knuckles against his eyes. He appraised the health history of his friends and family. No one had become infected through him.

But then again, every virus he’d suspected so far required a mosquito carrier for transmission. So if it was virulent and merely required the right insect vector—then what?

The insurmountable reality of his status as an unauthorised GMO crushed down on him like a giant, pounding wave. ‘Mum, Dad …’ His voice broke as he swallowed back tears. ‘Please come, no matter what they say. Please come get me.’

But what if they don’t want me anymore?

The thought of living out his few remaining days in this blindingly white fish tank made him even more determined to escape. He flipped over onto his stomach and thumped his fist against the pillow.