Chapter 8

‘Excuse me, while I mute that.’ Melissa had tried ignoring her office phone, but this was the fourth time it had rung in ten minutes.

The inspectors, evidently satisfied with the facility and its practices, were nearly done. She reached across her desk to adjust the ringtone volume, anxious to end the inspection without further interruption.

‘Dr Hartfield, we can wait if you need to take that.’

‘No, this matter is more important.’

One of the inspectors deflected her concern with a small wave of their hand. ‘Go ahead. It’s not a problem.’

With an apologetic shrug, she lifted the receiver.

‘Dr Hartfield, it’s Corelli from switch. I know your schedule says you’re unavailable, but I’ve got Belinda Colton on the line—again. She’s been calling constantly all morning. Could you please speak to her?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m—’

‘She won’t stop ringing! As soon as I tell her you’re unavailable, she just dials again! I’ll have to put her through. She’s congesting the line!’

‘Now is not a—’

‘Dr Hartfield? It’s Belinda Colton. I want to know where our son is! You had your 33-month follow-up over three weeks ago, with apparently no significant points of note. Yet, you’ve now held Blaine for over a week for no apparent reason. Tell me what is going on!’

The demand was so loud both inspectors looked up. Melissa came to her feet, suddenly certain they knew exactly who was on the phone. She turned away, but even then felt the two pairs of eyes scanning her back. ‘Mrs Colton, I can hear you’re upset. Perhaps it would be best if I called you back later.’

‘No! I’ve already rung the hospital and clinical trials unit, and Blaine’s not listed as an inpatient. I’ll just keep calling until you tell me where you’ve got him! And if you don’t, I’ll be on your doorstep in as little time as it takes to drive there, demanding to see him!’

Melissa took a slow, deep breath. Looking over her shoulder, she tried to provide a look of confident reassurance for the inspectors.

Clearing her throat, she turned again towards the lab. ‘Mrs Colton, I explained the tests wouldn’t take very long.’

‘When I called yesterday, you said he might be there a week longer. Which is it?’

She pressed the handset harder to her ear, hoping the woman’s sharp words couldn’t be heard by the inspectors. Perspiration dotted her lip and she carefully brushed it away, relieved her shirt was a breathable fabric. Think, Melissa, think!

Under no circumstances did she want the investigators speaking with Blaine.

‘Um, Mrs Colton, Blaine hasn’t been at the research facility since mid-morning.’ It was nearly true. He’d been taken to the rooftop green. ‘As I said previously, initial tests had been inconclusive, so we wanted to be certain we knew exactly where he was in his progress.’

‘And?’

Melissa stopped, carefully arranging soothing words in her head before she let them loose. ‘Well, as always, we’d like to provide a comprehensive report to yourself and Mr Colton, along with a face-to-face consultation. We can arrange this once your husband is back.’

‘That doesn’t explain where my son is.’

Melissa knew she needed to complete her business with the investigators. She’d never known them to be unreasonable in her previous dealings, but she’d never been subject to a spot inspection before. Had Mrs Colton been in touch with them?

Unlikely, but anything was possible. However she knew if they had to wait much longer, they just might become more interested in her conversation than necessary.

‘Blaine seemed keen on getting home.’ Also true. ‘But you know what teenagers can be like. Perhaps he met up with someone. Would he have gone via a friend’s house?’

‘He’s not come home, Dr Hartfield. I said that. Are you certain he’s not still there somewhere?’

Melissa glanced again at the waiting inspectors. ‘I’m ... I’m quite certain. In fact, if you checked our closed circuit footage, I’m sure there’d be video surveillance of him leaving the building.’

Melissa, what is wrong with you? Why’d you say that?

Everything else she’d said was a slight extension of the truth. With an outright lie, she knew she was panicking. Foolish statements like that begged for litigation!

‘Could he have run off somewhere?’ I’ve made it worse. As soon as she spoke, she felt an eerie coldness hit her from the other end of the line. It was like chilled air spilling from an open freezer.

‘Blaine’s not like that, Dr Hartfield. He’s a good boy. Could ...’ There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘Could you have told him some bad news?’

‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Colton, I’d really like to help, but I’m a little tied up right now. Perhaps I can return your call shortly? It was really only a few hours ago. I’m sure he’ll be home soon.’

‘Fine then, I’ll await your call.’

‘Thank you.’

Proving her fears, the investigators asked far more questions than Melissa cared to answer. They’d heard about Blaine’s progress and were keen to understand why one subject, and one alone, had responded so remarkably well.

Melissa latched onto this point. ‘That’s exactly what we’re trying to determine. I’m sure you can appreciate just how this investigative process has been hindered by Professor Ramer’s sudden resignation. I know he’s still a co-contact for the license, but I’ve found his availability inconsistent since he left his position at ARI.’

She watched them closely, measuring their reactions to ensure that, as far as they were concerned, her explanation fell entirely within the spectrum of reasonable thought. ‘If you are familiar with Mitochondrial Disease, you would know each case can vary highly depending on the degree and type of genetic mutation; whether it’s a mutation in the nuclear or mitochondrial DNA; the loci on which the defective gene—or genes—sit. Such disorders are divided into many groups based on genetic and symptomatic categorisations, with some individuals minimally affected by their condition, while in others it presents as a life-threatening illness.’

Melissa stopped. She sounded like an insecure, fresh-faced graduate delivering a lecture to promote her intellectual superiority! It was more than likely these people knew these facts, but she had just gone on and on. Immediately she changed tack. ‘Despite Blaine’s severely debilitating condition, he doesn’t specifically fit the recognised categories. Not exactly. But he’s lucky. By some miracle the damage to his system over time seems to be minimal, given the nature of his disorder, and it is believed that in his case the gene therapy just happened to be a perfect, or close enough, patch for the mutated regions.’

‘But wasn’t he one of the most severe cases in the test group? That singular intervention achieved a sustainable response, even with such a complex combination of mutations?’

Melissa took a long breath and let the silence hang. This wasn’t how she’d expected it to go. No other subjects had experienced long-term success and she debated whether or not it would go better for her if she said Blaine was following this same projection. She decided the inspectors would only ask more questions if he was supposedly fine after nearly a week of follow-up tests.

‘Yes. But it also seems the treatment may be breaking down, just like the others who had limited improvement. He has recently started displaying a number of alarming symptoms and has again begun to suffer seizures along with the fevers he’s experienced since the treatment was administered. So, to determine the best way to support the young man and prevent further degradation, we’re trying to get a better grasp on exactly how this is working for him.’

‘And of course you’ll liaise with Professor Ramer on this?’

‘Certainly.’ Although she had no intention of doing so.

More questions followed about the scope of the project and how the ongoing reporting fell under the original licence, especially now that Professor Ramer was no longer with the Institute. Melissa managed to negotiate each one, effectively dodging any statements that might suggest everything was not quite as it seemed, nor that Blaine’s extended testing was involuntary.

By the time they left, she felt like a disintegrating length of used paper towel. She bored her pen into the top page of her notepad.

Everything was going so well until that woman rang!

She pressed her palms against her forehead. Each word of the conversation re-played through her mind. She knew she’d crossed a line she could never step back behind. Worse, she had to return the call and repair as many of the holes in her lies as possible.