“It’s fine.” Gabriel blocked the move with his queen. “My circadian rhythm is pretty warped anyhow.”
“I’ve lived a long life, and due to my work, most of my life has been spent alone and isolated from the world. So I get very lonely from time to time.” Victor paused to move his knight. “I never fit in anywhere, in any circles. People have never known how to take me, what to think of me. They’ve often been scared of me. I was always quite different.”
Gabriel nodded. “I understand. We’re alike in that respect.”
“Are we?”
“Sure. I spent a long time trying… to make things work, trying to be happy. But at this point in my life, I’ve just accepted my loneliness for what it is.” Gabriel shook his head and brought his knight back. “By now, I just want to die and get it over with. There’s nothing but a black void of nothingness waiting for me after my heart stops, but I’m fine with that. I want nothingness. I love my daughter, but I’m utterly certain that she’ll be better off and happier when I’m gone. To Melanie, I’m a liability. My continued existence is a constant source of stress that could send her careening off into depression if I break a hip or have another stroke. Honestly, Victor, I don’t understand why my life continues on so endlessly. It’s not as if I have anything left to live for.”
Victor moved another pawn, and Gabriel examined the naked wrist that extended from the sleeve of his tuxedo. It was thin and white, reminiscent of a vein-covered chicken bone.
Victor cocked his head. “You’re wrong, Mr. Schist.”
“Pardon?”
“You do have something to live for. You’re simply too damn stubborn to admit it.” A wide grin formed on Victor’s thin lips. It was always fascinating to watch such a smile take place on a face so wrinkled, as if every wrinkle acted together, creating a sort of zany glee that a younger person’s face would never be capable of. “Gabriel, be honest with yourself. Earlier tonight, why did you check up on the Crooner?”
“You… you saw me?” Hand trembling, Gabriel moved his knight out of the path of Victor’s rook.
“You were worried and perhaps wanted to help him. Am I right? You saw that he was one of the infected, and you wanted to get a better understanding of this new virus.”
Gabriel shuddered. He focused on the board, not the game but rather the pattern of black and white squares. Normally, his silence caused people to think of him as cold and emotionless. But Victor reached over the board and rested a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.
“Let’s face it,” Victor said in an oddly chipper tone. “For all your arrogance, you do care about helping people.”
“I do,” Gabriel murmured.
“You’re a healer. You’re the man who cured the big virus years ago. And a man doesn’t cure a virus out of bitterness, hate, or apathy. No, he cures it out of love.”
Gabriel nodded weakly.
“So let’s get right to the point before I go off on an even longer, more exhaustive tangent.” Victor laughed. “Last time we were sitting here, a new superbug exploded onto the scene right before your eyes, the eyes of the genius immunologist. Now, you’re a practical man, and I’ve heard that you don’t believe in God. But you do believe in morality. Ethics. Right and wrong. Humanity. Logic. So doesn’t it seem to you that there’s only one decent course of action for you to take when such an event occurs?”
“Which is what?”
“You must find a cure, of course.”
Gabriel shook his head. “I want to. But how would I even start? I don’t have the tools. I don’t have—”
“Who are you trying to convince? Yourself? I don’t want to hear any excuses. You cured HIV on your own, by yourself, practically working out of your basement, with no funding and nothing but your own ingenuity to keep you going.”
“I didn’t cure anything. I created a vaccine.”
“Yes, and your vaccine ended AIDS.” Victor stroked his goatee. “This isn’t a matter of choice, not for a problem solver like you. Either you’re going to start looking for a cure now, or you’re going to start later.”
Gabriel gulped. The more he considered Victor’s sermon, the less capable his voice box seemed of producing sounds. When he finally did speak, he barely had the strength to raise his voice above a whisper. “I’m terrified that I’ll make a fool of myself, Victor. My brain is a piece of Swiss cheese now. I’ll mess up. I’ll—”
“Shut up. Stop lying. You know perfectly well that one Swiss-cheesed Schist brain is worth a thousand normal brains.”
Victor’s lighthearted tone made Gabriel laugh. The whole situation was just so ridiculous. “Come on.” Gabriel said. “How the hell do you know that?”
Victor looked down at the chessboard. “How? Because I have no dementia, no degenerative diseases, nothing but age behind me. I’ve played more games of chess than you can possibly imagine. I’ve beaten world masters. And yet, you… with your so-called Swiss cheese brain, you’ve just beaten me. Congratulations.”
Gabriel stared at the board. Without realizing it, he’d landed the final blow. Victor’s white king was trapped. Gabriel raised his head and smiled. “Checkmate.”
Chapter 14:
Uphill
“I need a bigger room. And you’re going to give it to me.” Gabriel peered intently at the administrator of Bright New Day, a man named Irving… Brown? Bosworth? Bloemker? Was that it? Yes, Bloemker sounded right.
Irving J. Bloemker’s prematurely balding head sank down into his shoulders, making the man look like a turtle retracting into its shell. He was a short, squat man in a tailored brown suit. An old-fashioned pocket watch on a gold chain hung from one pocket. He was the sort of a man who felt too conscious of his diminutive size, and his office showed his insecurity. His massive oaken desk sat on a high platform, which allowed him to tower over anyone who chose to speak to him. The Picasso painting—“The Old Guitarist”—had been placed in an oversized wooden frame. But Gabriel wasn’t intimidated.
“Um…” Bloemker fidgeted. “Why?”
“Because I need space to set up a makeshift lab,” Gabriel stated. “I need test tubes. Make them plastic if you’re worried about me breaking things. I don’t care. I need space for files, papers, and notebooks. My current living quarters on South Wing won’t cut it anymore.”
“This is the sort of issue you should discuss with social services. The policy is—”
“I don’t care about the policy. I’m discussing it with you.” Gabriel’s blood was rushing through his body in a tidal wave. His back was straight, not bent. He felt as if he could go skydiving.
“This… I’m very busy, Gabriel.”
“As am I.”
Bloemker sucked in his cheeks and glanced at the heart-rate monitor on his wrist. Gabriel suspected that the arrhythmia probably wasn’t as bad as Bloemker made it out to be. He was also pretty sure that Bloemker had vitiligo, given the small white patches on his already pale skin, most notably the splotch that covered the left side of his neck. Vitiligo wasn’t a life-threatening disease, but it tended to make people self-conscious about their appearance.
“Gabriel, what you’re asking for here, it’s… well…”
