Robin Cook - Terminal

“Me?” Sean asked with eyebrows arched. “You know me better than that.”

“I know you too well,” Dr. Walsh said. “That’s the problem. Your brashness can be disturbing, to put it mildly, but at least thank the Lord for your intelligence.”

“Just a second, Corissa,” Kathleen Sharenburg said as she stopped and leaned against one of the cosmetic counters of Neiman Marcus. They’d come to the mall just west of Houston to shop for dresses for a school dance. Now that they had made their purchases, Corissa was eager to get home.

Kathleen had had a sudden sensation of dizziness giving her the sickening sensation that the room was spinning. Luckily, as soon as she touched the countertop, the spinning stopped. She then shuddered through a wave of nausea. But it too passed.

“You all right?” Corissa asked. They were both juniors in high school.

“I don’t know,” Kathleen said. The headache she’d had off and on for the last few days was back. It had been awakening her from sleep, but she hadn’t said anything to her parents, afraid that it might be related to the pot she’d smoked the weekend before.

“You look white as a ghost,” Corissa said. “Maybe we shouldn’t have eaten that fudge.”

“Oh my God!” Kathleen whispered. “That man over there is listening to us. He’s planning on kidnapping us in the parking garage.”

Corissa spun about, half expecting some fearful man to be towering over them. But all she saw was a handful of peaceful, women shoppers, mostly at the cosmetic counters. She didn’t see any man.

“What man are you talking about?” she asked.

Kathleen’s eyes stared ahead, unblinking. “That man over there near the coats.” She pointed with her left hand.

Corissa followed the direction of Kathleen’s finger and finally saw a man almost fifty yards away. He was standing behind a woman who was shuffling through a rack of merchandise. He wasn’t even facing toward them.

Confused, Corissa turned back to her best friend.

“He’s saying we cannot leave the store,” Kathleen said.

“What are you talking about?” Corissa questioned. “I mean, you’re starting to scare me.”

“We have to get out of here,” Kathleen warned. Abruptly she turned and headed in the opposite direction. Corissa had to run to catch up with her. She grabbed Kathleen’s arm and yanked her around.

“What is wrong with you?” Corissa demanded.

Kathleen’s face was a mask of terror. “There are more men now,” she said urgently. “They are coming down the escalator. They’re talking about getting us as well.”

Corissa turned. Several men were indeed coming down the escalator. But at such a distance Corissa couldn’t even see their faces much less hear what they said.

Kathleen’s scream jolted Corissa like an electric charge. Corissa spun around and saw Kathleen begin to collapse. Reaching out, Corissa tried to keep Kathleen from falling. But they were off balance, and they both fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Before Corissa could extract herself, Kathleen began to convulse. Her body heaved wildly against the marble floor.

Helping hands got Corissa to her feet. Two women who’d been at a neighboring cosmetic counter attended to Kathleen. They restrained her from hitting her head on the floor and managed to get something between her teeth. A trickle of blood oozed from Kathleen’s lips. She had bitten her tongue.

“Oh my God, oh my God!” Corissa kept repeating.

“What’s her name?” one of the women attending Kathleen asked.

“Kathleen Sharenburg,” Corissa said. “Her father is Ted Sharenburg, head of Shell Oil,” she added, as if that fact would somehow help her friend now.

“Somebody better call an ambulance,” the woman said. “This girl’s seizure has to be stopped.”

It was already dark as Janet tried to see out the window of the Ritz Café. People were scurrying past in both directions on Newbury Street, their hands clasped to either coat lapels or hat.

“I don’t know what you see in him anyway,” Evelyn Reardon was saying. “I told you the day you brought him home he was inappropriate.”

“He’s earning both his Ph.D. and an M.D. from Harvard,” Janet reminded her mother.

“That doesn’t excuse his manners, or lack thereof,” Evelyn said.

Janet eyed her mother. She was a tall, slender woman with straight, even features. Few people had trouble recognizing that Evelyn and Janet were mother and daughter.

“Sean is proud of his heritage,” Janet said. “He likes the fact that he’s from working stock.”

“There’s nothing wrong in that,” Evelyn said. “The problem is being mired in it. The boy has no manners. And that long hair of his...”

“He feels convention is stifling,” Janet said. As usual she found herself in the unenviable position of defending Sean. It was particularly galling at the moment since she was cross with him. What she’d hoped for from her mother was advice, not the same old criticism.

“How trite,” Evelyn said. “If he was planning on practicing like a regular doctor, there might be hope. But this molecular biology, or whatever it is, I don’t understand. What is he studying again?”

“Oncogenes,” Janet said. She should have known better than to turn to her mother.

“Explain what they are once more,” Evelyn said.

Janet poured herself more tea. Her mother could be trying, and attempting to describe Sean’s research to her was like the blind leading the blind. But she tried nonetheless.

“Oncogenes are genes that are capable of changing normal cells into cancer cells,” Janet said. “They come from normal cellular genes present in every living cell called proto-oncogenes. Sean feels that a true understanding of cancer will come only when all the proto-oncogenes and oncogenes are discovered and defined. And that’s what he’s doing: searching for oncogenes in specialized viruses.”

“It may be very worthwhile,” Evelyn said. “But it’s all very arcane and hardly the type of career to support a family on.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Janet said. “Sean and a couple of his fellow students at MIT started a company to make monoclonal antibodies while he was getting his master’s degree. They called it Immunotherapy, Inc. Over a year ago it was bought out by Genentech.”

“That’s encouraging,” Evelyn said. “Did Sean make a good profit?”

“They all did,” Janet said. “But they agreed to reinvest it in a new company. That’s all I can say at the moment. He’s sworn me to secrecy.”

“A secret from your mother?” Evelyn questioned. “Sounds a bit melodramatic. But you know your father wouldn’t approve. He’s always said that people should avoid using their own capital in starting new enterprises.”

Janet sighed in frustration. “All this is beside the point,” she said. “What I wanted to hear is what you think about my going to Florida. Sean’s going to be there for two months. All he’ll be doing is research. Here in Boston he’s doing research plus schoolwork. I thought maybe we’d have a better chance to talk and work things out.”

“What about your job at Memorial?” Evelyn asked.

“I can take a leave,” Janet said. “And I can certainly work down there. One of the benefits of being a nurse is that I can find employment just about anywhere.”

“Well, I don’t think it is a good idea,” Evelyn said.

“Why?”

“It’s not right to go running after this boy,” Evelyn said. “Particularly since you know how your father and I feel about him. He’s never going to fit into our family. And after what he said to Uncle Albert I wouldn’t even know where to seat him at a dinner party.”