Kenn Crawford - Dead Hunt

Solar panels supplied enough electricity to keep the lab warm during the winter, but Heslin had to manually pump water from the deep well because the sub zero temperatures of a typical Margaree winter froze the waterline; and every winter he still had to freeze his ass off in the outhouse. Heslin hated that outhouse. He hated it so much that some days he prayed for constipation just so he would not have to go to that disgusting place. But, his steady diet of cold coffee made sure that prayer was never answered.

With his hand freshly wrapped in too much gauze, Heslin headed to the lounge area and poured himself a scotch. He swallowed it in one drink then refilled his glass. Distraught with failure, he flopped in the big Lazy Boy chair and stared at the picture of Bell hanging above the fireplace. He took another drink, stood up, and walked towards the picture.

"Well Alex," he said to the picture, "now what do I do?"

Heslin stared at the picture as if he was waiting for an answer. The picture said nothing. Heslin gently picked up his father's old fiddle and tucked it under his whiskered chin. He fumbled with the bow, the gauze on his hand making it difficult to tighten the bow or properly hold it. With a soft, quiet breath, Heslin gently pulled the bow across the strings.

The once quiet room was now filled with sound as Heslin played the old Scottish tune, “Neil Gow's Lament for the Loss of His Second Wife”.

Playing the tune always seemed to clear Heslin’s cluttered mind and soothe his feelings of failure. As he played, Bell’s picture seemed to take on a new look.

The picture itself never changed, only Heslin's image of it. In his mind, Bell seemed to smile in appreciation.

Birds and crickets seemed to appreciate it as well, for their singing became louder, drifting in the open windows in harmony to Heslin’s playing. The sound of the little creek that flowed just a few feet from Heslin’s lab before traveling down to the valley also seemed to bubble a little bit louder. A symphony of nature joined the gentle sounds of Heslin’s fiddle.

As he played, Heslin's mind drifted back to a time three years earlier when he’d sat looking across a large, oak conference table with the twelve men he had invited to hear his proposal. They were all wearing tailored suits and expensive watches, obvious signs of wealth. Each knew of Heslin’s recent loss, but when a Nobel Prize winning scientist requested a meeting, especially one whose last proposal had generated a huge return on investment, only a fool would not attend that meeting.

It was at this meeting they quickly learned his new proposal was far beyond anything they could have ever imagined.

“So what you are saying, Professor Heslin,” one of them finally broke the cold silence that swallowed the room, “is that you want to bring the dead back to life? Sounds more like science fiction than a business investment.”

Several chuckles followed. Heslin stood up abruptly, silencing the chuckles. His thick, wavy hair, once a rich brown, was now a bright shade of gray and made Heslin look older than his forty years. He stared intently at the man for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough to make the man shrink in his chair. Heslin broke his piercing stare then looked at the men with smiling eyes as he began the speech he had prepared for exactly this moment.

“Science fiction. I’ve heard that before,” Heslin’s lips curled into a boyish smirk. “From scientists no less.”

The men smiled with him, the tension in the room subsiding.

“Gentlemen,” Heslin continued in a commanding voice, “I could go on and on about how the mere thought of being able to hear a human voice across hundreds of miles on copper wires was thought to be mere science fiction; yet Bell created his telephone, and let’s not forget Marconi. Sending messages across the ocean without the wires! Preposterous!”

Heslin paused a practiced pause, scanning the eyes of his audience. “How many inventions have we witnessed since their time? Artificial hearts, the iron lung, computers, cell phones, satellites… The list of science fiction turned reality goes on and on.”

Heslin paused as he pulled a tiny locket from his vest. He opened it carefully, glanced at it, and smiled. None of the men dared interrupt him. He snapped the locket shut.

“I’m sure everyone in this room believes it is the death of my little Robin that is fueling this project.”

The men nodded hesitantly.

“It is.” Another practiced pause. “No parent should have to bury their children.”

He let that thought linger in the air then turned his attention to the man to his left.

“John, you know exactly how I feel right now. Didn’t you lose a child less than a year ago?”

“Yes,” John answered. “Anna, she died of leukemia.”

“She was only seven years old wasn’t she?” Heslin softly asked with sympathetic eyes. It was a redundant question, Heslin had done his homework. Not only did he already know the answer, he had picked each of these dozen men for a specific reason, a reason other than their check books.

John nodded a yes and Heslin continued. “Imagine, if you will, that somebody could have waved a magical wand and given you your Anna back. What would you have given to be able to hold her again?”

John didn’t have to think what he would give, his answer came immediately: “Anything. Everything.”

“Anything and everything,” Heslin repeated it slowly. “In fact, I believe every man in this room has a child. Imagine for a moment if your child was snatched from your life like Robin was snatched from mine or Anna from John’s. What would you give to have your child back? To have the power to be able to hold your precious, sweet and innocent child in your arms once again?”

All eyes focused on Heslin, hanging intently on his every word.

“Gentlemen, I do not have a magic wand,” he slammed the written proposal on the desk, startling the twelve men. “And I don’t deal in science fiction! When I succeed,” he deepened his voice emphasizing his words, “and I will succeed, each and every one of you will have that power.”

Heslin could see he had their interest, so he turned their attention to the more practical applications of his proposal. He understood these men well enough to know that “practical application” to them meant making money.

“While every medical center struggles to meet rising organ demands, we will have the power to all but eliminate the need for donors. We will have the power to repair and revive the patients’ own organs.”

Heslin sat back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. “My colleagues think I am a madman.”

He smiled. The men smiled with him.

“Oh yes, they think I have completely lost my mind.” he paused with a devilish smile. “Of course, they said the exact same thing right before I won the Nobel Prize. People live, people die, accidents happen and diseases kill. Such is life.”

Heslin leaned forward. “There is no reason for a lot of things in this world, but yet these tragedies continue to happen. It does not have to be that way! We could have the power to change that! We will have the power to add years to someone's life, or even bring back a loved one from an untimely death. And…”

Heslin ended his performance with one final pause, then added, “With this power we will be able to charge whatever the market will bear.”

He let his last sentence hang in the air. Life was a beautiful commodity to sell and, with hundreds of thousands of people not quite ready for death, the market would bear a lot. As the men talked amongst themselves in hushed whispers, Heslin swore he could see dollar signs in their eyes. It was only a few minutes before the men unanimously decided to invest in his unique and rather bizarre proposal. It was a gamble to say the least, but if anyone could pull it off, they knew Heslin had the drive and expertise to do exactly that. And, if he did succeed, they would be far beyond the mere cutting edge of science. They would be reinventing it and making more money than they could ever imagine. They agreed to fund his research for the next three years.