High Road

Chapter 7
Cannot Reproduce

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Chapter Description: Read LaCrone's diary and North's mind. Author's Note: Apologies for the late and meager update. More will come now that my schedule is freer.

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Pre-note: The following is excerpted from Peter LaCrone’s journal. He occasionally makes notes with a ^ (carrot) symbol. These notes are made at later dates.

11:38 PM, 1.

If you are reading this, you are almost certainly associated with Jack North or with Sarah

Coel. If you don’t know who either are, this probably isn’t the best journal to read.

^ Or the York Valley Institute

I’m going to preface this whole thing by saying that I never really kept journals before, but I think I need to keep track of what has happened so that I can keep my head. A few days ago I realized my watch was broken. Ever since then I’ve been able to get a look at clocks around me for the time, but I’ve completely lost track of the day. I generally take one day at a time and try not to plan too far ahead into the future... I always used my watch to keep my place in time. It doesn’t matter though. Just remember that this is the First Day. Not really the first, that is. The first I realized what was going on. It has been days since I was exposed to this acid crap. I’ve never abused any substances in my life,

^ Think it might be some kinda hormone.

And yet I feel like this must be what LSD feels like. Unreal. I can’t believe I have friends on the force who abuse drugs. And that I let them get away with it. Oh well, it’s not that big a deal right now.

I cracked my head up something bad on the tile floor. Nothin’ fatal, but I need to get some rest. I’ll write some more tomorrow. Oh right, I almost forgot the most important part.

Biologically, I don’t look much older than when I graduated Penn State, 22ish, and yet I am chronologically 35 years old... I have to say this thing is a crazy mystery. I can honestly say I’ve never been more scared.

The first really noticeable sign, I guess, is that when I was in the hospital, I recovered very quickly. That was kind of a shock, but a good one. Good, strong muscle density... plenty of energy. I had it good. Even now around what should be this body’s prime, I can’t enjoy it properly... I fear the changes that will come next.

LC

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10:15 PM, 2.

Didn’t want to write tonight. Got home late. Head still aches. Did I mention I hit it on my tiles? Hurts like Hell. Anyway, what’s the point of keeping a log if I don’t update daily? So here’s what I’ve noticed so far: I’ve regained a bit of my muscle mass... but not exactly what I had back in college. It looks like this isn’t so much of a time-machine drug as it is just a form fitting drug. Like, for instance, I guess it’s hard to avoid being pretty fit at this physical equivalence with my body type. I just realized how little I’ve changed in the last thirteen years. God, I’m getting nostalgic just thinking of it.

My suspect today was Sarah Ropes. She died when I was questioning her. She said something about York Hill Research. Significant? You bet your ass. She said she used

^York VALLEY! Finally a breakthrough!

some sort of drug on her boyfriend. That matches my conditions and matches the OC. I’m excited for tomorrow’s case: Carrie Fowler. She’s under suspicious investigations for

^ So much for the excitement. She’s dead. Still a breakthrough: more in today’s entry

the disappearance of her lesbian lover, and she recently adopted a child who she named after that lover. Time for some uncomfortable questions.

Note to self: I wonder if that sounded malicious... did Holmes ever enjoy the thrill of the chase, even at the expense of another? That doesn’t sound terribly just. Oh well, Holmes wasn’t real.

LC

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8:22 PM, 3.

Early entry today. I’m happy to have a moment alone to mull things over, to be honest. I’ve been thinking so actively about the case lately... I have to admit, getting things down on paper helps a lot more than I had thought it would. Maybe I’ll keep a journal more often? I mean, I originally intended to just have it for this case. Anyway, I guess whoever you are, you want updates. Here we go, starting with the case, since I think it’s the most relevant (funny, I started this thing to chronicle my changes, not the case!).

Katy Fowler is really Katherine Fowler, the lover I mentioned in my entry yesterday.

^ Not Kathy!

Katy is the adopted daughter. Everything I thought is falling into place. We were uneasy at first, but we’re getting along better now. She’s used to my... well, grouchy and nosy nature, and I’m used to her tongue-in-cheek sarcasm. Either way, she filled me in on a lot... I think we’ll get along just fine. She has to stay with someone, or she’ll be sent back to the orphanage. I secretly put Jack North on the case: you’ll find the tape of our phone conversation in my documents safe behind the replica Mona Lisa on the second floor. Yes. Behind a painting. I get it, too clich?. The combination is 02-28-91, and I find it easier to open if you say “rest in peace” while dialing.

Going to bed listening to Pandora. Maybe I need more variety. Too much of a good thing, right?

Oh, almost forgot, most important development of the day. Brought Katy to the motel with me. If she gets bogged down in labs, I can’t get anything out of her. She opened up to me after I told her my story. More in the morning. I need to sleep. To think.

LC

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1:58 AM, 4

Let me clarify: over 24 hours since last update. Missed a day, technically. I’m writing for yesterday. It’s approaching 2 in the morning. Learned some interesting information. Let me write about Katy first.

Katherine “Katy” Fowler. 28 years, apparent 9. Seems to be fully cognizant and have the full mind that she once possessed. Reassuring. Physically, she’s every bit a nine-year-old. She needs help reaching high things, she’s very weak, and it’s difficult to find clothes that fit her that aren’t pink. Hard to give her individuality and independence when her small body is so reliant on help.

We traveled back home today to my villa. Gave her a guest room, and bought her some new clothes. Shopped for myself as well. Clerk at store thought I was a freshman at the local college. That puts me at 18. False license arrived today. Image is from a yearbook when I was 15, so it should be useable for a while, but if I don’t work quick I’ll be hoofing it. Worse yet, I could end up in a car seat.

Wish I could tell how potent this stuff in my blood is. Have North on it still, but haven’t heard back. Good man: doesn’t call until there’s good news. In my shopping I made provisions. Hopefully I won’t need them.

^So much for hope.

Made lunches for next month and froze them.

LC

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5:25 PM, 5

Been a few days, let me update. Now en route to question new suspect: James “Jimmy Kimbo” Kimbor. Katy insisted that she come. I’m actually feeling a little relieved that I have someone with me now, which is strange, considering I always work alone. Can’t wait to get back on case. May take some convincing at dealership to get a car rental: I look about 16 now. Have forged note and recording on house answering machine giving permission from “parents”. Almost forgot my CDs, but I remembered them. Telling people that Katy is my little sister. After all... she only looks seven years younger than me.

LC

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11:01 PM, 6

Same day. Too angry to write. Kimbor sold his wife. Recording same place, same combo.

Listening to music. Katy’s okay. En route to York Valley.

LC

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12:47 PM, 7

Next day. Redirected to Major Charles Johnston, specialist on medical institutions in the American northeast. Supposed to know quite a bit about facilities. Hoping for answers. Whoever reads this... God is said to be omniscient and omnipotent. I need someone or something’s help badly. If you’re a praying man, pray for me in the past. If you’re a betting man, don’t bet on me getting out of this mess scot-free. I can smell shit already, and it’s coming from Johnston.

Dear Lord, I thank you for this day and all that you have given us. Heavenly Father, cleanse my frame of sin and accept my penance once again. I ask that you grant me your divine protection. Make me your hammer of justice.

Amen.

LC

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8

Choice. If I do not update again, assume the worst.

LC

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Jack North

“In that case, I’ll run tests against somatostatin, that’s growth hormone inhibiting hormone, or GHIH.”

“Good, what can you do to test the infant we found for the hormone?”

“We already found trace amounts in his blood, but we couldn’t figure out what they affected. I’ll run tests to cross reference chemical imbalances in the thalamus: that’s where we’d see the difference. I gotta tell you though, LaCrone, this stuff only slows or stops growth... it doesn’t reverse it. Why do you keep babbling on about tearing down growth?”

“You were the one who said the hormone was man made. We do scary things in society Jack, and I sure as hell hope you’re as good a chemist as those big words you just used imply. Get back to me.”

“Wait! What’s your situation? Do you need a doctor? You were stabbed with the same stuff! Peter, talk to me!”

The phone line was dead. Peter was a stubborn bastard, but if what he had heard was right, he was in trouble. North immediately set about starting the tests against the hormones he originally suspected.

“Somatostatin... will you hold the answer?” North mumbled an apology to the infant he now approached with a syringe. “Sorry, kid. Looks like you’re my guinea pig.”

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That night, North was wracked by running about the Charleston Forensics Crime Laboratory with little to nothing to show for it. He went to bed with a headache, and awoke in ill-temper. “If he just gave me more information!”

Walking into the non-corrosive chemical ward, he drew a test-tube from its holder at a machine running the night. Everything was negative. North groaned. The thalamus showed a definite imbalance, but it wasn’t clear what.

He walked to the burn chemical ward and drew out an older container, one that was actually a beaker. Could it have to do with the acid from before? No. No jumps to conclusions. Why would hydrocyanic acid have anything to do with it? It was a simple, if potent acid.

Jack logged into a computer terminal and noted the data.

“Where do I go here?” He hung his head and sighed. There were two tests that wouldn’t be finished until after lunch. He switched to a different case.

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Shaking the plaster off his hands with a look of disgust, Jack bid Daniel a farewell before leaving the ward. Coffee here was terrible, but the lunch break was too short to go off the grounds, much less to a coffee shop. He chuckled, remembering all the days he had been bribed with good coffee by LaCrone. Good man: he didn’t give you evidence unless it was right. That’s why North refused to second-guess Peter.

He walked up to his test tube and sighed at it. It was a very limited substance, and he couldn’t afford to waste any of it on a shot in the dark. Then it struck him. “I’m taking two tests separately! I need to combine the data...”

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The next day went very well for Jack. He barely noticed his right index finger marred by a slight sliver from a glass-cut the night before. He had checked it for contamination, but safely found nothing in the blood. He had made progress with the hormone and was sure he was on the verge of a breakthrough. New faxes came in from LaCrone. Simple stuff: comparisons on handwriting. It all checked out, and he faxed return verified copies to LaCrone’s villa, and notified him of the development via text. Additionally, he noticed heavy blurring on a note that read as follows, due to a salty solution he decided was almost certainly tear-water.

“Jimmy-

I’m leaving, I don’t know if I’ll be back... I need to get some things straightened out... We’re over... Please don’t worry about me, or try to contact me... Terry.”

There was heavy blurring and smearing of ink over the sheet that almost destroyed its legibility over the course of several words at a time, with blots of ink encompassing nearly an inch in diameter in some places. Using the computer to enhance the note, North quickly submitted his fixed version via fax as well, and included a small note with it.

“LaCrone. Think note may have been strategically smeared and sobbed on. Check out the computer enhancement. This note was obviously very specifically chosen, as I’ve determined it’s a few months old. He must have looked for just the right note to mar to make it look just right.

North.”

“Jimmy-

I’m leaving, I don’t know if I’ll be back by supper. I need to get some things straightened out at the cleaners. We’re over at Fairfield tomorrow. Please don’t worry about me, or try to contact me. My phone is dead.

Terry”

By the end of the day, when North hung his apron, he felt satisfied, complete, and even as though he had lost a pound or two. Those morning walks must have helped more than he thought.

Only two things troubled Jack as he passed through the doors, heading home for the day. The hormone seemed to induce sterility, which made no sense at all, and that he was unable to develop a hormone with similar properties no matter how much he tried.

He chuckled as he crossed the threshold, realizing the coincidence.

 

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