The Fall of Man

By Gwendolyn Graves

When a college student, Katrina Wroth, is abducted by a secretive society, she embarks on an epic journey that leads her through the bowels of hell and into the next era.

Immersed in her captor's apocalyptic ideology, Katrina learns that they're on crusade to bring peace to the Middle East--no matter what the cost. If she can't prevent their misguided ploy, a scourge will befall humanity, redefining our interpretation of the word MANKIND.

In an attempt to prevent Armageddon, IT'S CREATED!!!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwendolyn Graves
• Release date: Jul 13, 2012

Gwendolyn Graves

Gwendolyn Graves was born in Illinois, spent her elementary years in California, and is proud to call the Arkansas River Valley her home -- where she lives with her husband and four sons. SCORNED is her debut novel. THE FALL OF MAN is her second book.

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DEDICATIONS

I dedicate THE FALL OF MAN

to future generations.

…BEST WISHES…

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PART I

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PROLOGUE

Since the moment of conception, Helen Wroth had been immersed in the wondrous world of Genetics. In fact, one could accurately hypothesize that her love of the study had been passed down from her mother – a well known scientist. From a very young age, the gifted girl lived, breathed, and dreamed about DNA. It only stood to reason that one day she would grow up and attempt to follow in her mother’s footsteps.

Lilith Wroth’s rapport with her daughter was more than parental – they were the best of friends. Ever since the child could walk, they’d spend their free time performing science experiments together. In the earlier years, they raised tadpoles, butterflies, beanpoles, and dragonflies. Later, the depth of their experiments grew exponentially. Had anyone been aware of the nature of their research, the inquisitive pair might have been accused of trying to play God.

In the summer between Helen’s seventh and eighth grade year, they replicated Hans Dreisch’s late 1885 groundbreaking experiment, cloning sea urchins. The saltwater creature’s large reproductive cells offered easy study. Mimicking the German scientist’s method step-by-step, they placed a double celled embryo into a beaker, separated the cells by shaking the container, and observed as the independent creatures grew into identical copies of one another.

Some parents bond with their children by taking them on fishing trips or by quilting a family keepsake – not Lilith. She strengthened their relationship by undertaking fascinating hobbies like classifying plant genomes and dissecting frogs together. 

Lilith managed her daughter’s progression through school like a tactical coach, guiding and advising her through the entire process. The proud parent offered her child support whenever, wherever, and for whatever was necessary to ensure that her offspring achieved a high level of excellence. The strategy paid off. Helen graduated from high school three years ahead of her peers. Although she was one of the younger students to have been enrolled in her mother’s Alma Mater, Tristan College, the title of YOUNGEST was securely held by Lilith, whom had attended at age fourteen.

While pursuing a doctorate in Genomic Biology at UC - Santa Cruz, Helen explored her first serious relationship. Gerald Perkins was four years older than Helen and was seeking a doctorate in Creative Writing. Despite the courtship’s implausibility, it flourished. Shortly after completing their degrees, Lilith Eleanor Helen Wroth became known as Dr. Helen Perkins.

Up until this point, Helen had followed her mother’s career to a tee. Now, however, it was time for the young bride to walk her own path. She didn’t choose a position in the private sector. Rather, she persuaded her husband, Gerald, to follow her back to Tristan College where they intended to share their individual passions with the next generation.

Whenever asked how their unlikely romance spawned, the aspiring author shared his interest in becoming a Sci-fi novelist. Gerald would tease, How better to research my material than to marry a scientist?

On the surface, the couple seemed to have everything – respectable careers, a stable home, and lots of love. The only missing variable was a child of their own. Like everything else in Helen’s life, a pregnancy would have to be planned. Unwilling to forgo an entire year of work, she prepared for a late-spring delivery. Being a notorious perfectionist, that was exactly what she received – a due date of June fourth.

Nearing the end of her second spring year at Tristan College, a very round-bellied Dr. Helen Perkins sprayed potted pea plants in a darkened classroom as a video taught about Genetics’ role in modern agriculture. The film’s narrator spoke of how some plants – such as tomatoes, corn, and squash – were being genetically engineered and transformed into super crops.

The narrator continued explaining how the modified fruits and vegetables offered many advantages to their heirloom counterparts. First, it showed a clip of children happily congregated around a platter of mixed vegetables and mentioned the food’s increased nutritional value. Then the screen showed a side-by-side time lapse of two tomatoes – one was spoiling at a faster rate than the other. The narrator bragged about the engineered fruit’s increased shelf life. Lastly, it showed bug infested fields and concluded the list of benefits. Modified strains of produce possess the ability to naturally ward off insects, which increases yield and decreases the need for pesticides that can be harmful to both humans and the environment.

Having finished spraying the row of pea plants that bordered the classroom windows, Helen turned towards her pupils. A few students seemed genuinely interested in the lesson, most appeared bored, and one had the audacity to fall asleep during the film.

Knowing that class was nearly over, the professor quietly traveled along the outer perimeter of the darkened room towards the door. With the spray bottle in hand, she discreetly squirted the sleeping student while passing. Startled, his head instantly shot up. Without missing a step, Dr. Perkins continued towards the door as the slacker dried his face with his sleeve. Once she arrived at the light switch, Helen patiently waited for the film to finish.

The video showed a lineup of its three individual clips and concluded its lesson by declaring, "Genetics will help us achieve a brighter tomorrow."

Helen turned on the lights, revealing the time. With only fifteen seconds left of class, the students began gathering their things. I want you to read the section on Gregor Mendel, she spoke above their clatter. We will be cross pollinating our pea plants next week.

The educator bid the undergraduates farewell as they began stampeding out the classroom. Acknowledging each of them with a nod, she said, Have a good weekend ... see you Monday. As the water soaked student – whom was caught sleeping during the film – was about to exit, the young professor made a point to remind him to do his reading.

The indifferent pupil said that he would. Unconvinced by his weak response, she warned, I’ll be calling on you.

Sheepishly grinning, the loafer hurried on past. Knowing that he had little interest in the lesson, Helen shook her head in disappointment. She disliked it when undecided students enrolled in her class.

Dismissing her frustration, Professor Perkins continued to bid the scholars – whom were barely younger than her – goodbye. Once they had all departed, she closed the classroom door, leaned against it, and gave a heavy sigh of relief. Being in the second month of her third trimester, Helen was ready to escape the noise and irritation of a crowded classroom for a few days.

As had become custom, Dr. Gerald Perkins walked home for lunch. It was an act that both he and his wife had performed together until recently. Meeting for their midday meal was one of the perks they had while working at the same institution. Living just a few blocks from the school, they’d rendezvous near the Adams Administration Building and stroll the short distance home. It was a great way of getting a little exercise, sharing their day with one another, and occasionally participating in carnal acts of passion. However, for quite some time, the soon-to-be-father had been making the trip alone. His wife would always give one excuse or another, explaining why she couldn’t join him: her feet hurt, she had papers to grade, or the College Dean – Richard Beauchamp – requested something of her.

Like a trooper, Gerald would go home alone, prepare Helen’s meal, and present it to her on his return trip. Having no one to converse with, he struggled with finding activities to occupy his free time and usually resorted to reading: mail, magazines, anything that he could get his hands on.

Although the solitude was a nice change upon occasion, the husband couldn’t help but feel lonely. He questioned whether or not they were ready to take on the responsibility of rearing a child. The baby wasn’t even born yet, and already it was dramatically affecting the harmony of their home.

He tried not to allow his mounting concerns trouble him – but they were there and he could not deny them. Although he didn’t share his anxiety with his wife, Gerald’s tension increased with every excuse she gave. They had been growing apart, and she hadn’t been around often enough to notice.

What made things worse was the secretive research project that Helen had been working on for the past eighteen months. Gerald couldn’t understand why she adamantly refused to give him any information about the undertaking. They were married AFTER ALL! Sharing their thoughts and secrets in confidence was supposed to be one of the benefits.

What had started off as a tiny assignment – meant to take no more than a couple of hours a week – grew into a monster that required some all-nighters. To top it all off, she had been visiting Lilith with an unprecedentedly high frequency. Gerald supposed that it was natural for pregnant women to latch onto their mothers. He anticipated being forced to visit his in-laws more than he would have preferred; however, much to his surprise, when it came down to it, he wasn’t even invited. Helen had been spending every other weekend at her childhood home, leaving Gerald alone to watch classic movies and gorge on microwave popcorn DOUSED IN BUTTER! The brooding husband hated to admit it, but he was jealous – jealous of his mother-in-law, jealous of Helen’s demanding career, and even jealous of his own unborn baby.

Desperate to achieve a sense of personal accomplishment, Gerald decided that it was time to stop procrastinating and start working towards his lifelong aspiration. HE DARED TO PICK UP HIS QUILL! The English professor vowed to cease idly wasting his life and proactively follow his dreams. While engaged in the creative process, the novice writer marveled at how tempting it was to allow his narrative mimic elements from his own life and wondered if that was a mark of a neophyte. No matter what storyline he tried to explore, Gerald’s main character always seemed to be a miserable person yearning for fulfillment.

Today, while eating a sandwich and checking his email, Gerald was excited to discover that an old college buddy had sent him a message. A few months earlier, the expecting couple had a few embryonic fluid tests performed on Helen’s pregnancy. Although the initial results indicated that their baby was perfectly healthy, Gerald elected to get a second opinion by having a sample sent off to his friend.

After reading the carefully worded message, Gerald removed his glasses and wiped them clean. Then he reread the email, making sure that he understood it correctly. Once he had conformation that his worst nightmare had come true, the troubled husband discovered a new topic to obsess over. The news was so devastating that he elected to call in and cancel the rest of his classes for the day. He didn’t fix Helen’s lunch nor could he pick up his idea book. The distraught man sat in his recliner and stared at the wall – BLANKLY.

After several hours of reflection, Gerald walked into their bedroom, opened his top drawer, and removed the revolver that he had purchased for protection. Thoughts of suicide tormented him. Torn by the life or death decision, he began to pace the floor.

Gerald knew that his wife would be getting home soon. Perhaps a discussion with her would help ease his anguish. The wishful writer considered the possibility that he was allowing his vivid imagination to run amuck, unchecked. The beleaguered man told himself to hold on a little bit longer, Helen would make everything okay. But the emotional educator was smart enough to know that he was only fooling himself. Nothing would be okay EVER AGAIN!

When Helen walked out of her classroom, the hallway appeared deserted – save one soul. After locking up and waving goodbye to the janitor, the professor pulled out her cell phone.

Meanwhile, Gerald continued to pace as the seconds slowly ticked away. He was hoping to see his wife walk through the front door at any moment and sing out, Honey, I’m home. His disillusioned fantasy was interrupted by a nagging noise.

Struck by temporary paralysis, Gerald didn’t answer the phone. He didn’t do anything. He couldn’t do anything – other than stand, stare, and listen. The answering machine took the call. Hearing Helen’s voice was like receiving a shot of adrenaline that helped Gerald regain his mobility. He dashed towards the device, leaned in towards the speaker, and hung on every word that she uttered.

Hi, Gerald, it’s me. I’ll be working late tonight. Dean Beauchamp is breathing down my neck about our project. Her voice seemed genuinely disappointed when she concluded, Sorry, sweetheart, I’ll call you on my way home.

Fueled by an explosion of raw emotion, Gerald picked up the answer machine, ripped its cord from the wall, and smashed it against the granite countertop in a fit of rage.

Although Helen hadn’t witnessed her husband’s violent act, she sensed that something was awry. There was no denying it; she had to admit that her spouse was behaving oddly – what with forgetting to bring her lunch and all. The overextended woman knew that their relationship had been under a tremendous amount of pressure and that their fledgling union had been pushed to its breaking point. However, she justified her decision to stay late by acknowledging that their stresses would soon be alleviated. In four short weeks, school would be out. Two weeks later, her pregnancy would be over. And her project was on the brink of a major breakthrough.

She rationalized that her husband not showing up for lunch was his way of telling her that he felt taken for granted. When she called, Helen had hoped to express her love and appreciation for him; however, that wasn’t the sort of message that she wanted to leave on an answering machine. It deserved being said face-to-face. The rueful wife figured that she’d do something special for him, like bring him breakfast in bed the following morning. But until then, she had to press forward with her obligations.

You’re standing on the edge of greatness, she silently gave herself a pep talk, be careful ... don't fall off.

Waddling down three flights of stairs into the basement of the science building, the pregnant professor approached her laboratory. Reaching the security access door at the end of the hall, she scanned her faculty ID badge. The mechanical components within the steel portal clicked and the door unbolted. Had the government been sponsoring her sensitive research instead of a small, private college, Helen’s lab would have been protected by the highest levels of security – retinal scans, voice recognition, and ARMED GUARDS!

Helen heard shrieks as she entered the dark room. The windowless laboratory emanated an eerie ambiance similar to that of a dungeon. The computer monitor’s screensaver offered some illumination as she sought out the light switch. Long fluorescent tubes flickered as the mercury vapor excited. This electrical flux always reminded Helen of her favorite fictional character, Dr. Frankenstein – the mad scientist whom performed ghastly experiments on human corpses.

On one side of the long, rectangular room were crowded rat cages – on the other side was her lab equipment. A narrow path separated the two halves and led directly to her workstation.

As she approached her desk, Helen heard the printer blasting off over a thousand words a minute. It was the analysis report that she had spent the last three months collecting data. Today was the moment of truth; she would learn whether or not her project’s efforts were successful or if she’d have to start over from scratch.

Once the machine had published the report’s title page, Helen scooped it up, leaned back in her swivel chair, and elevated her feet. The scientist figured that she might as well get comfortable; the analysis was sixty-seven pages long. Her heart rate increased with excitement as she read the title page – G.E.R.M.

Here it is, she thought to herself – the byproduct of her lifelong affair with science. The printed pages didn’t just measure the success of the experiments she had been performing; they were a direct reflection of her individual brilliance.

Once she had completed her reading, Dr. Perkins beamed a broad grin. Sitting up straight, she quickly thumbed through the report one more time. It appeared as if eighteen months of effort had – FINALLY – ended with success.

The pregnant lady could hardly contain her excitement. Helen had to verify the information before she could be completely convinced of its conclusion. Hopping to her feet, she scanned over the rat cages. There were three new litters. Careful not to leave her scent on the newborn kits while she handled them, Helen wore latex gloves and thoroughly examined each baby. After recording and merging her findings with the information that had already been collected, the young scientist leaned back in her seat and gleamed. Helen was satisfied that what she had read in the analysis report was accurate.

She felt both relief and enthusiasm – relieved to know that her private life could finally get back to normal and enthusiastic to know that she had proven her self-worth. Even if only a handful of people learned of her contribution to science, it was the handful of people whose opinion mattered most to her (excluding her husband). Gerald could never learn of the miracle that came into existence because of her.

Twirling in her stool, Helen reached into her lab coat and pulled out her cell phone. Incapable of controlling her excitement, she ecstatically blurted, Richard ... WE DID IT! This statement wasn’t entirely accurate. The college administrator’s role in the We was simply to commission the project and pressure her into completing it on schedule. Helen, with some much appreciated guidance from her mother, was the only person who actually did anything. You need to come down to the lab as soon as possible. We did it, sir. G.E.R.M. has exceeded our expectations. It’s ninety-nine point three percent effective.

Do you know what this means? the dean’s tone of voice exemplified his enthusiasm.

It’s the answer to our prayers, she replied with a sense of relief.

Pleased by the news, Richard Beauchamp congratulated, Excellent Job! I’m on my way.

As soon as he hung up, Helen began calling her mother. She couldn’t wait to tell Lilith that their efforts had ended in success. The dutiful daughter hoped that the news would comfort the aging woman, whose reputation had been tarnished by the scientific community several years earlier. Unfortunately, the attempted call was interrupted by a startling realization. HELEN WASN’T ALONE.

GERALD! the surprised woman gasped.

A few months previously, Helen’s ID badge came up missing, and she was forced to get a new one. Later, when Gerald found it in the closet, he decided to hold on to it. He desperately wanted to know about the secretive project that was occupying all of his wife’s time and considered investigating it for himself. However, the despairing husband had refrained because he didn’t want to breach their trust. Now, none of that mattered.

How did you get in here? she probed.

Ignoring his wife’s questioning, Gerald picked up the G.E.R.M. report and began thumbing through it. So this is what has stolen you away from me. He cocked his head to the side, pretending to care about a chart on page twenty-three. You know, his words were calm and calculating, we’re in desperate need of a serious conversation.

Helen had no idea what had spawned Gerald’s erratic behavior, but she found it more than a little alarming. Never before had he addressed her with such disdain and detachment.

Do you remember us having a few tests ran on the baby’s embryonic fluid?

Yes, Helen answered with genuine concern. What’s wrong? Is something the matter with our baby?

No, she’s fine, Gerald witnessed his wife’s face relax with relief. But we’ve still got a problem.

Giving him a questioning stare, Helen’s eyebrows scrunched with confusion.

Gerald glared down at her protruding belly and gently caressed it. Then he gazed into his wife’s bemused eyes and hissed through gritted teeth. It isn’t MINE!

Helen was astonished by her husband’s declaration, and Gerald was equally surprised by his wife’s lack of explanation. Where was the, There must be some sort of mistake, or the, Stop teasing me, comments that he had been silently praying for?

Helen didn’t deny the test results, nor did she try to explain them away. She was stupefied by his shocking discovery. The pregnant woman didn’t recall requesting a paternity test when she filled out the clinic’s paperwork.

Do you know what I think? he broke the suffocating silence.

She apprehensively shook her head no.

I think that you’ve allowed your work to come between us.

Improvising in the moment, Gerald lit a Bunsen burner. Then he held the G.E.R.M. report over the open flame. Becoming increasingly frightened by her husband’s impulsiveness, Helen slowly stepped away from him. Once the report became engulfed, he tossed it to the floor. Burning papers scattered across the room. A few pages landed on a bag of the rat’s cedar bedding. It, too, began to burn.

With every step back that she took, Gerald lurched forward with amplified energy. You’re just a cheap whore in a lab coat! he ranted while thrashing equipment onto the floor.

Don’t say that, she cried out.

Every time that he took a step towards her, she’d cower further away. Her lack of spine meant only one thing. You knew it wasn’t mine, didn’t you?

Tears began to stream down the young woman’s cheeks as she sobbed without comment.

DIDN’T YOU? he screamed at the top of his lungs.

Cornered, Helen hesitantly nodded her head yes.

Whose is it?

I can’t tell you, the statement quivered past her lips.

As fire began to intensify around them, billows of smoke rose to the ceiling. The hungry flames consumed the contents of the trashcan and began melting some of the office equipment. Seeking nourishment, the blaze approached the chemical cabinet and animal cages. Seeming to have more sense than the humans, the rats squealed for help while the quarrelling couple continued to squeal at each other.

Not wanting his question to go unanswered, Gerald pulled out his revolver and demanded, Whose is it?

Willing to take her secret to the grave, furious flames reflected off Helen’s eyes as she defiantly reiterated, I CAN’T tell you.

Without notice, an unseen third party loudly exclaimed, WHAT IN HEAVENS!

Dr. Gerald Perkin’s poor vision was compromised further by the choking smoke that filled the room. He turned his head and saw the blurred form of a man standing by the laboratory’s door. It was Richard Beauchamp. The gray-haired gentleman appeared astonished by the dramatic scene that he had unintentionally interrupted.

When the disgruntled husband’s gaze returned to his wife, he growled, Is it his?

Gerald didn’t wait for an answer. In an instant, he turned the loaded weapon from Helen towards the college dean. Now, the writer’s imaginative mind began overpowering his sensibility. He knew that his wife had an affinity for older men. He knew that she was a very ambitious person.  And he knew that their marriage was in shambles because of a supposed project that Richard Beauchamp had commissioned – a secretive project that she wasn’t at liberty to discuss with him, giving her an alibi for working late. The blindsided English professor felt like a fool for not having considered the possibility of an affair between his wife and the dean before.

Seeing that her nearsighted husband was moving in for a clearer shot, Helen positioned herself between the gun barrel and their bewildered boss. She tried to calm him down and insisted, I love you, Gerald. PLEASE ... DON'T DO THIS!

Without warning, the chemical cabinet behind the irrational man exploded into flames. Somehow in the confusion of Gerald pointing the gun, being pushed forward by the unexpected burst of energy, and staring into his wife’s pleading eyes, a shot blasted.

Hit in the chest, Helen collapsed backwards.

A ringing sound screamed in the disorientated man’s ears. Gerald tried to process what had just taken place. In a dizzying haze, he saw Richard hurry to his injured wife’s side and support her broken body in his arms. She was coughing up blood and struggling to breathe.

Gerald stood in utter disbelief. Had what happened ... REALLY JUST HAPPENED?

It had been an accident. Gerald didn’t mean to shoot her. All that he wanted was answers. And now, he wouldn’t even get that. The distressed husband looked down at the weapon in his hand. The revolver that he had purchased to protect him and his family had ended up destroying them all.

Irony can be cruel.

After gripping the gun’s handle and lifting it to his temporal area, the traumatized husband took a deep breath. The last thing that Dr. Gerald Perkins saw was the school administrator on the floor, cradling his dying wife. Reaching out to him, Dean Beauchamp yelled, NOOO!

The mortally wounded woman heard the blast, felt a wisp of air as Gerald’s body fell to the floor, and knew that her husband was dead. Suspecting that she’d soon be joining him, Helen tugged at Richard Beauchamp’s shirt and tearfully rasped a final request, Don’t let my baby die!

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