All Our Forgotten Futures

By Brady Koch

Write your own obituary
Erase your own life history
The end of ourselves approaches us fast
Laugh as our problems fade into the past

The four interlinking stories of All Our Forgotten Futures present a puzzle box that slowly reveals the horrors waiting within. The impossible choices forced upon each person profoundly affect others miles and years away. Selflessness has its limits in the face of paranoia, terror, and the unknowable where even the smallest indecision can trigger a chain reaction leading to annihilation.

The Negotiated Death of Sara Glen
The results of an at-home DNA testing kit reveal the key to eradicating an emerging threat. Getting that key may cost Sara her life. . .

The Forgotten Sons of Wyoming
The men at Trinity Ranch all have something in common: none of them can remember how they arrived there or the terrible secret they all share. . .

The Hotline at the End of the World
Clint's the only negotiator working the phones when a kidnapper calls saying they've captured someone who could prevent the apocalypse. . .

The Blissful Plague
A young girl learns ending lives is easier than saving them in a world her parents wouldn't recognize. . .

Take a journey to confront. . .
All Our Forgotten Futures

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brady Koch
• Release date: Nov 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798864594131

Brady Koch

Feel free to read over Brady's shoulder if you see him working on a new novel or short story at the coffee shop, library, or commuter train into NYC. Despite his penchant for crime, horror, and the unusual in his writing, he's actually a nice guy and welcomes your feedback. Brady Koch's first collection of short works, Guns, Gods & Robots, will be available in Winter 2016.

Book preview

The Negotiated Death of Sara Glen

1

There were only three more envelopes to open, and the only surprise of the night was that James had some Asian in him. 1.4% East-Asian to be specific. That's how exacting the DNA tests were. The large world map Sara had picked up for the party looked less like an array of freckles across the world and more a concentrated birthmark. Aside from the map’s lone pin stuck into Nepal, the rest of the markers were clustered across the left side of Europe. 

At least we have an excuse to drink the sake, James grinned.

Good, because we’re out of gin, Sara said as she passed the small bottle to her guest. In addition to the map, she’d worked with her sister, Willa, to curate an array of spirits representing each country included in the DNA test ancestry results. The safety seals were still intact on the tequila, vodka, and other liquors that would have made for a more diverse cocktail menu at the party.

James swung his arm around Willa, pulling her onto his lap. Sara, did you expect your sister would be marrying an Asian man in the fall? He bypassed his glass and took a swig from the sake bottle.

Jackie piped in before Sara could, Don’t start with that. You’re not Asian. Careful. A lawyer, Jackie was always the most cautious of the sisters’ small group of friends. Even after downing the lion’s share of drinks for the night.

I’m joking, he dismissed.

I know, just tread lightly. We live in sensitive times.

Tread lightly, these are sensitive times, James parroted back. Sounds like a fortune cookie. I can relate to that. He laughed at himself, and Willa offered a conciliatory chuckle for her fiancé.

The nine people assembled had been opening the envelopes for an hour and a half and were slowing down the more they drank. Sara discretely checked the clock above the TV. At this rate, the last three sets of results would take another hour. She dearly loved the people in the room but had her office’s annual audit scheduled for the morning. She needed her rest to be sharp. She had already accumulated four voicemails in the last hour, likely from her payroll coordinators fighting the printer. Let them call the service desk, Jackie had advised. You’re not IT.

Sara and Willa had conceived of the party after scoring the testing kits on sale after Thanksgiving. Nobody in her circle of acquaintances was adopted or had any pressing need to discover their histories; they were just mildly curious. Now that Peter and Lindsey had their daughter and the rest of the sisters’ college friends were marrying off and starting their careers, the DNA party was a good excuse to make time for one more get together before Willa and James’ wedding this summer.

The party should have happened five months ago, but half of the group had to resubmit their saliva samples. Willa and Sara had to submit four in total before getting their results back, each time adding another month for analysis. Even then, Sara’s results were only half-complete. She was still waiting on her genetic medical history to be compiled and sent back. You can always just look at mine, Willa told her, making complete sense to Sara. Of course, they would be the same. It’s a racket OriginPoints even charges siblings full price when it’s the same damn report. We could have just bought one.

Sara coordinated the party while Willa acted in the role of  PricewaterhouseCoopers for the event. Everyone agreed to give her the sealed envelopes for her to secret away until the night of the opening. Jackie would have made sense, given her profession, but was never trusted again after congratulating Peter and Lindsey’s pregnancy on Facebook before the couple had even informed their parents.

Whoa! James mumbled, as his sake tipped over on the cardboard box he was using as a table.

You’re cut off, Willa said, checking her jeans for spills. She pried the bottle from his hands.

This isn’t a good table.’

No, it’s not. Those are my. . . Sara’s sister checked her writing on the side of the box, winter coats. She’d been packing up all of her belongings in preparation for moving in with James. Now the living room looked like a storage unit.  Willa and Sara had lived together since college and continued to do so, never having a reason not to until Willa met James. Sara could swing the apartment’s rent just fine on her own as Willa never contributed to it. Not that Sara had asked her to. Flitting between the freelance jobs that Willa’s newly minted Fine Arts degree offered her was enough to get a few trips to the grocery store each month, but Sara’s accountant salary did the heavy lifting with the bills.

OK, let’s get to these last two envelopes, Brian announced, bringing the group back to the task at hand. Let’s summarize what we’ve learned about ourselves.

Have you been keeping notes? Jackie inquired. Somehow, the sake bottle had materialized into her hand and was now being raised to her lips.

No, but I’m the only one sober enough to remember all of this. He cleared his throat. First, the good news. Nobody is married to their sister or brother. We’re a diverse blend of high and low levels of having the Neanderthal trait. Whatever good that is to know. And the bad news. Everyone’s grandparents were lying about all that Native American blood they swore they had in them way back in the family tree.

I- James started.

Brian held up his hand and cut his friend off. One point four percent is a rounding error. Now get up, James.

James vacated his seat closest to the map. Jackie had dubbed this chair the Genome Throne, and everyone had taken turns sitting in it as they opened their results. They established the same ritual with each participant. Willa would close her eyes and randomly pull an envelope from her portfolio folder. The selected guest would take their seat, and after they read their results, Sara would hand them the map pins. She would then ready herself as bartender, waiting to see which drinks would need making after learning the results.

Despite being random, Willa and Sara’s results were two of the last three to be selected for the night. These would also likely be the most boring. They both knew their grandparents’ story of moving to America from Germany. Their results would just be the same times two. At least they would get to finish the night off with some schnapps.

Jackie! Willa shouted, holding the envelope high in the air.  The lawyer took her place at the center of the room and opened her genetic history. Sara gave her the pins.

Hmmm. Jackie scanned the paper as the room silently awaited. Pretty homogeneous. I’m going to need three pins. Drum roll, please.

The guests engaged in the next part of the ritual that had developed that night. They each drummed on the nearest cardboard box to add a little tension to the pinning of the map. Pin number one. She gamely traced her hand all over the map before spearing Ireland. The group applauded. Number two. Again, she circled the map before she landed in France. And finally, can someone tell me. . . she let the pin float all over the surface of the map.

Africa is down at the bottom, James recommended, despite the fact that Jackie had the complexion of the plain paper the results were printed on.

She pretended to scold him. James, we talked about that a moment ago. Jackie turned back to the map. Can someone tell me. . . she continued to explore the map before finishing, what in the hell Ashkenazi Jews drink? She poked the tack squarely in Israel and cheered. Five-point two percent, baby!

Sara’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She looked down; it was an unknown number. Her payroll team must have been calling from the conference room. Tell them to wait for half an hour, Willa recommended as she passed by with a glass of Manischewitz for Jackie. Sara exaggerated an eye roll for her sister, pointed to her ringing phone, and retreated to the kitchen.

Sara cleared her throat, hoping to sound more sober than her legs made her feel. The code to the upstairs is the same as the one downstairs, but backwards, she answered, knowing that her staff always forgot the code to the file room door.

Uh, hello, is this Sara Glen? In Bloomington, Indiana? It was a man’s voice. He sounded friendly. Not telemarketer friendly, but genuinely interested.

Oh, yes. This is Sara. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.

The man chuckled. No apologizes needed. Do you have a minute to talk?

I’m actually in the middle of something. Sara looked back into the living room where Jackie was making some kind of toast. Who is this?

Oh, I’m Tanner. Tanner Hughes. I’m with OriginPoints. I’m not sure if you got my other voicemails earlier. You recently received your results from us, correct?

Yes, my friends and I are actually having a DNA results party right now. We all took the test together.

You did? That sounds fun. Take some pics. Our PR team would love to post those on the socials. I’m actually calling you about your results.

I haven’t looked at them yet. I’m next in line.

Oh, it not about anything we mailed you. You see, we run some additional analyses behind the scenes here at OriginPoints. That’s why we ran your DNA so many times. It’s part of our DNA Frontiers Initiative. We found something in our analyses that we wanted to talk to you about.

Sara panicked, Oh god, is there something wrong with me? Impulsively, she turned to her reflection in the microwave window to see if there was any change in her face she hadn’t noticed. Any dark spot or indent undetected in her hurried make-up application each morning.

No, no, no. Oh, I didn’t mean to scare you. My apologies, Sara. Listen, I can tell you’re busy. Can we make a time to talk to you tomorrow, then schedule some time for you to come to our campus in Atlanta? We’re paying of course.

Wait, what do you mean? Why do I need to go to Atlanta?

Again, nothing to worry about. Just HIPAA laws. And nondisclosure items as we’ll be talking about some things that are in the science vanguard. We like do have these conversations face-to-face.

Do you need to talk to my sister too? Our DNA should be the same.

Did you know that’s not always the case?

So did she have this same. . .  Did you find the same thing in her analyses?

If we did, we’d have to talk to her first and get her consent to tell you. Client privacy is our top concern. But, we can fly her out, too, if you like.

I. . . I um. . . Sara’s mind clouded, uncertain why this Tanner Hughes needed to meet with her in person.

How about this? We’ll talk again tomorrow when you have more time to speak. That OK? Noon? he asked.

Sure, she bit her lip. And you’re sure it’s nothing bad?

No, Sara, it’s not bad. It could be wonderful.

OK. Fine. Tomorrow evening would actually be better. Can you do seven Central time?

Sure thing. Have a great party and enjoy your results. And don’t forget those pics! The call disconnected. 

Sara looked down at her phone again somehow hoping it would give her a hint of what this man was talking about.  She couldn’t think of anything about her that was any more wonderful that anyone else in the next room. Or that Willa wouldn’t also have. Her sister had everything she didn’t: a natural effervescence, strawberry blond hair instead of brunette, an ability to keep in shape without exercise, and the inability to be stressed about the fact that she didn’t have steady employment. That’s what’s truly wonderful and what Sara would have wanted. Not something buried deep down in her DNA where she couldn’t benefit from it.

Willa’s hand clenched onto Sara’s wrist, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the living room. You can talk to your staff tomorrow. C’mon, we’re going to do ours together. We can wrap this up, and they can all go home.

Her sister offered her the chair. Sara's body was on autopilot. She did as she was instructed and sat down. Her mind raced, auditing her life for anything wonderful that might have escaped her own recognition over the past three decades. Willa landed on the armrest of the Genome Throne and handed her the envelope and pins.

On the count of three, open them up, Jackie instructed. One. Two. Three.

Sara and Willa opened their envelopes and removed the DNA results. A series of tables and pie charts detailed what she’d predicted about her heritage: nothing surprising. Nothing wonderful. Her father was indeed her father, and she felt guilty for considering otherwise.

Willa made marks on the map in the same locations as her sister. Sara took the drink and sipped. The burn of the alcohol traveled from tongue to throat and into her stomach. Preoccupied again with the mystery of the phone call, she wondered if the night’s drinking was harming the thing inside of her that OriginPoints thought was so special. Considering all of the nights she’d spent with these same people at the University of Indiana, it was unlikely. She finished the drink in a single tipping of her glass.

***

With all the envelopes opened, the party quickly dissipated. After restaging the group selfie in front of the completed map on each attendee's phone, everyone left and promised to try to get together again before Willa and James’s wedding. Seeing James peel off his socks and lay down on the couch, her sister pulled the cushion her fiancé was about to use as a pillow out of his hand and shepherded him to her bedroom.

Sara sat at the table and reviewed the results over and over. There was still nothing remarkable on the page. She spent her workdays staring at tables and financials and could spot any variance with the precision of an owl hunting a mouse in the high grass at midnight, yet the DNA results told the bland story of any thirty-year-old woman living in the Midwest. She was perfectly unremarkable.

You sober enough to be reviewing your audit prep? Willa asked, returning from her bedroom.

Sara held up the test results and her sister nodded. You’re not going to bed with James?

He’s already snoring. Plus, when he drinks. . . She held her index finger out straight then slowly curled it in.

Gross, I didn’t ask you that.

Should make for a fun wedding night, Willa laughed. She sat at the table and flipped through her own results.

You get any calls tonight? Sara asked.

No, most of the people that usually call me were here.

Any missed messages?

Willa shook her head.

Sara pointed to the logo at the top of DNA results page. I got a call from OriginPoints about my results.

Yuck, are we on some kind of sales list now? Maybe that’s why they were so cheap.

No, they said they found something in my DNA.

Oh Jesus. Is it bad? Willa flipped through her printout, looking for the medical section. Is it in me too?

They said it’s something good, Sara shrugged. They want me to go to Atlanta and talk about it. They said I can bring you with me. They’re paying.

Nobody flies you out for a face-to-face to give you good news.

I know. That’s what I keep thinking. But they promised it was good. They even said ‘wonderful.’

The younger sister leaned forward, intrigued. A small smile telegraphed to Sara that her sister was easing into her tension cutting mode. A mode Willa perfected somewhere around middle school. Maybe you’re a superhero now, Willa grinned. Like a mutant! Wouldn’t Henry be jealous!

Willa, c’mon. Henry had been Sara’s last steady boyfriend a year ago. The relationship had simply petered out, but Willa always talked about it like she was recapping a soap opera. Intrigue and jealousy were, in fact, just disinterest and routine.

I always thought you were a mutant. Can you fly?

Sara relented to her sister and welcomed Willa’s attempt to deescalate her growing worry. No, remember when I fell off the balcony and broke my femur?

Hmmm. Guess that rules out super-healing too. Willa rubbed her own leg, recalling the loud crack, then the scream that ended her nineteenth birthday party. Listen, whatever is in you has been in you since you were born. You’ve lived for thirty years without this thing bothering you. If it were something awful, a doctor would have found it by now. Remember all those physicals when you ran track? They would have found it. In fact, if you hadn’t answered that call tonight, you still wouldn’t know about it and be better off for it.

I suppose so. Sara folded the results neatly in half. Her sister had worked her magic, bringing her out of her own mental spiral. He did go out of his way to tell me it was wonderful.

Leave it at that. Go back to worrying about your, whatever it is you’re doing at your boring job tomorrow, and not this bullshit. Willa did her best to sound like their mother delivering a definitive edict. She stood up and squeezed her sister’s shoulder. Now I have to find my earplugs and get some sleep, knowing that you have something wonderful inside of you and I don’t. I should be the one losing sleep over all this. Not you. Willa kissed her sister on the forehead and retreated to her room.

Sara sighed. She put away the test results and brought out her file folders. Trial balances, purchase order summaries, and tax filings canvased the table. Sara was back where she had the most control. The flood of metrics and budget adjustments washed away the parts of her thoughts that were still concerned with what was hiding in her genes.

2

Sara and Willa sat quietly in the board room as Tanner excused himself and collected the other people that he said were important to this conversation. Even after the follow-up phone calls, the tour of the campus, and a brief introduction from their host, they were no closer to understanding why they had been brought all the way to Atlanta for this meeting. Each time Sara had asked Tanner about her results, he simply reassured her that all was well, and they would be discussing that very soon.

Tanner Hughes looked just like he had in the online speeches and interviews Sara had watched while investigating the man and his company. He was thin and amiable with smile lines prominent even behind his clear acrylic glasses. Despite his shock of white hair, he exuded youth and energy. He’s like a golden retriever that transformed into a man, Willa whispered to her sister once he left the room. Tanner was a great face for the organization, painting a vision of a DNA driven approach to identifying and curing all manner of disease and ailments. He exuded trust in keeping all of their customer’ personal information secure and, more than anything, seemed humbled by the research he spoke about.

Unlike the private room they were in now, every wall at OriginPoints’ campus was clear glass. It looked like an assembly of the collection vials the sisters used to mail in their saliva samples. Through the glass was a sea of computer monitors affixed to standing desks, and each desk was occupied by a diligent looking employee reviewing whatever it was on their privacy film obscured screens. Tanner had explained that this was their final review department. Each customer’s DNA results were given a last look before being printed and mailed back out.

Sara’s stomach was in knots. She’d already spotted a wastepaper bin to use in case she lost her final nerve and needed to vomit. Willa clutched her hand under the table. So far, besides the tour, Tanner had only talked to them about the DNA Frontiers Initiative. Most of the presentation was identical to the one she watched him give at a Toronto TED Talk.

Willa tapped her brochure with her free hand. She’d written Do you think they’re recording us? on the front of it.  Sara nodded, though she had not seen any obvious cameras along the walls.

The door swung open again, and an older woman walked in with a middle-aged man. She had a curt haircut and, like Tanner, an instantly likable smile. The other man looked her opposite, slightly hunched and obviously aware that he was only an accessory to the charisma machine alongside of him. Both had small lavender heart pins on their collars.

Good morning, ladies. I’m Meredith Daniels from Jessica’s Wish.

Sara Glen, she said and shook the woman’s hand. Sara did not remember hearing the phrase Jessica’s Wish in any of her OriginPoints videos.

Willa Glen, her sister said.

Sisters? I had always wished for a sister, Meredith smiled. I had the bad luck of having two brothers, and I can assure you that every story you’ve heard about growing up with boys is true.

Next, the man introduced himself, extending his arm for a handshake. Paul Bennet. She expected it to be sweaty and, sure enough, it was.

Paul’s a key contributor to our external engagement team, Meredith informed them.

Tanner sat down eagerly, and his new guests did the same. Wonderful. That’s everyone.

Meredith turned to their host. You know, Tanner, I took one of your tests last year and found out I was three percent Native American.

Really? That’s wonderful, he replied. Sara recalled him using the same word to describe whatever it was that triggered him to summon her here. You know we hear so many people say our tests were wrong. That their parents or grandparents told them they were part Native American.

It’s the new American myth, Meredith nodded. Takes away some of our modern guilt.

Perhaps, he said, turning to Sara and Willa. How about we get down to business. OriginPoints brought these two women here for an important conversation about the future of our work, and I thought that, before we get into the nitty gritty of that discussion, we have our friends from Jessica’s Wish tell you a little about what they do. How does that sound?

All eyes were on Sara, and in the confusion of the moment, she only said, OK.

Thanks, Tanner, Meredith said as Paul produced two folders and slid them across the table. On the cover was a young girl, probably a kindergartner, smiling at her parents. At the bottom, in the same lavender as the lapel pins, was the phrase They always remember you love them. Opening the folder, she saw an image of Meredith sitting cross-legged with a smiling toddler. The caption on the photo revealed she was the Executive Director of the organization. Have you heard about Jessica’s Wish? Maybe seen one of our PSAs? Or even seen our cause marketing campaign with the NFL where all the players wear lavender socks?

I don’t think so, Sara answered.

That’s fine, the older woman soothed. To tell you truth, I can’t stand football myself. Too much starting and stopping.

Paul finally spoke up, Jessica’s Wish was started in two thousand and five—

Meredith stopped him. We don’t need to go into that. Our organization was started because of a little girl named Jessica Kitner. She looked a lot like the little girl on that folder in front of you. Jessica was the most beautiful angel and excelled at all of her schoolwork. Had friends, enjoyed playing with her toy animals, and sang with her little choir group at church every Sunday. Her parents told us she was just the best thing that had ever happened to them.

One day they got a call from little Jessica’s first grade teacher. She told the Kitners that their daughter wouldn’t respond to her name at roll call. She was still acting completely normal, but just seemed to not recognize her own name. Her parents were a little alarmed and brought her home and found out that the teacher was right. Jessica wouldn’t answer to her own name. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with her, but over time, Jessica lost more of her memories. Quit playing with her toys. Stopped paying attention to the television and even seemed to no longer recognize her own parents, Meredith’s voice quavered at the retelling. Both practiced and, in the moment, spontaneous. Sara, still focused on her own concerns, concluded this woman was a formidable fundraising machine.

The Kitners brought their daughter to every specialist in Cleveland, and they ran every test you can name to identify what was affecting this precious girl. There was nothing physically wrong. She would eat, run around, sleep normally; she was just deteriorating mentally. Eventually, she lost the ability to speak. Looking at her, you could tell she wasn’t suffering, but you can imagine the pure torment the Kitners were going through. They still had a daughter, but they wanted to have back their daughter.

Over time, the doctors and researchers did find out what was happening. It was a rare prion disease that slowly shuts down all but the most necessary functions of the brain. All the parts that make a person be a person. And that collection of symptoms is what we now call Jessica Kitner Syndrome. And fighting for a cure is what we do every single day at Jessica’s Wish. Meredith paused, wiping a single tear from the corner of her eye.

Sara turned to Tanner, voice shaking, Do I have this syndrome? She turned to her sister for reassurance. Willa was crying. Tanner slid a thin box of tissues across the table for her.

Tanner leaned over, squeezing Sara’s shoulder. No, no, no. Oh, I didn’t mean for this to scare you. This is just background. You don’t have this.

Willa’s voice was more confident than her sister’s. Then why are we talking about this?

Listen, we’ll talk to you two alone after this. They’ll leave the room, and we’ll talk. OK? It will all come together soon enough.

Sara pulled her shoulder away from the man’s warm grip. She considered the box of tissues that had been ready for this moment. Tanner had expected this to happen. Sara wondered how much of this conversation the man had orchestrated. He nodded to the Jessica’s Wish team.

Paul picked up from where Meredith left off. Jessica was diagnosed in the late nineties, and researchers found more cases like hers once they scoured the archives of hospitals coast-to-coast. They had all gone undiagnosed or mistaken for other diseases or strokes. Now that doctors know what to specifically look for, more than thirty thousand cases of what we call JKS have been identified worldwide with two dozen more diagnoses every week.

Is it fatal? Sara asked.

No, which is unique for this type of disease, but it robs these children and their parents of the love and dignity that every family should have. In addition to research for a cure, Jessica’s Wish provides families with warm welcoming therapy facilities that not only restore dignity, but create a supportive environment for parents to meet with other parents facing the same struggles.

So, it only affects children? Willa questioned.

Yes, all of our cases are children, Meredith confirmed. Their immune systems aren’t up to the task of fighting it off.

But a single mutation of the virus that transmits this disease could make it more resilient. It would easily open up adults to infection, Paul added. A researcher out of the Mayo clinic thinks some cases of Alzheimer’s are actually misdiagnosed JKS.

Maybe I have heard about this, Willa said, as if reaching deep into the index of a textbook. Isn’t this the one from Africa?

Oh, that’s just a bit of misinformation, Meredith intervened. It’s believed to have originated in Greenland. A group of Ethiopian scientists brought it back home to their children with them in the eighties. The warm climate triggered its spread. It made the news, and now people associate it with Africa.

Tanner turned to Paul and to the folder in the pale man’s grip. Paul, don’t you have some new research to share? The bit about the future of the disease?

Paul handed everyone a single sheet of paper. Sara recognized the trend curve from her own finance work. The y-axis was labeled JKS cases with hash marks at each five million mark. The x-axis was labeled with the next five years. The line stayed at zero in the first year, rose up to the one million mark by year two, then shot up to ten million in year three. The line continued on its steep upward trajectory until it reached the top of the chart by year five: 100 million.

This model shows the diagnosis rate of Jessica Kitner Syndrome with a single mutation occurring each year that would make the disease realize a higher rate of infection. It parallels what we see in other tropical diseases.

Tanner poked the bend of the curve at the year two mark. So, what I’m seeing is, in two years, we’re going to have exponential cases of this terrible syndrome.

It’s adapted from the Covid-19 modeling, Paul confirmed.

And there’s still no cure, Tanner concluded.

Sara considered for a moment that this had nothing to do with her genes and everything to do with the modest inheritance she’d received from her parents. She wondered if Tanner thought she was a different Sara Glen. Meredith seemed to sense Sara’s thought and added, There’s not a cure today, but with every dollar donated, we get one step closer. With the resources and funding OriginPoints can bring to bear—

Tanner turned away from the group and focused on Sara, cutting off the charity CEO. I had my team here replicate Paul’s research just to verify its accuracy. Unfortunately, we came to the same conclusion. In this scenario, tens of millions of families will be torn apart if there’s no cure found in at least the next two years. He pointed to the low line on the left side of the chart. This is a problem. He slid his finger to the other side of the chart. And this is a pandemic."

Tanner leaned back, seeming to welcome the silence in the room. The nerves in Sara’s stomach had become needles as she felt some sense that she was getting closer to finding out why this man had summoned her here. She had something OriginPoints needed but no idea what it was.

Tanner took off his glasses and wearily rubbed his eyes. Meredith, this is a lot for all of us to take in. What is it about Jessica Kitner Syndrome that you want to leave us with?

Meredith looked down at her thick packet of materials she had yet to share. Well, I hope this is just the beginning of a longer conversation about your partnership with Jessica’s Wish. But I’ll leave you with this story from Henry Kitner. He told me that the only words he wants to hear before he passes away are from his little girl. He only wants to hear Jessica call him ‘Daddy’ one more time. With your help, we can make that happen.

Willa squeezed her sister’s hand again.

We’ll do whatever we can. Thank you, Tanner said with a gentle finality in his voice. He gathered the Jessica’s Wish team and walked them out.

* * *

Willa and Sara sat quietly, waiting for Tanner to return. Sara noticed that Paul had left his materials in a small stack where he'd been sitting. Sara suspected that they had expected a longer meeting. That was likely what Meredith was negotiating outside the conference room. She looked like a woman that was able to get exactly what she wanted and was sure they’d be back at the campus soon enough.

Sara never thought of herself as stone-hearted, but she felt guilty that the storytelling didn’t move her like it had her sister. The children in the pamphlet were cute, and the parents’ testimonials along the margins were harrowing, but at the moment, she only had the mental bandwidth to worry about herself. This entire process was purposely vague yet meticulously planned. She was waiting for Tanner to finally cut to the chase.

The door clicked, and Tanner walked back in with a new face in tow. This new man was in the same age range as Tanner but was bald and pudgy with puffy bags under his allergy-tinted eyes. That was some heavy stuff to take in for sure, Tanner offered. This is Doctor Reginald Crawford. He heads up OriginPoints’ medical innovation work.

Thanks for coming in, ladies, Reginald said and smiled like it had been something he’d been practicing against his will. For a man that spent his career in labs and operating theaters, his hands were like a woodworker’s. Please call me Reggie.

Despite having a long table to fill, the two men sat close to the sisters. Tanner started, So now that it’s just the four of us, it’s time to get to the reason we brought you here.

Tanner, I think it’s best to be direct about this, Reggie directed his co-worker. This woman and her sister have unfortunately been in suspense for too long about this. Oh, and what we’ll be talking about stays between the four of us. Sara, do you have a husband or boyfriend?

No, she replied.

Girlfriend? Tanner asked.

No, Sara repeated.

Sorry, Tanner shrugged. Modern times. Sara, we just need to make sure there’s not anyone you’d talk about this with outside of your sister. It’s not just HIPAA regulation that we have to be mindful of; we’re worried about our IP here too. Intellectual property.

I understand.

Tanner, did they sign the paperwork? Reggie asked. Tanner nodded. Sara and Willa had signed a series of releases before the tour. Tanner assured them it was the same documentation all guests signed when visiting the restricted areas of OriginPoints. Reggie continued, Sara, Tanner may have told you that we screen for much more than what ends up on your report. Things that are more experimental or exploratory than we feel confident in sharing just yet with the public. Well, one of those areas we are researching, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, is Jessica Kitner Syndrome.

You said I don’t have it, Sara said, panic instantly in her voice.

You don’t. The doctor paused before continuing. You have the cure. Sara inhaled and Willa’s hand slid off hers. It’s locked away somewhere inside your genes. You’ve got the exact coding that makes it impossible for the disease to affect you. 

Sara was confused. So, I have it but it’s just not affecting me?

Yes and no, the doctor said. The virus itself is very, very weak. Lots of people probably get it, have a dry mouth one morning, and then it just goes away. It’s like norovirus. It plays out so quick that, by the time you visit the doctor the next day, you don’t have symptoms anymore. It’s weird. It is still in you. Your body doesn’t kill it off. It can’t create the antibodies. But it’s too weak to really do any damage. The families of these children don’t even have to quarantine. It’s an evolutionary dead end.

Tanner interjected, We have the disease mapped and test it virtually against the DNA samples we get from our customers. We have a few million DNA sets collected thus far, and you are the only sample we’ve found that has the exact build that resists this invasive disease. You alone are producing the protein that counteracts the disease. You’re the only one we’ve ever found.

Sara’s defenses melted away, relieved. The change was so fast that she felt lightheaded, like the rare occasion she smoked a joint with her sister. The permanent tension from the past few days was replaced with a newfound power to act. OK, so how do I help?

Willa was now smiling, yet still tearing up. Do you need more of her spit? she asked. There’s more where that came from.

Sara was now grinning along with her sister. I can’t stand needles, but if you need my blood . . . Whatever it takes.

Reggie remained steadfastly serious despite the change in the sisters' demeanor. "Unfortunately, we don’t have the ability to go directly from DNA sample to cure. Your resistance manifests itself in the way your brain stem functions. This is where JKS targets the victim’s body. It tricks it to prioritize this part of the primitive brain at the expense of all other high-level functions. It starts by shutting down the temporal lobe—where our memories are made— one by one the hippocampus, the amygdala, the hypothalamus. It systematically starves out the sections of the brain that make you, you. The primitive brain thrives, while the rest deteriorates. What you’re left with is a modern Homo sapiens with the mental capacity of Homo erectus or earlier.

Sara would have preferred it if it was Meredith talking her through this. The woman would not have talked about the syndrome’s victims like an anthropologist. I don’t understand what you want from me.

Sara, what we need from you is that part of your brain. Specifically, a quadrant of your brainstem called Groener’s Area. Reggie pointed behind his ear. We need it so we can reproduce and adapt your resistance for everyone. We are certain we can develop the cure if you are able to donate your brain to us.

Sara blinked. I’m a registered organ donor. Did you see that when you scanned my license earlier? This is all fine by me.

Sara, this is a big question, Tanner said sincerely. I couldn’t imagine asking my own daughter this, but you saw the data earlier. A few mutations and this becomes a humanitarian crisis.

Sara opened her mouth to respond, and Willa jumped in. But this is all only going to happen if there’s a mutation. A lot of mutations.

That’s a lot of ‘ifs’ that need to happen, Sara stated.

Tanner clasped his hands together like he was hiding a small egg in between his palms. You’re right, but the more it spreads undetected, the more of a chance there is for one of these catastrophic changes.

Viruses are simple. The doctor held up two large fingers and continued, They do two things: they reproduce, and they evolve. He then added, And they’re very good at both.

But I need my brain stem, Sara confessed. It sounded like an apology.

We know. For the first time since Sara had first met him, the smile was gone from Tanner’s voice.

Reggie pointed his whole hand at the pile of papers Paul had left behind. I’m not sure if they told you this, but what we’re working against is the incubation period, he said. It can take up to twelve months after contact to show any signs of the disease. Then you add in a year and a half to develop a virus from your donation.

I’ll die if I do this.

Tanner leaned forward. If they were any closer, Sara was certain he would try to calm her by stroking her hands. We aren’t looking for your contribution today, he soothed. We just want you to know what the stakes are and how you could play a part in all of this. You will always have the final say. And if the there’s a chance to receive your donation next month or fifty years from now, it will remedy this situation. But the longer we go without a cure, the more of a chance we'll have another pandemic.

We all were fortunate to live through Covid, the doctor said. Ever since the pandemic, the only time people brought up the disease was when someone wanted your money or your vote. The world had taken an unspoken oath, not to bring it into conversation anymore. Can you imagine how that would have turned out if it was spreading for a year before people showed any symptoms?

People died from Covid, Sara stated.

Our parents both died from it, Willa added.  Nobody is dying from this. . .  this memory disease.

Tanner lowered his voice and addressed both sisters. I’m sorry for your loss. We didn’t know and should not have brought up the comparison. He cleared his throat and continued, You’re right; JKS is not deadly, but I don’t know if I would call the state these children are in as ideal.

We’ve thought through every other scenario, Reggie gravely reassured. Brought in the CDC, the Mayo Clinic, John Hopkins, you name it. I’ve engaged every one of my peers. We all agree that this is the only viable path. We can achieve a cure in our lifetime.

Not in my lifetime, Sara concluded.

And you can’t just take a biopsy? Willa asked, sounding like she was on the verge of begging.

No. What we need to excise and clone to produce the cure is integral to you sister’s life. Even the smallest biopsy would be catastrophic for any subject. And your parents have already passed, so you are our only option.

Jesus, Willa whispered. Maybe another DNA test will come in, from maybe an old person. Someone who has lived a whole life. Like, make death row and hospice people take the test. Not my sister.

If that opportunity presents itself, yes, we could do that. But it simply hasn’t happened. Tanner crossed his fingers together in front of him on the table. He looked down at them instead of at the women. It’s not anything anyone wants to do, but I have talked to these families. I’ve seen the emptiness in their children’s eyes, he said. Your sister can single-handedly restore an entire generation of people that have been, and will be, decimated by this disease.

My sister could get hit by a bus tomorrow, Willa pointed out. You can have it then.

We need it intact. Reggie was definitive. Like I said, we’ve run scenarios on every single option before the one at hand.

But, what if Sara gets like stage four breast cancer and. . . Willa trailed off, starting to tear up. Sara knew where she was going with this. In elementary school, their final visit to their grandmother in the hospital had been a few hours after an intensive round of chemotherapy. The poor woman’s body had been ravaged by cancer, and her mind was devastated by the last-ditch attempt for a cure. She didn’t recognize either of her granddaughters, like she had the same disease that was plaguing these children.

The doctor cleared his throat and addressed Sara exclusively. If there is ever a reason you need to uh, make your donation early, I have a way to help you.

Sara’s eyes remained locked onto the tabletop in front of her.

He continued, There’s a simple cocktail of pills to sedate you, then an injection I would administer. You wouldn’t feel anything. It’s a peaceful way to go. Dr. Reggie scanned the room. It had fallen into complete silence. You just have to let me, or whoever is fulfilling my duties years from now, know. If, God forbid, this were to happen tomorrow, we’d need to do this in California, where this is legal. Who knows, in the future there may be some closer options.

Tanner looked up. OriginPoints would make sure your family is generously compensated.  Maybe set up a scholarship in your name. Whatever you want to memorialize your legacy. Heck, if you wanted to, OriginPoints could set the two of you up on a prolonged tour of the world. See the sights that everyone else dreams of seeing.

It’s that important, Reggie confirmed.

I don’t want to die, Sara muttered.

We’re not evil, Tanner said. We’re trying to help the most vulnerable. It’s for the greater good.

An old verse from a song lifted through the fog. She repeated it without remembering where it was even from. It’s funny, I was pro-choice ‘till I was chosen. She looked at each person in the room. Nobody was looking back. Not even Willa. She alone was in the way of curing thousands of children from a disease that, until today, she had not really heard about. Dozens of experiences she hoped to have in her life were eroding. A husband. Children. Grandchildren. Boring drives across farmland highways. The trip to Europe she and Willa always talked about when their parents thought they were sleeping. Each aspiration dissolved with every second of silence. For the first time, she was crying along with her sister.

Reggie rested both hands on the table and leaned towards Sara. I tell you what, how about you stay here and we run a panel of additional tests on you. Some blood panels, labs. Test every single option again and give you a time to think this through.

Tanner edged back into the conversation. I can take you to the children’s hospital. Meet some of the kids who you’d be saving.

Sara couldn’t think of any other alternative to offer. These men had a plan to save millions, and all she had was the seemingly selfish desire to live.

Sara, do you ever question why you were born to live right now? Tanner drove his index finger into the table. He continued, "Everyone does. They say to themselves, ‘Why wasn’t I born during the Civil War or World War Two. I could have been at Woodstock.’ Everyone wants to contribute to a part of history. Everyone wants to know if they have a purpose, what they were born to accomplish. I think this is it, Sara. It’s right in front of you.