Poison and Cure

I - Genesis

بسم الله
In the name of God
February 7th, 2004 6:48pm
Augusta, GA, Center of Decay

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I was hired as a personal assistant to the infamous Dr Silas, who usually went by Mr Silas after having his medical license invalidated (more on that some other time). As someone who covers her face with a niqab and wears a hijab, gloves, and often an abaya, I didn't expect to get the job, much less be trusted with so much responsibility. Everytime I saw him in the papers, I saw at least six visible bodyguards protect him, whether he went to an award show, a different lab, or a place with quite a few people.

"You're very important, aren't you?" I had asked him once.

"It depends on who you ask," he responded, "The people that think I am even an atom's weight more than what they are, are simply ignorant. So no, I am not important at all."

When I was given the job, I was alone in his lab with him, in addition to a guard at the door and two outside the door, so we weren't fully alone. If we were, I wouldn't have taken the job for religious reasons, i.e. No man is alone with a woman but the Shaytaan is the third one present. Strangely enough, he had mentioned that we wouldn't ever be alone, so 'not to worry'.

At the time, I didn't know what that meant until I realized he was similar to me.

But this was all over email; I first met him on February 7th, 2004. I was twenty at the time and was distancing myself from my dad's house to make a living and further my chemical and medical knowledge. I was sent the address to his scientific research building, the Center of Decay, in Augusta, a little ways away from my home in Atlanta.

I was guided to a white, spotless lab, and my hands almost itching with the faint smell of rubbing alcohol and blood. Handing me the necessary tools for being in a lab such as a lab coat, Mr Silas said a quiet, scratchy,

"Try not to ruin anything, Miss October."

His voice is unable to leave my memory. Deep and scratchy, like he had a sore throat for too long and the pitch was as deep as bass.

And he was only twenty-two at the time.

I inhaled the scent of the lab, looking around at the blinding white and the black-clad guard at the door.

It was nice and fresh in there, although artificially so. He led me to the counter farthest from the door, which is a mess of spilt containers and residue from something bubbling over.

After explaining what I need to do and where to find cleaning supplies (and also what not to mix together), Mr. Silas continued his work on the slightly cleaner counter next to it.

Then, I began cleaning up the mess of unknown substances; I was previously notified that it was safe to trash and nothing would react to being mixed with basic household cleaning items. It hadn't been more than five minutes into my job before I speak,

"Why did you add the religious freedom in the job offer flyer?"

He looked me directly in the eyes and I see the beauty of the dark, swirling irises before looking down to avert my gaze,

"I know that it's hard for people that are visibly Muslims to get jobs due to their dedication to their faith, therefore I wanted it to be clear that they can have a job that won't judge nor discriminate."

"Oh? Have you known someone that had been turned down because of that?"

"Not really," he exhaled, "But I am Muslim myself so I can understand how it must be for people that are visually Muslim."