An Intangible Pattern

Reminiscence

Graeme wound his way along the edge of the research center grounds, humming ‘Good King Wenceslas' under his breath, pleasantly tipsy from a few after work drinks. With the new lab almost complete and three weeks left until Christmas, the atmosphere in the pub had been especially festive and not even the heavy snow could dampen his mood.
As usual, he opted to stay the night at Noah's; it had been a long time since he had moved out of the cottage, now that Noah had grown up and no longer needed someone to keep an eye on him, but the young man still kept Graeme's room as it was and let him come and go as he pleased.
He whistled merrily as he swung open the gate and trudged up the garden path.
The lights were on and he surmised that Noah was still awake. He opened the door and called out, “It's just me!”
He started as Noah appeared immediately from the kitchen and motioned him to follow.
“What’s the matter?”
Noah shook his head urgently and put his finger to his lips.
Graeme eyed him suspiciously and hung his coat up and removed his boots. He followed him down the hall into his study.
Once inside, Graeme scowled at the reinvasion of the usual clutter that occupied Noah's desk. No matter how hard he tried to drill it into him, Noah had never been tidy.
A fire was cracking merrily in the grate and Noah motioned him to sit down on the couch.
“What on earth…”
“Shhhh! Keep your voice down,” hissed Noah.
Graeme lowered his voice and asked, “What is going on?
“It's a long story. I can trust you, can't I?” said Noah, there was an apprehensive note in his question. Graeme looked almost indignant: he had practically raised this young man, why would he ever doubt it. “Of course you bloody can, you idiot!” He grumbled in irritation. “What's going on?”
“Shhh, they might hear you!”
Graeme looked hard at his protégé, taking in clothes that looked slept in, tangled hair and the hunted look in bloodshot eyes.
He's finally snapped. He's overstretched himself and now he's gone off the deep end.
Noah retrieved a glass of whiskey from the desk and sat down in his office chair, leaning in toward Graeme. Gravely, he asked, “I need to know the truth. Did my grandfather ever commercialize or sell formula 52?”
Graeme's jaw dropped. A vision of Amelie on her deathbed flashed in his mind's eye. He always tried to remember how she really was: bright, vivacious and curious -  but the mention of formula 52 drew him back to the room where he said goodbye to her and for the first time, surrounded as she was by tubes and machines, he realized just how tiny and fragile his wife had always been.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and whispered, “Why do you want to bring all that up then?”
“I'm sorry Graeme, it's really important. Did my Grandmother really destroy everything related to Formula 52?”
Graeme sighed and put his face in his hands, corralling his thoughts. Eventually, he slumped back against the couch and stared into the fire. “Yes. She did, I'm pretty certain she did because I helped her do it. What is this about, Noah?”
Noah recounted the events of the previous day and shared his suspicions about the connection between the company and the drugs retrieved from the bay.
“And you think the police think we're the ones producing it?”
“Yes, no matter how I look at it, someone from our company has to be involved. The procedure to manufacture it was never made public. I need to know what I'm looking for and you're the only one left I can ask.”
“There were some technicians who knew what to do, but most of them are dead or retired. I seriously doubt any of them would have anything to do with it. We all lost a lot of friends…” he swallowed and set his jaw.
“I'm sorry Graeme. I wouldn't bring this up if I could avoid it, but I think someone's using it to exploit Omegas. I know how ruthless my grandfather could be, so please if there's a chance he might have had access to it…”
“No! Your Grandfather might have been an arrogant prick, but he wouldn't have done that. For all his faults, he did have his own code of honor and he loved Noelle. He wouldn't have put something like that out into the world, especially if it went against everything she stood for.”
“And what about Gillian, or my father?”
“They were just children, your father couldn't even walk. I doubt they even remember it.”
Noah sighed and leaned back, frustrated that he had come to yet another dead end.
“Can you give me a list of the surviving technicians? Someone must know something.”
“I can, but I'm telling you, none of them are behind it. They were good people, every last one of them believed in what they were doing, so much so they were willing to die for it.”
“I know, but we have to try. ”
Graeme sighed and muttered. “What a mess.”
“It's only going to get worse. Arthur wants to bring Alex into it. He wants her to comb the archives but I don't want her anywhere near this... Or me.” Noah drained his glass and went to pour another.
“Put that down!” growled Graeme. Noah looked up at him and paused in the motion of pulling the stopper off the bottle. Defiantly, he quipped back, “Pot calling the kettle black?”
“I know when to stop. Have you been drinking since yesterday?”
Noah replaced the stopper on the bottle and sighed, “You're right.”
“You can't afford to lose your head, right now. I'll tell you from experience that alcohol doesn't solve problems, it only prolongs them. Save it for celebrations, like when you catch the bastard.”
Noah stood up and muttered, “I should just pour it down the sink.”
“Uh, uh! Now don't be hasty. What is that? A Macallen? You can't pour a Macallen down the sink, that's a travesty!”
“Take it with you then. I don't trust myself right now and you're right, I haven't got anything done for two days.”
He slumped back in his chair and folded his arms, closed his eyes and mumbled, “It's just, I feel like everything I touch turns to shit. I'm almost afraid to do anything in case I make it worse.”
Graeme snorted. There was so much of Noelle in the young man: his idealism, his mannerisms, his sense of justice and the relentless drive to fix things, and the way he tormented himself when things went wrong.
“You just need to slow down and think before you act. And even then, you'll still make mistakes but it's a waste of time beating yourself up over it. You can't control everything, just focus on what you can and do the next thing in front of you. This stuff…” he indicated the bottle on the desk, “ won't make it go away. Keep your feet off that path.”
“Ugh…” groaned Noah, rubbing bleary eyes, “It was just all too much, I just wanted to shut it all out for one night.”
“Let us help you then. For instance, what are you going to do about the bug in your bookshelf?”
“I don't know, I thought it would be helpful to leave it. You know, to convince the police that we’re complying with them. I gather they suspect me of being involved in some drug trafficking conspiracy, it's what I would be thinking in their shoes. If it was just the connection with the company that would be bad enough, but the fact I assaulted their suspects” he shook his head dejectedly “...it's too neat to believe it was purely coincidental.”
“Would Miss Navita confirm your story?”
Noah had told Graeme most of what happened that day at the docks, but he left out the details of who stabbed the other assailant. He shook his head stubbornly.
“No, and I wouldn't ask her to. She's had enough, I don't want to cause her any more grief.”
Graeme sighed and stood up creakily. He shuffled over to the fire and threw another log in the grate, “Fair enough.”
For a moment he pondered the quiet, nervous looking girl. He refrained from delving too deeply into what was going on between her and Noah, it seemed she had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. He, himself, had spent enough time around Omegas during his career to know that many of them had harrowing experiences. Even when he met Amelie, the connection was electric, he was drawn to her like a magnet and acted in a way so far out of his character, but he couldn't stop himself; he had been lucky though, she was attracted to him too and they got on from the first moment.
Then again, there must be some agreement between Alexandra and Noah. There was no way they could have resisted each other back in October, not unless they slept together again. She behaved civilly enough toward him that evening, so it was likely a consensual affair, even if it was reluctant.
“Well, you can't really leave it there. If you want my advice, you clear out that bookshelf. Tidy the whole cottage while you're at it, if the bug just happens to fall into the bin, then what are they going to do?”
“That's not a bad idea, but they'll probably come back and just put another one in.”
“I'll speak to them. I have nothing to hide, I can tell them anything they want to know about formula 52.”
“Thankyou Graeme…just… if they ask you anything about the incident in October, don't mention Alex. At all.”
“Alright, alright. I get it, she was never there.”
Noah yawned, and leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and rested his head in his hand. “I'm going to have the archives transported over to Arthur's house so Alex doesn't have to go into the office, I think you should be the one to help her go through the documents and make sense of it.”
Graeme grumbled at him irritably, “Are you trying to work me to death?”
Noah smiled apologetically and yawned again, “I'm sure you'll…outlive us all. Alex will be doing the leg work, you're just there to give context if she has any questions.”
“Fi… fine.” Graeme yawned in reply. “Ugh, you've got me going now too. C’mon, bed! You look half dead already. Sleep while you can, there won't be much opportunity from now on.”