Untitled Scene #4
Blue raises his brows almost involuntarily in surprise.
"Is this a serious request? Initiatives like that are multimillion-dollar projects that require entire teams of dedicated scientists."
"You are my only hope," I push on, my fingers clenched so tightly I can feel the ache in my joints. "My situation is truly strange, one secret after another and something completely inexplicable along the way."
Blue tilts his head slightly. "Then perhaps tell me everything I should know, step by step." I am grateful he has not thrown me out after my outrageous declaration. Maybe he simply wants to fill the hour?
So I start speaking.
I begin with what happened at my birth, deliberately mentioning that the man whose surname I carry discovered I was not his child and caused the accident, I tell him that I was born dead, revived only after being touched by the other infant, that I grew up plagued by allergies and asthma, and that I met him again as a teenager.
I describe the harmony we shared, the silent understanding, the perfect attunement.
Blue listens with intense focus, his eyes never leaving my face.
Even though I am saying things that would make most people roll their eyes, his expression remains utterly neutral, smooth. He simply listens and stays passive.
Then I tell him what happened when our glands matured, the horrible scent we perceived, how painful our touch became with skin-to-skin, and that we parted even though I can’t forget him and do not want to give up on trying to change this, on a new chance.
I speak for a good ten minutes and he does not interrupt even once. He listens.
When my story finally ends, I look at him with expectation, hoping the verdict will be in my favor.
Blue lowers his gaze to his hands and toys with a stylus for a moment, brushing it over the surface of his tablet almost absentmindedly, though I can tell he is thinking deeply.
"I will not deny, Mr. Strada, that part of your story sounds like pure fantasy.
But I will not comment on what happened at your birth, because those facts may be, let us say, open to subjective interpretation by someone who had just been involved in an accident.
You must admit that assuming the accuracy of such a report might be na?ve or simply unwise. "
I swallow, because of course I agree. I reached the same conclusions myself; the circumstances of my birth cannot be confirmed at this point.
"What did catch my attention in your story is the fact that you and your partner displayed such strong harmony, provided you have given me a complete picture of the situation."
"In this case, my conscience is clear. We were the type of couple everyone was absolutely convinced would be True Mates. It shocked our families when it turned out not only that we were not a match, but that we were incompatible. No one could understand it."
"And that is precisely the aspect that intrigued me, because I have never heard of such a case.
Individuals who are incompatible show signs of it at much earlier stages.
This is thoroughly supported by science and numerous studies, and genetic compatibility happens to be one of my areas of research, you could even call it a hobby field of study. "
I watch him with hope, waiting for anything he says to clarify the situation for me.
"Additionally, a level of incompatibility so severe that it results in discomfort upon touch is extremely rare."
Blue Lowen grows thoughtful and lightly rubs his chin.
"Unfortunately, I have to add one more thing. The problem is that in terms of access to testing, I only have… well, myself. Bringing the other person here may be difficult, though not impossible."
"Hmm." Blue tilts his head again and studies me.
"I will not pretend it would not be a considerable complication."
"I understand, but I still believe something could be done. I have a lock of his hair and his hairbrush, which should have hairs with follicles."
Blue gives a mocking smile.
"We do not conduct criminal investigations here. We use blood samples, not DNA extracted from hair follicles."
"But it is not impossible, is it? If you wanted to, you could do it."
"Yes, but Mr. Strada, are you aware that this study would be absolutely pioneering?
There has been numerous research comparing the genetic codes of True Mates, yet no unique markers have been identified, and the same goes for comparing the genotypes of compatible and incompatible individuals.
At this stage we do not understand the underlying mechanism, so anything I would do here would essentially be the beginning of a new scientific project, and right now I see no commercial application for it that would convince the board to give it a chance. "
"Plenty of matchmaking agencies would be interested in tests like that," I blurt out, looking at him with hope.
Blue Lowen shrugs. "We have no concrete or commercially viable proposal at this time, and no research sponsor. These projects are expensive, and initiating one would require allocating substantial funding."
I do not want to give up, even as a cold shiver of uncertainty moves through me, so I whisper, "Would you at least take my blood and those hairs with follicles, just in case, even for your own scientific curiosity?"
Blue laces his thin fingers together in something like a small steeple, tilts his head slightly, and his sapphire eyes focus on me.
"I am sorry, Mr. Strada, but I see no purpose in storing such materials when I cannot guarantee they will be used for an actual study."
"There are more strange things. I still have the bite mark from Bay on my neck gland. It hasn’t disappeared, even though marks like that usually fade two years after a bite, except in the case of True Mates. Theirs stay. So why did mine persist?"
Blue remains silent, his gaze lingering on my face, his eyelids narrowed slightly as if he is again thinking something over with real focus. Then he straightens a little and shakes his head.
"It still isn’t enough. There could have been other reasons. A rare skin allergy, or keloid scars, scleroderma, or hypertrophic scarring. It may even be a form of Ehlers–Danlos syndrome…"
As he lists other reasons, I barely listen.
The disappointment hits so sharply it tightens my lungs, and I grab my inhaler and take a harsh breath.
What was I thinking, hoping he would simply agree, that he would start a costly research initiative, an entire scientific project, just because someone off the street walked in and suggested it?
It is absurd, and I let myself believe in something foolish.
I waited half a year for absolutely nothing.
Frustration and bitterness flood me. I clench my hands into fists and then it just bursts out of my throat.
"You could do it for… a relative. As an act of kindness. You could run some basic genetic analysis on my blood and Bay’s DNA."
There. I said it. I let out a shaky breath and feel like I might faint.
Blue’s eyebrows rise sharply, but I do not let him speak, adding immediately,
"Yes, you are my relative, and I desperately need help. This is my only chance to be with Bay, and you are the best person to make it happen."
"What is this supposed to be? Some kind of joke?" Blue says, and suddenly he stands.
"It is not a joke," my voice cracks, "we are related. My dad had an affair, well, affair is too big a word, but a brief encounter with one of the Lowens."
"With whom?"
"I do not know. I only know it was one of you."
Blue bursts out laughing. It sounds strange, almost mechanical, dry and sharp.
"Do you think you are the first person claiming to be part of our family? Every few months we get some lunatic trying to extort money or favors by insisting they are related to us. Please leave my office before I call security."
"It is all true, please just look at us, we could be brothers."
"Are you under the impression that the people who claimed to be related to my family looked any different?"
In a final act of desperation, I pull out the small pouch with a vial of my blood prepared just in case, along with the packet containing Bay’s hairs with follicles.
Inside is also my phone number on a business card.
I set it on the edge of Blue’s desk, but his expression offers no hope. He looks at it as if he were looking at some kind of bug.
I decide to spill everything in a chaotic rush, all of it in a pleading, tearful tone.
"It is all true, Mr. Blue. If I were a scammer, I would give you a specific name, but I simply do not know it. My dad told me this on his deathbed, I didn’t manage to learn anything more, but I know for certain I am not the biological son of Judge Max Strada, who is listed on my papers, because that genetic test has already been done, and my dad would not have lied to me literally while lying on his deathbed a few hours before he passed away.
You can verify everything. This is my blood sample, and if it does not confirm anything, please understand that I did not do this in bad faith. I followed my dad’s words."
I stand up and take a step back toward the door. My shaking hand drops my inhaler, and I lean over to pick it up, swaying slightly.
"Thank you for hearing me out. I deeply regret that you do not want to try to help me.
I love Bay more than life, and I dream of being with him, but it is impossible if we cannot even touch each other.
If you can find at least a little compassion in your heart, maybe you could try to compare our genotypes.
Maybe you will find something, because I truly do not understand how people as characterologically compatible as True Mates could turn out to be genetically completely incompatible. "
I give a clumsy bow, murmuring, "Goodbye, Mr. Lowen," and then I leave the room.
My hands are damp with sweat, and my heart beats against my ribs like a war drum.
A total failure.