White Cell
White Cell
by
B. Regan Asher
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2011 B. Regan Asher. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.
Cover images courtesy of Andrei Tselichtchev, Ultraone , Franky at Dreamstime.com and Joleene Naylor
Cover by Joleene Naylor
Chapter 1 - The Appointment
Thu Apr 8th, 28 years ago
The large navy blue Cadillac sedan ploughed through the snow-covered downtown streets as it tore its way south towards the lake. With the streets all but deserted, neither the car nor the swirls of snow kicked up by its tires were noticed by anyone. Many of the downtown offices were now closed, closures suggested as prudent by city officials just a few hours earlier. The blizzard had only been predicted at 9:00am and now, seven hours later, with only a handful of offices open, the streets were almost barren. Wind gusts twisted between the buildings and threw up new swirls of snow throughout the downtown core. The swirls, combined with the falling snow, covered newspaper boxes sitting on street corners so that their headlines were wholly unreadable.
Outside the speeding car the icy wind continued to howl, but inside the setting was quiet, warm and relaxed. With the high fidelity stereo playing Mozart, the inside of the car was more like a comfortable living room than a mode of transportation, a surreal respite from the atrocious weather on the outside. The driver, intent on arriving at his destination, was oblivious to his good fortune, driven as he was by a single minded goal. Not only did he not appreciate the advantage of being inside the car, but neither did he appreciate so many other things: the concern of his family and friends, the blessed life he had led up until now, or the other untold possibilities that his life still had to offer.
Driving south on University Avenue, approaching his destination, the driver felt weariness began to settle over him just as the blanket of snow was covering the road outside. He was tired and he wanted rest, to stop everything: the car, the weather, his life. Then one eye went blurry and he blinked back a tear. He just needed to attend to this one final task, he told himself. He took a deep breath. Anything else could wait until after the appointment.
He struggled to push on, pushing aside his weariness. The very fact that he was now only a few blocks from where he needed to be meant that he would indeed keep the all-important appointment and he would make good on a promise he had made to himself two years earlier. After the appointment, after he kept his promise, he could do whatever else he needed to do.
The car sped through the Dundas Street intersection, the driver unaware of the newspaper boxes strategically placed on each of the street corners, each with a prediction of the weather to come and each partially obscured under the accumulating snow. The newspapers’ front page banner headlines had the word “blizzard” prominently printed in large bold letters, conspicuous enough to be read from the opposite curb on a clear day. But today only pieces of each headline could be seen through gaps in the snow that continued to accumulate on the newspaper boxes.
Toronto was simply not accustomed to this weather in April. A snow storm might, in an unusual year, hit at the end of March or perhaps, more rarely, in the first few days of April. But to have any snow in the second week of April was all but known.
The Cadillac’s windshield wipers were on their fastest setting but they could not remove the snow from the windshield fast enough. But, even without snow on the windshield, it would have still been difficult to see the road through all of the falling snow. The automobile’s headlights seemed to exacerbate the problem as their light reflected off the snow.
Isaac Mintz swore to himself as he drove past King Street and realized that he had gone further than he had intended. He continued south to Front Street, turned left, then turned left again on Yonge Street, and then left again on King Street, finally arriving at his destination from a direction opposite to what he had intended.
He relaxed as he neared his destination because he no longer had to worry about whether or not he would keep the appointment. He now knew that he would keep his promise to himself and that he would fix some of the damage he had caused. He could live with himself long enough to put this thing to rest.
Mintz squinted to see where he was driving and then finally turned the car into a basement garage. The snow stopped instantly as he drove through the garage door, making it possible for him to see clearly once again. Taking the ticket from the automated attendant, he parked the sedan in the first parking space he found. The car parked, a wave of despair unexpectedly overtook him, forcing him to close his eyes and take a deep breath before moving to open the car door. Once out of the car, he walked over to the open elevator and, once inside, pressed the button for the 24th floor. The elevator doors closed and he leaned back against the elevator wall and closed his eyes.
Isaac Mintz had brought nothing with him to this meeting. He had brought no documents, no notes, and no paper. He had not even brought a pen. He wore his usual dark business suit but it was as dishevelled as he was. His tie hung loosely around his neck and, though he had not been drinking, he looked as if he had been. He was a mess, hardly looking like the president of one of the most successful business system firms on the continent. On the outside he looked like someone who had just come out of jail while, on the inside, he just felt tired, having been carrying an enormous weight upon his shoulders.
When the elevator bell rang on the 24th floor, Isaac opened his eyes. He walked out of the elevator and down the corridor until he arrived at a large set of double glass doors with the name “Mandel and Kirsch, Barristers and Solicitors” etched on the glass. He pushed his way through the right hand door and walked up to the reception desk. There was no one there.
“Lucy!” Mintz called out to anyone who might hear him. He leaned over the waist high counter top of the receptionist’s alcove. “Lucy!” he called again. There was still no answer.
Mintz was about to pick up Lucy’s telephone when a door opened to the left of the reception desk and Harry Kirsch appeared. He walked up to Mintz with his right arm outstretched.
“Isaac,” Kirsch said, greeting Mintz warmly. “How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” said Mintz, dismissing the question. “Where’s Lucy?”
“Oh,” said Mintz dismissively. “We sent everyone home.” He paused and waved his hand around indicating outside. “The weather, you know.”
Kirsch was a short, stocky man with a circle of skin at the top of his head where hair would no longer grow. He was well liked, not only by his clients, but also by most of his peers, having made a habit of being an honourable business partner. Though his law colleagues did not understand the motivation for his conduct, they knew he could be trusted, an unusual trait in a profession replete with people who could not trust themselves.
Kirsch led Mintz through the back office corridors until they arrived at his office. It was a spacious room with dark mahogany furniture, the most imposing piece being the oversi
zed executive desk that sat in the middle. Matching the desk and covering every wall were bookshelves stocked with the legal tools of the trade. Kirsch indicated one of a set of large wing backed chairs for Mintz to settle into. Kirsch himself sat behind his desk with his back to a large window. Behind him the snow continued to swirl as it fell and was blown about between the buildings. The two men could hear the wind howl outside but felt invincible behind the double paned glass.
Kirsch looked at Mintz and knew his long time client and friend was deeply distressed.
“Can I get you a drink Isaac?” asked Kirsch.
Mintz smiled. “After all these years I didn’t even know you had liquor in the office,” said Mintz.
“Oh, you know,” smiled Kirsch, moving to stand up again. “We lawyers have to have all of the amenities. Besides, sometimes people will only talk to their bartenders.”
When Mintz said nothing Kirsch got out of his seat and moved to a cabinet that opened into a mini bar. He took out two glasses and into each placed two ice cubes and poured a liberal amount of vodka. He handed one of the glasses to Mintz and returned to his chair. The two men sipped at their drinks for a minute in silence before Kirsch began again.
“Now, Isaac,” said Kirsch. “I have drawn up the papers you asked for but I want to be perfectly certain that you know what you are doing.”
“I know what I am doing,” said Mintz sullenly, looking right into Kirsch’s eyes.
“Isaac,” said Kirsch again in a warm, concerned voice. “The child is only two years old. You have enough money to hire someone to watch the boy when you are at work. And Isaac, you are not an old man. I am asking as a friend. Why do you want to give the child up for adoption?”
“The whole thing was a mistake Harry and the mistake was all mine,” said Mintz. “I don’t want my child to have a substandard upbringing. I want him to grow up in a real family. Who would want to grow up in a home with only one parent? I want the best for my boy.”
“I understand,” said Kirsch. “But don’t you think that you, as the child’s natural father, would be the person with the most interest in raising him properly? How could an adoptive family care as much as you would?”
Isaac took a sip of his vodka. “I’m not at all worried about that. These people are the best Harry, the very best. They’ll do a better job than I ever could.”
Kirsch was not convinced. “Look Isaac,” he said. “I am your lawyer and, as your lawyer, I will do whatever you tell me.”
“Good,” interjected Mintz.
“But Isaac,” continued Kirsch. “As your lawyer it is my duty to explain to you the possible pitfalls of a particular course of action and to lay out for you your alternatives.”
“You’ve already done that,” interjected Mintz again.
“I know,” said Kirsch. “And, as a lawyer, I have fulfilled my duty. But as a good lawyer and, as your friend, I would like to go through this one last time before you sign the papers.” Kirsch looked a Mintz and he could see that Mintz was not interested. “Humour me, Isaac,” said Kirsch.
Mintz nodded.
“Before we run though this all again,” said Kirsch. “Would you please explain to me what happened? You have never told me how you, of all people, ended up with a child.”
Mintz covered his eyes with a hand.
“It would help me understand,” said Kirsch apologetically. “It would help me to help you.”
Mintz nodded with his hand still over his eyes. After a moment he removed his hand and Kirsch could see that his eyes were wet.
“It’s truly shameful, Harry,” begin Mintz slowly. “Almost three years ago I was at a government conference in Florida. All of the large computer manufacturers were there and so were a number of universities.” As he spoke he was not looking at Kirsch but was looking instead at the bookshelves around him. “I was there to see what the competition was doing and not much else. Even three years ago we were quite well known in government circles so I left the presentation to our sales people. That gave me time to look around. I was very concerned that we not miss what everyone else was doing.”
Mintz paused and Kirsch waited. “The conference lasted a full week and each day had scheduled presentations from eight to five. I mean, it was a very long conference and I was getting quite tired by the end of it. On the second last day of the conference I went to a presentation by Princeton University. I don’t even remember what it was about but it was given by a 23 year old graduate student called Elizabeth Prentice. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and even though she was ten years younger than me and was obviously not Jewish, she captured my imagination.”
Mintz closed his eyes for a moment and then reached for his drink. Kirsch remained silent, worried that, if he should say anything, Mintz might stop. After taking a long sip, Mintz continued.
“But you know,” said Mintz. “My infatuation with this girl would have stopped there had it not been for the curse that set everything in motion.” He again closed his eyes and paused.
“The curse?” Kirsch had intended to remain silent but he had to ask the question.
“Yes, my friend, the curse. You see, I had noticed the girl and if that had been the whole story then nothing would have happened. But the curse got me. And I can not believe my weakness.”
“What curse?” asked Kirsch.
“The curse that this lovely young girl should notice me too. While I was looking up at this beautiful girl presenting her material I did not see or hear anything. I was mesmerized. But while I was looking at her she was also looking at me, apparently as mesmerized as I was. How can that be anything but a curse? Why should a young girl like that be attracted to a person like me? Why should this happen? Why God? Why?”
Kirsch stared at Mintz who was looking up the ceiling searching for answers from anyone but himself.
“So what happened?” asked Kirsch, although he knew well what the result was going to be.
“She approached me after the seminar and said that I was the only one who seemed genuinely interested in her presentation. You hear that Harry? She thought I was genuinely interested in her presentation when all I was interested in was watching her. She suggested we get together for dinner to discuss her work.”
“And?” asked Kirsch.
“Isn’t it obvious?” asked Mintz. “We fell in love that very night and the product of our love was that two year old child that we are now so worried about.”
“But why didn’t you stay with her?”
“I realized very quickly that the whole thing was a mistake,” said Mintz quickly. “Of course I did not realize that Elizabeth was already pregnant before I left. I wouldn’t find that out for months. I told her that I loved her but that we could not continue seeing each other unless she was willing to convert to Judaism so that we could be married.
“What did she say?”
“She was flabbergasted. It turned out that she was raised in a devout Catholic home and that could never give up her religion. She was also completely shocked to find out I was Jewish. So we agreed that it would never work.”
“But what about the child?”
“Several months later Elizabeth called me to say she was pregnant. She was very concerned because, being Catholic, she would never consider abortion. She said her family would never understand her having a child out of wedlock. That’s when I came up with my solution.” Mintz again reached for his drink and took a sip before continuing.
“I told her that I would hire her for a job in Toronto. She could move up here until her baby was born. We would register ourselves as the baby’s parents but that she could return to New Jersey and I would look after the child.”
“That was a very generous offer,” said Kirsch.
“What else could I do? This was my child but I could not marry his mother. And his mother did not seem to want him. This whole episode also cured my love for Elizabeth. I realized how superficial the whole affair was. What an idiot I was.”
“Friends,” said Mintz.
“Good friends,” commented Kirsch, surprised and impressed at the same time.
“Very.”
The two men sat in silence again for a few minutes. Mintz worked at his drink while Kirsch watched his friend. Finally Kirsch broke the silence.
“I’m glad you told me,” said Kirch, looking at Mintz. When Mintz said nothing, Kirsch continued. “Now, let’s run through these arrangements again. We have the adoption, your will, and the executors.”
Mintz’s eyes glazed over as he listened to his lawyer and friend. He trusted this man so much that he was now entrusting the life of his only child to him. He knew that Kirsch did not completely understand the purpose of the arrangements but that did not matter. The stage was set and now the characters only had to play out their roles.
It took another hour before the two men had run through all of the legal details.
“You still want to do this?” asked Kirsch.
Mintz nodded.
“You understand that once it has been done it can not be reversed?”
Mintz nodded.
“Has the executor been notified?”
Mintz nodded again.
Kirsch placed a number of folders out on his desk facing Mintz. Each folder had a number of sticky tabs with arrows indicating where Mintz should sign. Mintz went through all of the documents, carefully signing each but reading none. When he was finished Kirsch retrieved the folders and placed them in one of his desk drawers.
“That’s it,” said Kirsch. “It’s done.”
“Good,” said Mintz, now looking very tired. “Thank you,” he said, quietly. Mintz stood up and reached across the desk to shake his friend’s hand. “Thank you very much Harry,” said Mintz shakily. His eyes were again watery and his whole body seemed to be shaking.
Kirsch was concerned. “Are you sure you’re alright Isaac? Would you like to sit down for a bit before you leave? Or, better yet, I am leaving now too. Can I drive you home?”