A radio was humming softly on the windowsill. “Crazy, crazy for being without you....” This was a hard road that the Lord had put her down. It was going to take a lot of her inner strength to make it through. She just hoped that Tom had enough inner strength as well.
Two months before Colin Hayes performed his viral assay, Saint Maria Inglasias Hospital, Bronx, NY
The orderlies were at work cleaning the infant care ward. They moved furiously, with a drive that was seldom seen in this dreary place. Child Protective Services was coming today, and if the floor wasn’t clean, they would hear it from the nurses. They mopped all around the little cribs, being very careful. This was the ward for the sickest children. Incubators lined the walls. They had to be very cautious in here. All of these kids had problems. If they woke up even one, all the rest would soon join in a din of cries and screams. But the orderlies did their work gently, and all the children slept quietly, even the little freak that the cops had brought in three months ago.
Two nameless CPS officers walked down the cold, tile hallway. You could hear the clack-clack of their heels all the way down the hall. It was an old hospital, built in an almost forgotten age when arches, wood stylings, and pressed tin ceiling tiles were in fashion. You could still barely make out the classic style as it attempted to get through the layer after layer of thick white paint that covered everything. The officers, one male and one female, were on their way to meet with the staff pediatrician, Dr. Julio Espisito. They took their job seriously, and this case would be difficult. “So, what are the special procedures for this kid again?” said the male CPS worker to his female colleague.
“I’m not sure. This one has got...,” she flipped through her notepad to get the answer, “...Handel’s Syndrome. It says here that there are severe defects to the eyes and facial features. There is a discoloration of the skin. Hmmm, what else... There doesn’t appear to be any decline in motor skills or intelligence.”
“Appears to be? What do you mean, appears to be?”
“Whatever this disease is, it is pretty new. No one knows what causes it. The first known cases just started popping up about a year or two ago.”
“So no one knows what the long lasting symptoms are?”
“That’s right.”
He sighed, “This is going to be a tough kid to place then isn’t it?”
“That’s what I thought. I doubt that any foster parents will take someone with such a rare condition. And even if we did find a parent, would a judge allow it? The rules are more stringent for handicapped kids. The parents would have to show that they knew how to meet the child’s special needs, and that may not be possible since we don’t even know what those needs are.”
The two officers arrived at Dr. Espisito’s door. It was made of old, cracked wood with a large glazed glass window set into it. The light was on inside. The agents opened without knocking. Dr. Espisito was sitting at his desk reading a trade magazine. He immediately recognized the agents and stood up to greet them. “Ah, you must be the people from CPS that called this morning. Agents Anderson and Davidson I presume.”
The agents exchanged pleasantries with the doctor and sat down in threadbare but comfortable chairs. The doctor offered some coffee from a drip machine on a bookcase shelf, but the agents refused. “I assume that you are here about Baby Doe?” said Dr. Espisito as he sank back into his chair, steaming cup of coffee in hand.
“That’s correct Doctor. We’ve just been assigned to the case.”
“You know, he’s been here for almost three months now. You’ve taken your sweet time getting here. I haven’t heard a word from you guys since the police brought that child in.”
“I’m sure that you can understand the workload we’re under. Sometimes things like this slip through the cracks for a while. Rest assured that the state is very interested in the welfare of this child, and we are going to do everything to make sure that he’s brought up in the best possible fashion.”
“Of that I have no doubt. I’m not upset at you in particular, it’s just this city government we have. There aren’t enough people to do the job. I get cases all the time that require your attention, but all I hear about are waiting lists and need-based care.”
“We can agree with you on that. We’re doing our best.”
“Well, now that you are here, let me take you to see little Mr. Doe.” The doctor stood up from his chair and guided the agents to the door. They walked a short way down the tile hallway to the maternity center. Inside were row after row of babies. All in little cribs, all identified only by small paper bracelets. Most were fidgety in their little beds. Some slept. A pair of ragged looking nurses were moving back and forth, trying to feed the hungry ones. “This is the intensive care part of the maternity ward,” said Dr. Espisito. “Mostly premature births and drug addictions.” Dr. Espisito looked downward, “We get a lot of drug addictions.”
Dr. Espisito pointed at the child nearest to him. It was quite small, and shook quietly in its crib. “This one here had a mother who thought it was ok to use cocaine while pregnant as long as you chased it down with some depressants.”
“What about baby Doe?”
“Well, we tested the kid when he got here. He tested positive for cocaine as well as a few other drugs. We were expecting to have to deal with the addiction factor as well as the HS, but that hasn’t been a problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me show you.” They walked over to Baby Doe’s crib. The child was sleeping. Its large black eyes were closed into almost undetectable slits. The nurses had assumed that since he didn’t have hair he would be cold, so they had given him a rather funny looking cap to wear. It snuggled with a small stuffed bear, sucking its thumb. “He’s asleep. That’s unusual. He doesn’t sleep much.” The doctor grabbed the child’s chart and showed it to the two officers. “You see, we were expecting the child to have all sorts of medical problems stemming from the mother’s drug use, but we haven’t seen anything like that. The heartbeat, the growth rate, food intake; all normal, normal at least for a child with HS.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Well, it’s my guess that whatever genetic deformity causes HS is also somehow involved in brain chemistry. Somehow HS kids are not susceptible to cocaine addiction; maybe they’re missing the receptors? It could be a breakthrough for the drug addiction community. I’m writing a paper on it.”
“Funny,” said the female agent.
“What’s that?” said the doctor.
“This kid has all these problems, he’s like the unluckiest kid in New York, but somehow all that bad luck cancels itself out. And he might be able to help millions of people break their drug addictions. It’s a funny world isn’t it?”
The three people agreed. They continued standing over the child’s crib for a long time– just watching, and imagining. The child just slept.
Excerpt from “The Reality Behind the Myth,” Published in Fortean Times Magazine, about six months after CPS finally came to see Baby Doe.
“...and the phenomena of superstitious villagers turning deformity into myth has even continued to this day. In the past it was people with pygrophia being labeled ‘vampires’ or people with stunted growth being labeled ‘leprechauns.’ Today it is people with Handel’s Syndrome being labeled as ‘aliens.’ The evidence is clear that although Handel’s Syndrome was only recently ‘discovered’ in the Western Medical Literature, it has been with us for time immemorial. In the olden days, those with HS were labeled as ‘elves’ or ‘pixies.’ They were shunned by their families and forced to live in the forests, robbing and murdering for a living. Now, with our more ‘sophisticated’ society we have abandoned such notions of magic and fantasy, only to see them replaced by notions of alien encounters and flying saucers. As I’ve already shown, all so-called UFOs are easily explainable by a variety of naturally occurring and man-made phenomena. I now put it to the reader that the people who claim to have seen ‘aliens’ have instead seen nothing more than a person suffering from HS. Look at how similar the description of HS is to that of the so-called ‘grays.’ HS sufferers have bald heads, discolored skin. Their eyes are larger and different from ‘normal’ eyes. They have small noses and mouths, long fingers and spindly limbs. It’s clear from the description that we are talking about exactly the same thing here people! When will this lunatic fringe of society finally accept the fact that there are no aliens, that there are no pixies or vampires? As long as society continues to tolerate these myths, to enforce definitions of ‘normal’ then these unfortunate people will be forced to continue to eke out meager existences on the fringes of society, firmly convinced that they are some sort of creature of the night. Who knows how many lives have been lost, how many lives continue to be lost, as uneducated moralists take matters into their own hands and administer vigilante justice to these so-called monsters.”
Four months after Colin Hayes performed his first viral assay, Bethesda Naval Hospital, Bethesda, MD
The maternity ward at BNH has a set of large, double doors that swing open. Usually the only time they fly open is when a woman in labor breaks through on a gurney, screaming in pain, husband, nurses, doctors all in tow. But on this day the doors burst open to reveal a very different entourage. Ray Johnston has just broken through. He was disheveled. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days (in truth he hadn’t). His hair, which was usually so well trimmed in a military cut, had grown ragged and mopish. His tie was skewed to one side, and the top button of his blue polyester dress shirt was undone. His tan raincoat clashed with his dark suit and black shoes. He pushed the big double doors to the maternity ward open with both arms. It was a more difficult task than one might think, because each arm was being held by a nurse. “Sir, sir, you can’t just barge in there like that,” said the nurses. Ray didn’t care. He had other things on his mind.
“Get these people off me,” he said to his compatriots. Three men dressed in dark black suits pulled the nurses back. The men wore dark sunglasses and had little white earphones in their ears. They were much larger than the nurses, and well schooled in a variety of personal combat techniques, so they removed the nurses from Ray’s arms with very little effort. The entire entourage made a fair bit of noise bursting in like that, which attracted the attention of the head nurse. She was taking the temperature of one of the babies. She stopped her work and looked up at the mob of people that had entered her ward. “What the hell do you think you are doing?” she said. “Who the hell are these people; where’s security?”
Ray just ignored her. He moved amongst the newborn cribs looking for something. He moved down the aisles with precision, sometimes lifting a blanket to see underneath. The babies began crying. Of course, once a few start, they all begin bawling. The ward became filled with the din of babies woken prematurely from their afternoon naps. The head nurse moved to stop Ray, but her arm was grabbed by one of the black-suited thugs. She glared up at him and raised her free fist to strike him. He looked down with her and shook his head in a “don’t even think about it” sort of way that was intimidating enough to erase the violent thought from her mind.
Ray finally found what he was looking for. He had stopped at one of the HS babies that the ward had. He lifted the little pink blanket and pointed. “This one,” he said. Colin Hayes arrived just in time to hear the command. He had been left behind in the scuffle in the hallway. Ray was crazed with adrenaline, and Colin sometimes had a hard time just keeping up. Colin opened a small case and pulled out a rather large needle. He moved toward the child. “What the hell do you people think you are doing?” said the head nurse. “You can’t just burst in here like this!” She struggled against the man in black. “Who the hell gave you the authority?”
“Sorry ma’am. National Security,” said Ray. He held the small child’s frail arm. Colin began pouring alcohol on a cotton swab.
“National Security? You just can’t come in here crying National Security!”
“I’m afraid they can, Nurse Adams,” said the voice coming through the door. It was Dr. Rourke, the head administrator of the hospital. He entered the room accompanied with two more of the men in dark suits. He held in his hand a slip of paper. “Despite their poor manners, these people have the authority to take blood samples from your patients. Please give them your full cooperation.” Dr. Rourke didn’t look well. He didn’t seem too pleased with what he had just said, as if he secretly knew better, but had no choice in the matter.
Colin finished taking the sample from the first HS baby. By that time Ray had already identified the other two in the ward. Colin repeated his procedure, carefully cataloging and storing each sample in his case. Nurse Adams was not pleased with the events, but there was little that she could do without Dr. Rourke’s backing. “Who the hell do you think you are?” she said out of frustration. “Who do you work for?”
“Center for Disease Control ma’am,” said Ray, not really paying attention to the question. He had other things on his mind.
“CDC? You guys don’t look like you work for the CDC. I want to see some credentials.”
Ray silently looked up at the men in the dark suits. They got the message. They grabbed the head nurse by both arms and politely escorted her out of the maternity ward.
Several hours later, the Miller farm, on the outskirts of Tyler, TX
2 am. Tom sat in the almost complete darkness of his child’s room. His eyes had gotten used to the dark though. He could make out most of the things around him with just the starlight to see from. The nights around here had been getting brighter and brighter as the city moved closer. He remembered being out at night as a kid. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Now he could see the items in the room quite clearly. The mobile above the bed twirled slowly in the light breeze from the open window. The crib lay before him. Inside was his son, motionless, asleep.