Ancient Echoes

Chapter 30

Chapter 30

New York City

Jennifer Vandenburg, the chief executive officer of Phaylor-Laine Pharmaceuticals, entered her plush Dakota duplex after work and immediately rushed up the stairs to her daughter's white and pink, fairy princess decorated bedroom. “Felicity, sweetheart, Mommy's home.”

The nurse stood and shook her head, then quietly left the room.

Felicity opened eyes that were too large and protruded too far from their sockets. “I missed you, Mommy. You were gone so long.”

Vandenburg sat on the edge of the bed. She had borne this child, her first and only, when she was forty-three. Now, at fifty-five, with her hair colored blond, a face-lift, Botox, a strict vegan diet, and a very sexy personal trainer, she made sure she looked more like the girl's mother than grandmother. She bent low to kiss her daughter's forehead, careful not to apply too much pressure, careful not to touch the girl in a way that might injure her delicate bones and skin.

Vandenburg wanted to tell herself Felicity was better today, but it would have been a lie. Felicity’s only hope was for someone to find a cure for Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome. The doctors, hospitals, and specialists throughout the world were all hopeless. All incompetent.

Ironically, for the past ten years, Vandenburg had been CEO of the top pharmaceutical company in the world, with the most scientists, the most sophisticated equipment, and the most intelligent researchers. But they were years away from success.

When she first approached them she found that several of the scientists had never even heard of progeria. She would have relished firing the idiots on the spot, but CEOs didn't hold as much power as she once imagined.

She gathered her team, offered bonuses and made threats, but a cure continued to elude them.

Life couldn't be so cruel as to take her only child away from her. She had no one else. Her parents were a tedious old couple living in a condo she'd bought them in Florida. They never made the effort to understand or appreciate her. Her ex-husband was a screw-up and a cheat. All she had left were Felicity ... and the disease.

Hutchinson-Gilford progeria syndrome was a genetic anomaly caused by a de novo dominant G608G mutation in exon 11 of the LMNA gene. Vandenburg could scarcely believe that one simple mutation could cause her once beautiful little girl, who had seemed so perfect at birth and in her early months, to turn into an old woman almost overnight. At age twelve, she had the body of a ninety-year-old.

The doctors said she had at most six months left. Progeria children rarely lived past age thirteen.

Cruelly, the disease caused no mental deterioration. Felicity possessed the mind of a normal pre-teen, which meant she knew how different she looked from everyone else, from her strange, bulbous eyes, to a beaklike nose, to protruding ears.

“Did you bring me a treat, Mommy?” her daughter asked as she sat up. Her arthritis made movement painful, and her thin brittle bones made it dangerous. “I've waited all day for something delicious. My food is so boring!”

Vandenburg reached into her pocket. Her daughter had developed a love of Milky Way bars after finding one in her nurse's purse and tasting it. Her diet had been strictly monitored all her life, allowing her only the healthiest foods. It hadn't done one bit of good. All it meant was that Felicity would die without having eaten ice cream, cotton candy, peanut butter, or hot dogs.

Vandenburg unwrapped one end of the bar and handed it over. Just doing that felt like a major triumph against all the quacks who told her Felicity would never do anything normal, and that reaching another birthday would be a miracle.

Severe atherosclerosis was a common result of advanced Hutchinson-Gilford syndrome, and a heart attack or stroke would most likely cause her death. Vandenburg knew her daughter's cardiovascular, cerebrovascular, neurological, musculature and osteopathic status better than anyone else. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with anyone from the medical profession or scientific community.

She didn't believe in miracles. She believed in results. Her daughter would live, no matter what it took.

As Felicity opened her mouth to gobble down her third bite of the candy before swallowing what she'd already bitten off, she drew in her breath and the morsel caught in her throat. She began to choke.

She coughed, but the sticky candy refused to dislodge.

Vandenburg jumped to her feet and eased the girl forward, wanting to slap her back to force the candy out of her mouth, but feared that would cause a fracture—a broken back.

“Help! Kay!” Vandenburg screamed for the nurse, unsure what to do. “Help me!”

Felicity's tiny hands clawed at her mother, trying to get Vandenburg to help her breathe. Her desperate, primitive moves caused her strange little body to seem more abnormal and animal-like than ever.

Vandenburg backed away, fearful, heart-sick, but also repulsed.

Kay grabbed the girl and practically turned her upside down in order to dislodge the candy from her throat.

Once Felicity calmed down, Vandenburg left her with her nurse. In the living room, she poured herself a double shot of brandy, then sat on the sofa to ease the drumming of her heart, the jangling of her nerves.

Her fists clenched in anger. She hated that her plan, her only hope, was proceeding so slowly.

It would work, she promised herself. It had to!

She held her daughter's future in her hands. There was no time for anyone else to step in with a miracle cure. She was well aware of all the bad press about “big pharma” as many called companies like hers. How surprised they would all be when she succeeded in not only saving her daughter, but also others. A select group of others. Her plan would have a profound effect on the world.

Some might call her crazy, but she was all but certain it would work. After all, she had proof.

Soon, the world would be hers. And Felicity’s.