to his own evil, which is not always easy.
― Norman Mailer
Later that day I'm back in my office shaking my head in disbelief at the explosive rage that arose in me when I thought Emmett Barnes was abusing Shannon.
We're not far from the primitive world, I muse, realizing that in that storm of passion if I confronted Barnes, the outcome wouldn't have been pretty. Of course it was mere conjecture, but one thing was certain—my university career would have definitely been over.
Ironically though, we're both engaged in researching Neanderthals and some of our colleagues still see them as pre-human—I don’t—in ways, I think they were better than us, just unlucky when it came to survival.
Besides, modern humans don't always act civilized, and I have bad moments too although I still fall back on the line that anger has its privileges...
And, to be honest, I still want to use my fist to dent Barnes' smug face.
I force myself to work on my fall series of Neanderthal lectures incorporating the latest field findings, minus. of course, the discoveries made by Barnes' team in their groundbreaking archeological dig.
It's exasperating because I don't even know where the site is located or even a bare-bones summary of what they found.
To make matters worse, just before I leave for the day I get a call from a reporter at The Toronto Star asking if I can give him an update on a major breakthrough discovery concerning Neanderthal remains.
It's painful to admit I know absolutely nothing and the reporter sarcastically replies, "If that's the case, Professor, then you're really out of the loop and I feel sorry for you."
I don't blame him for being frustrated and suspicious—I’m suspicious myself. I'm not on video chat, but I can imagine him rolling his eyes. I would too, if I were in his place, because since the genome study began, I've become quite practiced in that art.
The sky is ominously overcast and dark as I head to my car and I just make it into the vehicle as a hard rain mixed with hail pelts the parking lot and starts bouncing off roofs and windshields.
I drive to a nearby pedestrian bridge and shelter beneath it waiting for the worst of the storm to blow over.
At that moment, my cell rings and I pick up to Shannon's voice.
"Hi Blake, are you still on campus?"
"I'm in my car in the parking lot actually," I chuckle, "waiting out a hailstorm by sheltering under a pedestrian bridge."
There's. brief pause and then she asks hesitantly in a little girl voice as if she's embarrassed, "Would you be available to talk? I know it's short notice, but I really need a sympathetic ear right now."
"Well, I was planning to get takeout food for supper but why don't you let me take you to dinner and we can unwind and converse in a setting away from campus?"
"That sounds good, Blake. Can you give me ten minutes? Park outside the clinic in the visitors section and I'll come out."
"See you then," I say cheerily, and try not to sound overly exuberant.
I wait until I hear her close her cell.
* A first Date!* I exult inwardly, and then immediately feel guilty.
What am I thinking? Shannon must be in a bad place to reach out to me so impulsively.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts.
I'm going to have to maneuver through a minefield of offering support and listening, without asking questions that could violate her non-disclosure agreement—and knowing Barnes, if he found out, he'd prosecute her to the full extent of the law.
I glance through my car's windshield and see the hail has ended, so one threat has abated, but the real threat, Barnes, is still very active and in charge of the genome project.
As for our first date… from what I've heard whispered about the government being involved in Barnes' research, we could both end up in jail for violating The Secrets Act.
But if it came down to a choice between helping Shannon or facing jail time, I know I'd choose to help her every time.