Dead of the Nite

"Brilliant but immature," Surely there were better words to describe the years of training, teaching and experimenting
that she had accomplished at the University." There would be no chair, no professorship, no
funding for her research, all because of her. Maybe she should not have spurned the advances of her professor
but the only passion he ever truly felt was that of science. Only three months left, three months to finish
her work, the total accumulation of her short life's ambition. I was not sure what happened the night she
read the recommendation submitted to the University President, I only know that she changed. There was a
clear and sinister purpose in her every movement, thought and action. "Brilliant but immature," the words
themselves denoted the fine line between reason and fantasy, between purpose and insanity. I only know
that God may forgive me one day for my part is this macabre sequence of events. Then again, there may be
no hope or need for my salvation.
It all began two years ago when I started my graduate work in genetics. My cause was noble; to find cures
for the more complicated frailties of human existence. The Human Genome project seemed the answer to a
dream. It was there that I met Simone Nomege, a doctoral candidate two years my senior. Simone was likable
from the start, brilliant mind, perfection in form, charming and yet distant with a clouded past that introduced
a vague hint of scandal and intrigue. A Parisian transfer student, she grew up in Alsace-Lorraine to, I
believe, a notable aristocratic family whom had fallen in disfavor by some past disgrace. Her knowledge of
anatomy, chemistry and biology were absolute but her true passion was genetics. Her passion was not purposed
towards medicine, and it was not humane in nature but an arcane passion of genetics that perceived
life in a pure form devoid of mental, physical and spiritual sickness. I still believe to this day that her intentions
were good but known only to her; I may never know the whole truth.
We were both assigned to Doctor Leah Colsen as assistants that year. The good doctor was an arrogant selfindulged
lesbian whose capabilities often rode on the backs of students far her superior. It is often said,
"those who can't do, teach" and she was the epitome of that concept. At first we were often left alone to
complete redundant tasks of checking DNA sequences but then Doctor Colsen began taking an interest in
Simone, giving her more complicated tasks to study, correlate and report. I was along for the ride. The interest
in Simone began taking a more overt tone, the hand on the shoulder, the soft caresses, the late nights in
the lab. I saw it plainly, so Simone must have understood the intentions also but she seemed self-absorbed
in her increasing standing and free access to research materials. It became apparent that there were very
different agendas between the two women.
Our research was to identify strands of human DNA that were both cause and effect of human illness, birth
defects and the counter-effects of aging. We both devoured our work as a beggar to a royal feast. Simone,
however, was always looking further. I became increasingly aware of her irregular pattern of preoccupation
with evolutionary theory, genetic splicing, Freudian thought, and the scientific aspects of creationism. I often
wanted to ask to what purpose her studies were designed, but was too cowardly and intent to keep my
place within the research project.