Thursday 3:14 p.m. November 3rd

Seven ticks of the second hand of a clock, and he would be free. Christopher's eyes never wavered, not for one instant. Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, and the abrasive BRRRING of a school bell rang through the school, heralding his release. At the sound, he jolted into motion making a beeline for the door. Plucking his coat from the hook he had installed exactly eleven inches from the door, Christopher descended into the hallway without a word spoken to anyone.

"Mr. Stroud! Wait up I have a question," a voice called after him.
Christopher checked his watch. 3:16. "Alright Jessica, be quick about it. I've got to be at my car by 3:19."

"Uhh, well, I just wanted to ask you about my missing assignments," she stammered. Why is she chewing gum with her mouth open?

"Well," he paused, "Are you going to ask about them or not?"

"Umm, I was just wondering what they are," she said, twirling a stray piece of blonde hair between her fingers; the gum chewing increasing in frequency along with her discomfort.

3:17

"That's still not a question," he stated, digging the nails of his thumbs into the flesh of his index fingers. How is that gum chewing not driving her crazy? She's about to bruise her chin!

"What are they?" She asked her voice raising an octave, a sound he had come to associate with anxiety or confusion.

"Oh, why didn't you start with that? You're missing the dihybrid cross worksheet, the phylogeny tree worksheet, and you still need to take the vocabulary quiz you missed during your volleyball tournament. Is that all you need?"

She chomped away at her gum, mulling over the question like a cow with its cud. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. "I don't know what those assignments are," she said tilting the edges of her mouth upward; a smile that did not reach her eyes.

3:18

"I'm sorry Jessica, you've used up the time I've allotted for this discussion. Best of luck. I'll see you tomorrow," he said turning and striding down the hall. Finally, away from that accursed chewing

Amidst the throng of fleeing students, it was nearly impossible for Christopher to avoid physical contact of any kind, but he tried his best. When he first started at Lancet High, he needed to wait until everyone had left the building before he would even chance the halls, but Dr. Lewis helped him get over it.

"Christopher, you could have picked any number of jobs more suited to your particular habits and challenges, but you didn't. A large portion of this job you've chosen has a social component. In order to be successful, you're going to have to get used to leaving your comfort zone. Isn't that what you said you wanted? For Gracie?"

That's all it took. Christopher ventured out into the halls every day from that moment on. At first, he needed to wear a thick layer of clothes as a buffer zone, but little by little, he got so used to it that all he needed was his black trenchcoat and driving gloves.

Christopher pushed open the double glass doors of the school, and took another quick glance of his watch. It read 3:19. He felt the telltale increase in heartbeat and quickness of breath that Christopher associated with an anxiety attack. Quickening his pace to that of a jog, Christopher honed his vision onto his white 2017, Subaru Impreza, and ran towards it, right through the parking lot. He heard the squealing of brakes to his right, but forged onward, desperate to get back on schedule.

Donning his sunglasses, Christopher sped out of the parking lot, using the exit reserved for teachers. He had a long drive ahead of him. The commute to Twin Falls was an inconvenient one, but he didn't mind. Driving was one of the few times he could be himself and listen to pop punk without the symptomatic exhaustion that stemmed from human interaction. Something in the music resonated with him, like no person could. Excluding Gracie. When he listened, Christopher didn't have to pretend to conform to social niceties. The singer was just as lonely and broken as him. The two were kindred spirits thousands of miles away.

Christopher had been making the drive to Twin Falls for the past month to aid in an ongoing police investigation. When the Lancet Falls Police Department called Christopher in for a consult, on what Wylie Simmons had referred to as "the most fucked up rodent I've ever seen," Christopher had viewed it as a Godsend. The doldrums of a 7-3 job with little to no mental stimulation was wearing him down, bit by bit. Working on a species of unknown origin, was just what the doctor ordered.

By the time he had gotten to the scene, the body of the victim, Saul Gutierrez, had already been removed. Christopher wished that he had the opportunity to examine the condition of his corpse as well, but the family wouldn't allow it. They'd mentioned something about dignity. He had to settle with the samples he'd collected of the cadaver Christopher had taken to calling Mus magnus, which translated loosely as "great mouse."

At first, he had to admit he was taken aback. The laws of biology, laws that he considered to be immutable, were thrown out the door in the creation of such a perversion. It was obvious upon first glance that the creature had undergone a radical transformation within a small window of time, possibly within twenty four hours, given the condition it was in.

Skin had been stretched taut over the poor creature's frame, with protrusions of bone poking through at odd intervals. The body seemed to prioritize musculoskeletal growth at the expense of other body systems. From what Christopher gathered from Officer Simmons, Mus magnus disemboweled its victims and proceeded to engorge itself on their viscera; a compensation mechanism to accommodate such rapid growth. Be that as it may, it would have burnt itself out in forty eight hours maximum; Growth of that pace simply was not sustainable.

The cops on the scene had the good sense to not touch anything, and Christopher directed them to salvage what was left of the beast's brain matter. Hopes of retrieving an intact brain were dashed to wind by what appeared to be the remains of a Vans shoe embedded inside the skull cavity.

From that point onward, Christopher felt like a kid in a grisly candy store. He collected as many cell types as he could think of to examine in a proper lab. The last thing he was going to let happen was some government agency show up and decide he no longer needed clearance, so he secured himself some insurance to guarantee he was kept in the loop.

Sure enough, the Feds from an ambiguous government agency swooped in and retrieved the body and anything else they considered salient to the case. They questioned every citizen of Lancet Falls to ascertain how much they knew and if they kept anything from the scene. There was a silent understanding between those involved that the lot of them would take care of this in house, and Christopher's clandestine specimens were kept under wraps. The samples were transported to a research lab housed in the basement of Twin Falls' branch of St. Lukes' where the equipment was better suited to his needs.

In the intervening month, Christopher spent three hours of every weeknight, and 11 hours every weekend in Twin Falls trying to explain how something like that could have come into being.
Test after test proved to be unsuccessful, but they gleaned some useful information. Cells of every type: neurons, myocytes, chondrocytes, erythrocytes, adipocytes, bone cells, and epithelial cells possessed similar traits to tumor cells, but still fulfilled their desired functions in the body. On top of that, genetic sequencing results showed that TP53, CD95, APC, and all the other tumor suppressor genes Christopher could think of, weren't present anywhere in the genome.

This alone, was a feat unprecedented anywhere in even the most wild cases of genetic deletion. He couldn't think of any natural source that would affect DNA in that manner.

Christopher could not recall any other time in his life where something called to him in this way. It was an all-consuming obsession that eclipsed everything, including all emotional distractions. The fact that he now had a hard time focusing on his work was of secondary concern when a possible breakthrough in genetic engineering hung in the balance.

St. Lukes' in Twin Falls was a metropolitan hub compared to any one place in Lancet Falls, a fact that continued to trigger Christopher's anxiety whenever he pulled into the parking lot. By this time, people were finishing up their day jobs and swarming into the hospital like ants, burdening taxpayers with their mundane problems.

The back entrance to the hospital he used to bypass the sea of staring people was Christopher's saving grace. Being 6'4" made it nigh on impossible to avoid questioning looks, and in a lot of cases, apprehension. Christopher was well aware how anomalous he looked in a trench coat and driving gloves, but these people didn't understand how little of a choice he had in the matter.

Christopher was old hat at slipping into the basement without incident. Christopher's lab had grown to be a place of comfort. The entire research department had a cold, antiseptic feel that appealed to his nature. His workspace was devoid of any source of natural light, and not even a breath of fresh air dared enter. No personal affectations of any kind adorned the stark, white walls, and nothing existed in his domain that did not serve a specific function. If only society operated in this manner.

Today, Christopher noticed a disturbance in the air. He had a hard time placing it, but he knew something was amiss. The typical white noise of other research scientists at work was noticeably absent. He and silence were good bedfellows, but this felt wrong. Christopher stared down the long hallway at Room 17, the last door on the left. Now, he felt the fool for having insisted on the number 17.

Closing the distance in long, hurried strides, Christopher stood before the door that led to his sanctuary and paused. The lights were off. The hospital never shuts the lights off. Grasping the handle, Christopher twisted in a slow, deliberate fashion as to not alert whatever lay within. The second the door was open, lights flooded Christopher's vision.

"Happy Birthday!" A chorus of voices shouted.

Christopher recoiled from the open doorway, slamming his back into the wall behind him and sliding to the floor. He sat against the wall, mouth moving up and down, unable to form words.

The myriad of research scientists, that he could only remember interacting with on maybe a handful of occasions, stood inside his workspace, big, goofy grins disfiguring their faces. Remy Renfrew, the only member present that could even remotely be construed as a friend, stepped forward.

"Oh man, you should've seen the look on your face!" He said, his nasally voice, cracking with excitement.

Christopher struggled to regain his composure. The cognitive part of his mind realized that they were trying to do something nice, but the Christopher part of his brain was mortified at the invasion of his personal space.

"Why is that?" Christopher asked trying to contort his face into a smile.

"That was the BEST surprised face of all surprise faces, hands down," Remy said reaching out a hand to help him up.

Ignoring the extended hand, Christopher pulled himself to a standing position. "When you surprise someone, is that not the expected reaction?"

"Well yeah, but that was the best of the best of all surprise reactions ever," he said nudging his coke-bottle glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"I'm glad you were able to elicit the desired reaction."

Remy gave Christopher a heavy pat on the back, "You're a character Chris, you know that?"

Christopher flinched away from Remy's touch, "So you've said, and I prefer to be called Christopher."

The motley crew that comprised the research department all took their turns patting Christopher on the back and congratulating him on making it around the sun another year. The one named Susan Moller brandished a cake that appeared to be of the chocolate variety. It read "Happy 29th birthday Christopher!"

"Remy got ahold of your patient file, so we she thought we would surprise you. I figured you'd like chocolate. I'm not much of a baker, but I hope you like it," she shrugged, warm eyes, the color of creamy, hot chocolate, glancing side to side.

Most people avoided looking into Christopher's eyes, and that was the way he preferred it.

"That sounds delightful Susan. I'll be sure to add it to my meal schedule. I've got an open slot for dessert this Sunday."

"Come on buddy, have a piece," Remy cajoled him.

"I prefer not to deviate from my schedule whenever possible."

"All these people came down here just for you my dude. Couldn't you just take a break from your Lord and Savior, your precious schedule, just this once?"

Christopher knew what Dr. Lewis would say. "Christopher, you've been craving connection lately. Connection involves a certain degree of give and take. You have to be willing to compromise in order to maintain a successful human relationship."

"Fine, I'll have one piece, but after, I must return to my work."

"Atta boy!" Remy said cutting him a slice.

Christopher noticed Susan's face light up when he decided to try her cake. He felt his heart increase in pace at her show of happiness. The rest of the impromptu party passed by without consequence. With the exception of Christopher, they all discussed their respective research projects while Christopher listened politely without reciprocation.

The conversation ran out of steam in approximately thirty-seven minutes, and the group shuffled out of the room, proffering one more "happy birthday" upon departure. Christopher plunged into his work with manic ferocity, lamenting the time that he had lost celebrating his birthday. Necessary evil.

Laser focus consumed Christopher. Normal bodily functions did not apply to him while in this state. The only things that existed in the universe were his mind and the task before him. Lately, Christopher had been tinkering with different types of mutagens and their effect on various animal tissues in order to replicate the change to Mus Magnus' genome. The night yielded no fruit, a result that was proving to be far too common.

The alarm he'd set to go off at 8:13 p.m. every weekday blared, signalling that his work was concluded for the evening. Without further ado, Christopher departed the premises, hoping that his interactions with other humans had concluded for the evening. He arrived at his car without incident, and began his journey to Taco Bell and then home. As usual, the drive-thru had Christopher's order ready at the window, and he handed them the nine-dollars and nine-cents he'd prepared for the encounter.

Christopher parked in his designated space, C4, and climbed the stairs to his third floor apartment three steps at a time. The drive from Taco Bell his home was a harrowing experience, a race against the clock before his food got cold. He entered his apartment and sat at his dining table with a place set for one, and relished his customary cheesy gordita crunch and steak quesadilla. Upon completion. Christopher hunkered down on the couch and watched his nightly episode of House M.D.

The part of the night Christopher dreaded the most always came too soon, the walk to his bedroom, the last room on the left. Passing by that door, the door to the room she used to sleep, still made him sick to his stomach. He didn't get the shakes anymore, but the memories were still as potent as the day she was taken. Closing his eyes, he took the plunge, trying to ward his mind from intrusive thoughts. He emitted a sigh of relief when he was safely inside his room.

Now that he lived alone, he didn't feel the need to adorn his room with extraneous furnishings. The walls of his bedroom hung bare, scrubbed of all memories. The windows were boarded up with thick pieces of plywood, to shield against rays of sunlight encroaching on his sleep. Bookshelves filled to capacity were the only items that could be considered furniture. Ever since he could remember, Christopher detested the feeling of laying on a mattress and preferred sleeping on the floor with a blanket and a pillow, but had since learned that was not socially acceptable behavior. However, there was no longer a reason to conform to that social custom any longer.

Sleep still eluded him.

He needed the sweet girl that crawled into his arms when she had nightmares.

I need Gracie.

SaintCole again,

Aside from Vergil, this was by far the character that I was most excited to write, but also the most nervous. I wanted a character to look at things through a science lens, because not realistic for the others to focus on that aspect. 

Voter apathy is an epidemic! Do your part!

What did you guys think of Christopher? I love him, but I'm biased because I'm a science teacher. Does his social anxiety make him come across as an a**hole or is his quirkiness endearing? Tell me!

Thank you all for reading this far. It's been a long ride, and we are still ramping up for some cool stuff. I love you all.