The Cure

March 26, 2088 - 2:14 AM

The ringing in my ears grew louder. The fluorescent lights flickered above my head as I stepped out of the elevator into the empty lobby. I felt blinded, losing my balance and falling against the old, white-and-blue checkered walls, which seemed to swirl in front of me as my nervousness took over. My hands were sweaty as I pushed myself off, accidentally grazing my finger against a sharp chip on the surface. I left a trace of blood as the drops splattered onto my boots, making them turn crimson red.

My stomach churned, and my eyes watered as I folded over, clutching my stomach. Questions collided inside my head, each one more terrifying than the last. I knew this was wrong. I looked up through darting, watery eyes, assessing the long hallway ahead of me. Nobody seemed to be here. Nothing was visible for more than a few feet ahead. The only sound I heard was a faint beeping from a monitor somewhere in the distance. The thud of my boots echoed as I forced myself to keep going. 

I passed one office, then a lab, then a few more offices, but it all just seemed like a blur. Like time was racing. Through the glass doors, I caught glimpses of examination beds, medical posters, reports pinned up on the walls, and unused equipment covered in a thin layer of dust. I almost stopped when I passed a section of patient rooms, each with a bed just like the one she had been in, but I kept going, reminding myself that she was what I was doing it all for. All the rooms were completely empty, the air inside seeming still and untouched. It was as though nobody had stepped inside them in years. I could hear the ticking of a clock echoing inside my head, as if to remind me of what was at stake. The ticking soon faded beneath the unbearable ringing in my ears, growing louder every second, as though it were echoing my guilt.

My coat swished and swooshed as I walked faster, the sudden movement sending a rush of air across my face, forcing me to look ahead. The lights ahead of me flickered on one by one, while darkness slowly consumed the hallway behind me. 

I picked up the pace as soon as I was able to make out a bright-red light staring back at me. My whole body began to relax as I realized I was one step closer. The ringing in my ears quieted. The lights behind me grew dimmer and dimmer as the fluorescent lights ahead illuminated more of the hallway with every step I took until I was looking up at the light on the wall- and the thick metal door below it, haunting me with its keypad just next to the handle. 

I cracked the knuckles on my dark, worn hands.

The ringing in my ears grew louder.

I heard a small beep as I started typing in my first attempt. 

… 

November 16, 2059 - 1:39 AM

The ringing in my ears grew louder. 

My daughter turned to her side to look at me. She was shivering even though the blanket was pulled all the way up to her neck and the air temperature was set to 79°F. She looked up at me with foggy, helpless eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

My heart skipped a beat.

I could bear this no more. 

My bare feet thudded against the sterile, hospital floors as I hurriedly went from the couch in the corner of the room to where the red emergency button was placed, right next to my daughter’s bed. The button lit up, and a loud beep made the whole room vibrate, signaling that the call had connected.

“I need help, please!” I cried, “My daughter is getting worse. Please do something. I don’t know what to do!” 

“Ma’am, I understand, but I’m going to need you to calm down. What is your daughter’s name and room number?” 

The voice behind the red button answered with no sense of urgency at all. The ringing in my ears grew louder. 

“Charlotte Jones. Room 877. Please come help me!”

The next few minutes melted into one another. I became aware of the snick of my nails as I picked them. The thudding of my steps as I paced the room. The twitching of my eyes, which darted from my daughter to the plain white door a few steps ahead of me. 

The ringing in my ears grew louder, drowning out everything else as I stared at my beautiful, helpless daughter. Her eyes were now closed and her pale face looked flushed. Her forehead was mostly covered by her pink cat beanie, which we had gone together to pick out when her hair started falling out. Her breaths were loud and ragged as they escaped through her oxygen mask, matching the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside her. 

She looked calm. Way too calm. 

I became all too aware of the pink walls again, their color blinding and dizzying me as doctors and nurses in white coats and blue scrubs rushed in and out of the room. I watched them carrying all kinds of medical equipment: IV bags, stethoscopes, bottles and bags of different medicines and pills, a wheelchair, and a thermometer. I stood frozen in the corner, watching them move around her. One nurse adjusted her oxygen mask while another checked the monitor beside her bed. The doctors spoke quickly to one another, their words blending together in my head.

Then the beeping changed.

My stomach dropped.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

Nobody answered.

… 

November 16, 2087 - 6:34 PM

After so many years, I hadn’t been able to find the cure. 

I became a doctor for Charlotte. She was the reason I had pushed myself through years of studying, sleepless nights, and endless exams. Every difficult day had been worth it because I believed I was doing it for her. I wanted to help people like her. I wanted to give families the hope that I had spent so long wishing for. I never wanted anyone to feel the way I was feeling.

But no matter how hard I worked or how much I busied myself, something inside me still felt empty. 

I still hadn't found the cure. 

I looked around me and at all the other doctors at the medical conference in Rochester, Minnesota. Luckily, I didn’t have to travel much since I already lived there. Doctors just like me, who specialized in different types of cancer, had been handpicked by one of the top-ranked medical professionals in America to meet here today. Benjamin Kahlo was a role model to all of us specialists, and he just so happened to work in the same place I did: Mayo Clinic. Of course, he had a higher position than me, so I rarely saw him. 

Over a hundred doctors were crammed in the auditorium, most sitting in the rows of black, foldable chairs which stretched towards the stage, disappearing beneath the curved white ceiling. The polished floor reflected the soft lights above, giving the enormous room an almost clinical glow. Numerous people sat shoulder to shoulder, their quiet conversations filling the space as they waited for the presentation to begin.

The lights in the auditorium dimmed, and the spotlight on the stage brightened as a tall man in a perfectly pressed white coat appeared onstage. The murmurs of all the people around hushed as the man on stage adjusted his microphone.

“Good afternoon, everybody!” The man practically spat into the microphone, his voice overflowing with an unbelievable amount of joy. How could anyone ever be that happy?

“I’m so very happy that you could all meet me here today because I have extremely exciting news to share with you. But first, let me talk to you a little bit about our research for the last few months.”

I zoned out as Dr. Kahlo went on and on about different numbers and statistics that, honestly, I didn’t really care about. My thoughts drifted away as I heard in the distance something about a cure. At first, I paid no attention. Doctors talked about breakthroughs all the time. But then I heard the words again.

“Well, I honestly never thought I would say this, but…we found the cure for cancer!” He said with a grin that reached his ears as the room exploded into a murmur of questions and exclamations. The ringing in my ears grew louder.

The doctors near me immediately turned to me to ask me questions like ‘Can you believe this?’ and ‘You work with Dr. Kahlo, right? Did you know about this?’. But all I could think about was that after so many years the cure had been found. The cure that could’ve saved my Charlotte. Why did I still feel so empty then?

“Of course, now that we have the cure, we won’t be needing a lot of you in the actual hospitals anymore,” Kahlo spoke loudly through the chatter of all the doctors as a nervous chuckle echoed around the room, accompanied by an awkward cough. 

“It’s because of all of you that we were able to get together everything that we needed to find this cure. I mean, because of you, this cure can work effectively in just a few hours! And, of course, with a discovery like this, there will be some changes. Unfortunately, many of your positions will no longer be necessary, and we will have to begin laying off some of our staff.

But please, don’t be alarmed. Everyone affected will receive a very generous severance package to compensate for the transition. And besides, this cure is an incredible investment. The opportunities it will create for all of us are practically endless.”

I stared straight ahead, lost in my own thoughts, as doctors around me continued talking excitedly about the discovery and what came with it. The cure that could have saved Charlotte. The cure I had spent my entire career wishing for. And now that it had finally been found, why did it feel like it was taking everything from me? Why was I not happy? 

I had worked my entire life to become a doctor. Every late night, every exam, every sacrifice—I had done it for Charlotte. I had built my entire career around helping people like her. But now, the very thing I had spent years wishing for was making everything I had worked so hard to achieve meaningless.

The cure could have saved Charlotte.

But it couldn't give me back what I had lost.

And now, it was going to take away the career I had built for her, too.

… 

March 26, 2088 - 2:36 AM

After so many years, I had found the cure. 

The keypad in front of me lit up green and buzzed loudly as I heard the door in front of me crack open. 

The ringing in my ears quieted.

I pressed my hands against the cool, shiny metal of the door and used all my strength to push it open. 

I coughed as a cloud of chemical smoke welcomed me into the room, immediately filling my lungs and making me choke. Even though nobody was supposed to be in the hospital because of a decommissioning simulation, I covered my mouth, forcing myself to suppress the cough. You could never be careful enough. 

The secret research lab I had just infiltrated was freezing, making me shiver and wrap my arms around myself as I explored it. The walls that surrounded me were each crammed with large computers, their screens casting a blue glow across the room. Each displayed something different. Some had X-ray images and statistics, while others were playing videos with happy doctors and smiling children. 

The pounding of my footsteps echoed loudly against the polished marble floor beneath me, drowning out the voices from the videos that were playing around me. Not that they were loud anyway. To my sides, tall lab tables filled the space, leaving only narrow paths between them. They were covered with beakers, test tubes, wires, and strange pieces of equipment I could barely identify. 

I slowly walked through the gap between the lab tables, heading for the sleek, black desk at the end of the room. Above it was the main computer. The computer that had what I had come for. 

As I reached the rolling chair tucked beneath the desk, I hesitated. I looked at the pens, pencils, notes, reports, and family pictures of probably the person who worked here, all clattered over the long desk that stretched almost to the sides of the room. I stared at the pictures for a long time. The ringing in my ears grew louder. 

I snapped back to reality and pushed the rolling chair aside before reaching for the keyboard neatly placed on the desk. My fingers moved swiftly across the keys. I knew exactly what I was doing. I knew exactly what I was looking for.

As Dr. Kahlo’s years of research appeared on the main computer screen in front of me, I stared at the files I had spent so long looking for. 

The cure for cancer.

For years, I had believed finding it would finally make everything worth it. I had imagined the families it would save, the lives it would change. I had imagined my grief slowly evaporating away. I had imagined Charlotte.

But now that I was finally looking at it, all I could feel was emptiness. Emptiness and the unbearable grief I had felt since Charlotte had passed. 

This cure was the one that could have saved her. And now, it was taking away the life I had built in her memory.

Maybe if I destroyed it, I could finally let her go.

Maybe if the cure disappeared, the memories would disappear with it.

Maybe this was the cure I had been searching for all along.

Hesitantly, I clicked through the files until a large DELETE FILE button appeared on my screen.

My hand hovered over the mouse. 

I was shaking.

The ringing in my ears grew louder.

Was this the right thing to do?

My whole career, my whole life, had been dedicated to being a doctor. All for Charlotte. All to find this cure for her. And now, they were going to take that away from me—that one thing that had kept me close to her.

I stared at the button.

Maybe deleting it would finally cure me.