Free Adopted Son by Dominic Peloso Page A

novel.
    Riiiinnnnngggg.
    The phone rang. Perfect timing. The doctor considered just not answering, but he decided that he must. It could have something to do with the grant applications that he had been submitting all week. He rose from the big, comfy, leather chair moved across the study to the phone sitting on the wood desk.
    “Hello?” inquired Dr. Mensen.
    A voice that sounded suspiciously like Ray Johnston (although at the time the doctor wouldn’t understand the significance of that name) was on the other end of the line. “Dr. Mensen, it is good to finally speak with you. I read your paper on the causes of HS.”
    “Who is this?” said Dr. Mensen. “How did you get this number?”
    “Never mind who I am Doctor, and how I got this number doesn’t matter. I’m a friend. I want to help you. I know that your funding has been cut back severely, and I know why. I have some information that you might find very useful.”
    “My funding has been cut back because the appropriations committee didn’t give NIH as much money as last year.” He had been told that HS was not a very common disease, and cuts had to be made somewhere. “What are you implying sir?”
    “I’m implying that there are forces at work that don’t want your research to succeed. They don’t want to hear what you would tell them. They aren’t ready to face up to this news. But I’m going to give you a valuable piece of the puzzle.” The person on the other end of the line certainly had a flare for the dramatic.
    “Who is this?” demanded Dr. Mensen again.
    “I read your paper on HS genetics. You’ve noted that the children have a mutation that doesn’t appear in the parent. Your report likens HS to Downs’ Syndrome. You make the assumption that there is some problem during fertilization, that the DNA in the egg gets mixed up. That’s why the kids have little genetic similarity to their own parents.”
    “I know my own research.”
    “Well, I want to tell you that you are off-track on this. I can’t explain how I know, but I want you to do a test. Find a woman pregnant with an HS child. Do a DNA test on both the blood and the amniotic fluid.”
    “What’s that supposed to prove?”
    “That’s what you are going to find out doctor. That’s all I have to say. Do the test, you won’t be disappointed.”
    The voice on the other end of the phone was replaced by a click as the phone was hung up. Dr. Mensen stood by his desk for a while, receiver still in hand. He wasn’t used to getting strange calls in the middle of the night from unnamed men telling him to perform experiments. And what was the voice implying about his inability to get grant money the last few months? The phone started beeping in his hand with the ‘off the hook’ sound, so the doctor hung it up and went back to his chair. He wasn’t too happy about the call, but perhaps he should follow it up. The experiment that was suggested was simple enough after all. He could get Nancy to do it in the morning. Of course, if this guy was a researcher, why was he using such strange tactics? If he was legitimate, there are many journals that he could publish in, why resort to spooky phone calls? Dr. Mensen shook off his thoughts. He’d worry about it in the morning. Now it was time for relaxation, brandy, and a good book.

    The Miller farm, on the outskirts of Tyler, TX

    Tom sat on the floor of his living room. A few feet away from him was his son, who was sitting up on his own now. The doctors had been worried that the child may never sit up straight. His head was so much larger than the rest of his body that it might be tough for his neck muscles to support the weight. But the doctors were wrong, doctors are sometimes wrong. Tom sat across from his son. Now that the kid was a bit older, and was wearing clothes, he looked almost normal. He sat in his little blue jeans and a striped shirt that Lorraine had made for him. He had to wear special shirts because the ones from