Lethal Dose by Jeff Buick

her keys in hand. She pressed the key fob and the park lights blinked twice as the door locks opened. She slid in behind the wheel and took a couple of deep breaths before starting the car and backing out.
    Jennifer Pearce had spent a substantial part of her life in denial. Denial of her reality. Her childhood had been an unhappy one, left alone to cook and clean while her parents doted on her younger brother. Her only escape had been to enter a fantasy world, where she was someone special, not Cinderella before the ball. Trips to school in the snow were long treks through hostile blizzards in the wilds of Canada, where hungry polar bears and wolverines tracked her, ready to pounce. Washing and drying the dishes after supper each night was using the suds to uncover secret codes on the bottom of the plates. Her imagination had no limit. And even as she matured, she still let herself enter that fantasy world on occasion. It was harmless and sometimes quite entertaining.
    The streets were empty and driving was easy. This was one aspect of working late she really liked. The drive home was enjoyable. It gave her time to think. Tonight, her mind went back over the last three months at Veritas. She had restructured her team after about two months and, with a full month now under her belt, she felt she’d made some good decisions. Three of her staff had risen to the challenge and they were now her key people. And last week, when she finally shared her thoughts on the beta-amyloid chemical sequence, all three had stared at her like she was a nutcase from the local loony bin. Four hours later, after she had filled every chalkboard in the conference room with scribbles and formulas, they were somewhere between speechless and blathering idiots.
    â€œDo you really think it’s possible?” Dawn Sergeant, a specialist in cellular microbiology, had asked. “It’s a totally new approach to the problem.”
    She referred back to the chalkboard. “The key is here,” Jennifer said. “When this protein, tau, is altered, the neural structural support system is compromised. Once that happens, the amyloid precursor protein is subject to being cut, first by this enzyme, beta-secretase, then by gamma-secretase. The result is fragmentation of the amyloid precursor protein, which forms toxic plaques, causing healthy neurons to die. Then the neurotransmitters, especially acetylcholine, are reduced and the damage to the brain is irreversible. My approach to the problem is here,” she said, poking at the board, “by altering the betaamyloid sequence. It’s never been tried before.”
    â€œImpressive,” Dawn said.
    â€œAnd to answer your question, yes, I think it will work. We just have to iron out the problems. Now, it’s getting late…”
    The group broke up, most of her researchers leaving in groups of twos or threes, discussing the new approach to a disease that affected over four million Americans. Jennifer headed for Kenga Bakcsi’s house to visit her cat. It was Wednesday, and she had promised Kenga she would check on the little fellow at least twice a week while her coworker was on holidays. She hadn’t been over since Sunday.
    She cut off on Broad Street and headed for Shockoe Slip and the Mayo Bridge. She had to check the cat’s litter box and make sure there was still water in his dish. No better time than now, when the traffic was next to nil. She crossed the James River, followed Hull to Sixth, then east to Everett. She pulled onto Everett Street and slowed, trolling for a parking space. She found one a half-block up the street from Kenga’s condo, parallel-parked, and jogged back. She let herself in with the key and switched on a light.
    â€œHello, cat,” she said as he poked his head out to see who was home. She couldn’t remember his name, and simply called him “cat.” “Could you really care less if I showed up? I doubt it. Just give