Pandemic: of Twins and Tails

by Seven Fates

Cycle 1, Day 1: Self-Isolation

The physician stared across her desk at the tall young man in disbelief. If Doctor Tara Weintraub hadn't just seen her patient yesterday over this same issue, she'd have put this off as some sort of poorly thought-out prank. She'd known the man for three years now, and that sort of thing wasn't in-character for him. Jacen Cadlow was a brooding young man, and preferred being serious and direct.
When he'd stopped in yesterday, he was complaining that something had felt off since recovering from the flu during his trip south of the border. Given his less than stellar autoimmune system, it wasn't unreasonable to check in. It showed a fair bit of consideration for his well-being. If only that concern had extended to the pack of cigarettes she could see rolled up in his button-up shirt sleeve.
More than that, though, he was complaining about changes to his hair. Normally, he kept his brown hair buzzed short, so that the blonde patchy discoloration at his temple didn't stand out as much. Yesterday, he'd stated that it'd grown out a full inch and a half overnight, with a blue-grey and white tip discoloration split evenly between the two sides of his head, although at the back the colour had clearly started filling in the further down his neck she looked. Now it had grown out to a full three inches—closer to five on his right side where it'd gone almost completely white. Even his eyebrows were affected, and there were very few traces of his original brown to be found.
"You believe me now, right?" Despite the hints of panic in is overall demeanour, he still managed to look kind of smug. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on the edge of her desk and steepled his hands. "I mean, look at the roots. No dye-job could be that thorough. Even if you could do that without waking someone, I live alone, so unless my apartment's previous tenant kept a copy of the key and just broke into prank me, I don't see how it could happen."
She nodded, making some notes on his chart. "I'm assuming you haven't been in contact with any sort of chemicals, either," Dr. Weintraub offered, even as her free hand moved over to the keyboard. It didn't take her long to pull up the social-media feed she'd seen earlier that day. "You said yesterday that you were staying in Denver with a friend when you were sick with the flu, and that you flew back on Tuesday, right?" Pictures of brightly-haired people, up to and including an image of a young woman sporting a curly-orange tail. "Have you ever heard of Lazy Pines?"
Jacen seemed to consider this for a moment before leaning back in the chair. Cupping his hand over his mouth, a movement that quickly transitioned to him rubbing his bare draw, he groaned. "The guy I sat beside on the bus to Denver International was talking about the town," he responded, bouncing his knee. His eyes flicked from her, to the hand operating the computer, to the back of her monitor. "The whole region was hit hard by the flu, but he said that town was hit the worst. Hell, I stopped over in Breckenridge before I got to my friend's place in Denver. Why?"
With a simple tap of her hand, the flat-screen monitor swivelled. "I normally wouldn't have spared the topic a glance, but for our meeting yesterday," the doctor admitted, her eyes watching as he took in the pictures on the screen. "They all have been saying the same sorts of things. The first set of changes began with their hair, not long after recovering from the flu—took three days overall for a complete change in colour and texture." She turned her monitor back around. "Two days after their hair changed, their eyes had become different colours and they complained of a tailbone ache. The next day they had the beginnings of a tail."
Although he was already a fair-skinned man, his skin was nearly translucent from how pale he'd gone. If not for his still-bouncing leg, he could've been mistaken for a statue. "What are you saying?" he asked after letting out a long breath. He was tense. "That there's some weird epidemic like something out of a goddamn sci-fi horror back there, and I'm a plague rat?"
She shook her head. "I'm not saying that, but..." Taking her glasses off, she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I was on the phone with the Public Health Agency this morning, and although they haven't put anything official out, they've been keeping an eye on the situation in the States. If this is the same thing, it might be best to take some samples and get them examined as soon as possible."
If it had been any other patient, Tara would've expected him to baulk. He, however, was easily one of her most unique patients. His medical records were a testament to that. Not every doctor could boast that one of their patients was a chimaera. She didn't know the specifics of his birth, but she could certainly guess. When she'd had a lab run to verify his medical records, not only did his blood tests return A+ and O- on the typing, but they also returned two different yet similar sets of DNA of two separate sexes.
Between the regular smoking and his motorcycle, it was clear to her that his risk-taking behaviour was the result of some deep-seated issues. He was, if nothing else, a gambler, and even now, she could see the wheels in his head turning. 'Was he running numbers? Considering outcomes?' she wondered, watching the expression on his face. It almost seemed like he wasn't just considering the now, but also later.
"Hair, saliva, or blood?" he asked after a moment's consideration. Some of the pallor faded away, and his mismatched eyes seemed to glint in the exam room's fluorescent lighting. "Ah hell, take'em all."
As she carefully clipped off some of his hair—from the longer side at his request—into a specimen bag and administered a buccal swab, Tara considered the possibilities. Assuming this was unrelated to what was happening in the Front Range, that left the potential causes for this abnormal growth at some sort of hormonal imbalance, chemical exposure, or a glandular cancer. If this was related to the cases down south, she was likely going to have the provincial and federal government insisting Jacen be put into isolation. It was even more likely they'd want to keep him under close observation in a medical facility as the primary case in the event of a similar spate of mutations in the region.
He watched her with wary eyes as she fetched an intravenous cannula and a few vials from a cabinet behind her desk. Seemingly acting on instinct, he reached into his shirt pocket and fished out an old 1900 Morgan dollar. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him fidget with it in his free hand, and she recalled him mentioning that it was something of a good luck charm. The only time he'd ever gone anywhere without it on his person, so he said, he'd gotten into an accident, totalled his old bike, and the hospital had very nearly killed him when they misread his medical record, administering B+ blood. Although the settlement payout had been substantial, he'd since become uneasy when it came to needles.
After flipping the coin and examining the result, he glanced at her. "Anything I should do while we wait for results from the lab?" Jacen asked as she slid the cannula into the vein in the crook of his arm. "Should I stock up on food and prepare to wait this out at home?"
It was a moment before she responded, her focus strictly on filling the vial with his blood. "We can't know for sure that this is the same as what's going on in Lazy Pines unless the symptoms progress in the same fashion," Dr. Weintraub admitted as she set the swab, the vial, and the hair sample in a larger bag. "I'd recommend minimising contact with others until we know more, but if your eyes start to bother you—or worse, change colour—I want you to contact my office as soon as possible."

The Friday afternoon traffic was bad. For Halifax, that wasn't anything unusual, but Jacen couldn't help but wish that it wasn't as busy today. It was bad enough that those driving cars didn't always respect that he had every right to be there too, but the thought of another wreck while he had this freaky hair thing on his mind didn't sit right with him. At least he didn't have anything pressing that needed doing on the other side of the harbour; the MacDonald and the MacKay bridges were no doubt full of impatient idiots today.
With that and the snow in mind, he didn't chance speeding or weaving through traffic when he thought he could get away with it. It probably annoyed the asshole in the truck behind him, who'd been tailgating him for the last six intersections, to no end. Luckily, the apartment complex had its own underground parking, so it wasn't like the clown could follow him in to start anything. Road ragers were the worst.
Once he was parked in his assigned spot, he considered taking off his helmet. "She said you should minimise contact with others, Jace," a familiar voice whispered in the back of his mind. It didn't have an actual sound, but much like his own internal monologue, it didn't really need one. "Keep it on until you're home."
He grit his teeth hearing the voice. Oh how he hated when it chose to speak up, usually at the worst times. Worse, he hated that it was right. Watch yourself, and if she starts making any more 'suggestions' that make sense, call Doctor Sato, he reminded himself as he strolled over to the elevator door. Rather than taking his helmet off, he kept it on and kept his visor down.
Luckily, he didn't cross paths with any of the other building's residents. If anything, it seemed like the building was eerily empty. At most, he thought he heard his neighbour yelling at someone on the phone as he passed by her door, The yelling, he noticed, was punctuated by a cough. Wonder if we're due for a spring flu epidemic here, too?
Stepping up to his door, he removed one of his riding gloves and fished his key-ring out of his pocket. Soon after, he was safely in the dark living area of his apartment, his back pressed against the door. As he took off his helmet and sat it on top of the nearby shoe-rack, he called out, "Jaina, I'm back."
The lights flicked on after a moment's delay, bathing the disturbingly clean apartment in a soothing light. From a small device on the attached kitchenette's counter came a soft synthetic voice. "Welcome home, Jacen."
"Anything happen while I was gone?" he asked a he removed his jacket and boots, putting them away. Although he was mostly concerned with his stock portfolio, his repurposed Amazon Alexa also had access to his email inbox, all smart devices in the apartment, a rudimentary machine-learning model, a social media crawling script, and the server his security cameras recorded to.
There was a moment's pause as the virtual assistant did its job. "Google stock is up, while Twitter continues to decline," Jaina announced in what he imagined was supposed to be an apologetic tone. God damn rich people fuckin' over my stocks. "Today at two forty-five P.M., Camera A activated, and recorded for five minutes. No new emails have come in. Would you like a digest of your watched social media topics?"
He stepped over to his couch. "No, pull up the two forty-five recording from Camera A on the TV," he replied, flopping down haphazardly. Running his hand through his hair, he watched as the TV screen turned on, and a moment later, the video file was streaming from the desktop-turned-media server in the corner. Is it my imagination, or has that spot she clipped already grown back? And was that side always this soft?
On the screen, a balding obese man in his fifties was shown entering the apartment. He looked around for a moment, scratching his backside beneath his sweatpants, and then waddled over to the fridge. With that same hand, the man opened the fridge, and rummaged around before grabbing a can of Molson Canadian and the carton of leftover Chinese food from last night. Jacen paid extra attention to every single thing in the apartment the man touched on his way out, mentally noting everything he needed to sterilise or throw out.
"Ugh, that mother fucker," he muttered in disgust. He got up from the couch, made his way over to the sink, and retrieved a package of disinfectant wipes. As he fervently started wiping down everything outside of the fridge, he said "Jaina, remind me in three hours hour that I have to write another email to the building owner about the super trespassing and stealing. Don't let me to forget to CC the tenancy board this time."
After a pause, the virtual assistant spoke. "Got it, Anything else?"
Opening the fridge, Jacen paused. There were several of his discoloured hairs sticking to the handle, and he mentally noted he'd have to vacuum. "Flag any new social media posts regarding Lazy Pines, Colorado, as well as those from the last few days." This time, the AI didn't respond, leaving him in silence to wipe down every container before grabbing the head of lettuce the man had touched. Despite the fact that it was wrapped and in the fridge, the irrational part of his mind insisted it was contaminated. Using a disinfectant wipe as a buffer, he picked up the lettuce and put it in the green bin. What a fucking waste.
Following the cleanup, he scrubbed his hands until they were raw. He had to or else they wouldn't feel clean. If that asshole thought he could just wander into someone else's home just because he was superintendent, and help himself to their food, he had another thing coming. Already, he had some idea of how else he could make it hurt for the guy, his mind wandering towards the Nextdoor app on his phone. Wonder how many other people he's done this to?
"Before that, though, I ought to put in a delivery order with InstaCart," Jacen muttered to himself as he opened the fridge back up. "Let's see... More milk, eggs, cheese, and bread, obviously. Gonna need more produce and canned goods too. Oh, and rice!"

FinalHorcrux: You around, Pete?

FinalHorcrux: First, fuck off with that; I loved my parents, but I still can't stand science fiction because of the fact that they named me after a Star Wars character.
Jacen's gaze flicked over to the hub that housed his digital assistant. The irony wasn't lost on him that he used the name of that character's twin sister for his digital assistant. It was actually intentional, given that it's what his parents had intended to name his twin. It'd been a stupid idea that he'd resorted to when the survivor's guilt flared up after his accident.

FinalHorcrux: Second, fair. You work from home and rarely go out anymore unless it's to hook up.

FinalHorcrux: Caught the flu while passing through the Front Range on my way to Gage's place.
FinalHorcrux: I was practically dead on his couch for almost a week. Glad I didn't have to go to the hospital.
Peter had been his best friend back when lived in America in his youth. He, Peter, and Gage had grown up in Colorado together, and he had several fond memories of the time spent with them. Many of them involved nearly getting expelled from high school for various gambling-related schemes. Peter had been very helpful in Jacen's attempt to get kicked out of every casino in Vegas.
The phrase X-WingSlayer98 is typing... popped up at the bottom of the chat window several times. Pete had rarely ever been at a loss for words, so seeing him take this long to formulate a reply worried him a bit. He had a good idea what he might say, but... After the fifth time the message appeared, it stayed up until a response finally came through.

Jacen couldn't help but wince at that assertion. It'd been anything but just in time if the colour of his hair was to be believed. Turning off his phone screen and angling it to see his reflection only revealed that it'd grown longer in the six hours since he'd gotten back from Dr. Weintraub's office. It almost seemed like it'd took a huge leap while he napped after dinner. The right side was now fully white and extended all the way down to his shoulder, and he had to tuck it behind his ear to keep it out of his face. Meanwhile, the left had become a scruffy grey mop that almost hung over his left eye.
I look ridiculous, he thought, opening the phone to its camera app. Jacen considered whether he should take the picture and send it to his friend or not. On the one side, Pete was like a brother to him, but at the same time, he felt as though his friend might post it online if thought it'd get traction. If it ends up online, and the doctor confirms the worst, the government's probably gonna send the RCMP to personally take me into quarantine.
With a sigh, he switched back over to the messenger app. After sending the image, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. Usually, being up past eleven meant nothing to him, but between the persistent sense of wrongness since his hair started changing Wednesday night, and anxiety dragging her back to the surface, he could hardly keep his eyes open. It didn't help that he was starting to get a bit of a migraine.

FinalHorcrux: Ain't nothin' lucky about this, Pete. This shit's freaking me out, and I'm kinda scared. My doc's probably trying to get in contact with the Colorado Department of Health, and I've pretty much decided to keep my head down in case whatever the fuck this is could be contagious. Fuck only knows what my tail's gonna look like.

FinalHorcrux: Listen, I'm gonna go have a smoke and catch some Zs. I'll catch up with you some other time.
Without waiting for a response, he set the instant messenger app to silent and slid the phone into his pocket. From his sleeve, he removed the pack of cigarettes and tapped one out. He nearly lit it before remembering the lease didn't want him smoking inside the apartment. Instead, he tossed the pack onto the coffee table and made his way over to the kitchen, and snagged a beer from the fridge.
As he sat on his patio chair in the cool not-quite-spring night. He was thankful he hadn't gotten any accumulation on his patio, leaving him a dry spot to smoke in peace. Cracking open the can, he took a sip before setting it aside and lighting up. Glad it's a clear night... A shame there's too much light pollution to really enjoy the stars.
"Look at you, poisoning your body, even with whatever's happening to you," came the voice of his doubts. It was so much clearer than it had been in the garage, and a tingle in the prickle on the back of his neck almost made it feel like she were right behind him. "Such a waste..."
Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he stared up at the underside of his upstairs neighbour's patio. "You're not real, so you can just piss off," he muttered as he exhaled the smoke. When Jacen sat up and traded the cigarette for the cold Molson, he caught sight of his reflection in the patio door. A bitter-looking young woman with long brown hair glared back at him. When he blinked, she was gone. "You're not her and you never were..."
No response was forthcoming, so he went back to trying to decompress. Stress, that's the only reason she's even back, he thought, tossing the empty beer into a bucket he kept by the door. Once this is all over, she'll go away. She always does. With the cigarette now hanging from the corner of his mouth, he stood up and leaned against the patio's railing to look out over the city.
"It should've been her," the voice of his former 'friend' hissed in his ear as he ground the butt out on the railing. "Delude yourself all you like, killer, but it should've been her that lived."