Juan shook his head as he wracked his brain for anything else that might explain the off-kilter metabolic results. “I suppose it’s possible that while the body’s immune system is destroying the tumor cells we injected, it could affect the test results, but that’s just a guess.”

Tapping her fingers on one of the clear cages, Carol peered at one of the seemingly healthy rats. The rat glanced up at the disturbance and went back to eating his food pellet. “If that’s the case, maybe if we repeat the tests in a week, the results might change.”

Hopping off the lab stool, Juan gave Carol a fist-bump and said, “That’s a great idea. Let’s do that. In the meantime, have the interns prep another dozen specimens for inoculation. I want to triple-check everything we’re doing and have another round of tests at one-week intervals. Maybe we’ll see the BMR change over time. I’ll go do more research and see if there’s anything else I can come up with.”

“You know,” Carol said, “I think we’re on the brink of something here.”

An electric tingle of anticipation flushed through Juan. “I really hope so.”

###

It was just past seven in the evening as Juan found himself driving southbound on I-395 after a long day at work. The rain had turned to sleet as he took exit 7 into Arlington. He was only minutes away from his new two-bedroom apartment and a comfortable bed.

As he pulled into the apartment complex, he wondered why the lights in the parking lot hadn’t come on like usual.

Juan eased into his covered parking spot, hopped out of the car, and climbed the steps to the second floor. It began to snow.

As he approached apartment 2B, he pulled out his keys and spotted his door slightly ajar.

His blood ran cold.

He took his phone from his pocket and prepared to dial 911. Then he slowly pressed the door open.

The place was in chaos.

His medical books had been pulled off the shelves and strewn across the floor.

The stuffing in the sofas had been ripped out. Holes had been cut out of the drywall.

With his heart racing, Juan stepped out onto the landing and away from the door. He dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My name is Juan Gutierrez. I just got to my apartment and someone broke in and tore the place apart.”

“Sir, do you know if the intruders are still there?”

Juan’s heavy breathing blew jets of steam in the cold night air. “I have no idea. I didn’t go in. I’m at 2350 26th Court South, Apartment 2B, in Arlington.”

“I’m sending police officers to your location right away. I want you to stay on the phone with me until they get there.”