DUN DUN DUN
"I'm coming, I'm coming! Stop pounding at my door you imbecile!" the insufferable pounding at the door had already put Dexter in an even more off mood than he would usually have been in. The morning did not agree with Dexter's nocturnal nature and even the magical powers of caffeine couldn't help him. Without any regard to who was at the door, Dexter yanked it open clad in simply a raggedy bathrobe, already prepared to dismiss whoever it was.
"I'm not buying your damn girl scout cookies! How many of you need to go on this D.C. trip-" his rant was cut off as to his surprise it wasn't those girl scouts he wasn't particularly fond of. It was a man. A porky man.
"My niece is actually a girl scout" the man mischievously smiled.
A small smile dawned Dexter's face. "What do you want Mark?"
"Well for one, you could invite me in. You know these winters are getting colder," the big boned visitor responded with a wide smirk on his face
However, Dexter ignored him and preceded back to his initial question.
"Mark I haven't got time for your games"
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was I interrupting your busy day of being the town shut-in? Or would you rather get back to your dear S-145GR3 experiment…?"
The playful expression was gone and suddenly Dexter could feel the coldness of Mark's reference. Dexter didn't respond and instead stepped aside, allowing for the large man to pass through. Dexter looked both ways in the street before locking his door.
"What do you know?" Dexter asked before the man had anytime to even hang up his jacket on the coat rack next to the door. It was Mark's turn to ignore him as he strode into the kitchen and made himself more than at home.
There was a long pause of silence minus the steady tick of the clock that hung proudly on the wall. Aside from that doo dad, Dexter owned no other means of time telling.
It wasn't until minutes later when Mark's fussing had procured a warm cup of tea, did he finally face Dexter and gesture for him to sit down at the table across from him. The wooden chair squealed in protest, more from a lack of years use rather than from the weight of the man who sat atop it.
"Tell me Dexter, how long has it been? How many years of failure are we looking at here?" Mark asked as he stirred his tea.
"It hasn't been that long. I started working as soon as I discovered the files. It's just been a slow start and I think that I'm actually making significant progress now. What I discovered in the files were a bit beyond even me so I had to back track and see what had already been done and what I understood-"
"How long Dexter?" Mark pushed through with clenched teeth and an intense glare thrown
Dexter held down his head as he said, "Five years" in a meek voice much unlike his usual bold character.
Mark took a slow sip from the cup and leaned back in his chair. More protest came from the chair and Mark rubbed his hands together. Dexter could see an idea brewing in the man's head.
"To be honest, I expected worse. Five years is something that I can work with," Mark nodded to himself and leaned towards Dexter.
"So I'm going to assume that you're not going to stop funding then?" Dexter finally picked up his head.
"No, I think that this might actually be something ground breaking. So I'll keep pitching into your little toy, but I need you to periodically check in with me."
Dexter nodded but remained silent as he waited for the catch.
"However…"
There it was.
"I want you to move the experiment to my facilities."
Dexter stood up in protest and cut Mark off before he could justify his preposition.
"Those imbecilic excuses for scientists aren't handling my experiments. The Professor's work will be undermined if they touch it. I'm almost there, give me some time. I can get this done alone and right here in my own lab. I just need the Academy's funding to keep going."
"I see imbeciles is still your favorite word," Mark said as he sipped his tea
"I'm serious Mr. Portello. Please give me some more time," Dexter requested.
Mark looked up at him with a stone expression before setting down the cup and sighing. Whenever Dexter called him by his last name, it was always nearing begging territory.
"I have already narrowed down the impossibilities. I can do this on my own. I will get through this and I don't need the Academy meddling in it."
"Meddling?" Mark stood up at this word and looked Dexter square in his eyes, albeit the alarming four inches Dexter had over him.
"May I remind you of who is providing you with this shabby house of yours and the funds to continue playing in laboratories? If it wasn't for the Academy, you'd be out on the streets. It'd do you good to come to facilities. Maybe then you could learn something and this experiment would actually get somewhere."
"Progress is moving along quite well," Dexter squinted his eyes at the homely man. "I just need more time."
"Three months. I'm giving you three months to get your act together. Either figure it out or you'll move it out."
Dexter broke his gaze from Mark and tightened his fists. Mark then moved to the coat rack and as he zipped back up the wool pea coat, he faced Dexter again.
"Three months, no more and no less. You're a bright man Dexter. You have been ever since you were young but don't make the same mistakes as the Professor. You'll see soon enough that you need the Academy" And without another word, Mark retreated back into the outside world.
Dexter stood there with clenched fists staring at the same door that Mark went through. He hadn't been outside in years. He hadn't watched the news or caught up on any of the latest songs. It was a place foreign to him and needless to say, his people skills had left him. And this mere fact prompted him to question the purpose of finishing this experiment every time he reached a dead end. How was he to know if the world was ready for what his success would mean or if it was even needed? More importantly, how was he going to finally succeed after years of failure? The Professor himself, his own mentor, died during this experiment and every day he was beginning to believe that it would be his demise too. Whether it was the death of reputation, career, of his life itself, he knew this experiment would definitely take something from him. This was him basically trying to make some form of life. He kept having to remind himself that this was needed and that the world needed it most. He was well aware of the dangers but if the Professor himself was willing to give his all to this one achievement then why shouldn't he?
Dexter went and locked back his front door and preceded to the stairwell where he stormed up the stairs in an enraged determination. So he had three months to prove that he could do this? To prove that he didn't need any more handouts from the Academy? Then so be it. Challenged Accepted…
Dexter quickly flung off his bathrobe and threw on a discarded pair of sweatpants and long sleeve shirt he had in his pile of clothes in his bedroom. He picked his glasses up off of his dresser which was cluttered with sticky notes, all of which were reminders to eat, sleep, and breathe.
He stormed back down the stairs and continued until he reached his basement. He got his lab coat on and slipped his feet out of his slippers and into the black shoes by the door. He had learned from when he almost spilled acid on himself that even in your own home, take lab safety rules serious.
Dexter took a deep breath as he held the basement door handle.
Three months…Three months….Three months
He repeated the thought. Dexter felt like he needed to prep himself before once again venturing into the cave where he regrettably spent most of his days. He had the feeling that this time when he descended into his lab it would be a considerably long time before he came back up.
Maybe I should pee first
Dexter shook the thought from his head literally. This time Dexter could do it. He had to after all. Mark Portello was a man of his word indeed and if Dexter couldn't do it, Mark would run his way through Dexter's door in exactly three months prepared to even rip his research from his cold dead hands. With a deep breath, the poor scientist descended down his steps with a desperate desire for this to be his last time taking this trip down the dark stairwell.
Whatever it takes…
And slowly the door shut behind him, returning the house to its usual stillness with the exception of the constant ticking of the kitchen clock.