Dr. Rosemary Meadows marks the injection site of Sodium Vitae with a blue marker. She places one dot on the tip of her finger and the other on Dr. Elliott LaVelle’s. Two syringes lay on the aluminum tray between them. Each is filled with a clear liquid holding either the disease or a placebo. When she injects one into Dr. LaVelle, he doesn’t flinch. When he slides the second needle into her, he frowns. Sodium Vitae’s cardinal symptoms are immediate: the epidermis separates from the hypodermis, the keratin in the hair follicles turns brittle, and, when external force is applied, any infected area flakes away like salt. It’s her skin that turns white.
The validity of the tests, now administered solely by Dr. LaVelle, relies on a controlled environment. Over the next few hours, Dr. Meadow’s fingers crystalize into the palmar position. Within the next few weeks, her palm and knuckles itch. She keeps herself from scratching the area. For the validity of the trial, Dr. Meadows must remain still.
Sodium Vitae spreads once every molecule of the cell turns into Sodium Chloride. Neither Dr. Meadows nor Dr. LaVelle knows the mechanism behind the reaction. Once, it was possible to turn coal into gold. Once, it was possible for a mortal man to turn water into wine.
In rabbits, Sodium Vitae infects and kills within a day. In humans, the symptoms—the crystallization of flesh, bone, muscle, and nerves—occurs over months. Precaution keeps Elliott LaVelle at Rosemary’s bedside. Elliott—sweet Elliott—is there for anything she might need. He plays the role of nurse well: he’s gentle when inserting the IV, careful as he guides the breathing tube down her throat. The IV will provide nutrition before her veins are too delicate to pierce with a needle. The breathing tube will prevent air from chipping away her crystalized esophagus. He reads her fairy tales and love stories. Her favorite is Beauty And the Beast.
Hair loss is expected. During the rabbit trials, Rosemary once found a tuft of intact fur among the hundreds of hairless bodies. Rather than keratin, the lattice structure had become cubic, resembling sodium chloride. When the lens of her microscope had brushed one end of the fur, the structure shattered. She reaches up, and when her fingertips touch the strand of hair, it disintegrates. The particles fall, entering the gap between her partially crystalized lips and the feeding tube. Salt dissolves on the wet half of her tongue. Her hair is no longer keratin.
Elliot uses the small tape recorder he wears around his neck to make notes of her reactions: loss of vision, loss of feeling, immobility, and a decline of inhibitions. He introduces himself as Dr. LaVelle and her as patient one. An ID dangles beside the tape recorder, half inside his unbuttoned lab coat, leaving a red mark where it scratches his bare skin. Little ghosts and dogs dance in the empty spaces of his paper ID. During their internship, she decorated the ID with doodles. She had crossed out Elliott and wrote Ellie. Maybe being patient one is fine; his skin is soft and wouldn’t fare well as salt. She lifts her right hand to touch his cheek. When her skin cracks and sodium chloride flurries onto the tiled floor, Elliott takes her hand. She wants him to kiss her fingertips. Instead, he guides the hand to the bed and binds her with a leather strap.
Her world turns to salt when Sodium Vitae reaches her eyes. Figures emerge from nothing. First, it’s Ellie. He injects the Resonance Compound to reverse and prevent any further symptoms of Sodium Vitae. Then, another shadow appears. Color bleeds into the shades, filling the white space with Rosemary’s mother and Ellie. They are learning about Lot and his family. Her mother teaches Ellie to leave loved ones behind. Rosemary doesn’t understand. She tries to ask a question, but her mouth can’t form the vowels around the feeding tube. Her movement chips away the salt in her throat. Her mother continues with the lesson. Rosemary tries not to cry. Warmth surrounds her right hand. Soft human flesh encases the one part of her that’s not salt. He twines their fingers together before soft lips touch her knuckles. When the lesson ends, the figures chase a small white rabbit, leaving Rosemary behind.
Dr. Meadows wakes to salt in the bedsheets, grating against her new layer of skin. Dr. LaVelle sleeps at her bedside, his hand still tangled with hers.
Alicia Hernandez was a student at the University of Colorado Boulder. She double majored in Psychology and Creative Writing. Her stories explore the human condition, its contradictions, and the behaviors that can stem from experiences with the absurd happenings of fairy tales and other myths.