The Volcano That Changed The World (4 page)

Continuing to talk
, he chided himself, “Brilliant, Sherlock; that’s the best you can do?”

If he could last through the
remainder of the night, hopefully someone would come into the lab early in the morning to do some work and would find him there—that was his only chance, given that the malfunctioning door was unlikely to suddenly work again.

Mark
knew that exercise produced heat, so he began to pace back and forth. Digesting food also produced heat, he knew. His body always heated up as he ate. Unfortunately, the last food he consumed was hours ago and he had nothing with him, not even a candy bar.

As he paced, he
looked down and noticed his bare legs. He shook his head and mumbled, “You dumbass.”

As he began to realize that he was in imminent danger of freezing to death, his pulse
rose, the additional blood flow providing a slight warming effect. It was not enough—unless someone came to help him soon.

By the time the timer went off indicating that two hours had passed, his pacing had slowed. He felt the cold penetrate deep inside him. The human body works best at ninety-six degrees Fahrenheit, which allows chemical reactions in the body to occur rapidly enough to keep it alive and function properly. Mark’s body’s chemical reactions were slowing.

With further cooling, the body’s last-
ditch effort to generate heat was to shiver, an involuntary muscular response. He was now shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering.

Mark
had always thought of himself as an agnostic. Now, while slowly pacing, he pondered heaven and hell, wondering if they might be real after all.

His mind
flashed to an old girlfriend. Maybe he should have been nicer to Sara Jo, a woman he had once loved. Would she be sad or happy when he was gone? Probably happy, he surmised.

His mind wandered to the
warmth of the Greek island of Santorini, where he was heading for the summer in a few short weeks.

Laughing out loud, he remembered that
“hypothermia,” the medical term for freezing to death, was a Greek word. The juxtaposition of a warm Greek island and the Greek word for freezing struck him as funny. Perhaps his brain was not fully functional, he thought.

Many chemical reactions take place in the brain; when the body cools,
a decline in mental processing occurs. Mark’s weakly functioning brain told him to sit; his cold legs were tired of walking. With his back against a wall, he eased down and sat on the floor, wrapping his arms around his bare legs that were tucked up against his chest. He shoved his hands up the sleeves of the coat on the opposite arms.

As he sat there, a vision of his mother came to mind. She had died of colon cancer when he was still in high school. He remembered her warm embrace,
always feeling safe and loved when she hugged him. Now he wondered if his father, an attorney, would be disappointed that he had been so careless entering the frozen lab without proper protection.

His mind drifted
back to the beaches of Santorini, the warm water and the sun drenched cliffs. The images were so vivid even though he had yet to travel to the Greek island. He had only seen photographs.

Suddenly, the room went dark;
there was no motion to keep the lights on. His thoughts shifted to nighttime in Santorini, the lapping of the waves, the warm Mediterranean breeze. He stopped shivering. Mark knew this was not a good thing. His body was giving up, no longer trying to stay warm. Death was near.

Perhaps I will never make it to the island of the Thera volcano
, he thought, and then his addled mind told him—
you are already there
. Momentarily, he believed the protective lie his brain was telling him. He felt very tired and wanted to curl up on the beach and sleep.

Va
guely, he remembered that as body temperature drops, unconsciousness could strike. He fought to stay awake, thinking he was shaking his head violently to stimulate his brain, when in reality, his head barely moved. In the cold darkness, his eyelids began to close. His last memory was of staring into blackness, struggling to stay awake, when in fact, his eyes were already shut.

Chapter Three

Rivers shift, oceans fall, and mountains drift.

—
R.E.M., “Feeling Gravity’s Pull”

Infirmary, FSU, May 1998

Mark heard noises, people talking. He struggled to open his eyes. As he did, rays of light painfully peppered his pupils like dozens of love bugs hitting a speeding car on a Florida road in May. Even squinting did little to quell the sting, adding to the discomfort of a head throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. It was like a terrible hangover without the benefit of a fun time the night before. Everything was a blur, his eyes unable to focus.

Finally, h
e made out the hourglass image of a slim female form bathed in white who appeared to be floating nearby. His pounding brain not fully functioning, he momentarily thought he might be in heaven, an angel next to him; never mind the agnosticism. He blurted out, “Where am I…in heaven?”

             
The angel, a nurse, lightly touched his face, laughed gently, and said softly, “Lucky for you, you’re still alive. You’re in the FSU Infirmary.”

The infirmary was part of the
teaching hospital on the Florida State campus.

Now he remembered. He had been in the core lab when the door malfunctioned. Everything else was a fog of incomplete memories. Suddenly his body shivered as if recalling something his brain could not.

              Slowly Mark’s eyes began to focus. He looked around, immediately noticing an IV in his left arm, which felt very warm.

             
As he struggled to sort out what all this meant, the nurse asked in a low voice, “Do you feel well enough to see a visitor?”

             
“I guess so,” Mark responded groggily.

             
The nurse turned, saying something he couldn’t understand. Another female approached him. Concentrating, Mark tried to improve his focus and he instantly recognized her. She was Sara Jo Miller, Dean Miller’s daughter—the woman he almost married. The same woman he thought while freezing in the lab might be happy about his demise.

             
As she stood there, a flood of memories washed over him.

***

             
Mark began dating Sara Jo about two years earlier. He knew dating the dean’s daughter held some risk, but the attraction he felt prevailed over logic.

             
It all began when he attended a welcome-back-to-school party at Dean Miller’s home shortly after the fall semester began. Dean Miller’s wife had passed away years ago, and his daughter, an only child, helped host the party.

Sara
Jo had only recently returned from California, where she had lost her job as a successful executive for a large corporation when a merger eliminated her position.

She was a tall
, slender brunette with turquoise blue eyes and a California-tanned body covered with a black cocktail dress that highlighted her well-proportioned figure. The dress was short and Mark immediately noticed her athletic legs, muscles made tense by the three-inch high heels she wore. Dean Miller introduced them and then stepped away to welcome another guest. Mesmerized, Mark stared at her divine face framed by long, flowing hair.

             
“What can I get you to drink, Mark?” Sara Jo asked with a warm smile and shadowy, sultry eyes that captivated him even further.

             
It took him a moment to break away from her spell. He finally managed, “Uh, red wine, please.” As an afterthought, he attempted humor. In his best James Bond imitation, he said, “Shaken, not stirred.”

             
But for a slight smile, she remained unmoved, simply asking, “California or French?”

             
The James Bond reference was stupid and hadn’t worked, but he wasn’t giving up. Knowing she had recently returned from the West Coast, Mark replied in a conspiratorial tone, “I like bold ones from California.”

             
As he had hoped, this time she took advantage of his opening, “I just came from California and I’m fairly bold.” Her steady smile, let alone her repartee, was disarming.

             
After a moment’s hesitation, a response came to him, “You seem to have a forward taste, but do you have a strong finish?”

             
He had finally broken through the steely facade. She blushed, saying, “Touché.”

             
Mark laughed, “You really are a red from California!”

             
Giggling, all barriers down now, her face reddened even more. “Let me get you that wine.” She made a hasty retreat.

H
e observed her backside with satisfaction as she walked away, thinking Dean Miller’s wife must have been an attractive woman.

             
Throughout the evening, whenever their paths crossed, one of them would make a comment about red wine, bringing smiles to the other. Because of her hosting duties, however, Mark never got the chance to spend much time with her. He had a strong desire to see Sara Jo for longer than a minute or two.

A
t the end of the evening, as he was saying goodbye to her at the front door, he asked, “Perhaps we could share a bottle of red wine sometime?”

             
Without hesitation, Sara Jo responded, “I would like that very much.” Then she kissed him gently on the cheek, lingering slightly.

             
Mark was hooked, looking forward with great anticipation to their next encounter.

              Following that subsequent bottle of California cabernet, they dated for about a year, becoming very close very quickly, soon spending every free moment together. As his relationship with Sara Jo grew, so did his relationship with her father. Mark enjoyed spending time with Dean Miller and learned that father and daughter had a special bond, derived in part from Sara Jo being an only child and from the death of her mother at such a young age.

Mark had the loss of a paren
t in common with Sara Jo. After his mother’s death, his father had moved from Panama City to Tallahassee to join a new law firm and start a new life. Being nearby, Mark introduced Sara Jo to his father, and soon he too was smitten.

During the
year they dated, the connection between Mark and Dean Miller evolved for the better. The dean was thrilled that his daughter was so happy with Mark. Their pairing seemed a perfect match.

Mark,
ever the impulsive one, was ready to ask her to marry him, when a friend told him, “You really should live together first.”

“But she’s my boss’
s daughter,” Mark had protested.

In
response, his friend simply asked, “You wouldn’t buy a new pair of shoes without first trying them on, would you? Why would you take such a big step as marriage without first testing it out by living together?”

It turned out to be sage advice.  Sara Jo
moved in with Mark despite her father’s modest protests. Dean Miller finally yielded, insisting “You must visit me often and take very good care of my baby.”

Mark promi
sed and soon they were settled into his home south of the FSU campus nestled in a private wooded area. The arrangement was perfect at first, intense moments of intimacy mixed with periods of total comfort of being together.

             
Eventually, though, Sara Jo became restless, wanting to return to work. Mark wholeheartedly supported her efforts as she began looking for employment. Unfortunately, Sara Jo quickly learned that there was no job in Tallahassee on par with the position she had held in California, and the available jobs were not a fit with her experience. With each rejection, in some instances because she was overqualified, she became unhappier and angrier.

Her doting father had
spoiled her and she was accustomed to getting her way. Not achieving her goal of returning to a fast-paced management position was like an open wound on her psyche draining her good spirit and producing a malicious attitude that she began to relentlessly inflict on Mark.

Whenever he
came home elated after a good day on campus, he was excited to share with her his experiences with his students. He mistakenly thought his happiness might cheer her up. Instead, she tried to bring him down to her emotional level; if she wasn’t happy, she didn’t want him to be.

She would
change subjects, not wanting to hear about geology students, either complaining about their relationship or wanting to have heart-to-heart talks about her negative feelings, feelings that Mark did not share and found difficult to understand. His positive attitude only made her angrier, and he soon learned to keep it to himself. He knew the negativity stemmed from her failure to find suitable employment, but the constant disapproval directed at him took its toll.

Yet,
at the same time, she became increasingly more dependent on him for support, emotional and otherwise. One minute she was clingy; the next, she pushed him away. She never asked how he felt or what he thought; she showed no interest in the impact her attitude was having on their relationship. Mark increasingly felt marginalized; that everything was all about her and he was expected to tolerate whatever temperament she imposed upon him.

             
Still, Mark did all he felt he could to make her happy. When she accused him of not being spontaneous enough, he surprised her with special outings. He did things on the spur of the moment even though doing so required him to work late to make up time preparing for class. She had an abundance of free time and was easily and often bored, whereas his free time was limited, a condition that seemed to annoy her.

Whatever he did, it
never seemed to be enough. Over time he realized the source of her unhappiness was herself, not him, and that unhappiness spilled over into their relationship. Nothing he could do would change that. She needed to find whatever was missing in her life, to find happiness from within. It was not his nature to admit failure, but increasingly he wanted to break it off with her, but how? She had become so dependent on him. And, there was her father, his boss, whom he did not want to disappoint. Dean Miller seemed to sense that there were problems in the relationship, but when issues arose, he always defended his daughter and blamed Mark for her unhappiness. Fear of making the situation worse, Mark maintained the status quo and endured the dysfunctional relationship.

             
One evening, however, Mark reached a breaking point. He returned home in a particularly good mood. Earlier that day he had led a field trip to Jackson Bluff, an outcrop about twenty miles west of Tallahassee. He introduced his students to a sandy shell bed filled with abundant fossils laid down by an ancient sea. The students scampered over the outcrop area, eagerly finding fossils of mollusks, corals, foraminifers, and the occasional remains of a marine vertebrate animal.

Their excitement was contagious, students
calling out, “I found one” or “Dr. Malloy, come look at this; what is it?” He was happiest when he was out in the field; sharing this experience with interested students was an extra bonus.

When he arrived home
that evening, in spite of his efforts to the contrary, he was eager to tell Sara Jo about his day, hoping this time she would share in his delight. Maybe the simple pleasures of the students would help show her the way to be happy for herself. He wanted to try one more time to cheer her up.

             
As he entered the living room, she was sitting curled up on the couch in sweats, a glass of red wine in her hand. She didn’t move when he came in, and said nothing when he said hello, walked to her, bent over, and kissed her. She didn’t even return the kiss.

As he began to tell her
about the day’s field trip, she interrupted him, “I really don’t care about your students. Just in case you’re interested, I’ve had a terrible day. The interview I had this morning, well, it didn’t go very well. I’m really not in a very good mood and your conversation about a stupid geology field trip isn’t helping.”

He had forgotten about the interview. There were so many rejections; he had become numb to the job-hunting process. “I’m sorry.”

              Totally deflated in a matter of seconds, Mark slowly sank into a chair across from her. He slumped back and observed her. She didn’t move, continuing to sulk and drink her wine. She had succeeded in bringing his mood down to her level. He now felt depressed and frustrated. He couldn’t continue this way, but how should he tell her.

Finally,
with emboldened courage, leaning forward, he said, “Sara Jo, this isn’t working.”

             
Flustered, she asked, “What…what do you mean? I’m bound to find a job one of these times.”

             
“No, Sara Jo, our relationship…it just isn’t working.” He struggled to find the words. “I can’t make you happy and you’re certainly making me unhappy.”

He
watched her. She was confused and suddenly on the verge of tears. He agonized over what he was about to say, but had thought about it for weeks and now saw no other way.