The attic of Nevermore LaRue’s childhood home held thirty-two years of secrets, and all of them were moldering and covered in a thick layer of dust. Neve’s nose twitched as she pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a snap, then she sneezed, sending a cloud of particles dancing in the beam of afternoon sunlight that cut through the single dormer window.
After a quick inhale, two more sneezes burst out of her in quick succession. “Godzilla!” She consoled herself with the phrase her Aunt Talulah, the famous medium, preferred.
“What in the radioactive lizard monster do you mean?” asked the African grey parrot named Peregrine, who was perched on the arm of an old brass lamp. His scarlet tail feathers twitched as he observed her with intelligent eyes.
Neve shrugged off the question and then offered a quick explanation. “It’s better than ‘God bless you.’ A shower of snot should never be considered a blessing.”
Perry cackled with delight from his perch, then added, “You know, most people would hire a cleaning service before undertaking this kind of archaeological expedition.” He ruffled his feathers in disgust, sending a small cloud of dust motes swirling into the air.
“Most people don’t take unsolicited advice from the ghost of a dead con man trapped inside a parrot,” Neve replied without looking up, her gloved fingers trailing over another box labeled ‘Aureon Biomedical 1976,’ in her father’s distinctive block lettering.
Perry ruffled his feathers with indignation. “I prefer spiritually and intellectually enhanced avian companion, thank you very much.”
Neve ignored him and focused on lifting the lid slowly to avoid further dust bunnies. Inside lay yellowing papers inside manila folders, their edges curled with age. Her father had always been meticulous about his research, a trait she’d inherited, along with his tendency to overthink everything and his love of organization.
“IV logs and X-rays?” she murmured, scanning the pages that were filled with his research. “Medical notations and diagrams. Dad, what were you working on?”
Perry landed on her shoulder. The contact was unwanted, and Neve had to shoo him away with a sweep of her hand. “Boring science stuff? Yawn! Please tell me there’s at least one treasure map in there. I have a thirst for adventure.”
“One would think you would be more cautious about treasure hunting, considering what happened the last time you quenched your thirst,” Neve reminded him as she pulled out a stack of Polaroids. Perry’s human life ended the moment her former tenant fired several fatal gunshots into his chest, yet somehow, his soul survived, awakening in the body of her parrot.
The photos were standard lab documentation: experiments, rodent testing cohorts, microscopes, and researchers in white coats. But one made her hands tremble.
“Well, well, well,” Perry let out a low whistle. “Looks like someone's been keeping secrets.”
The image showed her father, younger but unmistakable, standing next to a woman in a lab coat. Her pregnant belly was prominent, but it was her face that made Neve’s breath catch. The woman shared the same sharp blue eyes, same determined set to her jaw. On the bottom of the Polaroid, written in her father’s block penmanship, was a date: December 1976. Four months before Nevermore was born.
“No… that’s impossible.” Neve sat back on her heels, the photo shaking in her hands.
“Impossible is such a strong word,” Perry said, gentler now. “Especially for someone accustomed to time-traveling with a talking bird.”
“I don’t understand. I was adopted.” Neve’s protest came out weaker than intended. She surveyed the rest of the boxes, seeming to look for one in particular.
“What’s got your neurons firing on all cylinders now?” Perry called, flapping after her.
“There was another box here, years ago.” Neve pushed aside a dusty tarp. “I found it when I was twelve. Dad stopped me before I could open it. He said it was just old baby things he’d meant to donate.”
“How do you remember that after all these years?” Perry asked, though he already knew the answer. She never forgot details. It was both Neve’s superpower and her curse.
“Here.” She pulled out a box wrapped in twine, the knots still tight after decades. Inside, nestled in tissue paper yellowed with age, lay a collection of baby accessories: a faded petal pink hand-knitted blanket, tiny pink booties, and a silver rattle.
But it was the newspaper wrapped around them that caught her attention. She gingerly unfolded a copy of the Tampa Bay News dated May 1977. A small birth announcement clipping slipped out, the paper still crisp as if it had been preserved between the pages.
Welcomed with Joy, Nevermore Marie LaRue, born April 15, 1977.
No mother’s name.
“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Perry remarked, landing beside the announcement. “Who names their offspring Nevermore, anyway? I mean, besides your Edgar Allan Poe-obsessed father.”
“Perry.” Neve’s voice held a warning note.
“Right, right. It’s not the time for literary criticism.” He hopped closer, his head tilted. “You okay?”
Neve stared at the announcement, her mind already cataloging and cross-referencing dates, facts, and inconsistencies she’d noticed over the years but dismissed. There was the sensation of free-falling, and she felt the panic trickle in. “I’m so confused. Dad never lied to me.” The tension made her shoulders rise to just under her ears as the truth flooded in.
“Humans lie, my friend. Trust me, I would know.” Perry ducked his head down and preened a wing. “I made quite a career out of it.”
Despite herself, Neve felt the corners of her mouth quirk up. “You’re terrible at providing comfort.”
“I’m a parrot. I’m designed for snark, not sympathy.” He nudged the photo with his beak. “But I am excellent at solving mysteries, and my friend, we’ve just found ourselves a doozy.”
Neve stared at the pregnant woman in the photo again, studying her face, so much like her own, and felt something shift inside her. The past she thought she knew was unraveling, and she wondered what other revelations would surface.
“Ready to do some digging?” Perry asked, his eyes gleaming with the prospect of adventure.
“We need a plan first,” Neve insisted, already reaching for her notebook. “A detailed, organized…”
“Oh, Nevermore,” Perry sighed, cutting her off. “When will you learn? The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”
“Thank you, Steinbeck,” Neve deadpanned.
Perry wouldn’t leave it alone. “You can’t plan everything. You need to learn to go with the flow.”
“I’m not built that way, and I refuse to feel guilty about it,” Neve said. It was a new sensation, embracing her perceived weaknesses as strengths, one she’d discovered while sharing the consciousness of Rosa, the maid, and Isla, her childhood nanny, when a lightning strike during Mercury in Retrograde sent her and Perry back to 1989. The next retrograde event was approaching, and Neve was determined to be fully prepared in case the phenomenon reoccurred.
A few hours later, Neve was surrounded by countless cardboard boxes in the living room. Each box was labeled “Aureon Biomedical” in her father’s precise handwriting.
Witnessing the disarray, Perry remarked with wonder, “This is a hoard that would make Sheila proud.”
In the zone, Neve’s gaze was locked on another Polaroid where her father stood close to another woman in a lab coat, this one’s appearance eccentric. On the bottom, it read “Dr. Elaine Feldman, Aureon Biomedical 1976.” Dr. Feldman’s wild red hair sprouted from her head like a corkscrew of copper wires gone rogue, her hair seemingly contained by what appeared to be yellow number two pencils jabbed through a messy bun.
They were both wearing pristine white lab coats that contrasted with the industrial gray walls behind them. While Ellis smiled with ease at the camera, Dr. Feldman’s grin was more of an uncomfortable smirk; her chin was dipped down and eyes averted. The doctor’s mismatched socks peeked out beneath her starched slacks, one striped, one polka-dotted. Her fingers were splayed wide at her side, hinting at her discomfort with focused attention.
“Well, would you look at that fashion disaster,” Perry muttered, perching on the sofa behind Neve’s shoulder.
She didn’t reply, too absorbed in piecing together a timeline on the floor. Neve placed her father’s college graduation photo at one end, followed by his early research papers, then the lab photos with Dr. Feldman and the mysterious woman.
“This is a part of Dad’s life I never knew about.” Neve’s voice was steady yet amazed as she sorted through the sea of documents, photographs, and lab reports. Neve pulled out another handful of folders and dug deeper. Newspaper clippings about Aureon Biomedical caught her eye. “‘Leading pharmaceutical company faces allegations of research fraud for Protocol VitOx,’” she read aloud.
“Now that’s more like it!” Perry perked up. “Corruption, scandal, corporate espionage! Color me intrigued.”
Neve’s methodical nature took over as she arranged the clippings chronologically. When the boxes were empty and sorted into neat piles, she pulled out her phone and typed Aureon Biomedical in the search tab. Neve scrolled through the results, skimming a series of websites and archived articles.
Medical Ethics Quarterly - Winter 1978
The Aureon Scandal: When Research Crosses the Line
The fall of Aureon Biomedical stands as a cautionary tale in medical research ethics. The company’s collapse following Dr. Elaine Feldman’s conviction highlighted the dangers of unauthorized human trials and data falsification. Investigations revealed Dr. Feldman had manipulated results in three major clinical trials between 1974-1976, leading to the recall of two cancer treatment protocols.
Tampa Bay Sun Times - December 3, 1977
Biomedical Firm Shutters Doors Amid Scandal
Aureon Biomedical, once heralded as the East Coast’s most promising cancer research facility, closed its doors permanently yesterday. The announcement comes two months after the sentencing of Dr. Elaine Feldman and subsequent investigations that revealed widespread irregularities in the company’s clinical trial data.
TIME Magazine Archive - March 1978
Medicine: The Ethical Cost of Finding a Cure
…Dr. Feldman’s conviction sent shockwaves through the medical research community. The former rising star in oncology research received a twelve-year sentence for manslaughter and multiple counts of medical fraud. The case exposed dangerous gaps in research oversight and led to stricter FDA protocols for experimental treatments…
Florida Medical Board Records - Case Summary #74-1077
In Re: License Revocation - Elaine Feldman, MD
- License permanently revoked February 15, 1977
- Multiple violations of medical ethics and research protocols
- Unauthorized human trials
- Falsification of clinical data
- Contributing to patient death through unauthorized treatment
The Board finds that Dr. Feldman’s actions demonstrate a willful disregard of established medical protocols and patient safety guidelines. After careful review of evidence presented during the February 15, 1977, hearing, the Board determines that Dr. Feldman’s conduct falls far below the minimum standards of professional competence required for medical licensure in the state of Florida. The severity and scope of these violations leave no alternative but permanent revocation of medical privileges.
*Editor’s Note: Some details have been redacted in compliance with court orders and privacy regulations.*
Neve picked up the photo again, feeling an undeniable pull as she studied the doctor. The purple geode sitting on its shelf quivered in response. “See that?” Neve pointed the rock out to Perry. “It’s a confirmation. I need answers, and she’s the key.” The geode had been a gift from her father. He kept one half and gave the other to her. During her previous trip to 1989, she’d learned hers was a talisman of sorts, guiding her toward her destiny. A chance to right a wrong for a person the world misunderstood.
“I must say, your single-minded focus on this endeavor is rather admirable. But,” he paused for dramatic emphasis, “it is somewhat concerning that your feathered oracle hasn’t been fed in several hours.”
“There are some pistachios in the kitchen,” Neve muttered, not looking up from a research paper she was absorbed in, her lips moving as she read the words under her breath.
“The lady wounds me with her casual dismissal!” Perry crowed, then swiped at his chest with one wing. “Though I suppose solving the riddle of your origins takes precedence over my gastronomic needs.”
Neve continued arranging the timeline, her methodical nature tacking them to the bulletin board in chronological order. The truth was there, waiting to be uncovered. Her father’s research, Dr. Feldman’s downfall, and the presence of a woman who might be her mother in the same research lab were pieces to a puzzle she was determined to solve.
“We’ll find the answers,” she declared under her breath, more to herself than to Perry, and she was rewarded by another confirmation quiver from the geode.
Sold out
