Name Pronounced: Ellen-ah
Age: 53
Birthday: April 19
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 128 lb
Nationality: Nomékopite
What?: Human
Pocket Monster Representative: Lovely Ninetails
Instrument: Piano
Weapon: None
Favorite Color: Chesnut
Likes: Afternoon tea; cooking; carrying on conversations; ballet; operas
Hates: Driving; rude, inconsiderate people; popular trashy clothing
Dreads Above All: Something bad happening to Robert
Most Valuable: Her pictures of her old friends and neighbors, David and Joyce
Friends: Robert, Horatio, Uranusu, David, Joyce
General Outlook: So many things are taken for granted
Dreams: That she can learn to appreciate the simple things more
Phobia: ???
Favorite Food: Lemon meringue pie
Nitpicky Nitpicks:
Appearance: Traditional, middle-aged\older person: graying hair; wrinkled, gentle, smiling face; soft gray eyes
Had Not the Things that Happened Happened: She would have been more distanced from her twin brother
~~~
History: From the very start, Elena and her twin brother were very close. She would practice ballet and he would be her captive audience, applauding her and giving her flowers—you know, sweet stuff. But then he was sent away to distant boarding schools and universities to get a higher education, and Elena was left behind.
From then they stopped communicating all together. He went on to join the international S.T.A.R.S.; she stayed at home, picking up a small job in the performing arts.
This prolonged estranged relationship continued until one spring day, her nephew was given her to look after, seeing both his parents had been killed as their house burned down just the night before. Exceedingly grieved and troubled over the new responsibility, she took it upon herself to call her brother and inform him of the situation. Almost immediately, as if they had never been parted, he resigned as a S.T.A.R.S. and flew over to Longborn to be with her and their orphaned nephew.
As said, it was as though they had never been apart. Strongly connected brother and sister raised the boy, despite inability and inexperience, sacrificing their jobs and their own pursuits, unable to bare the thought of sending him to an orphanage or to foster care.
Elena is a content older woman
who enjoys the simple things like her brother. However, while he tends
to be more quiet and reserved, Elena can at times put younger women
to shame with all her talking.
“…but her research on virus-specified inclusion bodies in the cytoplasm without a linear genome…” Dr. Speyer trailed off, noticing the black expressions on their faces, “Sorry. Anyway, TS’ specialty was defunct theories…and scandals.”
“So what happened?” David Sydwell asked.
“The next time anyone heard from TS, it was because she had gotten kicked out of Hungary. She was exiled officially for using drugs, methamphetamines—but the rumor was that she had been experimenting with drug-induced behavior modification on a couple of her students. Neither of them would talk, but one ended up in an asylum and the other eventually committed suicide. Nothing was ever proved, but after that no one would hire TS.”
“But there’s more to the story?” Joyce asked this time, anxious to get to the bottom of this.
“In the mid-eighties, a private lab in Bulgaria was broken into by the Interpol police and the bodies of three men were found, all dead of a filovirus infection—it was Marburg, one of the most lethal viruses there is. They’d been dead for weeks; neighbors had complained because of the smell. The papers the police found in the lab suggested that all three men were research assistants to TS, and that they had allowed themselves to be deliberately infected with what they understood to be a harmless cold virus. TS was going to see what she could do with it…”
Dr. Speyer stood up, crossing her arms tightly. The agony those men must have endured; she’d seen the pictures of Marburg victims. ‘From the initial headache to extreme amplification in a matter of days. Fever, clotting, shock, brain damage, massive hemorrhaging from every orifice—they would’ve died in pools of their own blood…’
David stood and paced, looking at Joyce, “And to think that our daughter is in the hands of this…lunatic…”
Joyce’s eyes welled with tears, “We’ll never see her again.”
Dr. Speyer bowed her head sympathetically, “I’m sorry.”
I put an arm around my
friend and neighbor, Joyce, looking at my little nephew for a bit as
he played with the remaining Sydwell children, fearing lest the same
fate should befall him. For once I could think of nothing to say. The
poor girl; and so terrible that this should happen to her. And I felt
partially responsible…I should have gone in the house with her
that day to make sure everything was alright…
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