Chapter 13
I take a long shower and a hasty breakfast, and off I go, rushing to my practical chemistry class.
“The other day you learned about titrations in class with Professor Zimmerman. Today we are going to see how titrations work in practice…”
Our instructor Thomas Lovecraft speaks and I look around the lab, my focus shifting away from him. I run my eyes along the glassware, looking at the beakers, the graduated cylinders, and the pipettes neatly aligned beside the sink. Then, suddenly, my attention is captured by a distillation apparatus hooked onto a large glass ampoule. In it bubbles a pinkish liquid exuding heavy vapours, which collect in the coils of a distillation column and fall into a flask.
‘Experiment in progress, please do not remove – Kathrine’, says a note lying in front of the device.
I’ve never used this set-up, and yet I know how to. I think, I know what it’s meant for, I used it to make potions. The thought darts though my mind, and I formulate it without being able to decipher it.
“You will work in groups of two, so feel free to choose your partner. I’ll hand you an instruction sheet, which recaps…” Lovecraft keeps speaking on the background.
I will need salts and alcohol and at least one aldehyde. I will need to heat them and let them bubble till the sand will flow through the neck of a large hourglass twice, before initiating the distillation. I recite the recipe in my head, the echo of my memories silencing the instructor’s voice.
“Iris, are you with us?” the instructor asks me.
I am not.
“Iris?” he repeats, and this time the eyes of 30 fellow students looking my way draw my attention.
“Yes I am. My apologies,” I reply.
“Ok, so pick a partner and let’s get started,” he tells me, giving me an odd look.
The rest of the students busy themselves finding a partner, and I cease to be the focal point of their attention.
I hesitate, detached from the diligent crowd surrounding me. Lovecraft is about to address me again when someone approaches me.
“I’m Kathrine,” she says.
I look at the distillation set-up, at the note signed Kathrine sitting in front of it.
“I’m helping a grad student,” she explains.
Something in her is familiar, and I scrutinize her features in an attempt to retrieve the origin of my perception.
“And well, I also happen to do some interesting work on the side,” she adds smiling.
I am about to ask for an explanation when she raises her index and places it on her lips.
“Patience, Iris,” she says.
How does she know my name? Oh yes, the instructor called me by name earlier.
“Patience,” she repeats, before adding, “I have the keys to the lab, let’s meet here at midnight.”