12
Two days had passed before May Baker discovered her husband had been sent to California.
Tackling the Wednesday morning traffic, May practiced what she was going to say to the psychiatrists at St. Joseph’s. In an attempt to beat an orange pedestrian light she nearly hit a man. Angry he pointed at his head and told her to fuck off. Shocked May parked her car at the nearest shop. She turned off the engine and sat quietly for a moment.
With her nerves under control she left the car and walked into the shop. Inside she bought a Kit Kat; it was ages ago since she tasted one. The chocolate was doing her good; it was doing its job.
Back in the car she switched on the radio, soft music emerged through the speakers. The traffic didn’t bother her so much anymore.
Thirty minutes later she parked her car at the building. Not so long ago in former centuries and up until the 20th century psychiatric institutions were called lunatic asylums. It was a place where people with an astrayness in the head were kept. The asylums were cold and lonely places full with poor and unwanted unfortunates. The understanding of madness was broad. A husband tired of his wife could admit his wife and remarry after a number of years, leaving her to rot.
May walked to the front door of the building, rang the bell and waited for someone to open the door. Inside she was given a pass, which she pinned on her blouse. She had to leave her handbag with the security man and followed a male nurse to a waiting room.
A row of grey plastic chairs occupied the cream painted room together with a sad looking cacti standing on the only windowsill of the room. A cream set of blinds was closed to block out the morning sun. A clock on the wall ticked loud. She sat down and waited.
Almost 10 minutes later the same male nurse re-appeared, he beckoned her that the psychiatrist was ready to see her. Entering an office, she walked towards a gentleman sitting behind a desk. She recognized him from Anthony’s court case.
May sat on a plain chair and Dir. Greystone leaned comfortably back in his leather swivel chair. For a few moments Dir. Greystone watched May quietly then he nodded with half closed eyes. There was a small crater in the middle of his grey hair.
“Well what can I do for you, Mrs. Baker?” Dir. Greystone spoke slowly, like he was talking to a slow witted person. He folded his hands and placed them on his large stomach.
“I’d like to know what you did to my husband.” May’s stomach felt tense as she spoke. The man made her uncomfortable with his staring,
So much for the Kit Kat .
“Your husband is one of the few fortunate people who are going to benefit from a newly created medicine in the United States. After we tested him extensively, we concluded your husband’s situation lends itself tremendously for this treatment. The combination of the physical and mental symptoms your husband is displaying gives him a very high change of recovery from his illness,” Dir. Greystone explained.
“He will get better? He will be his old self again?” May leaned forward in her chair; her hands were clammy. She glanced doubtfully at the psychiatrist.
“There is one thing you need to understand, we cannot guarantee a 100% recovery. It’s a new drug. However tests have shown incredible results on the brain tissue of a terminal cancer patient.” Dir. Greystone continued to convince May.
“My husband hasn’t got cancer. I don’t see how this medicine can make him better.” May said with a tremble in her voice.
“Perhaps I haven’t been clear enough Mrs. Baker. I never said your husband was going to recover completely. However, I can assure you, he will improve significantly.”
The slow manner of talking of the man was getting on May’s nerves. She heaved a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Why did he have to go to the States?”
“The Delphi Clinic in LA is specially equipped for this unique purpose. Doctors from all over the globe are giving their time and knowledge to be part of this wonderful discovery. They will constantly monitor the patients for at least five years. The Delphi Clinic is the only hospital in the world advanced enough to deal with this remarkable new development,” Dr. Greystone pressed on. He studied May’s face while he talked. Occasionally she glanced back at him. “So you mean this whole thing is an experiment?” May’s eyes narrowed. Two vertical lines formed above the rim of her nose. She couldn’t believe what she just heard.
“As a matter of fact yes,” Dr. Greystone admitted. “But I can assure you even if your husband’s brain doesn’t react to the medication, his condition will not deteriorate.”
“What if things do go wrong? What if Anthony dies?” Not able to sit still any long she stood up, shaking her head she said, “No, no, I can’t let you do this to him. He has rights.”
“I’m very sorry Mrs. Baker, but your husband has signed a contract.” The Psychiatrist’s voice suddenly went cold and distant.
“The Delphi Clinic is paying your husband the sum of €10,000 to participate in the program, whatever the outcome.”
“He is under guardianship, the contract is not binding. You cannot do this to him.” Red faced May crossed her arms. “You’ll hear from my solicitor.” She raised her voice
She got up from her chair, not able to sit down any longer. Her blood pressure rising and heart racketing in her chest she bolted out of the office. Her shoes clicked brisk on the pavement.
In the security of her car she began thinking about what had happened in the institution.
Had she heard it correctly, did that psychiatrist say Anthony had been offered money?
The cheek of the lot, May thought. They’d never asked her for any consent. As for that so called miracle drugs, for all she knew it could be anything and nothing. How was it that a well respected mental institution was allowed to be involved in this?
*
A Mercedes raced down the desert road, dust lingered behind. Narette didn’t know how long she was going to be, she really couldn’t leave Ellis on his own but there were important things she needed to do, things that could save his life. Over the course of time his condition had deteriorated, she required more and better supplies. It was a big risk to leave Ellis by himself. However if everything went according plan she could be back before nightfall.
Ellis had told her he’d make sure there weren’t any traces which could lead to the clinic, but she couldn’t be sure. There had been nothing about the tubes on the news. A young man was found dead in his car, under suspicious circumstances.
She drove south bound on the Interstate 605. While driving she thought about Edgar. Why did he react so severely to the drug? It was supposed to be well tested and an accidental drop on the skin, washed under a hot tap, shouldn’t give such hideous problems. Things didn’t add up.
*
George Malthouse adjusted the light above his computer. He strived to come up with a plausible explanation of what was going on. When Edgar Ellis didn’t return to work the day after the theft, he had feared the worse. Ellis of all people a felon, the thought of it seemed absurd. He perceived the man as trustworthy, always there to lend a helping hand. Of course Ellis’s absent could be a coincidence, but why didn’t he notify anyone in the station of his whereabouts?
A three dimensional illustration of an unworldly creature filled the computer screen. Using the keyboard George turned the picture three quarters to the right. He zoomed in on the head. With a gaping mouth George stared at the image. He was startled when his mobile rang. Slowly he picked up the phone. Twenty five minutes later he opened the door for Detective Wolters. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the cuts and bruises on her face. Quickly he offered her a chair.
Sarah didn’t wait for an invitation she began firing questions the moment she sat down. “Tell me all about the project you were working on. It better be good, as far as we know the virus has taken one life already.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know,” George sighed. He seemed to be relieved. Like his, Sarah’s eyes were drawn to the image on the screen.
“What’s that?” Sarah pointed. “Has it anything to do with the project you’re working on?”
“Yes this is a section of the brain of a Balamuthia Mandrillaris parasite,” George explained “It’s about a million times magnified. In the beginning I worked alone on the project. It all began when one day a cylinder arrived at TRS, just like the ones we receive regularly. The cylinder contained a single sample with water that needed to be tested for pollution and quality.
I accidentally contaminated the contents when I sneezed. Examining the sample under the microscope, I discovered to my surprise that the Rhinovirus and the BM parasites were involved in a heavy battle. I developed a curiosity as to which of the two microorganisms was the strongest. After a substantial amount of time there was still no winner. Then something remarkable occurred, I never witnessed this before I my career. The two rivals somehow agreed to form a bond, like we people have the NATO. Together they attacked other microbes as a unit.”
Sarah’s brows furrowed. “It sounds like something from a science fiction film”
“I set off to do experiments. Soon John Kinsella got involved. Gradually we gathered enough data to prove we were onto something very special. The first time we went to our superiors for financial support we were rejected. They needed more evidence. When we finally managed to do so we got the all clear from TRS. They had arranged the funding.”
“When did Ellis get involved?” Sarah asked.
“He got involved as soon as we received the funding. He was one of the scientists working for the pharmaceutical company Betox. Apparently, the owner is extremely interested in the discovery. He funded the entire project.”
“What exactly were you working on at the time of the break in?” Sarah asked.
“We crossbred the organisms so they developed into a super parasite, which we gave the name Caryo.32. With Caryo.32 we hope to cure patients with any abnormality in the brain.” George watched Sarah pondering the full implications of his explanation.
“Sounds like a very noble initiative, Mr. Malthouse.”
“It is indeed, the parasites can be used to fight any illness in the brain.”
*
The Californian sun was warmer than Anika expected. In the afternoon David had accompanied her to the Delphi Clinic where she had a brief interview with one of the doctors. The rest of the day they spent exploring the city. When her headache got the upper hand, they were obliged to return to the hotel. While she rested, David packed their belongings and later that afternoon they moved to a bungalow a few blocks down the road.
At five pm David quietly left the house. His car was parked in front of the bungalow. He was worried about his guest. Her headaches seemed to be getting worse by the day. He admired her for trying to live a normal life. In a few days she was going to the clinic and stay there for the duration of the experiment. He waited for a car to pass before he merged into the traffic and headed north.
It was dark when Anika opened her eyes a few hours later. Her hand searched for the switch on the table lamp. Flipping the switch she expected the room to be visible, but instead she didn’t see anything, the room remained dark. Convinced she was dreaming Anika rested her head back onto the pillow and closed her eyes once more.
*
Anthony got dressed at a quarter past six in the evening. When finished he set off to find the kitchen. He was starving and the severe cramps in his stomach had woken him. The house was quiet he seemed to be on his own. Inspecting the fridge he found some leftovers, which he put on a plate and put them into the microwave. Anthony patiently waited for his meal to be ready. Ten minutes later he emptied a glass of milk and the plate with food. Fed and watered he decided to explore the house. He started with the room beside the kitchen. It was the utility room, housing a washing machine, a separate dryer, a mountain bike and a few plastic buckets. One of them contained a yellow box with three black circles on it. The red lit was tightly sealed, although he heard something inside Anthony had no idea how to get it out and neither did he know how it got in. A door led to the back garden with a neatly paved terrace with colorful plant borders and wooden furniture. Three different colored of roses were climbing up one of the outside walls of the house
He smiled when a small bird emerged from a bush. Her pale belly had little brown spots. While he studied her, the thrush was busy smashing the shell of a snail. When the shell broke she extracted the soft body of the snail and consumed its flesh, next she paused to turn to Anthony.
“Sweet is the honey coming from the valley below. Bitter sweet is the rain.” Immediately after the bird spoke these words she flew away.
Puzzled over what he’d just witnessed Anthony sat down on one of the wooden chairs. What did she mean? Does she know what I’m thinking?
*
Frank Clark entered one of the small cafes in town. Inside the owner was serving a lone customer. Dressed in his overalls the owner looked more like a car mechanic than a publican. The customer took place on a stool and leaned one of his elbows on the bar, resting his head on his hand. When the owner finished serving the customer he approached Frank.
“What can I do for you?”
“Let’s start with a beer.”
“You look worried. Is there something wrong with the Aphrodite?” The owner opened a Budweiser and filled a glass.
“No she’s fine,” Frank heaved a sigh. “I need somewhere to stay for a couple of days.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are some old relations of mine coming to the island I rather not bump into them. Things might get ugly.”
*
Martin Tyler caught Anthony sitting on the terrace when he arrived home. To his satisfaction Victor Rogozihn had left the house. Together they spent the evening reading, talking and watching TV. Anthony didn’t have much interest in the programs though. Now and then he moved his head slightly forward trying to pick up a sound from a faraway distance. Several times he stood up from his chair and stared through the living room window into the darkness outside.
The evening sky was loaded with thunder and lightning, which set Anthony off on a lecture about the phenomenon of electricity. Baker’s vast knowledge about the topic surprised Martin. Anthony was eager to know whether his new friend could live without electricity.
“Most people have become slaves to their own computers. What they don’t know is that everybody who uses a computer is connected to a central computer. I haven’t discovered yet where this computer is held at the moment, because they move it all the time. Did you know the Mormons have a data base of all the birth and deaths in the world? But it’s not them I am talking about. The crowd I’m talking about spy on everybody via the computer in their home or office,” Anthony said. Outside the rain washed against to windows. “About a year ago I created a computer virus. The virus kicked up a great stir in Ireland. It was supposed to destroy this central computer but unfortunately it wasn’t strong enough. Instead a new PAYE system for the health service went completely off the rails. There were also several other governmental organizations whose computer systems crashed.”
The room was lit by a beam of light directly followed by the impact of a bombshell. Martin could see a satisfactory glint in Anthony’s eyes. “That was close.”
“It would have been better if this house was hit,” Anthony replied.
“What?” Martin exclaimed “Are you mad? Do you want to have us killed?”
“No, but in order to get rid of the Internet intruders or Civilian Spies as I usually call them, you need to take extreme measures, yes even risk death. But don’t you worry when lightning strikes your house the thunder follows promptly.”
Martin listened with astonishment and frowned, “We’ll be dead.”
“You don’t have to be connected to the Internet,” Anthony went on with his lecture. “That is what a lot of people believe, but that’s not necessary. It works via the electricity cables. Computers were invented in the first place to observe civilians.”
The story seemed odd but believable the way Anthony put it. With a few drinks inside him, Martin almost became a believer.
“I was arrested by the SDU in Dublin and charged under Section 30,” Anthony went on. “Ever since my incarceration the Irish government has tried to brainwash me. I am grateful you’re helping me.”