There was an excited buzz in the air as the research team of Dominex gathered in the conference room. Jeff Edwards stood at the head of the table, accompanied by a few members of his department. Sam Reynolds was seated at the far opposite end of the table, followed by Sheila Montgomery and a few people from her staff.
“Well, I think everyone is here, so let’s get started,” Jeff directed. He nodded to a young man sitting to his left, who stood and handed out packets to everyone.
“Thank you, Rick,” Jeff said. “Now will everyone please turn to the first page? On page one, you will see a list of our research volunteers and the corresponding numbers, which we will use to identify them during all phases of the study. This is being done to avoid any age or gender bias. The number ranges will be used to organize their start dates. I will maintain their corresponding identities. Any questions?"
Jeff scanned the room and noted that Sheila was studying page eleven. Not good. There were no questions and Jeff forced himself to ignore Sheila.
“Now, if everyone will turn to page two, you will see all the additional information on each volunteer.” Sheila was still on page eleven. “Turning to page ten," Jeff continued, “we have outlined the start date structure. We will see ten volunteers each day. They will come in for complete physicals and drug screens, which will provide us with a baseline for each volunteer. On the date the volunteer comes in for their physical exam, they will surrender all of their medication. It will be returned at the end of their six weeks of abstinence.
“The startup phase, or Phase One, will take ten weeks to complete." Jeff paused for input. No one had any. “Moving on then," Jeff directed, “everyone turn to page eleven."
The group noisily turned pages. Sheila was staring straight ahead at Jeff. He continued to ignore her, and kept his focus on the other members of the team.
“On this page, we have outlined the follow up process for Phase Two of the study. The volunteers will come in every ten days to have their vitals checked and to submit to a drug screen. We know that all the volunteers will test positive for the basic compound on their first day, but it should be completely out of their systems after ten days to two weeks.
“What is Pharmlab?" Sheila interjected.
Jeff did not answer her, and looked to Sam for assistance.
“It is the onsite lab we created to save costs," Sam interjected.
“It can’t be that much to test for one substance," Sheila argued.
“We are not testing for just one substance," Jeff spat back. “There are a multitude of substances that effect the brain in a similar way. Drug addicts have known that for hundreds of years.”
Sam gave Jeff a warning glance.
“Alcohol, for instance, affects the same part of the brain as the drug Valipene. If any of the volunteers were to compensate for the drug by using another, they would have to be eliminated from the study."
“Besides," a member of R&D interjected, “we’re being required to do complete drug screens by the FDA, so what’s the point of debating this?"
“I agree,” Jeff stated. “Now, may I continue?" he said mostly to Sheila, daring her to speak. “Our department will maintain all the Phase Two data prior to turning it over to the FDA."
“Now," Jeff emphasized. “Are there any questions?"
“What will the rest of us need to do during the study?" a member of marketing asked, afraid of getting any of Sheila’s leftover wrath.
“Nothing," Jeff answered. “Your work is done, and I want to thank all of you for bringing us this far."
“Yes. Good work everyone," Sam added. “And rest up this weekend. We have a busy ten weeks ahead of us."
With that, everyone stood to go back to their primary jobs. Everyone, that is, except Sheila, who remained behind scrutinizing page eleven.
Back in her office, Sheila continued to ponder the one question that kept sticking out in her mind. Why had she not heard one word about any onsite lab until now? She thumbed through her files and pulled out the expanse of paper that made up her preliminary research files. She had every single memo and outline that had been printed since the first day of this project. Carefully scanning each page, she worked through the stack until she reached the packet she had received today.
“Nothing," she said. “There is not one word here about an onsite lab.”
She also wondered how they would be able to present Pharmlab as an independent test site. The lab was in their building. How could it be considered to be objective screening, when it was owned by the same company submitting the data? None of this was making any sense. I don’t know what is going on, but I intend to find out.
Sheila waited until the building had cleared. On a Friday night, everyone left on time. When she reached Jeff’s office door, she felt inside her pocket and fished out the keys she had gracefully removed from Charles Roman’s desk. He had been so busy removing my clothes, he never noticed my hand inside his desk drawer, Sheila thought. She slipped one key inside the door, but it would not turn. She tried another with the same result. “Third time’s a charm," Sheila said, as the key opened the office door.
Inside the office, Sheila quietly closed the door and retrieved her tiny flashlight. The tiny light scanned an immaculate office. “Anal asshole," Sheila said under her breath. The animosity between herself and that man had grown to be a large and wonderful hatred of each other. Sheila went to Jeff’s desk and dug through each drawer, looking for files. There was nothing in the drawers but drawer stuff. “Figures," Sheila said with contempt.
She moved to the file cabinet and was not surprised to find it locked. This was of no concern to Sheila, who was an expert with a nail file. File cabinets had “dummy locks,” or locks for dummies. They were no match for the “criminally gifted.” The whole idea was to never invite the criminally gifted to hang around your files.
She had the cabinet unlocked in a jiffy and was thumbing through the files with their neatly typed tabs, when she heard footsteps coming from down the hall. “Shit," Sheila whispered, and quickly scanned the office for a place to hide. She had just dived into the closet and closed the door as she heard two men enter the office.
“She is far too curious," a voice said. Sheila noted that the voice sounded very much like Jeff’s.
“So, what are you going to do about it?" the second, unidentifiable voice questioned.
“I don’t know,” the Jeff voice answered, “but this is too important to be screwed up by that twit." Sheila could feel her face turning red.
“Hey," the number two voice said. “Why don’t you give her some ‘important’ assignment to keep her busy?"
There was silence.
“That’s not a bad idea," the Jeff voice said finally.
“Good, so can we go home now?" the number two voice said.
“Sure, let’s go," the Jeff voice answered. Sheila could hear them moving towards the door. “I bet the boss has an important assignment for her," the Jeff voice laughed.
“Too bad she isn’t more generous," the other agreed. Both men were now laughing as though they had just heard the funniest joke ever delivered. The laughter grew faint, as the door closed behind them. Sheila could still hear the jokes and the laughter continuing down the hall.
She waited five minutes before daring to come out from the safety of the closet. “That anorexic weasel," Sheila hissed. “If he’s such a marketing genius, how come he didn’t even notice his office door was unlocked?”
She moved back over to the files, more determined than ever. In the third drawer, Sheila found what she was looking for. She removed a file, labeled P2. Clever, Sheila thought. Like no one will figure out that P2 means Phase Two. Sheila carried the file over to Jeff’s desk and made herself at home. She carefully scanned each page until she found pages she had not seen before. What the hell is this? Sheila scanned memos dated from two months prior, outlining an onsite lab that would carefully screen and monitor each patient’s progress. The last memo discussed the importance of controlling the final results and made the claim that the onsite lab would most efficiently accomplish that goal. The location of Pharmlab had a different downtown address. Very clever. The other location was probably a Chevron Station. She had never seen these memos, and wondered how they had been distributed so easily without her knowledge. She stared at them as though they were on fire. Did Dominex intend to forge the lab location and the results if necessary? There was so much more involved with this study than a volunteer’s drug screen result. She scribbled down the alias pharmlab address and returned the file to its place, remembering to re-lock the file cabinet.
I don’t know what they’re trying to pull, Sheila thought, but if they think they can get away with this, then they must be nuts.
Carol had been lying on the couch for two days. She felt officially beaten. Life offers no rule handbook or user guide. You just know inherently that when you are knocked down, you should get back up and fight harder for what you want. Another unfortunate reality is that there are a given number of tries. After those have been exhausted, it is time for a new game plan. The only problem with this cold, hard reality is that by the time a person reaches the “new game plan” stage, they are out of juice. For an undetermined length of time, the individual feels void of any power. There is no fight, no creativity, and no sense of hope.
Carol dragged herself off the couch and walked in to the kitchen. Maybe some coffee would help. Standing at the kitchen sink, she began to fill the pot with water, and noticed her wilting plant in the windowsill. She stuck a finger into the dirt. It was dry. This plant had been the product of an oversized spider plant. The original plant had been thrown out and neglected. Yet, after months in exile, the plant had refused to die. Carol had dragged it out of its dark, abandoned corner, and had given it a new home. To her, the plant and its offshoot represented an undying spirit – survival against all odds.
Carol poured some water into the dirt and thought, Even hard core survivors need to be watered occasionally. She was feeling sorry for herself. A condition she felt had been hard earned. She felt justified. Carol stood at the kitchen counter and waited while the water began to run through the coffee grounds. The gurgling sound of the coffeemaker gave re-assurance that help was on the way. She had one more night of drug-induced sleep to look forward to, and then she would be off her medication. The money for the research could not have come at a better time. She wasn’t ready to embrace the heartache of pounding the pavement looking for another job just yet. She intended to wallow in her demotion for a while.