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December 4, 2017
Dr. Taylor leafed through the science magazine as he did every morning in the sunroom at the back of the house. Then, he placed the magazine back on the table. This was his time—two hours of quietness far removed from the reality of living, job, and family. His wife, a creature of a habit, went out to breakfast after dropping off their two kids at school, and he didn’t mind at all. With his schedule, this two-hour period of complete isolation was invigorating. He picked up his coffee mug and sipped the black liquid. He gazed around to confirm his successful life: his house was enormous, he owned two luxury cars, he had money in the bank, and his device had finally been approved by the FDA. He was a millionaire, and as soon as production finished on the first models, he would join the ranks of billionaires. Was money his objective? Money never crossed his mind. He was making history. Dr. Timothy Taylor would be remembered like Cerletti and Bini. He was, of course, indebted for their invention of ECT. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to delve so deeply in the human brain. But their approach was wrong, and they had caused more harm to their patients using a cruel mechanism. His invention was a true breakthrough with minimal side effects.
He looked up. The clouds were rolling in, devouring the winter sky. The speck of dark blue was disappearing, leaving behind the melancholy grays. He evoked the memories of past spring skies where the clouds were white and fluffy, like cotton balls traveling at the speed of a snail. They appeared as lightweight, feathery sculptures that were better than any known human artist could create. He looked at the magazine again, contemplating for a second, and then he picked up the local newspaper instead. The headlines corroborated the news of a serial killer. Even serial killers could be treated and could lead a normal life, if his device was installed, he thought. The change would be dramatic, making the brain waves and ideas conform to societal normality, and the possibilities were endless. The article disclosed minimal information, perhaps because the police force hadn’t much to offer. The detectives were incapable of reaching the depths of a distorted mind. That required intelligence, he reassured himself. He was the only expert in the mental health field that could and would reach the full depths of a criminal mind. It wasn’t time to reform them, though the device did wonders with Andrea, who was the only recipient in his project who had murdered another human being and had the predisposition to do it again. His involvement had changed both her life and his in an unexpected way. Andrea became his assistant as her intelligence circumvented all others around him. Her diligence created the environment fit for his research. She wasn’t institutionalized any longer, and she was free to blend into the streams of humanity. He never revealed to his colleague and friend, Dr. Andrew Kaufman, that his ex-wife was a member of society. He had promised Dr. Kaufman to keep her locked up and far away from his son. He didn’t keep his promise because he felt his project required a different approach. It was a revolution in treating mental illness, thus her release into the social settings. He had no qualms about breaking a meaningless promise. Hell, no reservations penetrated his soul for installing the device in Dr. Kaufman’s son, an otherwise healthy brain. Of course, there had been a minor abnormality, but it didn’t justify the operation, not until significant studies of an adult human brain had been performed. Did he bend the truth a bit? Perhaps. On the other hand, it was an even exchange. He buried Dr. Kaufman’s secret about the murder in the park in exchange for enrolling his wife and son into a program that held the answers to a future free of mental diseases.
He continued reading the article, forgetting, for now, the possibility of serial killers as future recipients. When he reached the paragraph where the names of the victims were displayed, his heart rhythm quickened, and the blood rushed to his head. It couldn’t be true! Six victims that carried his device? Six members of his elite project were dead? He had to calm down, think, and contain the damage before it spread like wildfire in a dry forest. All the scenarios, possibilities, and conspiracies invaded his intellect, creating a hindrance to the logical path of his thoughts. He was besieged. He placed his fingers on his temples, squeezing thoroughly to set his rapacious thoughts back on a consistent pattern. Andrea popped into his head. No, that was preposterous. His device worked; no uncertainties existed. She was cured and would never kill again. He fervidly scanned the article, trying to locate any details of the bodies. No, there was no mention of a makeup artist on the loose, and the police talked about the victims being killed by some type of incision. Andrea stabbed her prey to death and then painted the girl’s face. He breathed more easily now that there was no artistic expression found on the faces of the victims. Another idea began to form though; one that made more sense. Someone was trying to alter or destroy his project ... but who?
Was it his ex-partner, Peter, who left the program two years ago because he thought the device was too omnipresent, allowing new ideas to be infused in the minds of his subjects? Or was it a pharmaceutical company producing psychotic medications that was on the threshold of losing billions of dollars if treating psychosis with pills was eliminated completely? Or was someone else the sole conspirator? He was dangling by a thread, like a bug caught on the edge of a web. His attempts to free himself by flapping his wings helped to undo part of his body. He wasn’t completely free, and the spider would come to collect the token of her web efforts. His mind was frantic. He would defeat the spider and somehow find a way out. He didn’t give a flying fuck about anything other than his project, and if he had to unearth the conspirators by digging in the dirt with his two bare hands, he would do it.
He dialed Andrea’s number and waited impatiently, ready to utter something disharmonic or stupid if necessary. He was morphed into something inhuman. His face was a ball of fire, the vein on his neck pumping blood like a gas pipe. His eyes lost their kindness, and his nostrils inhaled so much air that the room was suddenly dried out. He rose and saw his reflection in the mirror by the sliding door. He realized he wasn’t in the right state of mind to converse, and he hung up the phone before he made a mistake.
He was determined to find the conspirator, but first, he had to calm down and reclaim his balance. He must follow logic, not his panic-stricken mind. He sat down, his brain in overdrive, and dialed the only number that could resolve the situation temporarily, at least until the conspirator(s) were caught.
“Dr. Taylor?”
“Matthew, we have a serious situation on our hands. The project will collapse if we don’t act now.”
“What’s going on?” Dr. Taylor knew he had gotten Matthew’s attention; the project was important to him as well. It made him money. They were illegal funds, but nonetheless, it was money that no one in the agency knew he received for helping with the approval process. Further, his device was exceeding any expectations, and Matthew merely paved the road to acceptance.
“Six of the recipients are dead. I’m almost convinced the killer is after the project. I need you to delete their names from every document the FDA received, and it has to be done now ... today!” his desperation echoed in the room.
“What you are asking me to do is impossible. I can’t locate the hard copies that the panel may have received.”
“Listen, Matthew. If the program goes down, you are going down with it. Do what you need to do. Erase these names,” and he listed all the names that needed to be eliminated from the documents.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said bemusedly as he hung up.
His next move was to uncover the conspiracy that was thriving right under his nose. He felt the desolation wakening in him like the winter sky. A storm was coming. Was he prepared? Tomorrow, his interrogation would begin, and he would find out who was the weak link in his chain.