The Pain Colony

by Shanon Hunt

  That’s what everyone thought.

  ***

  Malloy stood outside his car, waiting for the AC to cool it down to something that wouldn’t melt his skin. Even though the sun was nearly setting, the temperature hadn’t dropped one degree. He hated Phoenix in the summer.

  The image of Mark Vespe played back in his head as he waited. That freakish look on Vespe’s face, the PCP look. Why? Why’d the kid do that? What was he thinking? For that matter, what had Karen Richmond been thinking? Whatever they’d been pumping through that port had to be a psychoactive. Maybe a hallucinogen. A new type of LSD?

  He got into his car, checked the rearview mirror, and put the car in reverse. As he took his foot off the brake, he was startled by a loud knuckle rap on his window.

  He rolled down the window. “Christ, Garcia. What the hell?”

  “They found vials and a syringe.”

  Chapter 6

  Allison pulled out a Chinese food container that boasted of “Northern NJ’s best Chinese take-out.” She sniffed it, grabbed a fork, and padded back to her sofa. She’d stayed home from work the next day. She knew it was unprofessional, and she did, of course, feel guilty about not being in the office to support the staff. Not that she was any real support.

  “I haven’t called in sick for over a year,” she said to her television, in a vain attempt to justify herself.

  Ryan was no doubt holding it all together anyway. Ryan Garner was an Austin in the making. He’d been working for Austin for just two years, and it was clear that Austin was having a huge influence on him. Ryan had begun shadowing Austin around the office, adopting his mannerisms and expressions. He’d even started attending important meetings with him. Austin treated Ryan with a different level of respect and professionalism. Ryan got to be part of the good ol’ boys club with cigars and scotch and all that went with it. Allison was just the after-party.

  She hit Play on the Roku remote and started the next episode of Sex and the City. She’d binged most of season 2 in the last twenty-four hours, which of course she’d already seen years ago. She hadn’t showered in two days and she felt grimy, but she had no intention of showering today either.

  As the opening credits rolled, she wished she were more like Carrie, with close, lifelong girlfriends. But the truth was she didn’t have any friends. She’d never been good at connecting with people, and her job had always seemed a higher priority than socializing. Perhaps she could’ve led a happy life as a loner or maybe even developed some friendships if she hadn’t fallen completely in love with a white-collar criminal. A white-collar criminal with a wife and two kids who apparently didn’t care for her enough to let her know he was okay.

  She lay back on the sofa and pulled the pillow down under her head. Her thoughts drifted to the first time she met Austin. She’d been standing around the obligatory graduate student reception, waiting for ten minutes to tick by so she could shake hands with her advisor and excuse herself. She loved neuropsychology, and she was particularly proud of her research in pain psychology, but she despised the politicking and posturing that went on at these events. But before she had a chance to steal away, she was approached by a man whose name tag read “Austin”—no last name, no affiliation. He slipped a glass of champagne into her left hand and removed the Diet Coke from her right with a flirty smile, and she was immediately attracted.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he’d whispered in her ear. Just the way he’d leaned in had sent shivers through her. She would fall in love with that confidence and assertiveness before that night was over.

  The phone rang, and she picked it up to look at the caller ID.

  She flew off the sofa. “Austin, oh my god, I’ve been so worried. Where’ve you been? Why haven’t you called?”

  Her voice sounded shrill, and she hated it.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re really disappointed in me right now. It’s extremely complicated, and I can’t explain my actions now on the phone.”

  She said nothing, afraid she’d cry.

  “Listen, Al, some agents from the SEC or FBI will be coming into the office to review the finances of Quandary. We both know that there’s nothing to find there. You’ve been keeping all our business records, and you’re neurotically detailed.” He chuckled awkwardly. “But they need to complete their investigation on all my business dealings, so they’ll want to review your records and documents. Please just cooperate and give them everything they ask for. Don’t give ’em any reason to question you. You’re not involved in this, and I don’t want them to suspect otherwise.”

  “Austin, I don’t—” She stopped, unsure how to finish. She wanted to appear strong, even though she was crumbling inside.

  “Kiran’ll be there as well. He’ll review the warrants and set them up in a conference room. Then he’ll help you gather whatever materials are necessary. They may ask you questions, or they may ask you to sit with them and review your spreadsheets. Please just do as they ask, and they’ll be done soon enough.”

  She kept her voice even, trying to sound professional. “So when do you think you’ll be back in the office? The staff needs to see you, to hear your side of this.”

  God, she needed to see him, needed him to hold her and tell her everything was going to be fine.

  “I know. I’ll be back soon. They’ve requested I stay away from the office until the investigation is complete. And I have a lot of things to take care of at home. My family needs me right now.”

  It was a dagger through her heart, and she started crying.

  His voice softened. “Honey, oh baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know this has been hard on you. But please promise me this. Please go back to work. Ryan needs your help managing the team. You can’t keep hiding out in your apartment.”

  She clamped her mouth shut. He’d called Ryan before her. God, this couldn’t get any worse.

  “Go back to work, keep the projects moving, keep everything on track,” he continued. “Show the team that Quandary is operating normally. Focus on our very important work in DMD. We can’t lose our work, Al. Think of the kids who need this drug. Make it about them. I’ll be back to work really soon. My legal team is top notch, and they’ll make sure this gets resolved quickly.”

  “Okay.” She sounded like a dejected little girl, and she knew it. “So you’ll be back next week, you think?”

  Please, please, please.

  “Maybe another week, ten days. We’ll schedule a town hall meeting with the whole group, okay?”

  “Austin.” She collapsed onto the sofa. “I miss you so much, I—”

  “I can’t talk any longer, Al. I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”

  The call disconnected.

  Chapter 7

  Austin stared at his phone for a few minutes, wondering how Allison would fare. There was nothing to find in the Quandary records, and although he could have used a few more days to tidy things up, he’d always been careful to separate the various arms of his business ventures. Still, she was young and naive. The feds would push her around and intimidate her. She wasn’t built for this kind of crisis.

  “That’s why I picked you, Al,” he whispered.

  In a way, he was relieved to be at his home in Darien. Allison was a hard worker, but she didn’t adapt to change easily. She needed time and space from him to toughen up.

  He took a sip of bourbon and stood up from his mahogany desk to survey the floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookshelves filled with everything from genetics to sports cars to literary fiction of the 1800s. He loved his books. And his glass-encased pen collection. Each pen had been bought at auction; the cheapest one was valued at $30,000. He admired his beautifully framed educational credentials: the doctoral diploma in molecular biology from UCLA, the master’s degree in business administration from Columbia University. He’d built it all from nothing. Every accomplishment, every penny invested into this $3.7 million Connecticut home.

  He would be genuinely sad to
see it all go away.

  Finishing his bourbon in a large swallow, he closed his brand-new Apple iMac Pro and loaded it into the sleeve. He carried it out of his office, closing the door behind him.

  As he stepped onto the Italian marble in the foyer, Jackie appeared from the dining room. His wife was stunning. There was simply no other way to describe her. She was tall and lean, and she dressed in expensive but sensible beige business suits and stiletto heels. But today, her full, lustrous hair was tightly pulled back away from an expressionless face, and he realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her famously radiant smile.

  “You’ll be gone two or three days?” she asked.

  “Three days at the most.” He glanced at his packed suitcase.

  “Where did you say?” It was a test, and he knew it.

  “California, remember?”

  “Right.”

  She knew he was lying. They’d lived together too many years for her not to see that, even if their relationship had become so strained they rarely spoke anymore beyond polite conversation or logistics for the boys. But she could still practically read his mind through body language and tone.

  She called over her shoulder. “Boys, your dad’s getting ready to leave.”

  He wondered again if she’d call the police. Her look held neither fondness nor resentment. The sooner he was out of her life, the better. She probably didn’t think he was worth the effort to dial 911.

  “Bye, Dad!” He heard in stereo from two ends of the massive colonial house.

  “Be good for your mom,” he yelled out, aiming nowhere. Whatever he said would fall on deaf ears, anyway.

  He picked up his suitcase and stepped toward her, giving her a polite kiss on the cheek. She stiffened, which didn’t surprise him. He turned and walked out the front door, where a chauffeured town car awaited him.

  As the car pulled out of the driveway, he took one last glance at his beautiful home. He turned to hold onto the image as long as he could, to burn it into his mind, knowing he would never see it again.

  ***

  Austin sat silently in the back seat of the Lincoln sedan, staring out the window as his driver sped down the turnpike toward New York. A few minutes into the ride, he leaned forward.

  “Sebastian, would you mind pulling off at that truck stop? I’m really sorry. Seems I had one too many bourbons tonight.”

  “Of course, Dr. Harris,” Sebastian replied. “What are you doing these days? Eagle Rare?”

  “Knob Creek. A bit nuttier than Eagle. Got it from a colleague, and I’ve really warmed up to it. Let me send you home with a bottle when I get back.”

  “Very good, sir. I wouldn’t say no to that.”

  Austin really liked Sebastian. He’d been Austin’s driver for several years, and in all that time he’d remained professional but friendly, with very little chit-chat.

  Sebastian pulled into a parking spot in front of the service area and hopped out to open the door.

  “I’ll be right back.” Austin swung himself out of the car.

  “Take your time, sir.”

  Austin whisked through the front door, past the restrooms, past the Subway and the Dunkin’ Donuts, and out the back to the patio tables. He moved with purpose but not fast enough to attract attention, which made it simple to drop his iPhone into the trash container on the way out.

  He pulled a key from his coat pocket, pressed the unlock button, and scanned the parking lot for the blinking tail lights. A white Ford Explorer. He hurried to the vehicle and settled inside. A brown leather computer bag was placed neatly on the seat beside him, just as planned, and behind him, a small suitcase lay flat on the back seat. So far, so good.

  He looked back through the rearview mirror. The area was quiet. He started the car and backed out of the parking lot.

  The truck rumbled across the warning strip on the onramp as he dug through the bag for the new Tracfone. He powered it on, and held down the number one key to dial the preset number.

  The phone rang once. “Yes.”

  “I’m rolling.”

  “Yes.”

  He disconnected the call and tossed the phone back into the bag. His stomach fluttered, and he smiled. His new adventure had begun.

  Chapter 8

  Malloy sat opposite the newest member of his team, Agent Vincent Wang, on temporary assignment from New Jersey. Wang brought experience from pharmaceutical drug development, which is what they thought they were dealing with now that the DEA Forensic team had recovered two empty vials, a half-empty vial, and a syringe from Vespe’s trunk.

  Wang was not what Malloy had been expecting. Barely five feet tall and considerably overweight, he waddled into the conference room with confidence, and when he smiled, his eyes all but disappeared. He reminded Malloy of a fat, happy Buddha statue, and he seemed just as likable.

  Malloy refocused on the close-up image of the vial. “So what do you make of the label?”

  The printed label reading LXR102016 was the only remarkable feature of the otherwise unexceptional glass vials. The vials themselves were standard lab equipment, the number one–selling vial on Amazon. It would be nearly impossible to trace where they’d been purchased. Better to focus their resources on the label.

  A loud knock on his office door interrupted them.

  “Yeah.”

  Garcia opened the door and stuck his head in. “Nothing definitive from Chemlab.” He nodded toward Wang and then did a horrified double take at Malloy. “Jesus, what the fuck is that? Easter came and went, boss.”

  Malloy glanced down at his light pink dress shirt, a gift from Darcy. Pete, you have such nice skin. I’m not going to let you wear these dull colors every single day. His ears grew warm, and he decided not to engage.

  “What do you mean, nothing from Chemlab?” he asked.

  Garcia stepped in and closed the door, then read from a paper he was holding. “One unidentified high molecular weight peak on HPLC trace, but substance unidentified.”

  Malloy stared at him, uncomprehending.

  Garcia shrugged. “Chem sent it to Bio.”

  “What? Why?”

  His DEA analytical chemistry lab team was top notch. Not only could they determine the composition of practically any substance, but because they maintained a cataloged library of every substance they’d ever analyzed, they could usually pinpoint where it had come from as well. He’d been expecting them to wrap this case up with a bow so he could get back to his opioid and meth work. The bioanalytics team would surely take forever.

  “It means whatever’s in the vial is something we haven’t seen before,” Wang said. “Since this is an injectable and showed up by HPLC with a high molecular weight, it’s most likely a biological substance. They’re bigger and heavier.”

  Impressive. “I want high priority with Bio.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  “It’s a compound name,” Wang said.

  Malloy and Garcia swiveled their heads in unison.

  Wang crossed one short leg over the other, sat back in his chair, and laced his fingers together across his ample belly. “The label. It’s a research drug name.”

  “Isn’t that usually a really long word that no one can pronounce?” Garcia asked.

  “Huh-uh, that’s a generic name. Before a drug gets a generic name, it has a research compound name, usually some letters representing the company and numbers representing the compound. Like that.” He pointed at the label on the enlarged image of the vials.

  Malloy studied the image. The printed label seemed pretty low budget: plain black Arial type on white, with no logo and no image. “You really think this comes from a legitimate drug company?”

  “Maybe, but it certainly isn’t from a hospital or a clinic. Experimental drugs used in human studies always include a lot more information on the label. The FDA’s pretty strict about that kind of thing. But when it’s just being used in a lab, like with animals, they usually keep it pretty simple like this.
”

  Or they could’ve been filled in Walter White’s RV out in the middle of the damn desert and distributed behind a Walmart. Malloy grabbed his bottle of Tums. “All right. See if you can find anything that might match those initials.”

  He glared at the nondescript image as if forcing it to give up more information. LXR. El-ex-ar. Elixir. Jesus Christ, if the media got hold of this, they’d turn it into the latest cure-all—“the magic elixir that makes you invincible.” Or at least makes you think so.

  Chapter 9

  The purge room appeared darker, more ominous, than Layla remembered. A chill went through her as she removed her sandals and neatly lined them up in the corner of the chamber. She carefully smoothed the fabric of her white cotton tunic, making sure there were no wrinkles or folds. The Father would be unhappy with her if she appeared disheveled during this important event. She licked her palms and smoothed her hair. Satisfied that she was as pleasing as she could be, she sat down on the cold sandstone bench and lifted one leg to the other side to straddle it.

  She reached back and strapped her ankles into the harnesses. It was a bit awkward, and she buckled them loosely. She wouldn’t be trying to escape. She smoothed her tunic one last time, lay flat on her stomach, and wrapped her arms around the bench. Unable to harness her wrists, she clasped her hands together underneath. The insides of her thighs burned against the edge of the stone. She exhaled, closed her eyes, and began her meditation chants.