The Pain Colony

by Shanon Hunt

  Now alone after her morning of group meditation, Layla lay in the bathtub with her eyes closed, sweat rolling off her forehead and down her face. She chanted continuously, taking a break between each cycle for long breaths in and out to the count of four. The water was hotter than usual, and she looked down to make sure her skin wasn’t blistering. The Father would be displeased if he found that she’d been careless on the most important day of her life.

  She lifted her knees out of the water and inspected her thighs. They were deep red from the hot water, but they seemed okay. She lifted one leg completely out of the water and admired her muscular thigh, impressed by its new definition. She felt strong. She bent her knee to run her palm up her shin. The bumps were gone and they felt smooth, even though she could still see the bruises. Perhaps after her purification, they’d be gone completely.

  She lowered her leg back into the water and flexed her biceps, checking each one to make sure they were symmetrical. Her left bicep was definitely not as defined as the right. With pain comes perfection. An imperfect physique was unacceptable. She would do one-armed pushups every day once she was released from the infirmary. Once her purification elixirs had been delivered.

  She ran her finger over the long scar across her left wrist, puffy and glaringly white against the red skin on the inside of her left forearm. She didn’t remember how she’d gotten the scar, but it was an imperfection she despised. Would purification make it disappear?

  She sank deeper into the water, which had cooled significantly, and resumed her chant. But it had lost its meditative effect, and she was just repeating memorized words. Her mind wandered to the procedure. What would it do to her? What would she feel like?

  Too impatient to soak any longer, she unplugged the drain with her foot and turned on the shower. She stood up slowly and stood under the shower spray as she removed the paper from a new bar of antibacterial soap. She meticulously soaped her entire body, careful to cover every inch. She scrubbed her fingernails and toenails. Then, just as she’d been instructed, she rinsed completely, opened a second bar of soap, and repeated the procedure.

  She stepped out of the shower and removed the plastic wrap from a new terry cloth towel and bathrobe. She dried her body and hair and pulled on the robe, then moved into the empty bedroom to dress. Sofia was at class and a full day of trainee activities, along with the others.

  Layla regarded her reflection in the long wall mirror with stoic admiration. You’re the fastest trainee to become a pure in the history of the Colony, Layla. She was a warrior.

  She removed the plastic from her new linen pants and tunic and dressed, then pulled on her new cotton socks and flat-soled slip-ons and checked the clock. Way too early. With a sigh, she scooped Sofia’s scattered clothes from the floor and tossed them onto her bed. She loved Sofia, but the girl was far too messy. She settled on the floor in the heel-sit position and closed her eyes, feeling the hot sun on her face.

  “With pain comes perfection. With perfection comes purification.”

  Chapter 80

  Dr. Jeannette Meyers, the center’s psychiatrist, stood up as Malloy and Garcia entered her office. She was slender and elegant, much like Barnett but without what Suzanne would have called the finishing touches.

  She offered a kind smile and welcoming handshake as Barnett introduced them. “I’ll bet you’re finding the center a bit overwhelming. Most visitors do. We’ve had several news pieces done over the years that always seem to present us as a bit on the mystical side. Witches and magic potions.” She shrugged and shook her head. “Please have a seat.”

  Malloy settled into the plush leather cushions, struggling to remain upright, while Garcia sprawled out like he was in his own living room having a beer.

  “My apologies. Comfort is a big factor in successful hypnosis, and that sofa practically begs for sleepiness, right?” She sat down in her office chair, then glided across the floor until she was in front of them. “Hypnosis is one of the most effective treatments we offer here at the center. The power of suggestion can be as curative as a narcotic.”

  She sounded like she was reading from a memorized script. Malloy wasn’t indulging this nonsense; he wanted to get straight to questions about Tyler. “With all due respect, I’ve seen stage hypnosis. It’s a fun show, but it’s entertainment. If your patients are feeling better, it’s a placebo effect.”

  She smiled. “Not a believer?”

  “No. Again, with all due respect.”

  She rolled in closer and held out her open hand. “May I have your palm, Agent Malloy?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, boss,” Garcia said. “Prove it doesn’t work.”

  He rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Okay, fine.”

  She looked closely at his hand, tracing her finger in a circle on his palm. “You have something here, something that I can take away from you. You don’t see it yet but it’s here, all right. Once I decide it’s mine, I’ll take it from you and you’ll lose it. You won’t have it anymore.” Her voice had a mesmerizing tone, just like in the movies. She stared at his palm. “Ah, there it is. Have a look and tell me if you see it.”

  Curiosity got the best of him, and he looked nervously at his palm.

  “Your name. It’s mine now. What’s your name?”

  Malloy stared at her. His mind was blank.

  “Your name?” she asked again.

  “Shit …” Garcia breathed, his eyes wide as he gaped at Malloy.

  Malloy felt like his brain had just glitched out. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came to him.

  Dr. Meyers dropped his hand, and barely a second later he yelled, “Peter Malloy!”

  Garcia and Barnett burst into laughter.

  Malloy stood up, completely unnerved.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was more of a trick. It’s quite simple, really. You see, as soon as the patient accepts that his own reality could be false, he opens himself up to an alternative reality. In other words, as soon as you looked at your palm, thinking there was a slight possibility that something was there, even though you were certain your hand was empty, you allowed me to suggest to you that you’d forgotten your name. Just the suggestion convinced you that you had.”

  Her smile wasn’t smug, but he scowled at her anyway.

  “That’s un-fucking-believable!” Garcia said, clearly smitten with Dr. Meyers and her hokey bullshit.

  Malloy shot him a scalding look.

  “So if you can imagine it,” she finished, “all we need to do is convince our patients that the pain they’re feeling is a false reality, and then suggest a better one. The mind is a powerful tool.”

  He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure and steer the conversation back to police work. “Dr. Meyers, did you work with a patient named Tyler Steele?”

  Dr. Meyers looked to Barnett for help.

  “Young boy with peripheral neuropathy, I believe, related to HIV,” Barnett said.

  Malloy cringed, still troubled by Tyler’s disease.

  “Yes, I remember him,” Dr. Meyers said. “A very nice boy, but I believe he didn’t stay at the center long. It wasn’t the right solution for him, I’m afraid.”

  “What do you mean?” Garcia asked.

  “I recall he was more interested in traditional pain management. Medications. I referred him to a neurologist in Phoenix.” Dr. Meyers looked between the agents and Barnett. “May I ask what this is about?”

  “We’re investigating his death. His last known location was this facility.”

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. So young.”

  “We’d be grateful for any information you’d be willing to provide.” He wanted to get a look at her notes from their sessions, but he knew he couldn’t get a warrant. He held his breath, hoping she’d comply.

  The doctor rolled her chair back to her desk to make a note. “Of course, I’m happy to help in any way I can. I’ll have copies of his chart sent over to the reception de
sk.”

  Relief washed across his shoulders. “And could you include the neurologist’s contact information?”

  Dr. Meyers smiled. “Of course.”

  As they left the office, Malloy gratefully inhaled the hot, dusty desert air. There was something about the wellness center that spooked him. His stomach burned, and his chest felt tight. He looked longingly in the direction of the administration building, but Barnett was leading them down the path in the opposite direction.

  Chapter 81

  Allison gaped at the leather straps bolted to the floor at each end of the narrow stone bench. She knew exactly what this was for. She’d drawn an image of this bench for a paper she’d written after reading how it was used in an ancient Eastern European ritual for eliciting visions through whippings.

  “You recognize it,” Brad said, his voice low, as though they were in a church.

  She felt sick to her stomach. Again, her curiosity betrayed her. “Does it work?”

  “It’s one of our most successful and coveted rituals. We call it the cleanse. The cleanse is a privilege that must be earned. Since it’s so desired, inductees arrive at a cleanse in a heightened state of anticipation that contributes to the outcome. Some inductees even request multiple cleanses.”

  She stared at the spotless marble floors and imagined them smeared with blood. She pictured a naked young woman straddling the bench, wrists and ankles bound while some faceless sadist wearing a long black robe worked a bullwhip across her body. She grimaced, wishing the image had never entered her mind, torn between a perverse sense of pride at seeing her ideas in practice and moral outrage. What kind of deviant would whip someone strapped to that bench?

  Brad seemed to understand her struggle. He wheeled her backward out the door.

  “Allison.” He came around in front of her chair so he could look at her directly. “No one in the Colony is forced to do anything. It’s exactly as you predicted all those years ago. The pain is viewed as a reward, and the reward comes in a variety of ways, including a sense of superiority, stronger community connections, and in a lot of cases, visions. People who come here to the Colony, who choose to leave the poisoned world because they can’t find the happiness they want out there, find extreme satisfaction here. You saw them yourself.”

  She sagged in her chair. Her mind seemed paralyzed as she tried to digest what he was telling her. His language unsettled her. The poisoned world. The purge room. It was chilling.

  Brad rolled her along the sidewalk until they arrived at a fruit stand, which like everything in the Colony seemed out of place.

  A young woman selecting a pear caught her glance and smiled. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  Had these people been drugged with some sort of antidepressant? Happy pills, her mother used to call them. Brad handed her an apple, and they stopped under another shade tree.

  “Are they all on … some psychoactive drug?”

  “Nope. No medications at all, not even Advil.” He beamed.

  He was attractive in a way she couldn’t quite define. Sure, he had that handsome all-American high school quarterback look, but this was something else. Something that emanated from inside him. Confidence and a comfort with his beliefs and this world he’d created.

  But she remained skeptical. “Then why is everyone so happy? Why do they stay and live this life?”

  “They have a goal. They all have the same single objective.”

  “The gene editing drug?”

  The answer came from a soft female voice behind her.

  “Purification.”

  Allison spun around.

  The woman who’d joined them was breathtakingly striking. She might have been Allison’s age, with creamy brown skin, long dreadlocks, and a smile straight from a magazine cover. She took a seat next to Brad and crossed one long, thin, white-linen-shrouded leg over the other.

  Allison instantly felt insecure and wrapped her arms around her boyish torso.

  “Hello, Brother James,” the woman said with a nod. “This must be Allison.”

  Brother James? Oh, this chick was definitely brainwashed.

  Brad introduced her. “Allison, this is Mia. Mia’s been at the Colony for several years now and is one of our pures. I asked her to join us this morning so you could get another view of life here at the Colony.”

  Mia held out her hand, but Allison’s eyes were locked onto her face. That face. She recognized it now. Recommendation: Inpatient admission to the Vitapura Wellness Center.

  Vitapura Wellness Center.

  “I know you—well, I saw your picture, your profile in Dr. Chambers’s office.” The unexpected revelation pulled her up from the wheelchair. “Emelia, right? Oh my god, you—and all those people. You …”

  She looked out over the lawn. An entire drawer of folders labeled VWC. How many people were here on Dr. Chambers’s recommendation?

  “I saw them,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know.”

  Mia chuckled. “It’s a lot to take in. Don’t worry, I totally get it. I’m sure you must be overwhelmed.”

  Brad guided Allison back into the chair as he explained. “Mia and many others have been referred to the Colony by Dr. Chambers. Mia has chosen her better life here with us. She’s chosen to be pure.”

  Allison stared at Mia’s beautiful, happy face, wanting to scream It’s a trap! You’ve been brainwashed, and you’re being used for illegal drug testing. Run! Get out of here!

  But Mia spoke up first. “Purification is really just part of the nomenclature here at the Colony. What we’re really doing here is genetic testing.”

  She drew back. “You—you know about the drug testing?”

  “You work in biotech, right?” Mia asked. “Developing gene editing drugs with Austin Harris?”

  Her surprise must have been obvious.

  “I looked you up on LinkedIn.” Mia rolled her eyes. “We do have technology out here in the desert.”

  “Well, sure …” But were they allowed to use it?

  “I know it might appear that we’re all brainwashed simpletons, and in your defense, it’s an image we’ve cultivated. But most of us are bright, ambitious people. In my poisoned life, I owned a media design company.”

  Allison’s voice rose to an incredulous shrill. “Then why are you here? Why would you give up that life to live in this—”

  “—crazy spiritual cult? Initially, because Dr. Chambers offered a way to cure my disease after every other treatment had failed me. And I was a true believer in all aspects of the Colony. I’m enlightened now, obviously, but I’m still a true believer. We’re doing the most important biological work in the world. What we’ve accomplished here at the Colony in the last five years would have taken twenty years, maybe more, in the biotech industry. Tell me, how long did it take you to get your DMD drug—Enigmax, was it?—into patients who desperately needed it?”

  When Allison had come onto Enigmax, Quandary had already invested eight years of research. But because gene therapy was so new, the US and western European health authorities were slow to approve a human clinical study. Drug development moved at a glacial pace. It always had.

  “Maybe ten years,” she admitted.

  “And another three or four years before you could sell the drug to patients all over the world, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Before the Colony, I was in so much pain I wanted to die. I was very close to taking my own life to stop the suffering. Dr. Chambers offered me an alternative. It turns out I was the first patient to receive the very first gene editing pain drug three years ago, after barely two years of research and minimal animal testing. I wasn’t aware of all that at the time, but it saved my life. If it weren’t for this Colony, I would be dead now. I’m sure of it.” She held out her arms as if to embrace the endless Arizona sky. As if to embrace life. “But look at me. I’ve never felt better. The modified genes have erased my ability to feel pain.”

  This woman had been like Elaine’s so
n, sleeping his life away on morphine. Elaine had taken the risk too, and she’d gotten her son back. All because of this unapproved drug, a miracle that otherwise would have been years away.

  “Do all these people have a chronic pain disorder?” That girl at the fruit stand hadn’t seemed to be suffering.

  “Oh, no. Early on, we only accepted pain subjects, but now we recruit a wide variety. Austin has many new cohorts that don’t require a disease model for chronic pain.”

  She winced at Mia’s choice of words to describe the people living at the Colony. Disease models were animals—rodents, dogs, or even monkeys—that were bred with a pathology or induced with a human disease in order to test new drug therapies. Humans weren’t disease models.

  Brad interjected. “What Mia means is that we now have many offerings for the colonists. This afternoon, I’ll take you to the infirmary, where the infusions are delivered. I’ll show you the new elixirs being tested here.”

  “So what do you think?” Mia asked.

  “About what?”

  Brad shot Mia a look, but she waved him off. “This is a recruiting pitch, Allison. We’d like you to join us as a member of the administrative team. You’d be such a great addition to the Colony, given your brilliant work in pain psychology. I really hope you’ll consider it.”

  “What?” Allison tensed and sat back. Illegal drug testing? It was ludicrous. She wanted no part of it. In fact, she wanted to leave. Now.

  Brad offered a weak smile. “I’d wanted to entice you with more cappuccino and a complete tour of the grounds, but Mia’s right. We brought you here to see if you’d join us. The Colony is growing so fast, and we’ve had such tremendous success that Austin has procured a significant additional investment. Our genetic research is leading edge in the United States, further along than any other country, even China. We need your expertise in pain, and we can benefit from the leadership skills you built during your time at Quandary.”

  Her leadership skills at Quandary? What a joke.

  “Austin’s been grooming you for this from the day he met you at that graduate school meet and greet.”