The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  William and Kate burst into tears and then followed Lucinda and little Roselyn, who wept out of solidarity. Perhaps one day they would meet again and revive old times, but they had to face that period of their lives alone and in oblivion, forgotten by the rest of the world. They could not risk that something might compromise their safety, upsetting the balance they achieved by putting everything they had into it. And then, to be honest, they didn't really have time to think about anything else. No, at that time they were too busy being happy, like that family on the '61 Mexican calendar.

  EPILOGUE??

  Darkness had now fallen and the neon glow began to bother the hell out of him. Too many hours of artificial light, Dr. Johnston lost count of the consecutive hours of service. He could not wait to go home to dine and watch a movie with his family: his wife Margaret and their children Janet and Jeff. The whole team of the special research department of St. Andrew's Hospital suffered with him, from nurses to anesthesiologists, computer technicians included. The head of the department, Professor Joseph McNenney, gave nevertheless a strict order: no one would go home until the problem was solved once and for all. In the meantime, at 4.30pm, he placed the index finger of his big right hand on the fingerprint reader and signaled the end of his day's work, and then slowly and peacefully went to his nice gala dinner in the company of members of the Ministry of Health and Scientific Research. The privilege of power, it was once said. Professor McNenney was looking forward to updating the political entourage on the progress of their experimental therapies and it would certainly not be a technical obstacle to block their work, or cool his enthusiasm. And so everyone stayed in the hospital, hoping that the systems engineer would finally give them a prognosis. That damned error code 27 had to disappear. They noticed that when the machine showed that kind of error there was an abnormality in theta waves of the patient undergoing therapy. It was not clear whether the two things were actually related, because according to the systems engineer the error 27 just referred to a central processor overheating and other minor and irrelevant issues. The machine stopped for a few seconds to try to lower the temperature and immediately afterwards it rebooted by itself. There was no interruption of connection with the patient because the back-up system activated and therefore no energy surges occurred. The brain function was not affected. In any case, Dr. Johnston did not want to take risks: the coincidence was suspect and they had to intervene. The patient in treatment would awaken shortly and the equipment had to be fixed before subjecting the next patient to therapy.

  The systems engineer, Hakeem Richardson, had previously implemented an additional cooling system, but it did not help much. The error kept repeating itself.

  «I don't know what else to try», he told Dr. Johnston, «and after so many hours I'm exhausted, doctor. I would like to go home.»

  «But the head of the department...», the doctor tried to object.

  «I do understand it, but I assure you there is nothing else I can do at the moment. And by the way, I can't even think straight», he confessed with a smile. «Let's do this: I'll start a complete diagnostic to check if the problem occurs at particular times or with a specific frequency. It will take all night, even better if we could go on with the analysis for a day or two. If the principal gets angry, you can blame me. Tell him I felt bad and I had to leave.»

  Dr. Johnston looked at him resigned and dismissed him. He informed the rest of the team that they could go home, with the obvious exception of who was on duty and had to monitor the patient at night. He left frustrated, without saying goodbye to the reception staff. He quickly retrieved his car and dashed off to his luxurious villa on the Kastar river.

  His wife Margaret waited for him over an herbal tea, with her dressing gown on. «The children waited a long time, they wanted to watch 'Mighty Clown' with you, then they fell asleep.» «I'll make it up to them», the doctor said, to apologize, and then dropped like a stone into the armchair. Margaret handed the cup to her husband and Kenneth Johnston took a sip. «How can you drink this swill?», he joked. Once within the walls of his house his anxiety subsided. He was a perfectionist, it was not acceptable that something did not work 100%. Even more so if it was an innovative medical treatment that could add prestige to his name.

  Margaret went to the bathroom to brush her hair before finally going to bed. The husband looked at the now cold cup for a few moments, then joined his wife in the bathroom and, from behind, kissed her on the neck. «Don't you undress?», she asked. «It'd be better if I stayed dressed», he joked, «I'll probably have to go back to the hospital in a little while.» Margaret then stood up and untied his tie. «Not tonight, love», said the doctor, grabbing his wife's hands, «I have too many thoughts on my mind. McNenney's breathing down my neck. Tomorrow morning he'll ask me if the problem has been solved and I don't know what to reply.» «It would be better to rest for a while, then. You'll see, something will come to your mind.» «And how was your day at work?» «Pretty good, let's go to sleep now, honey.»

  Kenneth Johnston lay down on the bed and began to think, with his eyes wide open. Every few minutes he checked his wife who slept like a stone and then turned his gaze to the little white light that filtered through the window and created a pleasant penumbra. The flashing light reflected by the ripples of the river was very relaxing, like a candle flame. And yet that night it would take much more to make him calm. Would it be enough to blame the systems engineer? Absolutely not, the chief of the department was a tough one, so if he really wanted his name to appear among the creators of the therapy he had to find a way to fix that issue instantly. He, however, had no adequate computer skills and was not fond of technology; even if he worked all night on that machine, he would not get much out of it. He was unfortunately in the condition of having to rely on others' opinion. People who certainly could not share or support his goals, his hunger for affirmation. Everyone did his homework, finished his shift and... see you soon! He had enough of excuses like “I can't do anything else”, “it's out of my hands”, “it's too late”. An endless whining. They weren't obviously the ones who had to apologize to the head of the department. They weren't obviously the ones who had to put up with McNenney's wrath, who had already made countless promises to the financial and political elite and could not pull out anymore.

  All that thinking and struggling made him fall asleep, exhausted. When his phone rang in the middle of the night, his wife Margaret had to shake him with all her strength to wake him from the deep sleep he fell into. «Ken... Ken!», she repeated several times, until her husband woke up and reached out blindly to retrieve the phone. It took him several seconds before realizing he did not put it on the bedside table, but he left it on the kitchen table. He ran to get it, it could be the hospital. They were probably calling him to tell him they finally fixed that damn error. The department received the order to call him at any time for important updates regarding the project. In that case, however, the computer procedure had nothing to do with it. Margaret, from the bedroom, heard her husband raise his voice, as if it were daytime, so she straightened up quickly and settled herself into a sitting position to try to better hear him.

  «What do you mean 'he woke up'? Hell, there were still three days until the end of the treatment cycle! How's the patient? Okay, I'll be right there.»

  Margaret sensed that the night would soon be over and got out of bed, putting her robe back on. Then she went to meet the children to reassure them that everything was all right and it was just their father who had to go to work earlier than usual. She knew she didn't have to intrude on her husband's affairs if he wasn't the first to talk about them, so, without saying anything, she moved into the kitchen to make breakfast. After the conversation, Dr. Johnston hurried to the bedroom and dressed in record time. He didn't even have time to take a shower, he had to run away. He found his wife preparing an omelette, gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her he would skip breakfast.

  William Deveux was just the third subject to undergo that e
xperimental therapy. It had never happened that any of them woke up earlier than expected and therefore they had no idea what difficulties they would face. During the phone call, Dr. Narayan informed his colleague that the patient had dissociative disorders and panic attacks. It was bad, really bad. Kenneth Johnston sat in his cobalt blue Corvette and scratched his beard. If he still had hair he would tear it all out. He contented himself with hitting the car's steering wheel several times and swearing. There was a patient with a probable psychological trauma who needed to return a normal life quickly. The good reputation of the hospital and of his department were at stake. But there was also something worse on the horizon: he would have to inform Professor McNenney that Project Xiphos, in which they invested an enormous amount of time and money, was a fiasco.

  At St. Andrew's Hospital, meanwhile, the entire team of the special research department was doing its best to try to convince William Deveux that there was no secret shelter in Mexico and that, as far as they all knew, he didn't have a family. He told them he was single and the only living relative at the time of his hospitalization was his aunt Gwen, his father's sister. The situation certainly could not have changed in the meantime. The patient Deveux tried several times to tear the intravenous feeding tubes and only under the threat of strong sedation he eventually gave up. He alternated vigorous protests with moments of despair in which he implored the nurses to let him go, because his partner Lucinda and little Rosie could be in danger. If they succeeded in finding him, they would easily track down his family members too. He had to protect them at all costs. He tried to soften up the nurses and doctors by explaining that also many of them were parents and therefore could understand his concerns. All his words, however, fell on deaf ears. Dr. Johnston's team bought time, waiting for their leader to arrive. It was not easy at all to maintain the patient's calm without resorting to tranquilizers, but the doctor's order was mandatory: no drugs that could influence the results of the therapy.

  Kenneth Johnston, anxious, entered the special research department without even wearing a lab coat. When he entered William Deveux's room he found almost his whole team. Skipping the pleasantries - and without interacting in any way with the patient - he demanded to be quickly updated. From a physical point of view – Dr. Narayan reported - the patient seemed in good condition; from the blood tests no anomalies emerged. A neurological examination was not yet carried out since they preferred to wait until Dr. Johnston could personally evaluate what to do. The most thorny issue they had to deal with, at that moment, was Mr. Deveux's clear dissociative disorder. His stories were precise and full of nuances: he described places, people and events with a surprising degree of detail and depth, as if he really lived another life. It was hard to imagine he was simply improvising, that he was able to put such a complex story together in just a few minutes. Even when they tried to entrap him and attempted to draw him into contradiction, the patient always answered consistently and repeated the same version of the story.

  After hearing his colleague's report in silence, Dr. Johnston ordered everyone out of the room. He had to understand a little bit more and he had to do it alone. Before the doctor could carry out his personal analysis, William Deveux asked him for a glass of water: he complained so much that his throat was parched. The doctor handed it to him reluctantly; he considered himself a high-level specialist and would not have to carry out such a small assignment, like an orderly. He then took a chair and a graphic tablet and could finally begin. He started from theoretically easy questions, personal data and place of residence, but those were enough to worry the doctor. While William Deveux distinctly remembered the date and place of birth, there seemed to be a great deal of confusion about the home address. He claimed that he could not reveal the exact location of his current residence, but in any case it was across the border, in the State of Juarez. «State of Juarez?», Dr. Johnston repeated, to make sure he understood correctly. He avoided making it clear that, apart from the Mexican city of the same name, there was no state with that name. Therefore, the doctor wanted to go deeper and asked if he also remembered his previous home. «Milton Avenue, Numbered District», replied Mr. Deveux without delay. The doctor did not flinch and wrote down all the information on the tablet. He checked the city map on the net, just to be sure: he knew Milton Avenue, but he never heard of a Numbered District and in fact he found no trace of it. At that point, he asked if the words “Harrington” and “DeClerk Avenue” meant anything to him and once again William Deveux promptly replied: it was the neighborhood where he had lived as a child. Dr. Johnston gave a half sigh of relief. The patient did not completely lose touch with reality, yet it remained to be explained why his mind gave birth to those thoughts about alternative homes or residences. Before being hospitalized, the subject did not show dysfunctions; his general health did not present atypical features other than those deriving from the Lore-Burr syndrome for which he would undergo that experimental therapy. Some exogenous factor surely occurred during the procedure, which might also explain why the patient awakened prematurely.

  «My colleague told me that you believe you have a family. Could you tell me about it?»

  «I do not believe. I do have a family, that's the truth. Please let me go, I swear I won't tell anyone I was here. You will no longer hear about me.»

  William Deveux replied promptly again and leaned forward. Dr. Johnston thought for a moment, trying to stay cool. He pretended not to hear his complaints and resumed the investigation.

  «Can you tell me their names?»

  William took a deep breath and rested his head on the pillow. He looked straight ahead, staring into space. «My partner's name is Lucinda Merritt, our little girl Roselyn.»

  «Lucinda and Roselyn. Nice names.» The doctor looked amused, as if William made it all up. He wrote down that information too and reassured the patient he would try to find out something about them. «A little while ago you mentioned a certain “State of Juarez”. Can you explain why you had to go there?»

  «We had to run away», William cut it short. «We had Militia on our heels. They managed to find our old hideout, so we were forced to leave the country. If I tell you all this it's in the hope that you can identify yourself with my story and let me go away.»

  «Wait, hold on. What's this Militia? What are you talking about?»

  William looked back at the doctor straight in the eye. «Are you kidding me? What does 'what's this Militia' mean? Do you know any others?»

  Dr. Johnston remained impassive for a few moments, then raised his eyebrows as if waiting for clarification. He gave the sincere impression he was both amazed and curious. William Deveux felt the blood freeze in his veins.

  «Doctor, I'm talking about Scarlet Militia. Militia, bloody hell! Is it a joke?», he protested, looking around as if to find a hidden video camera. «Are you running a test to see what's my opinion about Militia? Well, I hate it! You can write it in my personal file, if you want.»

  Kenneth Johnston had the reflex of clenching his fist. Not so much because of the patient's ravings, but because of what that rant implied: the therapy unequivocally had flaws and, as feared, Project Xiphos was in danger of collapsing.

  «Mr. Deveux, let's just pretend I don't know what Militia is, could you please explain it in the simplest way and tell me what it wants from you?»

  «Scarlet Militia, the armed wing of College of Guilds. The one that actually exercises power and abuses citizens at will. They wrongly accused me of a crime and wanted to put me in jail, but I managed to escape with the help of some friends. Lucinda, my partner, fled with me. Then our daughter Roselyn was born and everything was finally going the right way...»

  Dr. Johnston's mouth dropped open and the graphic tablet slipped out of his hand. He immediately crouched to pick it up and made sure that, apart from the scratches, it did not get broken. Then he got to his feet and left the room in a hurry, warning William Deveux not to move and above all not to do anything stupid. William, discouraged, crawled d
eeper into the bed and tried to doze off. Who knows, maybe he would awake in the world he knew. Maybe that was just a nightmare.

  Fifteen minutes of drowsiness and his attempt to escape from reality was abruptly interrupted by the screams that came from an unknown place in the ward. As the voices approached he could distinguish those of Dr. Johnston and his colleague, the Indian-looking female doctor he saw at the time of awakening. «That's easy for you, it's not your ass on the line!» «McNenney will find out sooner or later!» «Not if we keep our mouths shut and you support me!» «And how long do you think things can go on like this?» «Until we fix this fucking procedure! Philip, call the systems engineer, I don't care if it's late at night, get him out of bed!»

  Rather than reopening the door of the room, Dr. Johnston seemed almost about to break it, so great was the anger resulting from the fear of seeing his career compromised. The loud noise made William Deveux jump, and he returned to a sitting position. Kenneth Johnston took the chair again and that time he sat closer to the bed. Right behind him, Dr. Narayan thought it more appropriate to stay in the rear and enjoy the show at a safe distance from her chief. She leaned against a wardrobe with her arms folded, hoping perhaps to blend in with her surroundings.

  «Mr. Deveux, pay close attention to my words», said the doctor, referring to their previous speech. «Now we'll do a summary and please don't interrupt, okay? So, your name is William Deveux, age 38. Your home address is 16 DeClerk Avenue, here in East Eden. You're not married and it doesn't appear that you have children. You're employed by a company named “Leigh Madison Enterprise” as a security officer. You have been a guest of this medical facility for the last seven days. We are subjecting you to an innovative therapy that we think will cure those with Lore-Burr syndrome. You voluntarily came to St. Andrew's Hospital, after receiving our invitation. You're therefore not being held against your will and, once the analysis is completed, you can go home. Last month we tested you to see whether you were fit for the procedure and fortunately that was the case, because your constitution is strong. You are not currently wanted by the police, nor are you charged with any crime.» Dr. Johnston paused to catch his breath. «And above all, I don't think you've ever been to Mexico. You certainly haven't lived there recently. You regularly showed up for work in the last three or four months, as far as we know. Now, if you want, we can take a break, so you can think about it. Maybe your memory will come back, little by little.»