Now Frank's attention was drawn to the building as he approached. It resembled a large round hat box but with a wide, pill-shaped structure sticking up out of the center.
Off to the left was a smaller building about the size of a two car garage. It was separate from the main building and set back a little into the huge earth mound surrounding the complex, probably to avoid blocking the way of traffic going around the building. It had a sign on the side that read 'Biohazard.' There were five vehicles parked outside the facility where the driveway widened. One truck, an older pickup, but perfectly maintained, had a bumper sticker, worn and tattered that looked decades old. It read, 'Nuclear Waste- Here today, here tomorrow.' On the sides of one car and on the pickup, lettering in gold leaf with black outline read, 'Lawrence Lowell Cryogenic Research Facility.' As Frank pulled in to an empty space he noticed another bumper sticker that looked like it had been individually made, reading, 'Ice is Nice.'
Frank noticed a person out of the corner of his eye, outside the front door, a man with a tie, no coat, the tie loosened and his collar open. Frank realized that the guard must have been the first voice, this man the other.
Frank stopped the car and the man walked over and looked in at Frank.
“What you said about having problems got my interest. Would you like to get out? We can talk about it.”
Frank did get out, introduced himself and stuck out his hand.
A similar action accompanied the statement, “My name's Michael Bostwick, head scientist and chief of staff for this project.” Then he said, “Boston?”
Frank realized what he was asking. “Oh, my accent?. Yes, I live north of Boston.”
“I knew when I heard you say ah instead or are.” He smiled genuinely. “Tell me about the problem you spoke about, that might have something to do with this facility.”
Frank told Bostwick about the dreams, about hearing the name Lawrence Lowell and about how he came here. While Frank talked he studied Bostwick's face. There was something not quite right but he couldn't figure out what it might be until he noticed that one of Bostwick's nostrils was larger than the other. He looked closer, trying not to be too obvious and he confirmed it. Frank continued with his explanation of how he had come here, at the same time wondering why bi-lateral symmetry had failed in this individual in such a unique manner. Frank wondered if Bostwick might have had rhinoplasty that didn't quite turn out perfectly. In between sentences, images entered Frank's mind of other ways in which this man's sets of bodily parts might differ in size.
Frank felt uneasy and found himself telling more than he originally intended to. But he had to or he wouldn't have gotten this far, but he also knew that he should tell as little as he could get by with. He learned at an early age when he had almost gotten away with the perfect lie in school, but didn't know when to stop explaining and ended up staying after school. And again, recently, when he had ended up paying too much for something he wanted at a flea market when he had allowed his enthusiasm for the item to be detected. He knew now, more than before, this was the time not to mention Lynn or Scott. He shut up and waited for Bostwick to say what he might say.
Bostwick also seemed reticent. This guy that Bostwick talked to knew things that he couldn't know, but here he was talking about events that only someone who had been present at the time of some of the experiments could have known. He wondered if someone on the staff was disloyal and he remained cautious.
In the early days of the project, Bostwick had dealt with everything from religious protests to zoning officials nosing around, any possible pest you could imagine, but this was new. He'd have to play a game a bit and get more information about him. If this guy was legitimate, Bostwick thought, it would explain the problems they'd been having. He decided he would call the police and see if they had a record on him. Everyone entering this town for the first time was checked out and recorded on the dashboard cameras that the police cars had.
Bostwick leaned on the side of the car. Frank studied him further. He didn't look at all like a chief scientist. No studious look, no glasses, or short hair, and no pens in his pocket. He was overfed and well up there in years. But there was that look of prosperity that was so common in this town.
Bostwick, had a 'free-from-worry about his job' look. After forty years on the job, he probably expected to either remain on the project for life, enjoying great pay, or to collect his million when Lawrence Lowell was safely revived, and then maybe retire to Florida. As Frank checked him out, Bostwick reeled off an apparently useless string of information, intended to make Frank think that something significant was said.
“Now,” said Bostwick, “Let me ask you a few things.”
Frank replied that he thought it best that they just stick to discussing the problem that Frank had. “I know you've got a dead rich person in there and the purpose of this place is to bring him back to life so that he can enjoy his billions again.”
Bostwick was silent, as silent as the nail that Frank had hit right on the head. Bostwick bit his lip, shifted his stance and counterattacked. “And you're having bad dreams, right, about a big white room with men in lab coats doing something to you?” Another perfectly hit nail.
They challenged each other, parrying verbally, and in doing so were giving away more information than they would have liked. But Bostwick now must have known that with this man lay the solution to the problems they were having. What he heard could leave him with no other conclusion than that their failure to successfully conclude their project was a metaphysical problem. Finally, he said with a shrug, “We should have had a psychologist on the staff...or a parapsychologist when we started this project. But we chose to ignore that aspect, hoping that it wouldn't be a factor. Bostwick looked Frank straight in the eye and said, “Need a job?”
“What? I'm not a scientist. And I'm not a parapsychologist.”
“I don't care if you're a trash collector. You may have become as important to this project as I am.” Having made the offer he appeared more at ease now, and said, “By the way, the pay here is great!” A smile appeared on his face again.
I've heard. How long do I have to decide?”
“I've just got to make a phone call to check out something. You can let us know after that.”
“So I'm not actually hired until I check out?”
“We just need to make sure you're not a member of some militant religious group or someone that might want to cause us trouble. One call will do it.”
“I'm an accountant.”
“You couldn't know what you told me without being what you say you are. But I'd just like to make that one call. Then I'm sure you'll be in.”
“How do I know,” said Frank, “that if I end up being the one thing that stands in the way of succeeding with this project that I might be viewed more as an obstacle than as a colleague?”
Bostwick seemed annoyed, or insulted. “We're scientists, working methodically on this project. There's no rush despite what you might have heard. We're paid well. We live well. He laughed. “Better than well. It's like having an unlimited government grant. What I'm saying is that we'll work on this project in a scientific manner if it takes 50...or 100 years. There's no rush.”
“What about the million dollar bonuses that you're to receive when you succeed?”
Bostwick's lower jaw dropped. “Where are you getting this information?” I mean it's not secret but you've only been here a day right?” A trace of annoyance crept into his voice but he caught it within a few words. “Maybe we should be completely honest. I will be if you will be. I think you're going to end up being an essential part of this project and I don't see how it could be any other way. The least you can do is give us a bit of trust too.” Having given what he probably considered his best used-car salesman pitch, Bostwick seemed more relaxed. A grin appeared, then he said, “Come on, I can show you some things that will get you hooked...inspire your interest.”
Bostwick led Frank to the entrance. Frank was about
to enter the building that he had only previously and debatedly seen the inside of in a dream. Bostwick must have noticed Frank shake off a shiver and must have realized that this was a place that Frank could never feel comfortable in.
“Ah, is there a soda machine around? I also need to, ah”
Bostwick gave him a pat on the back, moving him forward. “Over here is the lounge. No soda machine, just a fridge. Can't have delivery men coming in here every day. We stock it ourselves. Help yourself. And over there is the rest room. I'll go make that phone call.”
When Bostwick got back and Frank drank his soda, Frank said, ”How did you get this job?”
“I wrote a paper on it. No funding was available. Not much was being done on cryogenics. Suddenly I had this great offer so Carpe Diem. I seized the day.” Bostwick nodded. “It was Mr. Lowell himself. He planned for the preservation of his body when he aged and he knew as much about cryogenics as I did. He had read everything...including my papers.” Bostwick smiled, his eyes filled with pride of scientific achievement and recognition that he had never known until Lawrence Lowell discovered him.
“But,” Bostwick continued. “The Ice House was built, the research into the best chemical to use was completed and we were ready. We all figured we'd just sit around for years, decades doing related research on cryogenics, improving our techniques, improving our equipment, incorporating new developments by other facilities, but at age 39 Lawrence Lowell was diagnosed with cancer.”
Bostwick appeared to be thinking back to when, as a young man Lawrence Lowell had approached him to offer a job at the Ice House. Bostwick told Frank how as a young man, he was already frustrated at having put all his eggs in one basket, the wrong one, cryogenics, when nobody else was interested in it, cared about it, or wanted to allocate any money for research into what most people thought was a dead end pipe dream. Bostwick told how he did what work he could on it, after hours at the research lab that he was employed at. Often, in preference to paying bills, Bostwick paid for materials and forced himself to spend at least one hour each day on research grant proposals although the enthusiasm waned further with each rejection he received'
He told how, as his twenty-ninth birthday loomed, he struggled to muster the enthusiasm to send one more paper off to be rejected by the scientific journals, he got a call from Lawrence Lowell and found himself walking away from the phone in the kind of daze that a lottery winner finds himself in, wondering if there's been a mistake and hoping that there hasn't. A lunch the next day and a five thousand dollar retainer towards his 150,000 dollar a year salary told Bostwick that there wasn't a mistake.
Two days before, he had been like a man up against the wall, his hands tied behind his back, his eyes blindfolded, five rifles pointed at him, the commandant's arm up in the air, ready to yell Fire. Situation hopeless. Now he had become a man whose life's ambition had been fulfilled and whose economic troubles were over, and Lawrence Lowell had himself as devoted a follower as Jesus had in his disciples.
“I was now able to spend all my time doing research in my area of real interest with unlimited funds,” he said. “I came here and suggested to Mr. Lowell the names of other scientists I thought would be useful to the project.”
“Do you actually freeze people?” Frank grimaced. “I mean like you'd freeze something in your refrigerator?”
“It's more indirect. The liquid nitrogen we use to achieve the final desired temperature never touches the body. It circulates near it to produce the low temperature. It's sort of a two-edged sword. We want to freeze the body of course, but as little as possible, the necessary amount to prevent cell deterioration. We also have to do it as slowly as possible to minimize cell damage from ice crystals because ice crystals puncture the cell walls if the body is cooled too rapidly. Our procedure involves other methods of cooling before the liquid nitrogen is used.” Bostwick leaned back against a wall to get more comfortable while he spoke. “In our experiments with Mr. Lowell, recently, we've used super cooling. It arrests tissue damage but we can thaw him quicker when we're ready to try each experiment. A body can be kept for days in this state. And more recently we used dry ice, since we needed to store his body for a shorter amount of time between the more recent experiments. And in the last few weeks he's been on life support, as our experiments become a daily thing.
Frank felt like commenting sarcastically, 'Or nightly,' but said instead, “Are there any other bodies here?”
“No. Tissue samples though. There was some animal research at the beginning but we've weaned ourselves away from that. We've been able to go over to tissue samples. The use of animals was...unpleasant so we just take tissue samples to test the results of an experiment.” He laughed, then said, “Some of the staff have a deplorable lack of morals but not one of them wanted to do any animal testing. They're all good people in that respect.
Frank thought that since the staff was against animal testing that they couldn't be that bad and he felt more relaxed. Bostwick continued, “Most of the medical research that we needed to do was rendered unnecessary anyway because other labs were doing the same thing. And other facilities worked on the cancer.”
“What did he die of? What type of cancer?”
Bostwick hesitated for a moment, opened his mouth to answer, stopped, as if the word might hurt to pronounce, then answered, “Leukemia...it was Leukemia. Wasn't much that could be done about it forty years ago, but now...” His voice trailed off as if to say you look like a smart guy. I'm sure you know about chemotherapy and radiation treatment. Then he added, “We just kept up on the work done elsewhere and made use of the results. Our only task became thawing of tissue and reversing cell damage. Once we were confident of our procedure we were ready to go ahead and revive Mr. Lowell, We'll be able to cure his disease when he's strong enough again to withstand the treatment. But as you know we've been having trouble with consciousness. Everything else is functioning perfectly, but with the brain...” He shook his head. “I guess you could say Nobody's home up there.”
“Why are the revival experiments done at night?”
“They weren't always. But the ones we had any success with were the ones we did at night. We didn't know why. Now we do.”
Frank nodded. “It's when I'm asleep. It made it easier?”
“Evidently. I guess we were sort of sneaking up on you, catching you off your guard. Kind of like the Grim Reaper finding it easier to take the life of an old man. It sneaks into his bedroom and catches him off his guard. During the daytime you're trying hard to stay alive. We all do it. If we feel a little pain in our chest we slow down, make a conscious effort, but at night only our subconscious mind is operating and I guess it makes an easier target.”
“For death...and for you.” Frank said.
“Looks like it,” Bostwick replied.
Frank finished the last of his drink. “Well, I guess I'm ready for the grand tour.
As they got up to leave, a man entered the lounge to get a drink. “Hi Mike,' he said and he nodded at Frank.
“Ted Flynn, I'd like you to meet Frank Tilton. I'm about to give him a tour. We'll talk more about Frank's possible involvement in the project a bit later.”
They shook hands and Flynn said, “I'm sort of the glorified janitor here. I maintain all the cryo systems, the power plant, everything all the way down to trash control. Nice to meet you Frank. See you later.”
Bostwick and Frank walked to the door.
“I believe,” said Bostwick, “that we'll get right to the purpose of this project. I believe that Mr. Lowell would like to speak to you.” Frank shot Bostwick a look of surprise. Mike smiled. “Come on,” he said.
CHAPTER 16
They walked along a circular corridor with doors on the outside wall but Frank didn't see any yet on the inside wall. They entered a door on which was an engraved plaque lettered “Board Room.” Before Bostwick turned on the light, Frank could make out dimly a figure seated at the other end of a long table with chairs on each s
ide. The light flashed on and Frank was momentarily blinded but he heard the seated figure say, 'Welcome gentlemen. Please be seated.” As Frank's eyes overcame the light he saw that the figure looked exactly like a photo he had seen. But it couldn't be. The figure smiled. There was Lawrence Lowell looking at Frank from the other end of the table. Frank felt panic. Lawrence Lowell alive? Some kind of trap he thought. He turned to push Bostwick out of the way, to make a run for it but Mike was way off to Frank's right, nowhere near the door, not trying at all to block it, just standing there with his arms folded across his chest, smiling, enjoying Frank's reaction. Frank looked at Mike, unable to form a question. Mike said, “Watch,' gesturing toward the figure.
“Good,' said the figure. “Let's begin.”Frank knew something was not as it appeared. The figure as it spoke, looked at the chairs, each in turn as if there was someone in them. “I just want to say,' continued the figure, “that I'm pleased with the work you've been doing.”
“Ever been to Disney World?” Mike said.
Frank could only nod, indicating that he had been there and that he now understood. Frank walked over to the figure, still unsure if he was correct about his assumptions.
“I've been informed,” continued the figure, “of developments and progress and I wanted to offer encouragement for the work you have ahead of you. I--”
The Ice House Page 10
