by JA Konrath
“You're cute.” Theena touched him on the end of the nose. “But I'm not that easy. And my father did just die yesterday. Call it an integrity check. You passed. Come on, I'll show you the other rooms.”
Theena took his hand and led him out of the pseudo apartment. Bill felt as if he'd just been subjected to a battery of psych tests. He had to remind himself she was mourning, and people did crazy things while mourning.
But had it really been a gag? Bill was positive, if he'd wanted, he could have had her right there. Was he that easily fooled? Or was she that good?
Or was he that needy?
“We call this the Sweat Room. Treadmill, Nautilus Machines, Stairmaster, free weights. One of our testing criteria is to judge NSom's effects on motor skills and muscle fatigue. Lack of sleep makes a person physically tired. Before Manny was put on the drug, we did a series of control scores. Prior to N-Som, he could stay on a Stairmaster for three hours before collapsing from exhaustion.”
Bill studied Theena. She was acting like a professional again. Part of him was disappointed.
“And while he was on N-Som?”
“We had to quit at nine hours because the machine blew a gear.”
She took him to a room across the hallway. Bill recognized several machines, including an EEG and an oscilloscope. Both were in operation, the electroencephalogram drawing a jagged polygraph line on an endless ream of paper.
“Is someone being tested right now?”
“Those are Manny's. He has remote sensors surgically implanted in his scalp, and they send the signal here. It's the only way to be sure he never sleeps, since it is almost impossible to watch him twenty-four hours a day.”
Bill was familiar enough to interpret the data. The frequency of the peaks and troughs indicated beta waves. Manny was awake and aware. Curiosity made Bill flip through the pile of folded pages, all with the same, continuous pattern.
He looked for a variation which would indicate unconsciousness. Delta, theta, or spindle waves were obvious signs of sleep; the frequency would slow and the voltage would increase, making bigger and wider peaks. But he couldn't even find alpha waves.
“Doesn't he ever close his eyes?”
“Amazing, isn't it? Normally closed eyes slow down electrical activity, because the brain isn't being visually stimulated. Manny's brain remains in beta, even when he keeps his eyes closed for hours.”
“Shouldn't this show when he was put under for his operation last night?”
“Manny didn't go under. He insisted on a local anesthetic.”
“To repair a collapsed lung?”
“He didn't want to jeopardize the experiment.”
Bill thought about invasive surgery while being conscious. He shuddered. The guy was either very committed, or out of his mind.
The EEG needle began to move faster, the small peaks and troughs so close together it was hard to see the cycles between them.
“What's happening now?”
Theena looked closely at the readouts and frowned.
“Beta 2 waves. I've seen this before, usually when he's very irritated, or having an argument. But the police have a guard on him, and no one is allowed into his hospital room.”
“Maybe some reaction to medication.”
“No. He's not on any medication.”
“Not even antibiotics?”
“He doesn't need them. His immune system is incredible.” Theena pursed her lips. “No, he's definitely arguing with somebody. I wonder who?”
Chapter 3
“How did you get in here?”
Manny's voice was high pitched, frantic. The flimsy hospital gown he wore made him feel even more vulnerable.
David smiled at him.
“Your armed guard is taking a nap outside. Remember naps, Manny? Don't you miss them?”
Manny tried to rise out of the hospital bed, but David put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don't bother getting up. I won't stay long. Pity about Dr. Nikos, isn't it? You know what I saw in his eyes when I slit his throat? Not fear. Not pain. Just disappointment. It was delicious. How's your chest?”
David lifted up Manny's gown and peeked.
“Looks nasty. What is that tube?”
Manny tried to melt into his mattress.
“A drain.”
“Does it hurt?”
David prodded at the protruding plastic, pinching it between his fingers. Manny forced courage.
“What do you want, David? Did you come back to finish the job?”
“I wasn't after you, Manny. You know that. But you tried to get in the way. Don't you see the only way we can be free is if the experiment ends?”
“I told the cops.”
David grinned, patting his brother on the cheek.
“No, you didn't. You lied to them. I know you did. Now—who should we kill next?”
“Please...”
“How about the computer geek, Dr. Townsend? All those ridiculous graphs and charts, as if he could reduce us to just statistics. Or Dr. O'Neil? Aren't you sick of his fumbling attempts at taking serum samples? Maybe Dr. Fletcher. He tries to poke around in our heads with all the subtlety of a linebacker. Or Theena...?”
Manny's eyes got wide.
“Maybe I should pick up your Theena.” David rubbed his face, as if mulling it over. “We could have some fun together. I bet she's a real tiger.”
Manny tried to raise his arm, but it was taped to the rail so the saline drip IV wouldn't pull out. This greatly amused David.
“Yes, I think Theena it is. Unless you'd prefer someone else. Who should I kill instead of Theena? I'll let you pick.”
Manny stared at his brother with tortured eyes. This was worse than being attacked. David was going to kill someone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
But at least he could save Theena...
“Townsend.”
David's smile was ghastly.
“The computer geek. Excellent. I'll come back later with the details. Maybe even some pictures. See you, bro.”
David left. Manny looked at the phone. He had to talk to Jim Townsend, warn him what was coming.
He called DruTech and got the number from Barry, the head security guard. Barry attempted to wish him well, but Manny hung up on him, anxious to make the call.
Townsend wasn't home. His machine picked up. Manny left a message.
“Dr. Townsend. This is Manny. Your life is in danger. The same people that killed Dr. Nikos are going after you.”
Manny squeezed his eyes shut at the lie. How could he still be protecting David, after all he'd done? He swallowed hard, and continued.
“You have to go away for a while. Don't tell anyone where you're going. These people—they can't be stopped. They're maniacs. Please believe me. I don't want anyone else to get hurt.”
He gently set the receiver in its cradle and laid back down. Outside, clouds had covered the sun, turning everything gray.
Manny closed his eyes and wished, for the thousandth time, that he could just go to sleep.
Chapter 4
Dr. Jim Townsend hated days off. The call from Rothchilde's secretary came while he was in the car and already halfway to work. He'd briefly argued with her, insisting on coming in anyway, but she told him security had been informed not to let anyone in.
Irritating.
He was essential to the project. Without his organizational skills the experiment would be all over the place, untamed. Townsend had been the one to lay out the plans, run the schedule, catalog the results. His conclusions dictated what would be tested next. Though he didn't invent N-Som, it would never be ready for FDA approval if he wasn't on the team. The Nobel Prize people had better be aware of that when the time came.
Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to thin
k of something to kill time until tomorrow.
Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.
The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn't send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.
A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.
Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.
He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he'd play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was somewhat banal, and he never lost, but it was the closest thing to entertainment that he pursued.
Though efficient on many different operating systems, Townsend had never gotten around to owning his own computer. The ones he worked on were always vastly superior to home versions. But he knew that modern models had a tremendous amount of speed and memory, quadruple that of only a year ago. Was it time to join the personal computer revolution?
“Why the heck not?”
Computer stores seemed to be everywhere in the suburbs, and Townsend located one of the larger chains and went inside.
Four different salespeople approached him, and each time he shooed them away, annoyed at the interruption. He finally did require assistance after deciding on a model, and of course it took forever to find help. Such a burden, shopping.
After rebuffing pitch after pitch for accessories, Townsend allowed himself to be talked into two chess programs, each claiming to have beaten grand masters. He even felt a tinge of excitement, driving home with his purchases in the back seat. It wasn't nearly as fulfilling as work, but these boxes represented a slight promise of challenge, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
It took three trips to bring everything up to his third floor apartment. Badly out of breath, he needed a rest and a glass of orange juice before setting up his new system. His answering machine was blinking, but he was too preoccupied to notice.
Assembly was easy, and he didn't bother with the instructions. The system had dutifully included a CD for free internet hours, but he decided to put that off until later. Townsend installed the first chess program, somewhat surprised by his new computer's speed, and after familiarizing himself with the controls he began to play.
Within forty minutes, the computer was up a piece.
Townsend had to grin at the move. It was a brilliant one, a pin that forced him to give up his rook to save his queen. Townsend made the computer go back several moves, not to cheat, but to see if he could have prevented it. He couldn't have. The program had planned it at least six moves in advance.
“Wonderful.”
He hunkered down and continued play, trying to be wary but thrilled at the possibility of being beaten.
It was only when Townsend began to squint at the keyboard that he realized the sun had gone down. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he'd been playing for seven hours.
The computer had beaten him three games out of six. They were tied in this seventh game, and Townsend was preparing a sacrifice that would lead to checkmate if the computer didn't see it. The odds were slim; the computer saw just about everything. Unlike the chess program at work, this one could think several hundred moves ahead, and understood the concept of sacrifice for the sake of position.
He paused the game on his turn and ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After a bathroom break and a splash of water on his face to keep him focused, he returned to the computer and made his move.
The computer didn't take the bait.
“I figured you'd see it. Good one.”
A knock at the door. Townsend was so involved with the game that he never bothered to question the obvious fact that his food couldn't have been there so quickly.
The man in the hallway was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wasn't delivering sweet and sour pork or any other food. Most irritating of all, it was someone that Townsend knew, and happened to dislike.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello doctor.” David grinned, his pleasure genuine. “I came here to kill you.”
When he saw the scalpel, Townsend's annoyance puddled into fear. He took several steps back.
“This... this is a mistake. You'll jeopardize the project.”
“That's the point. Manny and I are sick of being guinea pigs. I think it's made us somewhat unhinged.”
“Manny and I? What do—”
Townsend saw the slash, saw the blood, but didn't feel a thing. He tried to speak and it came out in a gurgle.
David appraised the wound.
“The first cut is the deepest.”
When Townsend coughed, it was through the gash in his neck rather than his mouth. Things became blurry, and he fell over.
David closed the door behind him. He inspected the apartment, giving an empty monitor box a small kick.
“New computer? Nice.”
Townsend crawled over to his desk, reaching for the phone. He came up short and pulled his keyboard down on top of him.
“Careful, Dr. Townsend. You'll void the warranty if you bleed all over it.”
Townsend began to pass out. He knew that if he did, he'd never wake up. He had to get the phone, had to get help.
“Do you want the phone?” David laughed. “What are you gonna do with the phone, Dr. Townsend? Your tongue is hanging out your neck. Maybe I can help.”
David knelt down next to him. Townsend felt his consciousness ebbing, the darkness closing in.
He was almost dead when David began to work on him with the scalpel.
Almost.
Chapter 5
The sheer amount of collected data impressed Bill, but not nearly as much as the content. Each document he read was more fascinating than the last. He got up from his sofa and stretched, his back crackling like a bag of chips. He took a sip of coffee. Cold.
The clock told him it was coming up on one in the morning, but Bill wasn't ready to turn in yet. He plodded into the kitchen for another cup. He used three spoonfuls of instant, extra strong, and popped it in the microwave. The deluxe espresso maker stared at him from the counter, dejected.
The machine was Italian, a top end model. It had been their first purchase together, after moving into the condo. Kristen loved making lattes, and double cappuccinos, and espresso so thick you could eat it with a fork.
Bill turned away from it. The microwave dinged and he stirred some sugar into his coffee and went back to the sofa.
The log he was currently reviewing detailed experiments with rhesus monkeys. An early version of N-Som had kept a test animal awake for almost eight months. Bill wanted to find out how the experiment ended.
Day 236—Sam continues to act strangely, refusing his usual morning fruit. Vitals are normal, though his eyes seem a bit glassy. After discussing the situation with Theena, I order for a complete blood work up.
Bill reached for the next page, but there were no more in file.
He looked by his feet, to see if it any had fallen under the table. Coming up empty, he sifted through the previous pages, then the pages of several other folders.
Nothing.
Bill frowned. The guy in charge of organizing everything, Dr. Townsend, had done an amazing job putting every relevant bit of information about the project into coherent, chronological order. Previous experiments had ended with a calculation of results and Dr. Nikos's notes and conclusions. There were none to be found in this case.
Bill yawned. “Maybe back at DruTech.”
He took another sip of coffee and peeled off his socks, balling them up and taking them into the bedroom
. As he undressed, he thought about the unlimited potential for this drug. Revolutionary didn't begin to describe it.
A world without sleep. Where commerce existed twenty-four hours a day, and brilliant thinkers never became fatigued. There would be more time for work, to get things done, to make more money. And more time for play, to be with friends, to spend extra hours with loved ones. How much were those extra hours worth?
Bill knew. He knew more than anyone.
He yawned again, and glanced down at his coffee.
“You're not doing your job.”
It was late, anyway. Tired as he was, he might actually sleep well tonight. Bill was just sticking his toothbrush in his mouth when the phone rang.
Theena?
She hadn't come on to him again, after the scene in Manny's bedroom, and had remained strictly business for the remainder of the tour. Their meeting ended with a brusque handshake. Had her flirting really been an act? Or did she really find him as attractive as he found her?
Bill picked up the phone.
“Dr. May?”
It wasn't Theena. The voice was male, Midwestern, deep and cold.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“There's a package for you in the hall.”
A click, and then Bill was left listening to the dial tone. He walked, warily, to the door. The peephole showed an empty hallway.
Keeping a firm grip on the knob, he unlocked the dead bolt and eased it open a crack.
There was a thick manila envelope sitting on his doormat.
Bill again peered down the hall, then snatched the envelope and locked his door.
It was unmarked, unsealed. Inside was a VHS videotape without any label.
Bill searched his mind for a friend or coworker that might pull a stunt like this, but he came up empty. No one he knew would do this. Especially this late at night.
He shivered.
Part of him didn't want to play it, to put it away until the sun was out, until he had other people around him.
But curiosity overcame his trepidation. Bill popped the tape into his VCR.
After several seconds of black, a dimly lit room came on screen. It had concrete floors and walls. Possibly a basement. Bill could tell by the quality that it was home video.
