Brett’s hands shook as he reached into his jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out his flask. After he took a long swig, he held the flask out to Joey, who took it, his hands shaking as much as Brett’s.
They remained silent as they drove back to home base, each lost in their own thoughts.
Chapter 7
Barry’s Quest - San Francisco
“But I’ve read about the procedure on the internet, and heard rumors. I thought you guys needed a person to receive the first head transplant.” Barry’s voice stayed neutral, but his heart was hammering. He wanted a new body so bad, he could taste it. He was sure he wanted it more than anyone else in the world. He must live! He must get a new body!
If anyone knew something, it’d be Margo, Receptionist Extraordinaire. She could answer any department’s phone lines in her sleep.
Today Margo was acting rude, blowing pink bubbles and snapping her wad of bubblegum loud and vicious. “Are you still here, little man? I said to go away. If your dream comes true and we ever do that operation you’re talking about—which I still say will happen only in your dreams—we’ll call you.” She pantomimed talking into a phone.
“I’m going to report you, Margo,” Barry promised. “Because Irwin turned you down—”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Margo held out her arm with her palm towards Barry. Barry sat a little higher than the counter separating them, so her hand was right in front of his face. “I didn’t want to hang out with you guys anyway.”
“Margo,” Barry said, changing his tactic, noticing a hurt in her eyes, “I’m sorry I left you at the party…”
Margo stopped chewing and stared at her computer screen, her eyes tearing up as she frowned back at him. “I trusted you, Barry, and what did you do? You left me at the party to fend for myself with Irwin, your best friend who… who… promptly passed out!” Margo took a deep breath and hiccupped. The phone on her desk rang. “I have to get this, so go away!”
“Radiology, Margaret speaking,” she said, her voice changing to her professional office voice in an instant.
Barry couldn’t believe Margo was still upset over an incident that happened over a month ago. While his friends at the hospital had said Margo had a crush on him, he knew Irwin had a crush on Margo. She was a nice girl, early twenties. A little ditzy, but cute.
“Are you still here?” Margo hissed, placing her hand over the headset’s mouthpiece.
“Margo, tell me—”
“Dr. Farkis will call you when he needs a reject to operate on, okay? Now go!” Margo turned back to her computer screen. “Now, Mr. Johnson, about your appointment…”
Barry heard all he needed to hear. Dr. Farkis. Bingo. He didn’t realize how hurt Margo was, that was obvious. Once he got his new body, he could come back and date her. Sweep her off her feet. He shook his head as he wheeled himself out of radiology and down to personnel. He didn’t have time to think about women. It was time to put his plan into action.
Margo had said Dr. Farkis would be the one performing the experimental head transplant surgery. Since this was a research hospital, he assumed Dr. Farkis was always in his lab, researching., and that’s why he hadn’t recognized his name. He now remembered his name had come up several months ago in the cafeteria when the subject of transplants had first arisen.
He remembered that day because it was the beginning of this quest for a new body. His secret quest.
He and his two best friends, Sarah and Irwin, medical technicians, like himself, were having their lunch break in the employees’ lounge. They were debating about ethics of performing such an operation as placing heads onto new bodies. They’d heard through the grapevine some doctor somewhere planned to perform a head transplant sometime this year.
“Transplanting heads?” Sarah had asked, her face incredulous when Irwin started the conversation. “Crazy!”
“I know! Sounds like science fiction, but think of the possibilities,” Irwin said between bites of his sandwich. “People with disabilities could get new bodies! Diseases could be wiped out—”
“Yes, but where, pray tell, would you get the bodies with the heads in the first place, hmm?” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest.
“Good question, indeed, Dr. Watson,” teased Irwin.
“How much would an operation like this cost? Can you imagine the down-time?” Sarah shook her head in disbelief. “Hello, HR? I need ten weeks off for an operation. Oh, pre-approval? Yes, it’s, um, for a head transplant!” They all chuckled, getting a kick out of Sarah’s antics.
“I heard there was a doctor from Russia and one from China who were going to do it soon,” Irwin said.
Barry picked at his salad as he tuned his friends out, contemplating their conversation. They could debate all they wanted, but they weren’t in wheelchairs like he was. Since they’d known each other for so long, meeting at UCSF's School of Medicine and following each other here as they began their internships, his friends had forgotten he was in a wheelchair. Sure, he could walk around when he wanted to, but he didn’t enjoy being a spaz on steroids as he attempted to walk with his brace-canes. Hard concentration was used to walk straight, and he had to always make sure he knew what was in his path, since tripping meant needing help getting back on his feet. No, thank you.
His wheelchair gave him the independence he craved, and as an added plus, a chick magnet. He was most often the only guy out of his group of friends who ended up with a pretty girl sitting on his lap before the night was over. Yep, muscular dystrophy had its pros and cons, but to have a new body? That would be sweet!
He almost smiled when he thought getting a new body could mean the accomplishment of an erection. An erection was definitely in the “pro” category on his growing list of reasons to get a new body.
They soon began a lively debate, warming up to the chance to come up with more questions and speculations. Would they shock the brain stem to keep the nerves alive long enough to sew the head onto another body? Would getting a new body be as easy as going to a ‘body store’ kiosk at the local mall? Or would having your name on a recipient list be a sinister proposition, and soon murdering people would be the only way to get the bodies others wanted?
“Too many questions and not enough answers,” Sarah mused as she picked up her phone. After entering search criteria, she squealed. “Listen to this, guys! I searched for head transplants and this popped up. ‘HR at NRI wouldn’t confirm or deny gossip on the street about a team of doctors who plan to perform the first known head transplant . . .’”
Sarah and Irwin were nerds, like himself, and had come up with all sorts of scenarios for head transplants. After finding out it may happen in their very own hospital in the Neurological Research Institute, Barry felt excited. That’s when he decided to hit Margo to pick her brain and see what she knew.
As Barry left Margo, he decided to find out more about this doctor, follow him, and get him cornered so he could talk to him in private. Doctors were hard to talk to, and doctors who dealt with research instead of patients even harder. But Barry wanted some answers. He hadn’t told his friends yet about his plans, they might laugh at him. After all… a head transplant? Sounded too much like a science fiction movie to be real.
To them, a head transplant operation was fantasy. But to Barry, he believed in the impossible. What else was there?
Chapter 8
The Stalker - California
Barry had followed Dr. Farkis for the next week, trying to find a moment to speak to him. The research department was off limits to personnel with Level C and below ID tags, so Barry couldn’t get in.
The doctor spent long hours at the hospital, and slept there most nights. The only time Barry happened to catch a glimpse of him was when he darted from the research lab down to sublevel C. Soon after, Barry watched as doctor Farkis left the garage in his two-seater Miata. Barry couldn’t keep up with the doctor’s distracted, fast-paced walk.
He felt like a stalker, but he needed to find
answers to his many questions. He was so obsessed, he’d lost hours of sleep and had eaten little as he researched on his laptop for hours. He’d found a short bio on Dr. Farkis, reading he had spent his early years in Hungary before his family moved to the states when he was an 11-year-old. His father was a travelling biochemist, and his mother was a history professor.
He almost felt sorry for him, imagining Dr. Farkis as a boy who hadn’t received much attention. His parents were workaholics, evidenced by their lengthy curricula vitae.
Tonight, after a week of watching Dr. Farkis, trying to figure out his schedule and habits, his luck changed. Instead of waiting for him near the swinging doors of the research lab where he had lost sight of him again and again because he couldn’t keep up, Barry waited for him down in the garage.
The moment he saw Dr. Farkis coming out of the elevator, Barry waved to him. “Doctor, can I have a ...”
But Dr. Farkis wasn’t alone. Adina Ihle, head of NRI, followed him out of the elevator. Everyone employed at Sacred Heart knew of Adina Ihle. She was a bitch on wheels, and would bowl anyone over in the hallway if they got in her way.
Barry turned towards his van and climbed in as quick as he could manage, pulling in his lightweight wheelchair. Number one, no way in hell did he want to butt heads with Adina Ihle, and number two, he would follow Dr. Farkis and talk to him if it killed him. Barry needed to speed things up, and he wasn’t going to give in.
Dr. Farkis drove out of the garage and maneuvered onto Highway 880, with Barry following close behind. Again, luck was on Barry’s side. Dr. Farkis drove like he was an old blind man; unsteady and weaving. Barry had expected to follow him to his house, but when they ended up in Warehouse Row in Oakland, he was surprised.
Barry pulled over some distance away as he watched the doctor walk up to a warehouse with a heavy-duty steel door. The door was automatic and began lifting up and out for him. He soon disappeared behind it before the door shut again.
He intended to confront Farkis when he came out. After an hour, Barry wheeled himself in front of the door. The doctor had walked in, he’d have to walk out sooner or later. Barry waited, sitting in front of the door when the doctor attempted to open it twenty minutes later. Since Barry’s wheelchair was an obstacle, the heavy door opened only a few inches.
“What the…?” Dr. Farkis mumbled as he tried to open the door. His right eye peered through the three-inch gap and he jumped when Barry spoke.
“Dr. Farkis,” Barry said, his words rushed, “I’m sorry to ambush you like this, but I need to talk to you.” He paused when he noticed Farkis was still gazing above his head, as if a person of average height was standing there.
Barry cleared his throat. “Down here,” he said in what he thought was an authoritative tone, which failed miserably, evidenced by the way his voice cracked.
The doctor poked his nose through the space, zeroing in on him. “Who are you? How did you know about this place?” He hesitated for a moment. “Are you going to murder me? There are no valuables here.”
Barry chuckled, despite his nervousness. No one had ever thought of him as a murderer before, at least as far as he knew.
“No, I-I…,” Barry stuttered, panicking when Farkis tried to pull the door shut. He shifted his wheelchair in front of the space so the doctor would see him. “I work at Sacred Heart too! My name’s Barry Thompson. I know about your research and … and I can help!” Barry’s words tumbled over themselves as he wiped beads of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie.
The doctor stared at Barry. His face scrunched up with worry creases on his forehead. “Let’s talk at the hospital, son. Call my receptionist for an appointment.”
“No!” By now Barry would say anything to get five minutes with the doctor. He wedged his foot pedal through the empty space. “I want a new body! I know you do experimental operations.” Barry licked his lips and coughed. His mouth was dry. He’d never asserted himself this way before, but he couldn’t help himself as emotions bubbled to the surface. He didn’t know why he said what he did about the operations. He knew no such thing, but why was Farkis so secretive?
The doctor peeked over Barry’s head and surveyed the area, but saw only his Miata and a van, presumably Barry’s.
“Shh… okay, okay! Come in, but only for a minute!”
Chapter 9
Aiko’s Inner Reflection - Tokyo
Tanaka returned from dropping Kaneko off somewhere behind the closed door. “How about some tea, Uncle, to calm your nerves. Is jasmine okay?”
The guard returned carrying a tray with its tea kettle, cups, and saucers tinkling as he made his way to the desk with his stilted gait. The men spent twenty minutes making polite conversation about extended family and relatives while they maintained the protocol of eating miniature cakes and drinking tea together.
After a polite interlude, Tanaka led Aiko through the door behind his desk. They were in a shadowed hallway, much like the one they had arrived through, and the only sounds Aiko heard was a distant humming of a generator and their shoes tapping on the uneven concrete walkway.
Approaching a huge window embedded into the stone wall, Aiko took notice of the skilled engineering. He was familiar with the accomplished work of his people, having lived his entire life in Japan, but he still felt proud.
When they approached, he peered in and saw his daughter. Except for a square wooden table and two chairs, the room was bare. Kaneko was alone at the table, her hands in her lap and her hair hanging in her face.
Aiko was silent as he watched Kaneko pick at her cuticles. He was silent for so long Tanaka cleared his throat. “What you see here—”
“What I see here, Tanaka,” Aiko said, “is my daughter. A fatso! Who’d marry her? She's been to the United States on a year-long internship, but she came home empty-handed! No rich American fiancé. Our ancestors would be shamed by such a fatty. I am a disgrace to my neighborhood!”
Tanaka was a little unsettled because Aiko was so transparent, and so voluble. He coughed politely in hopes Aiko would stop his unexpected tirade.
Aiko clasped his hands together behind his back and continued his inner reflection as they continued to look through the one-way glass into the bare room. He rounded his shoulders several times to calm himself.
“Sure, our son will take over our house and business,” he began, his voice not as loud or anxiety-ridden as before, “but what of our daughter? What will become of her?” Aiko shook his head as if to clear it. “We won’t live forever to take care of her,” he said, as an afterthought.
Deep down, he was shaking in fright, not an emotion men in his family had ever shown anyone. Being frightened or anxious, his family believed, told others you couldn’t cope and were not worthy of respect. He had to remain stoic for this plan to come to fruition. He was tired of feeling embarrassment in front of his family.
“You’re lucky we have psychological testing first to see if they can handle the change, Uncle. I heard through the grapevine the other places have no such testing and it’s highly probable, statistically, some of the subjects could go insane after… uh… you know...”
“Other places?” Aiko was impatient, not noticing Tanaka had stuttered, rather than articulated his thoughts. This was the second time today Aiko felt puzzled. He didn’t like the feeling.
Tanaka took out a white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and coughed into it. “Yes, I have heard there are other places like this one. In China, United States, Russia. Their locations are top-secret for now, of course. Only the elite and selected few even know they exist.”
“Of course,” Aiko said, bowing his head out of habit and respect, although he didn’t quite understand.
“These other countries do this for profit. They are ... pigs.” Tanaka spat on the concrete beside him in a fierce manner.
“Are we any better?” Aiko retorted, without thinking.
Tanaka clicked his tongue with impatience. “We first began ex
perimenting with mice, dogs, and monkeys.” He noticed Aiko’s grimace. “It was for scientific advancement, of course, to give bodies to those who are disabled or encumbered. We have integrity. We respect the dead, give them life again. We understand that it takes time to get a decent body to work with. Other countries take any old body that happens to fall in front of them.”
“Where do honorable Japanese get their bodies from, if I may be so bold?”
“Most of them are suicides, of course. There are few guns here, as you know, and thus fewer murders than most countries, but our people work hard. We have pride. There is no shame in re-using our brothers’ and sisters’ bodies to give them another chance at life. Taking such a hard-working body means integrity.”
He hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. “And now we’re studying the practice of whale boats. The use of freezer containers, the amount of time a body can be frozen for transportation...” Tanaka’s voice trailed off after he realized he’d said too much.
Aiko’s forehead creased and he was doubtful, but Japanese etiquette demanded he keep his mouth shut and not argue or ask for verification. He convinced himself that it may be better if he didn’t know so much.
Chapter 10
Dr. Farkis and His Fancy Shoes - California
Barry decided to be brave and come right out with what he was here for. “I know you’re going to do a head transplant surgery, and I want it.” When Farkis didn’t nod in the affirmative, Barry thought he was imagining all this. Was Margo playing a trick on him? Was it possible this doctor didn’t do such operations and he didn’t know what Barry was talking about? Perhaps this whole thing was only wishful thinking on his part.
“Yes, what you say is correct,” Farkis said. His voice was slow and meticulous. “However, my revelation to the world would be after the initial practice operations. We’re not stupid, nor should we be impatient. We don’t want to be failures in the spotlight. We’ll be failures in the background, without anyone knowing, but not in the spotlight.”
Heads Will Roll Page 3
