It was Carly, Oona and Merriwhether who spearheaded those efforts to bring sanity into a most dangerous situation. The threesome had work together tirelessly to regulate VR sessions as a therapeutic tool, instead of a demented version of a Huxley novel. They succeeded in closing down the backroom VR parlors run by hucksters and charlatans. They closed down the thrill parlors and the psychotic vacations. They imposed legislation, which mandated manufacturing controls worldwide and fail-safe mechanisms to prevent habitation in a program machine. They developed restrictions on who could own a VR machine, raising the technology and therapeutic value of VR to those equivalent to x-rays, CAT scans, MRI’s and other treatment tools. They managed to eradicate pornographic programs and other types of VR that pandered to the prurient interests of users. They alone elevated Virtual Reality from a perverse parlor game to a science. For each, the crusade had personal gain. Carly sold more books, Merriwhether sold a vision.
When their efforts were done Oona and Merriwhether formed MemoryLock and became the largest manufacturer of VR therapy software in the world. Their rise was meteoric as therapists and as an industry. Carly on the other hand, although invited to join in MemoryLock, was already starting on a downward spiral. His life in the limelight was imperceptibly fading while his personal life actually lay in shambles. The rise of MemoryLock hadn't appealed to him. He had found himself at a juncture in his life where he wanted and needed to re-evaluate who he was and the type of life he was living. He had come to understand Occam’s Razor and truly believed ‘less is more’. Fundamentally, he disagreed with the MemoryLock concept, as it still used VR primarily as an emotional escape hatch. However, the most significant change, while one of great merit, was merely who controlled VR programming, and the type of programming used.
Eventually though, even Carly began using VR for patient role-playing. He had found it an aide in helping patients see what they would do in certain circumstances and then seek out the motive for their actions. He had hoped in time he could teach generalization skills, so that when similar real life scenarios came into play, the person could identify his or her feelings as they occurred and appropriately act. For him it became another tool in the therapist's toolbox, but by no means did he see it as the ‘be-all…end-all’ in psychosocial therapy.
With their VR crusade done and the possibility of further business ventures nixed, the threesome went in different directions. Carly and the MemoryLock couple seldom saw each other after that, except at the occasional convention and seminar. Each encounter produced a greater distance between the two factions, with Merriwhether moving from his usual arrogant stance to one which was more patronizing and demeaning towards his fallen comrade.
From time to time, Carly would read a journal article by Oona and Merriwhether, which extolled the virtues of their studies, their equipment, and their successes. Usually their efforts were in direct contrast to his own articles, conclusions, and successes he had in motivational studies.
More often than not, the bulk of Carly's current knowledge of Oona and Merriwhether came from the business section of the newspaper, as their company reaped windfall profits with the spiraling sales of MemoryLock systems. When the pair went public with the company, Carly had seen a video of them in the news. The two of them were arm-in-arm in a champagne toast. Merriwhether smiled gleefully at the camera while Oona cast about with her ever-rueful stare. Surrounding them was a phalanx of lawyers and stockbrokers. “MemoryLock's Newest Billionaires,” the graphics had read.
Carly often wondered what type of VR scenarios the two enjoyed personally. Oona's favorite had to be something in a dark dominatrix, while Merriwhether probably didn't have any. Perhaps a video of his press clippings was sufficient, after all his life was most everyone else's fantasy. If driven to a choice, Carly in more vindictive moments, thought Merriwhether would have enjoyed something that featured wolves devouring their young.
In recent months the latest news out of MemoryLock was their interest in linking the use of VR with a new medication which could isolate and inhibit specific memories. The idea was to create a memory gap, fill it with VR programming, and then completely reprogram certain aspects of a person's life.
A small pharmaceutical house, that MemoryLock kept anonymous, was able to isolate the specific type of chemical reaction which occurs when people block out painful memories. The research had determined that in some specific cases involving great trauma such as childhood molestation, the body would chemically produce a memory inhibitor that prevented the brain from recalling the incident. The inhibitor it appeared was quite specific to a singular event. As the person got older the natural chemical bonding frequently would wear out, thus explaining why incidents from the past, sometimes events twenty or thirty years old or even older, would suddenly be remembered in adulthood.
Utilizing this information, chemists were able to recreate the chemical reaction artificially via a medication called Calapromazine and actually inhibit memory, particularly in a selective fashion. Merriwhether had learned of the early developments of Calapromazine and managed to buy out the pharmaceutical company and its patent efforts. Under MemoryLock's auspices, he controlled much of what had happened regarding the drug's development. Oona's medical research expertise enabled the researchers to find the means to single out one memory from the hundreds of billions of incidental memories the mind could retain, isolate it, then block it from future retrieval using the memory inhibiting drug.
Despite exercising his formidable political and financial pressure on the Food and Drug Administration to assure timely review by the government, Merriwhether still lacked governmental approval for the drug at the time of the L.A. convention. It appeared that it would not be marketable for at least a couple more years, pending efficacy and side-effect studies and word on the medical street indicated there were side-effects. However, Merriwhether was using the time until ‘Proma’, as it was called as a brand name, to hawk its potential and ready the marketplace for sales when the FDA approval came through.
Coupled with MemoryLock's VR technology, Proma would enable a therapist to block specific painful memories and recreate psychological scenarios to replace them. Ideally someone suffering from depression due to a nasty divorce could have the memory of that specific experience inhibited and replaced by a VR scenario that depicted a more amiable separation. Memories that forced anger and aggression to the surface theoretically could be locked away and replaced by more peaceful and tranquil ones. The potential as a treatment mode was explosive, as it offered a magic bullet for most mental health problems which were not actually physiological in nature.
The role of the therapist would quickly change from an interactive presence to merely a technological aide, or “mind mechanic” as Carly had referred to them once. His viewpoint on the entire process was one of great dismay, as he saw the treatment of symptoms taken to the highest degree and virtually eliminated the real healing process.
At one point, he had taken full aim at MemoryLock and Proma in a journal article decrying the loss of actual problem resolution in exchange for an instant fix. Merriwhether publicly responded in a most gracious article agreeing with Carly, with one caveat. Merriwhether, using a very tongue in cheek tactic, was in favor of using the MemoryLock and Proma combination only to stabilize the unstable. Then practitioners such as Carly could well spend the next decade or two with the patient unlocking the motivations and behaviors, which caused the problem in the first place. Of course having depicted traditional type of therapy as a long and drawn out process, which could take years and tens of thousands of dollars, Merriwhether had lent a death knell to practitioners such as Carly. Given the choice of getting to the bottom of things and developing real coping skills or having the option of a 'quickie overhaul' at a psychological head shop, most people would opt for the latter. For Carly the future in personalized therapy looked bleak, maybe he needed a little VR on a tropical island to escape the stress of life in the slow lane, or rather in his viewpoint
, the turn lane.
As Merriwhether concluded his speech, the crowd movement wrestled Carly from his reverie. Pleased that he had daydreamed all the way through the Merriwhether and Oona show, Carly quickly headed for an exit at the break. He wandered aimlessly about the corridor, wishing he still smoked, if for no other reason than he would have had something to do. He hated these hallway break periods reeking of stale cologne, small talk, and mindless schmoozing.
Hearing himself being called, he was convinced that he was soon to be victimized by some little known colleague intent on talking shop, or worse talking 'Merriwhether shop'.
“Professor Thompson! Professor Thompson!”
At the opposite end of the lobby, he saw a short bespectacled figure frantically waving both his stubby arms, all the while cutting a zigzag path through the crowd of people. Carly tried valiantly to remember who the comical figure could be, so as to not disappoint an unremembered colleague but his memory failed him. As the man pushed closer, Carly stopped worrying about the potential of a personal slight, as he was quite sure the two of them had never met.
With a rush of words, the man drew alongside Carly, “Professor Thompson, thank God you made it. I was so worried you weren't going to come. I had looked for you earlier, but didn't see you. The convention people said you were registered and were going to speak this week. Thank heavens Dr. Merriwhether had pointed you out earlier in the seminar, as I hadn't seen you come in. Hard to believe I missed anyone as tall as you, but you know the old ‘coke bottles’ aren't doing the job like they used to,” he concluded with a quick gesture to the very thick glasses that dwarfed his facial features.
Summoning up his best tact and diplomacy, Carly extended his hand with an apologetic, “I'm sorry, but have we met? My memory isn't what it used to be either,” he forced the attempted joke with a fake chuckle, knowing the answer should be negative.
“Oh no sir, you don't know me. My name is Daniel Sullivan. You can call me Sully, everyone does. I'm with the Los Angeles Police Department. Lieutenant Sullivan actually, although just by a hair. The old eyes give me problems every year in qualifying at the shooting range. Thank God an old friend is the testing officer, otherwise, I wouldn't be a Lieutenant anywhere. I'd probably be running a bait shop somewhere along the coast. Then of course...”.
Losing a bit of his tact, Carly interrupted the rest of the man's forced retirement plans. “I'm glad to meet you Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you?” he asked mildly interested at the reference to the police department.
Loading up his verbal ammunition, Sully took nervous aim again, “Sorry, I tend to ramble, at least that's what my wife says. She's right, so who am I to tell her she's wrong? Anyway, Inspector Edwards out of the Homicide Division in our Central office, that's my boss, asked me to meet you down here. The Inspector would have come down personally but we had another homicide victim turn up today, another special one you know, not the usual run of the mill type that we get, like a drive-by shooting or such.”
Carly thought about interrupting again but decided to let the little man run of steam naturally. “Although this is southern California, and we've had our share of sophistication when it comes to homicide from time to time. Anyway it's the fourth one in a series we think. The Inspector asked me to meet you to see if you were interested in lending us a hand. We'd like you to look over some of the details of the cases. A consulting job, if you will. At least while you're in town. With your reputation and all, we thought that you could give us a hand or at least look things over to see if we're missing something. We tried to get you in Colorado last week, but you had already left your office and we didn't want to disturb you at home, although I'm not sure if I actually have your cell phone number. Although, being a detective I should be able to get something as simple as that, you would think.”
Carly was beginning to rethink his theory, as it seemed Sully had a bit more steam than the average blowhard. “Anyway, that was just after we discovered the third murder victim. When that poor woman's body showed up we were pretty sure the murders were actually linked. Since that time, we've had a fourth body turn up and we're convinced it's related to the other three. Even though two of the killings were quite similar we hadn't linked all of them together at that time. Anyway, after that crucifixion case of yours in Denver and all, we figured you would be the best one to give us help. Plus, you were already headed this way. It saves the department a few dollars on travel expenses, if you don't mind.”
Finally, Sully wound down, giving Carly a chance to respond. “No I don't mind. I'm flattered detective, but why me? Surely you have all the expertise you could need right here in Los Angeles?”
“There's some similarities to your crucifixion murders sir, which are of special interest. We've got a good handle on the homicide aspect, it’s the serial thing that made us think of you. Maybe it's a copycat thing, we're not sure. We thought that you could tell us if it is, you'd be doing us a big favor. If it isn't, you'd be keeping us from wasting our energies by going off in the wrong direction.”
“Sure I'd be interested,” Carly said actually flattered by the invitation, “I'm not too convention-oriented anyway. But I do have to be back here tomorrow for a discussion group I'm leading. Otherwise I'm at your disposal until my plane leaves day after tomorrow. In fact, I can slip out now if you want. I haven't had a chance to check in to my hotel yet, so why don't you let me do that first. You can take me over. Give me a few minutes and I'll meet you in the lobby after I check into my room.
“Sounds great, Professor,” Sully responded in a pleased voice. With a grin on his face, he said, “The Inspector will be really pleased. We're afraid we got a bad one on our hands and we sure could use some outside help.”
“Sully, let's wait and see about how much help I really am before you thank me. After all, one case is nothing more than just that, one case, totally different from any other. Okay?” Carly cautioned, not wanting to give the little man false expectations. “Look, I'm staying at the Embassy, why don't we head over, it’s only a few blocks away.”
With a quick nod the little man scurried off to get his car, leaving Carly amused and admittedly a bit excited. It had been awhile since he had been directly involved in an investigation. The prospect of doing so again gave him an adrenaline rush just thinking about it. The past few years teaching, writing and doing therapy had made him forget the edge a cop lived on, the anticipation of discovery during an investigation, and the passion he once had for being a detective.
By the time Sully had pulled the car around, Carly was anxiously awaiting him at the curb, suitcase and briefcase in hand. The two took off in the ubiquitous unmarked police car. Carly was sure that he would rue the day he purposely asked Sully to start talking, as he never would know when the little man might stop…if ever. Wary as to how much license he was giving Sully, Carly gave his companion the opportunity to rant onward with a simple request.
“Detective, tell me about the four murders. Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out.”
Chapter Three
To Carly’s great relief, Sully did not speak about a case in the same wandering fashion in which he carried on regular conversation. The little man was quite deliberate, very concise and to the point when talking shop. It seemed as if he was reading a report rather than talking spontaneously and he was much easier to follow. He had a remarkable memory for detail as he spoke extemporaneously. When it came to case work, Sully was all professional and definitely all cop. Sinking back into the seat of the sedan, Carly, eschewing electronics, drew a small notebook from his coat pocket and prepared himself to jot down a few notes. He decided to wait until Sully was finished before asking too many questions, so he could better examine any common threads which might weave through the detective’s whole recounting.
He had been a pretty good interviewer when he was on the force, as he learned early on, listening was critical. Given the time and patience he would let a suspect ramble on, without
interruption. It gave Carly the time to shift through the words and look for inconsistencies as so many perps just could not keep quiet and eventually they leaked out information. With others, he found it preferable to let them talk, almost in a stream of conscientiousness as details and subtleties would eventually come forth. Things they did not remember would surface. Little bits of data linked together and a whole puzzle appeared.
With little fanfare, Sully launched into his review. “Well Professor, the first homicide occurred six weeks ago on Friday the 24th. For the LAPD, it at first seemed somewhat routine, as far as murders go in L.A., especially in the middle of a summer hot spell. A woman named Arlene DiNardo, Caucasian, aged thirty-eight was found dead in a cheap motel just off the strip. The motel maid discovered the body the next morning as she was doing her rounds. The victim was a known hooker and small time drug user. She had a number of prior arrests, including prostitution, possession and possession to sell."
Sully nodded to Carly making sure the Professor knew this woman was not exceptional as a criminal, “Nothing special, mind you, Professor. She was small potatoes in the overall scheme of things.”
Continuing as he wove expertly through the downtown traffic, he outlined the particulars very succinctly. “Out on the street the victim had a reputation for selling fairly kinky services, particularly the rough stuff, so her death did not surprise any of the locals who knew her, or the local precinct.”
Like many women who were in her business very long, her hooking trade had fallen towards the bottom of the barrel that goes along with the aging process, which explains why she was willing to get into the more dangerous stuff on an ever-increasing basis. She had been peddling herself to anybody for anything and specifically, she was supporting a habit. She had no pimp, no family, no kids to support or anything like that. She was just a hooker passing time until she died. Death came a littler earlier than she expected, but not much earlier.
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