Silent Epidemic (Book 1 - Carol Freeman Series)

by Jill Province

   

  Chapter 11

   

  It was after 5:00 PM on Friday and everyone at Dominex had left for the start of their weekend.  Sam Reynolds and Jeff Edwards were walking down the hallway to the area that had been set up for the final research study.  “We have some interesting data," Jeff reported, as he reached the door to the lab.  Both men went inside, and re-locked the door.  

  Turning on the light, Sam said, “Let’s have a look."  

  Jeff reached over for a small stack of files and picked them up. 

  “These are the files for the volunteers that actually came back for their follow-up exams."  Placing them down, he pointed to the pile sitting on the other side of the table.  “Those are the files for the volunteers that have not returned." 

  “What’s the count so far?"  

  “One hundred and fifty people have started phase one.  Out of those, one hundred people have been due for their follow up exams.  Out of those one hundred, fifty-one have returned.

  Sam pointed to the small stack of files, and Jeff nodded.  “The fifty-one that have come back are presenting with hypertension, anxiety, headaches, and nausea.” 

  “Well, that is really no surprise," Sam interjected.  “We expected a small percentage to go through some discomfort." 

  “The ones that have come in are the ambulatory volunteers." 

  “In English," Sam prodded. 

  “Able to get around," Jeff explained.  “The other forty-nine have all called in and told Margie that they were too sick to leave the house.”

  “Yeah, I knew my secretary was getting frustrated with phone calls," Sam said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger on his tired eyes. 

  “She’s been after me to call these people back," Jeff continued, “but I really don’t know what to tell them."

  “Well, the last thing we do want," Sam interjected, “is for them to start going to emergency rooms.  We need to keep this quiet." 

  “No shit," Jeff added. 

  “We are going to have to provide them with some medical attention," Sam said. “It’s the only way to keep them contained."  Both men sat quietly staring at the files. 

  “You know these forty-nine people are just the tip of the iceberg," Jeff said.  “We have three hundred and fifty people that haven’t even started the process yet."

  “It has to be big enough to manage a lot of people, and away from here," Sam said, mostly to himself.  “We have to provide them with something that will give them some relief without creating any alarm or attention to the study." 

  “How about a doctor’s office?" Jeff offered.  “I have some good contacts from my marketing days." 

  “We have to have complete confidentiality," Sam said. 

  “I think I have someone in mind," Jeff added.  “I’ll contact him Monday.  We can start these people on Valipene, or something similar to ease the withdrawal. The trick is going to be getting it into them without them knowing it." 

  “If we have the doctor’s office dispense it, we can tell them it’s vitamins," Sam said. 

  “We aren’t getting paid enough for this," Jeff sighed, visibly exhausted.

  “I’ll pass that along to the CEO," Sam laughed. 

  “Do you ever think about selling real estate?" Jeff asked. 

  “Only every day," Sam answered.  “Come on Jeff, let’s go home.”

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  Sheila sat in the small temporary office they had provided for her in the Newark division.  She had been given free range of the Marketing Department and a small staff to work with.  Sheila didn’t mind a challenge; she just hated the lousy timing.  She had set up an email address and had been communicating with Jerry every day.  She couldn’t keep using her calling card at forty cents a minute, and she didn’t want the company to see a huge bill to Georgia.  Email was free and confidential.  Sheila had waited for everyone to leave before she checked for any new communication.  She clicked on the check mail icon, and waited. 

  Hi Sheila, wish you were here - mostly because I’m sick of calling these people and hearing the same story over and over.  You wouldn’t believe how sick these people are, and no one is doing anything about it.  When I call, my heart goes out to them, but what can I do???? Think of something please.

  Have a safe weekend - Jerry.

  Sheila read the message and cursed under her breath.  What the hell can I do?  They sent me nine hundred miles away so that I couldn’t do anything.  She returned the message.

  Jerry - I’m so sorry to have put you in this position.  If I’d known it was going to get this bad, I would have come up with a better plan.  I can’t think of a thing - except to tell you to encourage these people to go to a doctor.  Just document everything.  We’ll need it.

  Thanks, Sheila

  Sheila packed her briefcase with things to work on over the weekend.  She had no interest in the social life of Newark, New Jersey.  She wanted to get this job done and get out.  Working over the weekend was an adequate diversion.  The Efficiency Hotel was walking distance from the office.  Another way Dominex had found to save money.  They hadn’t furnished her with a rental car because everything was within a five-block radius. This assignment wasn’t supposed to be comfortable.  She was being put in her place.  She also knew that when the time came, Dominex would be put in theirs.  She felt comforted by that thought.

  * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   

  George Donovan, M.D., was the worst kind of doctor imaginable. He was not what anyone would consider a compassionate person, and he was willing to be creative.  Dr. Donovan graduated at the top of his class, but from one of those south of the border universities.  His lack of status had made it difficult to break into the medical community.  His primary motivation for being a doctor had been family pressure and money.  But George Donovan had not been making very much money.  He had found his first position with the VA in Atlanta, and was modestly compensated for minimal work.  Donovan’s talent as a physician far exceeded the demands of the VA, and the money was never going to be acceptable.

  Donovan’s father was a doctor.  His two older brothers were surgeons, and his mother, a psychiatrist.  His future had been decided before he had entered the first grade.  His secret motivation had always been to work on Wall Street where the only time you worried about another living breathing soul was when he got in your way.  Donovan had the shark instinct, but had not found a way to use it to his advantage – until recently.

  Dr. Donovan knew a good enterprise when he saw one.  Sedatives and pain pills had become his bull run.  He had become so successful treating an addicted population, that he had recently moved his practice into one of those ritzy medical buildings and was finally driving a car that said, “I am a Successful Doctor." 

  There were no other doctors working with Donovan.  He could not take the chance.  His staff consisted of a nurse, who was also his bed partner, and a sprinkling of office staff, who were never knowledgeable enough to be a threat to his manner of doing business.  Most doctors quickly identify drug-seeking behavior and refuse to continue providing a patient’s drug of choice.  Dr. Donovan, on the other hand, would graciously look the other way, and the addict population all knew him well.  The unspoken rule of doing business with Dr. Donovan was to never fill prescriptions at the same pharmacy.  Donovan never had to provide his patients with instructions.  An addict already knew how to play the game.  

  George Donovan, M.D., pulled into the underground parking garage that was conveniently in the basement of his office building.  His shinny Jaguar occupied the primo spot next to the elevator.  Dr. Donovan pulled into his space and checked his hair in the rear view mirror.  At the age of forty-five, he could pass for someone in their thirties.  He worked out regularly and, unlike his patients, believed in a healthy lifestyle.  
Donovan smoothed over his jet-black hair with one hand.  Satisfied with the image, he was about to flip the mirror back up, and jumped slightly when he saw that someone was standing right behind his car.

  “Hey, Donovan," the man called out in an attempt to announce his presence. 

  “Jeff Edwards," the doctor said, relieved.  Donovan emerged from his car with his hand outstretched and Jeff reached to shake it.  “Where have they been keeping you locked up?  Not that I’m complaining," Donovan said.  “That new woman looks better than you do."  

  Jeff took on a hurt expression and said, “And I thought I was better looking."

  “Sorry, you just don’t have the required cleavage."

  “Ah, but I may have the required money-making proposition," Jeff returned.  

  Donovan raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, let’s go up to my office.  I’ll buy you a cup of coffee."

  Dr. Donovan and Jeff Edwards entered the office waiting room.  The staff had already arrived, but it was still too early for any Monday morning patient traffic. The doctor did not require appointments, so it meant nothing for his waiting room to become standing room only.  In a few hours it would become just that.  But for now all was quiet and the two men made their way into the exam area and down the hall to Donovan’s private office.  On the way through, Donovan addressed a pretty young blond girl wearing too much eye makeup and said, “Peggy, could you bring in two coffees?"

  “Sure thing doc," she replied.  Donovan closed the door behind them and said,

  “I wouldn’t mind playing doctor with her, but the nurse would have my hide." 

  “How is Sally?" Jeff inquired. 

  “Just as feisty as ever.  If it weren’t for her, I’d still be working for the VA." 

  “Hold on to her then," Jeff said.  “Little blond girls come and go, but women like Sally…" 

  “Don’t I know it," the doc agreed.  “And just in case I forget, she reminds me every day.”

  “So, where is she?  I thought you two came in together every day." 

  “Personal day," Donovan answered.  “She’s earned it.  We have been so busy lately, knock on wood."  

  Just then, the door opened and smiling Peggy handed each man a steaming cup.  

  “Thanks honey," Donovan said.  “And could you hold all my calls while I’m in this meeting?" 

  “You got it, doc," she replied, and was out the door.

  Settling into his chair, Dr. Donovan said, “So, what is this great money making proposition?" 

  “That’s the beauty of it," Jeff began.  “You don’t have to do anything different than what you’re already doing." 

  “I’m listening," Donovan said.  Jeff gave the details of the entire drug study, along with the major problem that had developed as a result. 

  “We have to get these people quietly stabilized," Jeff concluded. 

  “How many people are we talking about?"

  “It’s looking like forty nine percent of the volunteers are going into extreme withdrawal within five days of stopping the drug." 

  “And you are surprised by that?" Donovan said, shaking his head.  “You drug companies amaze me.  You manufacture this stuff, and you don’t have any idea how addictive it is." 

  “Well, we never had to conduct this type of study before," Jeff said in defense.  “And now it’s biting us in the ass." 

  “I bet it is," Donovan said.  “So, what do you have in mind?"

  “We need to get a reasonable amount of the drug back into them, so that their withdrawal symptoms will subside.” 

  “You can’t do that on your own?" Donovan asked.  “You guys make the stuff." 

  “We can’t have all those sick people around the study.  And besides," Jeff added, “if they realize what made them sick, they may become too much of a liability."  

  Donovan sat pondering Jeff’s words and began shaking his head.

  “I think I see where you are going with this." 

  “We will contact the volunteers that need medical attention and refer them to you," Jeff instructed. “We’ll supply you with the medication.  You dispense it here and tell them it’s vitamins." 

  “Prescription vitamins?" Donovan laughed.  “Are your volunteers that stupid?" 

  “I wouldn’t call them stupid,” Jeff said. “Just desperate.  Besides, we’ll come up with appropriate packaging.  We weren’t going to put it into prescription bottles." 

  “Good thinking.”  The doctor pulled out a calculator and punched in a few numbers.  “Let’s see.  Forty nine percent of five hundred is two hundred and forty five. That’s quite a jump in patient load." 

  “You’ll figure out a way to accommodate them.  I’m not worried about that," Jeff said.  “They will be told to identify themselves as Dominex study volunteers," he continued.  “You can charge us for an office visit and we’ll supply the drugs.  It won’t cost them anything.  Oh, and I almost forgot, we still have to get urine samples from these people." 

  “You’re going to drug screen them after they go back on the medication?" Donovan laughed. 

  “Seems a little futile, I know.  But we have to go through the motions.  Our courier will pick them up every other day and bring the specimens back to our own lab for testing.” 

  “Very cleaver.  When should I expect the barrage of victims?" 

  “They are volunteer subjects," Jeff corrected, “and you can expect them just as soon as we can get in contact with them."  Jeff stood up and shook Donovan’s hand.  “Always a pleasure doing business with you," Jeff said.  “I better be getting back to the office.  I have my work cut out for me.”  And with that, he was out the door.

   

  Jeff stopped at a traffic light and pulled out his cell phone.  He dialed the number to work and wondered to himself how far this was going to go.  He had started having problems with his stomach that had all the earmarks of a baby ulcer.  He had also started having trouble sleeping and kept having the same re-occurring nightmare.  The theme was always the same.  He would be walking through a battlefield.  In the distance a mob of sick and dying people would be staggering towards him.  In one hand he held the cure pill.  In the other he held the poison.  As the moaning, crying mob approached, he would reach for the cure pill and it would be gone.  The poison would be the only thing remaining.  As the mob collapsed on top of him he would wake up in a cold sweat.  He did not believe in symbolism, but the meaning of this dream was smacking him in the face.

  His life had been such a normal one.  He had married his childhood sweetheart and they had started their family immediately out of college.  He had gone on to get his master’s degree in business and his wife began teaching elementary school with a bachelor’s degree in education.  They had two girls, now sixteen and eighteen years old.  Jeff had upgraded their residence three times, and his family now resided in a quiet, upscale community in Marietta, Georgia.  Jeff loved his life and wanted nothing changed, except maybe the past few months at Dominex.

  Jeff had worked for Charles Roman, Senior, and remembered the old days with longing.  There had been no hidden agendas or creative politics.  The company had survived on honesty and integrity.  Jeff liked the idea of moving into the fast track, but he did not like the current method of getting there.  He secretly wished that this new drug would never get FDA approval and they could all go back to the way things were before. Stop dreaming.  This order was directed to both his day time and night time activity.  Jeff had no intention of ever leaving Dominex.  It had become as much a part of him as his home life.  Wherever Dominex was going, he was going with them.  He realized, with sadness, that the wheels of progress had been set in motion and that he would never see the good old days again.  The “new and improved” Dominex was his future.  He would have to make it work.

  Jeff’s secretary answere
d the phone, and transferred the call to Sam.  “We’re all set with the good doctor," Jeff reported. 

  “Good work," Sam answered. 

  “We will have to set up some generic packaging for the medication, and either you or I should contact the volunteers," Jeff interjected. 

  “We’ll split the phone contact," Sam directed.  “Otherwise, it will take too long." 

  “I’m on my way in.  Just wanted to give you a heads up," Jeff concluded, and pressed the end button on his phone.

   

  Chapter 12

   

  Carol dreaded the mornings.  She had been dragging herself into work for the past two weeks and it wasn’t getting any better.  Her exhaustion was at its peak in the morning.  She had also started experiencing severe depression.  The anxiety had been one thing.  She had been able to talk herself through the anxiety, but depression did not respond to logic.  

  Carol understood addiction.  She knew that each drug affected and enhanced a different part of the brain.  A person’s drug of choice was usually not by accident.  If a person tended to be anxious they would typically turn to something that would calm them down, such as alcohol or sedatives.  If a person remained depressed, there was nothing like a cocaine or speed high to temporarily free them of that dark cloud over their head. 

  The problem with a drug solution is that daily stimulation of that part of the brain eventually damages and weakens its normal functioning.  The necessary level of chemical release is no longer provided.  The addict is eventually screwed because they now lacked what little they had to start with.  Anxiety and depression returns, now to a whole new level and without the benefit of chemical balance.  The substance no longer delivers temporary relief because daily stimulation of that part of the brain had rendered it almost useless.  Unable to face a world now darker and more frightening than the one they originally escaped from, the addict continues to do the only thing that has ever given them any peace.  But because it no longer works, they are stuck in an unending cycle that resembles hell.