Oxytocin was one of his favorite tools. He used it in any experiment involving human subjects. A hormone associated with childbirth and parental attachment, it evoked a feeling of confidence and trust in patients who inhaled it. Test subjects described the smell of oxytocin as “delicious,” or “friendly,” or even “sexy.” Whenever Carlisle needed unquestioned cooperation from someone, he simply gave them a small dose. “It will keep your sinuses clear,” he would explain to them.
With enough oxytocin in their bloodstream, patients would do virtually anything they were told. They would submit to unspecified injections, or go without food and water for as long as necessary. Carlisle suspected he could have asked for his patients’ life savings if he had wanted to. More important, he could convince them to take a turn with the new TMS device.
Carlisle loved oxytocin. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done without it. And now he had four fresh bottles of the stuff, all ready to go. Four little bottles that looked like nothing but nasal spray.
Now he was walking briskly on the path leading back to the main campus. The experiments were going better than planned, and he was ahead of schedule.
The next step was normal test subjects, and the oxytocin would become even more important. Mental ward patients could be manipulated, but regular people often resisted being told what to do. Especially if they were scared. A trust chemical, then, was exactly what he needed. And it was exactly what he had.
He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes until the first class. A new year, a new semester, and a brand new group of students.
So many minds, Carlisle thought. All fresh and ready for the asking.
Surely a few of them would show up late. He hoped so. It would be easier that way.
The first time around, he only needed four.
3
Melissa Hartman got out of bed slowly that morning. The alarm had gone off far too early. It had to be a mistake, she thought. A malfunctioning circuit. But when she rolled over and looked, the clock said 7:00.
Stayed too late at the library, she thought.
Right, but there was something else. Something that had reminded her of home.
The sick guy. The one who smelled of pain. Like her mother.
She hoped he had made it through the rest of the night okay.
Her schedule was pasted on the wall next to her bed. She glanced at it and saw that there was time for a shower and breakfast before her first class. Psych 10A. It was the only class she hadn’t seen yet. She hoped the homework would be light for once. The professor was someone named Carlisle. Frederick Carlisle. Melissa grinned at the name. She thought he sounded scholarly, like all of the Dartmouth professors. He’d probably have a beard, too.
In the dining hall, Melissa loaded her tray with eggs and cereal and sat down at an empty table. When no one joined her after a few minutes, she realized her mistake.
Should have taken a seat next to a mob of freshmen.
At that table over in the corner, for instance. She remembered the registration line from a few days ago, and she shook her head. Dartmouth students were obviously smart. But they all seemed socially stunted.
She was suddenly aware of a group of boys at the table next to her. Aware of them being aware of her. But they didn’t come over. They didn’t introduce themselves. Melissa put her fork down. She had had enough. She put her hands flat on the table and stood up. If no one was going to come over to her, than she would just march over and –
“Hi. Can I join you?”
Melissa stopped. A skinny girl with glasses had come up. She stood there with a tray in her hands, beaming.
“Absolutely,” Melissa said. “Have a seat.”
“I’m Lea.”
“I’m Melissa.”
“You want some breakfast company?”
“Hell yes.”
The skinny girl’s eyes went wide behind her glasses, and Melissa worried that she had just offended her only friend. Her only almost friend. But then Lea Redford smiled, and Melissa relaxed.
“How’s the food?” Lea asked.
“Pretty good, actually.”
“Glad to hear it. Can I ask you a strange question?”
Melissa looked up from her eggs and grinned. “You’re the only one talking to me, Lea. You can ask me anything.”
Lea nodded. “Yeah. That’s my question.”
“What?”
“Why am I the only one?”
“Um….” Melissa pressed her lips together. She scanned the dining hall. The boys at the next table suddenly became very busy, looking anywhere except in her direction. Several boys – and girls – at other tables put their heads down quickly, as if their breakfast plates had just become incredibly interesting.
“I don’t know,” Melissa said. “Because you’re not weird?”
Lea smiled. “I don’t think so, but I’ll take the compliment anyway.” Lea sat forward and lowered her voice. “I think everyone else is just afraid.”
“Of…?”
“Of you.”
Melissa stared at her for a minute, saying nothing.
The boys at the next table looked over quickly, startled. The gorgeous girl with the strong, angry eyes was laughing. Her head was thrown back for a moment, her dark hair hanging over the back of the chair like a curtain. It made them want to be that chair. The skinny, pretty girl sitting opposite her was smiling. The boys thought it was a beautiful sight, and they wanted to go over and join them. Each privately cursed his own hesitation from earlier. They would join them, they decided. Not now, though. Later, when the girls were not in the middle of something. They would get their chance. In a few minutes.
But Melissa and Lea did not give them a chance. They talked and laughed and forgot about the food in front of them, and there was never a good moment to interrupt. The time came for first-period classes, and the two girls were still talking, nodding, exclaiming to one another. The boys cleared their trays grudgingly, hating the requirement of attending class. Hating the whole concept of studying in college. Especially when there were things – much more important things – that needed their attention.
Eventually Melissa calmed. She took a long, happy breath and looked at her new friend.
“You really cheered me up, Lea.”
“My pleasure.”
“It’s not true, of course. But it was a nice thing to say.”
Lea shrugged. “You can keep telling yourself that. But you should start getting used to the idea that you’re attractive.”
Melissa put her hands up. “My luck with boys is nothing to brag about.”
“Uh-huh.” Lea’s voice was skeptical. “You get turned down a lot?”
“Well.” Melissa thought about it. “Actually, I’ve never – ”
“Yeah,” Lea said, sounding dismissive. “You’ve been sort of busy until recently, haven’t you?”
Melissa looked at her carefully. She took a long time before answering. “Yes,” she said, speaking slowly. “I suppose I have. But how do you know that?”
“It’s a specialty of mine.”
“What, reading minds?”
“No, faces.”
They were silent for a while. Melissa seemed to be studying her. Then she nodded. “Fine, then. You know, we should – ” She stopped suddenly and looked around her, at the now quiet and empty dining hall. Then she looked at her watch. “Aren’t we supposed to be in class?”
Lea didn’t wait to answer. She jumped up from the table, sweeping up her tray as she moved. “I’ve got psych,” she said over her shoulder.
“Me, too.” Melissa followed her, and they threw their trays on the conveyer belt.
“We’re going to get in trouble,” Lea said.
“Why? Isn’t intro-psych a huge class? Who’s going to notice?”
Lea threw her backpack around her shoulders and started to run. Melissa stayed close behind her. “It’s Professor Carlisle’s class,” Lea said.
“So?”
“So I’ve heard he’s a pain.”
“Oh.” Melissa smiled in spite of herself. It was good to have a friend. Friends could tell you which profs they had heard were pains. “So let’s run faster.”
They did.
4
Jason was almost finished with the last question on his math homework, and he didn’t hear the phone ringing. He felt he was close to getting this stuff – really getting it – and that meant he could pass calculus. With regular tutoring, of course. He was already looking forward to more help from that Lea girl. She was sharp. And pretty. And she had told him he could do it. It made him smile just remembering the way she–
“Jason, will you pick up the PHONE!”
His mother’s voice, amplified by the answering machine, almost knocked him out of his chair. He fumbled for the receiver. “Hello? Sorry, Mom. I was distracted.”
“Jason, honey. How’s your head?”
“Fine, mom. No different. But it’s – ”
“And your neck?”
“Still a little sore.”
“I have news.”
Jason closed his eyes.
“I’ve talked to a doctor here in Connecticut,” she said. “He can – ”
“Mom, we’ve discussed this.”
“Jason. Honey, please. Trust me, will you? This doctor is very, very good, and he said that he’d be happy to take a look at you.”
“That was nice of him.”
“He’ll give us a second opinion. I’ve scheduled an appointment for you tomorrow afternoon.”
Jason was silent.
“Honey?”
“Mom, I have class.”
There was a pause on the line. “Jason, please.” She was starting to sound angry. “What’s more important than your career, honey?” The shrillness began creeping into her tone, and visions of grade-school hockey games flashed through Jason’s head. Games in which his mother had berated not only the opposing team’s coach, but his own coach as well. “This is your chance,” she said. “Your shot at being someone. You’re not going to the National Hockey League by writing history papers, you know. Academics are not your strong point.”
Thanks for reminding me. “I’m not going to the NHL, Mom.”
Another stunned silence. “Don’t say that, Jason.” Her voice was shaking. As if he had insulted her. “Don’t ever say that. Without hockey, what would you do?”
“I don’t know, Mom. There are plenty of possibilities.”
“What possibilities?” Frantic now. “What? Tell me. What would you do?”
“I said I don’t know. You may have noticed that I’m still in college.”
“Well. That’s a terrific plan. Why don’t you just throw away everything we’ve ever – ”
Jason held the phone away from his ear. He looked down at his calculus homework, so close to being finished, and he wondered about what his mother had said. Academics aren’t your strong point. Maybe she was right.
He put the phone back to his ear. His mother was still talking.
“…and to think that I sacrificed hours, days, years of my life to bring you to those games…”
“I have to get going, Mom. Thanks for calling.”
“Jason, don’t you dare – ”
He put the phone down gently, then removed it from the cradle and lay it on its side.
When the last calculus problem was done, he went back and checked his answers. It was satisfying to see all those numbers lined up. So orderly. And he had done it himself. The whole thing. He smiled. He thought Lea would be proud of him.
The alarm rang faithfully the next morning at 7:30, just as it had been programmed to do. But Jason Bell, former Dartmouth hockey star, was still growing accustomed to the scholar’s life. He briefly forgot that he was no longer a member of the hockey team, and he punched the snooze button.
When the alarm rang again, Jason was closer to lucidity. He suddenly remembered that he was expected to attend classes from now on. He glanced hurriedly at his schedule. What was today? Tuesday? So that meant his first period was… Psych. 10A. With Carlisle.
Total gut class, he thought with relief. Nothing but freshmen. Easy pass.
But wait a minute. He had heard that Carlisle was a bastard who liked to mess with people. Especially people who came late. That was the rumor, anyway.
Crap.
He sprinted out of the dorm, shirt-tails flying. And Lea Redford would have been proud to see that.
5
What – ?
Garrett Lemke, veteran of the Dartmouth College fraternity scene, was accustomed to waking up in strange places. And with strange people. He knew from experience that the best thing was simply to lie there. To let your alcohol-addled brain provide as much information as it could before you got out of bed.
But this was different. He recognized this room. And this bed. Because they were his own.
Garrett didn’t have many rules about partying, but this one was clear: If you got drunk enough to black out, you didn’t go back to your own bed. And you never, ever went to bed alone. So he couldn’t understand how he had ended up here. It had never happened before.
He waited for his leaky memory to fill in some of the blanks.
After a few more seconds, Garrett had a terrible idea: maybe he had finally gone too far. He was an accomplished drinker, and he prided himself on an ability to hold his act together. Even when he was blacking out. He believed that this special ability was one of the things that made him a Dartmouth Man. A Dartmouth Man who got action.
But perhaps he had lost control last night. Had one too many. It wasn’t out of the question.
Did someone have to help me to bed last night? Like I was some drunken invalid?
Unthinkable. Anyway, none of his friends would ever bother to –
There was a sudden twinge in his head, and Garrett realized he was forgetting something much more important than any frat party.
The headaches.
He turned slowly to one side, as if he were afraid of dislodging something. The pain was a little better, he realized. Not all the way gone, but definitely an improvement over the last few weeks. Maybe he was over the hump.
Now he was remembering more. An encounter with Allyson and the women’s swim team yesterday afternoon. An awful encounter. He had behaved like an idiot, somehow. The details weren’t available, but the sensation of embarrassment was clear. After that, he remembered only pain. And more pain. So maybe he hadn’t even gone to a party. Or gotten drunk. And that meant he might have made it to bed all on his own.
He hoped – prayed – for this to be true.
Garrett looked at his watch and saw that he had woken up in time for first period. He’d probably be a little bit late, but that didn’t bother him. He had organized his senior-year schedule to provide maximum free time, which meant that he had signed up for as many intro-courses as possible. In those big freshman classes, it was easy to show up late. No one noticed. Or cared.
He double-checked the schedule. Psych 10A with Carlisle.
No problem.
He’d make his way over there in a few minutes, after a stop at the dining hall for some breakfast.
6
Melissa and Lea were breathless when they arrived at Silman Hall. Room 10A was the largest lecture auditorium in the building, but they still had trouble finding it. The two of them went around back, hoping to sneak in undetected. They were six minutes late.
Professor Carlisle was already lecturing as they crept through the door.
“…will be covering only the most basic, introductory concepts of psychology,” he was saying to the packed auditorium. He paused and looked to his right, where an eager-looking young man was standing. “This is Jeff Gooding,” Carlisle said. “He is the second teacher for the course. After today, half of you will be going with him.” Carlisle stopped, and a little smile crept over his face. “Still bucking for that tenure position, Jeff?”
Gooding took a breath. “Yes, Professor
Carlisle.”
“Been a few years now, hasn’t it?”
“Only two, actually.”
“But you’re still just teaching the intro course?”
With an effort, Gooding maintained his composure. His eyes flashed. “Is this something you want to discuss here, Professor? Now?”
Carlisle turned to the class. “You see?” he said loudly. “Anger. Shame. Embarrassment and barely-controlled aggression. These are just some of the emotions we experience every day, and look how easy they are to draw out. Bare millimeters below the surface, all of them. Just waiting to emerge.” He turned to Gooding again. “Okay, Jeff. Thanks. Great demonstration.” Carlisle winked at him. He used the eye closer to the students, so that they could see.
Jeff Gooding looked at the floor, and his mouth twitched. The words he was muttering were impossible to make out.
Melissa and Lea found an empty row of seats near the back, and they sat down silently, hoping Carlisle hadn’t seen them.
“There will be two midterms and one final exam,” Carlisle went on. “Homework assignments will be based on lectures…”
Melissa saw someone slide into their row. Someone big. He sat down next to Lea and gave her a friendly nudge, then started whispering to her. He sounded excited. Lea made a shushing noise and turned away from him. She craned her neck forward, as though trying to hear the professor better.
Melissa thought she could see Lea trying to hide a smile.
The big boy leaned forward and tried to get Lea’s attention again. He was whispering louder now, and Melissa could hear what he was saying.
“I got all the Calculus done,” he whispered. “Every problem. And I think I’ll be able – ”
“HELLO THERE,” Professor Carlisle shouted out suddenly. He was looking towards the three of them. The boy stopped whispering and froze. “YES, YOU,” Carlisle yelled. “Could you stand up please?”
Charcot's Genius Page 13
