Dark Designs

by Flowers, Thomas S.

  Why don’t they just say Cryogenics? That’s the assumption, right?

  Are they offering something other than to freeze people? To put them in meat lockers? What else could it be?

  Whatever.

  I don’t care.

  I’ll do whatever it takes.

  This isn’t about living forever.

  It’s about having a life to live.

  Pause death.

  Yeah—pause death.

  Henry finished changing, slipping his bare feet into the also provided slippers. All of which really made him feel like he was staying at a resort of some kind, the kind of resort that gives you life beyond the threshold. His cell phone wasn’t working, but the display said it was well into the evening. Doctor Williams, Cheryl had mentioned something about a cafeteria. He decided to go check that out.

  His door slid open automatically and he stepped out into the corridor, oval in shape, but tall and brightly lit in the same aqua color as the company’s logo and his pajamas.

  He turned and stumbled to a halt.

  “Excuse me. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said, offering a hand to a petite skin and bones woman. He couldn’t say what her age was, her flesh looked like paper, but there was a newness about her that hinted that she wasn’t entirely as old as she looked.

  She beamed up at him from the floor. “Entirely my fault, really.”

  Henry helped her to her feet. He didn’t think she would be able to do it alone. Looking at her was like looking at death itself, death with paper thin skin hugged tightly against brittle bone. He smiled politely, gesturing with a nod to her door. “Is that you?”

  She frowned, glanced behind her and back to Henry. She smiled again and started to laugh gently, covering her mouth with a boney hand. “Yes. I’m sorry, was I being too loud? I just—I just received the call from Doctor Williams. Tonight—it happens tonight.”

  It was her eyes, he was sure of it now. Her dark brown eyes gave away her real age. Not this broken body hardly able to stand before him; her eyes glowed with youth. He wanted to say something. Congratulations or something similar. But words were hard fought. He wasn’t sure what to make of this woman. This oddity. Everyone he’d met since arriving at the Alcove this evening were but faceless staff. Non-engaging. And as for Doctor Cheryl Williams, there was something there about her that didn’t feel quite right, promises too bizarre for him to process right away. He needed time. But with this woman, this frail happy lady, he felt strangely enough more kinship with her then his oldest friends.

  “Veronica Edwards.” She held out her hand.

  Henry looked at it as if it were some queer gesture.

  “That’s my name, Veronica Edwards,” the woman said again, still holding out her hand, her tone that of a patient teacher addressing her class.

  Henry thumped his head. “Of course. I’m sorry, I must still be taking everything in. This place is quite overwhelming.” He took her hand. “Henry, Henry Porter.”

  They shook.

  “Glad to meet you, Henry. Did you just arrive?”

  “Yes. Just a few hours ago, actually.”

  She seemed to dance on her tippy toes. “What did you think of Doctor Williams? Isn’t she the best?”

  Henry nodded. “She’s something.”

  Veronica continued, seemingly unaware of his slight discomfort. “What she’s offering, wow, to be able to wake up in the future, to live, to—“

  “Pause death.”

  “Yes! It’s… a miracle. What they do here.”

  “Looks that way.”

  Veronica studied his face, half-smiling. “I was pretty skeptical at first too. It’ll sink in, give it time.”

  Henry exhaled. “Time. The one thing I do not have.”

  Veronica nodded without having to say anything as if they shared some kindred or spiritual bond between them, and in a way they did. The betrayal of their own bodies. Of death’s shadow looming ever closer with each passing moment.

  “Where you headed, to the cafeteria?” she asked, breaking the momentary silence.

  “Yes, I was actually.”

  “They have the best chefs here. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all, I’d love the company.”

  Henry and Veronica sat alone in the brightly lit cafeteria, except for one small group of white lab coats that huddled at the far end, whispering excitedly between each other.

  “I don’t want to live forever,” he was saying, “I just don’t want to die, not yet anyhow.”

  Veronica looked away, licking her lips and pretending to be interested in the baked chicken and broccoli on her plate.

  “What—isn’t that why you’re here?” Henry leaned against the table, forking what he assumed was some sort of pot roast.

  Veronica shrugged. “I suppose. Truth be told, I’ve never really given much thought to immortality. I mean, eventually, we’ll have to die, right. I just wish…“ She looked away again, a rosy blush spread over her cheeks. Her eyes glistened with tears.

  Henry reached over to touch her boney sandpaper hand. “I’m sorry, Veronica. I can only imagine what it must have been like… I’ve never—I’ve had girlfriends, plenty, trust me. Not bragging, just… Nothing ever stuck, though. Nothing serious.”

  She wiped her eyes with her hand. “You’re lucky then.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Do you think I’m selfish?”

  Henry thought for a moment. “I think it’s complicated. How long have you…?”

  “Had my condition? I was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy in my mid-twenties. And have since slowly wasted away. I’m actually lucky to be walking. Most people with my condition can’t. Only a matter of time. My… condition is putting too much of a strain on my heart. I can feel even the simplest task, it takes my breath away.” Veronica pushed her tray, her gaze fixed on her uneaten food with a look of both longing and contempt.

  “And you didn’t want your family to watch you deteriorate, that’s why you’re here, you wanted to spare them. I would have done the same thing, had I any real family left. Spare them the pain of watching.” He pushed his tray away as well, despite the hunger pangs, it didn’t feel right to him to eat in front of her, this skeletal woman who’d want nothing more than a hearty meal, but because of her condition, couldn’t bring herself to take a bite.

  Veronica wiped away more tears. “I love my husband. And I love my son, so much. I’d give anything to watch him grow up… but I can’t stand how—how they look at me. And it’s only going to get worse. A marathon of grief… and sadness… and anger. I don’t want that for them or for myself. I don’t want to put those thoughts in their head. Better this way. Or I hope. They might be disappointed and hate me at first, reading that letter, thinking I killed… myself…”

  Again Henry reached out to touch Veronica. “It’s okay. I think you did the right thing.”

  She smiled through wet eyes. Snot gleaming from a nostril. She sniffed and wiped. “It will be. And they’ll get my body back for the funeral. Better than them having to search for me. They’ll get closure. And I’ll get to have a new life.”

  Henry frowned. Something didn’t make sense. “Did you say they’ll get your body back?”

  Veronica nodded, taking a sip from her tea. “Everything has been arranged.”

  He swallowed dryly, watching Veronica silently as she finished her drink. Henry wanted to ask more. What she meant by arrangements. How they were going to return her body. Wasn’t she going into… the freezer or whatever they used here? How is she being preserved if not completely? He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, feeling the eerie quiet of the cafeteria and the absence of chatter of the white coats on the far side, who remained at their table. Conversations had ceased. They each stared back at them with mute stoic expressions.

  “What’s their problem—?” Henry turned back to Veronica.

  “I’m tired. Will you walk me back to my room, Henry?”

 
; “Of course.”

  They left the cafeteria together, Henry refusing to look back at the staring strange Alcove scientists as they went through the double doors. They walked slow, stopping several times so that Veronica could catch her breath. He was thankful for the rests, his own heart thundering hard against his chest, thinking as they did how small the world was to stumble into another person dying from something somewhat similar in retrospect, a failing heart.

  Henry said goodnight to her at her room and shuffled into his own. His heart squeezing tighter now, his breathing erratic. He fell on the bed and rolled over. Focusing his mind and each breath. In his mind’s eye, he saw Veronica without sickness. Healthy and vibrant. Young again.

  Henry could see her in a field of bluebonnets, smiling up at the sun.

  And then her voice called to him.

  “Everything has been arranged…”

  Henry woke unaware that he’d fallen asleep. He sat up and rubbed his head. His heart thudded gently against his chest. Calm. Normal rhythm.

  What time is it? he wondered.

  He reached over to the bedside table for his cell phone.

  It was gone.

  Odd.

  He opened the drawer.

  Empty.

  And not just his cell phone. His wallet. His rental keys. There was nothing of his personal items there, only an Alcove informational pamphlet. Springing from the bed, Henry opened the tall white curved bureau. His suitcase was missing as well. Only a set of Alcove pajamas stared back at him, each hung side by side systematically spaced half an inch apart.

  Where the fuck is my stuff?

  What the hell is going on around here?

  He went to his door, listening for any sign of movement or activity. Morning. Noon. Night. He had no clue what time of day it was or how long he’d been asleep.

  Hearing nothing, he opened the door.

  The tube-shaped hallway was empty, dimly lit with a soft glowing aqua and a hint of neon pink.

  “Veronica, you awake?” Henry pressed his ear against her door. Rapping gently with his knuckles.

  Nothing from inside.

  “Veronica?”

  He tested the door and found it unlocked. It eased open. Lights flickered on automatically revealing an empty room. The bed sheets tight and neatly folded. No personal items, only what came in every room, or so Henry assumed. The smell of bleach strong in the air. There was not a single sign anyone was staying in this room.

  Confused, he stumbled back out into the hall. Walking aimlessly, hoping to maybe find someone who worked here, someone who could tell him where Veronica was, where his personal items were. Passing the cafeteria, he glanced inside and found it empty. According to one of the informational maps on the wall, there was another level below. He stepped into one of the elevators. With hardly any motion Henry could detect, the door chimed and out he went into another tube-shaped hallway, this one curving around to the center of some room, some lab perhaps. The tall glass fogged and impossible to see through. The lights seemed brighter down here, less neon and aqua. The faint hint of chemicals, not the stingy smell of bleach or cleaning supplies, more like ripe lemons, tart and sweet. And still, there was no sign of life, no one wandering the halls, no employee or white coat to help him. No other visitors like himself and Veronica, but then again, for all he knew, Veronica and he were the only guests staying at Alcove.

  Henry followed the wall, peering through the glass into a white room. From what he could make out through the foggy glass, there looked like tall instruments, silver in color, and waist height. He stood at the door, staring at the sign that stated Authorized personnel only beyond this point. Turing and looking in both directions, he gave a nervous half-smile.

  Not much for security.

  There was no handle he could see on the door.

  Okay…? How do I get in?

  He pressed on the door. Where his fingers touched, the surface glowed in a bright neon blue. Something internal hissed and the door came open, sliding away.

  Walking inside he crossed his arms, hugging his chest. His breath coming out in a mist before him. Whatever this room was, it felt like a walk-in freezer. Against the wall, he spotted what he had caught glimpse of through the window. Waist high stainless steel tubes, perched high on claw metal feet. Gauges and tubes jutted from the head, each giving, as far as Henry could guess, temperature and pressure readings. Sky blue liquid flowed in through the plastic tubing and out through another tube in yellowish-red. An Alcove label was stamped on and below that names for each tube.

  Charles Roberts.

  Ryan Cash.

  Sophia Stauber.

  Patrick Faust.

  And—

  Veronica Edwards.

  Henry blinked. Veronica? How…? Did they already bring her down? No… something isn’t right here. Veronica’s words echoing in his head.

  “—it happens tonight!”

  “—everything has been arranged.”

  He felt around the tube for—something, anything that could help him. At the base, he found a short lever. He pulled, not caring about the noise he was making or if he would be caught. Around the tube, a layer of stainless steel plating slid down, revealing a sort of viewing port at the center of the tube. Through the glass, there was a blue viscous liquid. Shadows floated inside.

  Henry leaned forward, squinting at the glass, and jerked back. He held his mouth with his hand. Uttering a sort of muffled scream that sounded more like a tired moan. Before him, through the tube glass, what looked to be a human brain, horribly dark purple in the blue fluid, bobbing inside, the nervous stem connected to wires and more tubes. And beside the mass purplish wrinkled blob, long sinewy looking roots leading to two eyeballs glaring back at him, unable to blink, watching him as he retreated in horror.

  “Do say hello, Henry.” A low feminine voice broke the silence of the room.

  Henry whipped around. Doctor Cheryl Williams stood in front of the lab door, dressed no longer in her white coat and business suit, now in a sort of white rubber gown held together by a black belt. On her hands, she wore long black rubber gloves, and black galoshes. Her dark curls pulled back in a ponytail. And still, her dark hazel eyes seemed to penetrate his every thought and fear, eyes filled with a sense of anticipation and power. But she was no longer a young Jane “Poni” Adams, now she was something far more unreal and manic and purposeful. Her crooked posture produced by her protruding hump only exaggerated the insanity. Two men in aqua coveralls flanked each side of her.

  “Doctor… Williams… what’s… what going on here?” he shuddered.

  “Don’t be rude, now. Veronica can see you, you know?”

  Henry turned and looked back at the tube and the floating brain and glaring unblinking cold brown eyes. Veronica’s eyes. Can it really be her? But why? Why this? It can’t be, it just can’t be. The world seemed to tilt. Blurring. Hazing away in a heavy wet blanket. He fell to his knees and rolled to the floor, staring up at the bright white light.

  “The moral argument, Henry, is redundant. Even patients under normal circumstances will receive care while in cardiac arrest, especially if there is still a chance of resuming a quality life. Cures and discoveries are made every day. Influenza at one point in our history ravaged the populace, and now we have the cure. We have antibiotics. We have vaccines. From 1915 to 1997, the infant mortality rate plummeted more than 90%. Advances in science have rapidly increased and will continue to increase. Diseases that befuddle us today will be a thing of the past tomorrow. Cancer, like your own Henry, degenerative disease, muscular dystrophy as our recent member of Alcove suffered, Veronica. And even untreatable abnormalities of the body, such ailments that have riddled my own, severe kyphosis, in a blink of an eye, will cease to be an issue.”

  She spoke but was he really hearing? Was he awake or dreaming? Henry did not know. He simply was aware. Bright cloudy white surrounded his vision. Shadows danced in his periphery. Slowly he took a breath.

 
; Odd, he thought.

  He took another breath.

  What am I breathing through? It feels… thick, foreign.

  And there she was, the hunchback Doctor Cheryl Williams. Her face was fuzzy, but it was hard not recognizing her high cheekbones, and those ridiculous black rubber gloves and boots. Some sort of red liquid smeared over her white uniform. Partially covering her face an aqua surgical mask, hiding both her mouth and nose. She glared with a strange intensity, oddly, Henry thought, the same way he thought children always looked at fish at the aquarium.

  “Is it morally wrong, Henry, to administer CPR? To help victims waiting for an ambulance? For the combat medic to stuff back in the guts of a wounded soldier? Is it morally wrong to not throw people away who could be treated by foreseeable medicine? That is what we offer here, Henry. We extended the preservation of life. We have the means, to pause death. To give people a second chance on life.”

  Henry tried to talk. But nothing came out.

  He could hear his thoughts, that inner voice.

  He could feel the muscle, the sensation of speaking.

  But still… nothing worked the way it had before.

  “Please excuse me, Henry. I’m sure you are beginning to feel confused. This is normal. Do not be afraid. Everyone who comes to Alcove goes through this transitionary phase, which can seem very daunting.” She turned and said something inaudible. The lights dimmed slightly. Doctor Williams turned back and smiled in her strange beautiful way. Her face becoming clearer as his eyes adjusted to the low light.

  “There, that should be better, right?” She beamed, still with that odd child-like-wonder expression. “My—my, what a wonderful gift we’ve given you. The miracle of this bath, dare I say, is a baptism of science.” Doctor Williams peered at him touching some glass surface in front of his field of vision, her hunchback giving her crouch an excessive gaunt.

  Am I inside something? A pod, maybe?

  Why can’t I talk?

  Why does breathing feel so… not right?

  And I’m not—blinking, why am I not blinking?

  Nothing is working.

  I can’t move.