by Jeremy Bates
“Locked? No. However, leaving the sleep laboratory is discouraged. This is a controlled experiment. All factors must be held constant except for one: the independent variable. In this case, that is both of you. If either of you were to leave that room, you would be breathing regular air, thereby introducing a second independent variable into the experiment that may affect the ultimate results of the experiment.”
“To be exact, professor,” Guru said, “with any human testing there are inherent uncontrolled variables such as age, gender, and genetic dispositions. So in the strictest sense, this is not a controlled exper—”
“Those inherent uncontrolled variables would be filtered out in further experiments, Guru,” Wallis said.
“But the bottom line,” Chad said, “is that we’re stuck in that room for twenty-one days?”
“Correct. Which was in the Subject Information and Consent Forms you both signed,” Wallis said, growing impatient. “If you are having cold feet, I need to know right now as I have an entire list of other—”
“Nah, mate,” Chad said. “No cold feet.” He looked at Sharon.
“I don’t want to back out,” she said. “We can keep traveling for another six months with the money we make.”
“You heard her,” Chad said. “We’re not backing out. But…” He shrugged. “Say something happens? Like one of us feels sick? You’ll let us leave?”
“Of course,” Wallis said. “You are not prisoners. You are free to terminate the experiment at any point you wish.”
“But we won’t get our bonuses?”
“You get bonuses?” Penny said, surprised.
“For completing the twenty-one days,” Wallis explained.
“I’m not getting a bonus. Are you, Guru?”
“No, no bonus for me,” he said. “At least not that I know of.”
Wallis sighed. “You two aren’t the ones going twenty-one days without sleep.”
Penny cocked an eyebrow at Chad. “How much is your bonus? In fact, how much are you getting paid?”
“Penny!” Wallis snapped. Seeing her startled expression, he bit back his frustration. “Penny,” he said more reasonably. “This experiment is not about money. It’s about science. I chose you because I thought you understood this. However, if you feel you are being unfairly compensated, I suppose we could discuss—”
“No, professor,” she said, looking bashful. “You’re right. This isn’t about money. I’m sorry. I really don’t care about…I was just…”
Wallis stood and squeezed her forearm reassuringly, which brightened her up. To the Australians, he said, “You will find a bathroom with a small shower at the very back of the sleep laboratory. It’s the only section of the room we won’t be able to visually observe you. Nevertheless, we’ll still be able to monitor you with these.” He produced two smart wristwatches from his messenger bag and handed them over. “They’ll track your heartrates, stress levels, and movement. You’ll find wireless chargers next to the TV. When the watch batteries are low, please charge them.”
“How do we talk to you?” Sharon asked. “I mean, if we have questions about anything later on?”
“The intercom system,” Wallis said. “There are six microphones installed in the ceiling, as well as a loudspeaker system. You don’t need to do anything; we’ll be able to hear anything you say via this tablet here. If you have a question, just ask away. One last matter. Did either of you bring your phones with you?”
“You told us not to,” Chad said.
“So you didn’t?”
He shook his head. “Left it with my mate.”
Sharon, looking guilty, slid hers out of her pocket. “I didn’t know if you were serious or not.”
Wallis held out his hand. “Unfortunately, there’s to be no contact with the outside world. Can’t have you livestreaming the experiment on Facebook—”
“I wouldn’t!”
“I’m sorry, Sharon, but I made it clear that—”
“I know. Fine.” She handed him her phone. “Don’t lose it.”
“I’ll keep it locked away in my office and return it to you the moment the experiment is completed. Now, any further questions?”
The Australians looked at each other. They exchanged hopeful smiles, which did little to mask the uncertainty wading beneath.
“All right then,” Wallis said. “Let’s get started.”
◆◆◆
Dr. Roy Wallis had scheduled himself to work all the shifts between two p.m. and ten p.m. He bid farewell to Penny Park and Guru Rampal, opened the laptop’s word processor, then lit up a cigarette. To hell with the campus’ indoor smoking bans; Tolman Hall was going to be nothing but a pile of memories and rubble in a month’s time. What could a little smoke hurt?
The Australian test subjects spent their first hour in the sleep laboratory examining every corner of the room, reminding Wallis of a pair of hamsters sniffing out their new cage. Curiosity sated, they both sat down on the sofa and turned on the TV. Sharon took control of the remote but acquiesced to the home renovation program Chad wanted to watch. During a commercial she got up and fiddled around with the exercise machines. She then approached the viewing window, stopping when she came to within a few feet of it. Her side was mirrored, so she would be seeing her reflection, not Dr. Wallis.
She pushed an errant blonde bang behind her left ear. The action was hesitant, almost shy, though up until this point her personality had been far from shy. Her thick-lashed eyes swept from one side of the mirror to the other, as if seeking a spot in it she could see through. They were a light blue with a hint of spring green—the color, Wallis thought, of a tropical lagoon. Her bare lips pursed, as if she were about to say something. Instead, she waved.
Wallis tapped the Talk button on the touch panel controller and said, “Two-way mirror.”
Sharon looked up at the ceiling, where his voice had come through the amplified speakers.
Chad looked up too, then returned his attention to the television.
“Now I really do feel like a test subject,” Sharon said. Her voice, transmitted through the speakers in the touch panel controller, was tinny but clear. She tapped the two-way glass. The sound was sharper than it would have been had she tapped a regular window because there wasn’t any framing or other support behind the glass. Wallis doubted she knew this. She had tapped for the sake of tapping it, nothing more. “Twenty-one days,” she added. “No sleep. Wow.”
“No sleep,” Dr. Wallis agreed.
“What are Chad and me gonna do?”
“Catch up on your reading?” he suggested.
“I guess.”
“The complete collection of H.P. Lovecraft is on the bookshelf. I brought it from my home library.”
“He writes horror, right?”
“Horror, fantasy, science-fiction. The collection is 1600 pages, so it should eat away some of your hours.”
Sharon shook her head. “Scary stuff puts me on edge. As a kid I used to get nightmares a lot…and I guess I still do.”
“That’s not unusual,” Wallis said. “One out of every two adults experiences nightmares on occasion.”
She smiled crookedly. “Right. I forgot you were a sleep doctor. Is that what I should call you? Doctor? Or doc?”
“You can call me Roy.”
She appeared to think it over. “Nah, that just doesn’t seem right. I like doc.”
“Doc’s fine then.”
“Cool. So…doc…why do we have nightmares?”
“They’re often spontaneous,” Wallis told her, lighting up a fresh cigarette. “Even so, they can be caused by a variety of factors. For instance, some are caused by late-night snacks. Food increases your metabolism, signaling your brain to become more active. Some are caused by different medications, especially antidepressants and narcotics, which act on chemicals in the brain.” He tapped ash into his empty paper coffee cup. “There are psychological triggers as well, such as anxiety or depression, as well as certain slee
p disorders.”
“What kind of sleep disorders?” she asked.
“Insomnia and sleep apnea would be the more common ones. Restless legs syndrome would be another—”
Sharon cut him off with a brisk laugh. “That sounds like something a dog looking for a hydrant might have.”
Wallis smiled. “It basically manifests itself in a strong urge to move, which naturally makes it difficult, if not impossible, to fall into a deep, peaceful sleep.”
“I feel pretty restless right now.”
“You’re in a new, unfamiliar environment. Try to relax. Soon this place will feel like home. Humans have a remarkable capacity to adapt.”
“Because we have big brains, right?”
“Social brains,” he amended. “We’re hardwired to create, share, and pass on knowledge. This is what allows us to adjust to new situations so easily, and what differentiates us from our early ancestors, and our early ancestors from primates. But we’re getting off topic, aren’t we?” Dr. Wallis crushed his cigarette on the floor and made a mental note to bring an ashtray during his next shift. He tossed the butt into the coffee cup with the three others he had smoked. “Nightmares, Sharon,” he finished, “are a perfectly normal part of dreaming that release pent-up emotions. I wouldn’t worry too much about having them now and again. In fact, they’re vital for mental health. Chad, how’re you doing?”
Chad stuck a thumb in the air without looking away from the TV. “All good, mate.”
“Thanks for the talk, doc,” Sharon said, pushing the same errant lock of blonde hair as before back behind her ear, from where it had slipped loose. “I don’t feel as lonely anymore. I think I might be chatting a lot with you over the next three weeks…if that’s all right?”
“Perfectly.”
“I just wish I could see you. Talking to my reflection is a trip.”
Before Wallis could think of a suitable reply, Sharon wandered to the bookshelf, where she began sorting through the one hundred or so books he’d borrowed from Berkeley’s Doe Library.
Wallis watched her for a little longer, then stood, stretched, and went to the bathroom down the hallway by the decommissioned elevator. All the fixtures had been removed save for, at his request, a toilet, urinal, and sink. He used the urinal, washed his hands—making another mental note to bring some toilet paper, soap, and hand towels next shift as well—and returned to the observation room.
Sharon was watching TV with Chad once more.
The next six hours went by swiftly. Wallis took nearly three pages of notes, which he was reading over when there was a knock at the door.
Guru Rampal entered the room a moment later, dressed in the same tee-shirt and khaki shorts he’d had on earlier. The sunglasses were nowhere in sight. “Good evening, professor,” he said, shrugging a backpack off his shoulder and setting it on the ground next to the table.
Wallis could smell McDonald’s. “Bring some late-night snacks, Guru?” he asked.
“I did not know if I was going to get hungry or not.” He looked through the viewing window into the sleep laboratory. “Did anything interesting happen?”
Wallis shook his head. “Their bodies are still in sync with their natural circadian rhythms. We shouldn’t expect to see any deviations from their regular behavioral patterns until they’ve gone at least one night without sleep.” He stood. “Take my seat. You’re making me nervous standing over me like that.”
“Thank you, professor.” He sat in the chair. “Is there anything in particular I should know before you leave?”
“No, it’s all pretty straightforward,” Wallis told him. “Just keep watch on our two test subjects from Down Under and record their behavior. Have a read of my notes on the laptop if you want to get a feel for what you might want to jot down. Other than that…” He shrugged. “Just don’t fall asleep.”
“Do not worry about that, professor. I am a night owl. Uh, what if they want to talk to me?”
“Talk to them.”
“That is okay?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I do not know. I guess…I have never participated in a study with human subjects.”
Wallis gestured to the touch panel controller. “There’s a Talk button you press if you want them to hear you, and a Listen button if you want to hear them. That’s about it.”
Nodding, Guru tapped his fingers on the desk.
Wallis frowned. “Is there something on your mind, Guru?”
“Do you think I should shave my head?”
Wallis blinked, caught off guard by the question. His eyes flicked to Guru’s Teddy Boys pompadour. “I like your hair,” he said.
“It looks good from the front,” he said, nodding. “I copied the hairstyle of a very famous pop star back home in India. But the problem is here.” He bent forward and pointed to his balding crown. “Can you see?”
“A lot of men experience male-pattern hair loss.”
He sat straight again. “But I am only twenty-two! If I had already found a wife, then no problem. But it will be much more difficult to find a wife when I am bald.”
Wallis smiled. “You’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you, professor. But you have not answered my question yet. Should I shave my head? This is what all the advice online is telling me to do.”
“Like I said, I like your hair. It’s you. But if you’re self-conscious about the thinning on top—sure, shave it off, why not? It will always grow back.”
Guru sighed. “The problem is, I am not sure if I have the face for a shaved head. I am not handsome like you. I do not have strong features.”
“Maybe grow some facial hair to balance things out?”
“That is another problem! I cannot! I have tried. I get a few whiskers here and here.” He touched his upper lip and chin. “But that is all. And with no hair or facial hair, I fear I will look like a brown alien.”
“Ladies dig brown aliens.”
Guru’s shoulders sagged. “You are not helping, professor. You have a very stylish head of hair, and a stylish beard to match. You do not know what I am going through.”
Now it was Wallis’ turn to sigh. “I’m sorry, buddy, I shouldn’t be making light of this. My best advice? Go to a good barber. Not a cheap one. A good one. I can recommend you mine, if you would like? His name’s Andre. He’ll be able to tell you what products to use to give your hair some volume, and what cut might best suit your problem area.”
Guru brightened. “Really?”
“His shop’s in Union Square. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, professor! I will visit him first thing tomorrow morning!”
“You’ll probably need an appointment…”
“Right. Well, I will phone him first thing tomorrow morning then.”
“Now you’re talking. Have a good night, Guru. And remember, any problems, any questions—check that: any non-hair related questions—don’t hesitate to call me.”
◆◆◆
Seated in the black leather swivel chair, Guru Rampal looked around the small observation room, though there wasn’t much to see. The table before him with the touch-screen panel and the laptop. A metal trolley loaded with a desktop computer and EEG equipment. And the five-hundred-or-so-liter tank that fed the stimulant gas into the sleep laboratory.
Curious, Guru got up and went to the tank. He placed a hand on the stainless steel surface. It was cool against his skin. He studied the different valves and pressure gauges but didn’t dare touch any. Amphetamines and other psychostimulant drugs had to be ingested as pills or injected intravenously (or, when used recreationally, snorted as powder or inhaled as smoke). He’d never heard of any that could be evaporated into vapors and breathed in as easily as if they were oxygen. Nevertheless, if this could be done with certain anesthetics such as nitrous oxide and xenon, he supposed it had only been a matter of time before someone figured out how to do it with stimulants as well.
And not just someone, he thought. Dr
. Roy Wallis.
My professor.
Guru was beyond excited that Dr. Wallis had chosen him to assist in his groundbreaking research. He admired the man tremendously. Over the years he’d selected every one of the professor’s courses that fit his schedule, and he would continue to do so when he undertook his master’s degree next spring and, eventually, his Ph.D.
To call a spade a spade, Guru was an intellectual. This was due to both genetics and hard work. According to his mother, he had been walking and talking by his first birthday. By two and a half years of age, he could count to more than one hundred. When he was five, he solved a Rubik’s Cube he’d found in the school’s library on his first try. In grade six, he won the school’s spelling bee contest, a feat he repeated every consecutive year until he graduated.
Nevertheless, even though learning came easily to him, he did not take his gift for granted. He always pushed himself to excel that little bit more, to become that little bit better than his classmates, because he’d known that doing so was the only way he would escape the slums into which he’d been born and provide a better life for himself and his mother and his brothers.
When he was accepted as a freshman to UC Berkeley (thanks in part to a glowing letter of recommendation from the Chairman of Secondary Education in his home city of Dharamshala), his mother had urged him to pursue a degree in information technology. “Indians make very good computer programmers, Guru,” she’d told him. “It is a very good job, and it pays very handsomely. I do not understand why you want to be a psychologist. Indians do not make good psychologists.”
Guru, of course, disagreed that Indians did not make good psychologists, and as for why he wanted to work in the field of psychology, the answer was simple: it was what he was meant to do. His father had suffered from Alzheimer’s, and his second-eldest brother was on the autistic spectrum, so Guru had spent much of his youth taking them to and from hospitals and serving as their primary caregiver. He became deeply invested in learning about their maladies, always pestering doctors and nurses with mental health questions, or cutting articles from whatever newspapers and magazines he could get his hands on. Over the years he became a veritable expert on both diseases, and when his father passed away from complications with Alzheimer’s, he made the decision to devote the rest of his life to the psychology of the mind.
