The Experiment of Dreams (17 page)

I’m dreaming. It’s happening again. Jesus, help me.

Ben twitched the back of his neck.

Nothing happened.

He did it again, harder, and it hurt. The painting still moved; the clouds passed in the sky, the smoke rose to the heavens from the chimney, grey and brown, with white and orange and blue and red and—

“Hello, Ben.”

Ben startled, his nerves struck like lightning. The coffee spilled over the mug and burned his hand. The mug fell to the floor and shattered violently. He turned toward the voice. There was a person sitting comfortably on the couch with legs crossed high.

D
r. Peter Wulfric sat at his desk until the evening turned to night. A small light illuminated the stacks of files piled in great heaps around him. He would soon put them all in cardboard boxes, and they would never be seen again.

However, at that moment, he did not feel like doing anything.

He needed some time to think.

His forehead throbbed as he massaged the bridge of his nose. This project—this experiment—that had consumed years of his life, was almost over. Soon Lucy would be complete, and he would reap the fame and wealth that accompanied a breakthrough of this magnitude.

He pictured himself several years younger, his beard just as long, but not quite as grey, working on this experiment that would grow to consume his entire life. It was then that Mr. Timothy Kalispell approached him, in his office at Johns Hopkins. The research Mr. Kalispell had done on him and his work was impressive. Mr. Kalispell knew all about Lucy, back when in it was still in its infancy, and the concept of tapping into a dream was just a hypothesis. He knew things very few people knew, and he understood the principles behind them well. The man was smart; there was no doubting that.

Not only did he know about the project, but he also knew that the university recently canceled its funding, deeming the project too risky. Johns Hopkins claimed that the serum, Nano in its early stages, was possibly hazardous and potentially lethal. Pure rubbish. They feared the project was crossing the line from science to fringe, and any misfortunes, injuries, or hazards, would affect the university’s reputation. The official report stated that the project was canceled due to recent financial hardships, but everyone at the hospital, including Dr. Wulfric, knew the reasons were far different.

The board treated Dr. Wulfric as something of an eccentric. They viewed his ideas as far-fetched, dangerous, and perhaps immoral. Rumors spread through the university among the students, and Dr. Wulfric became known as the
reclusive mad scientist
. His long beard and ever-whitening hair only fed the stereotype, making him something of a legend on campus. Stories about him abounded. The most infamous, and ridiculous, rumor was that he lobotomized students while they were still alive and had a machine that could read the removed brain like a book.

The stories spread from student to student and class to class. The freshmen classes found the doctor particularly fascinating and could not wait to see the crazy scientist for themselves. To this day, a rumor remains that Dr. Wulfric still wanders the halls to carry out his cruel and fascinating experiments on randomly selected students in some forgotten wing of the school, unknown to the rest of the staff.

The university not only canceled the research, but also disassembled the Lucy team, reassigning everyone to various positions throughout the hospital and university. Dr. Wulfric was offered a lucrative, and as some would consider, an
agreeable
, position away from the laboratories. He was delegated the life of a professor, teaching Advanced Cognitive Sciences. It was at that very time, before he accepted this new job proposition, that Mr. Kalispell came into his life, offering him a way to continue research on Lucy, but this time with unrestricted support and nearly unlimited finances.

For many days, Dr. Wulfric contemplated the offer before making a decision. The board at Johns Hopkins left a rather unpleasant taste in his mouth. After years of developing a solid proposal, they finally accepted the project—only to shut it down when it was still in its infancy. Not only that, but Dr. Wulfric knew about the many rumors and the constant talk behind his back, not only by students but by the faculty as well. He left Johns Hopkins to disappear from the scientific community for good. The official record stated an
early retirement
.

Mr. Kalispell’s first lab was much like the one Dr. Wulfric worked in now in the Hamptons, only the first lab was smaller. Now, years later, and in a different lab, he found himself in the same predicament he’d faced back then: sitting in front of a desk with piles of folders ready to be destroyed—countless hours of research and study, all to be thrown in the incinerator.

His personal anguish was beyond despair. There had to be another way. This could not have happened again. How could he fail? If only Mr. Kalispell would listen to reason. All he needed was another day, maybe two. He could fix this. At least, he thought he could, and if he couldn’t, it was still worth a try. It was worth the risk, especially for Ben’s sake.

There was no use arguing with Iain. When he came into the lab with orders to eradicate all research done over the last six months, Dr. Wulfric was devastated. He didn’t speak, only nodded his head that he understood, and sat heavy in his chair. There was nothing he could do. Now, with all the piles of folders gathered on his desk there was only one thing left to do—burn it all.

Leave no trace … just as before.

He failed. He had failed himself, and he had failed Ben.

The glow from the singular light on the desk cast shadows from the stacks of papers in long dark columns across the floor. He stared at the shadows for a while, working up the strength and courage to do what needed to be done. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as tears slowly fell from his eyes, one at a time, leaving dark splotches on the manila folder on the desk before him. The folder contained recent blood tests of Benjamin Walker, taken only a day ago. Dr. Wulfric wiped his eyes and found his reading glasses on his forehead. He opened the folder and looked over the pages. There was not much time before Iain, or even worse, Mr. Kalispell, would call to make sure the research was destroyed. No, there wasn’t much time at all. But with the little time that he did have, Dr. Wulfric would have to focus, and look for something—anything—that would help him to dissuade these men from doing what they were about to do.

E
arlier that evening, Michael Bennet and Iain Marcus had rushed into the lab before leaving for Baltimore.

“Where’s Charles Egan?” Iain asked Dr. Wulfric.

“He’s not here. He’s off today.”

“Is there anyone else here, at the lab?”

“No, we’re alone. Here, sit.” Dr. Wulfric motioned to two chairs at the front of his desk and sat down himself. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger.

After a moment he said, “Let’s get down to it.”

Dr. Wulfric took a file from a stack of files on the edge of the desk and flipped it open.

He said, “We have a bit of a situation on our hands.”

No shit
, Iain thought.

“I’ve reanalyzed Ben’s blood sample. I don’t understand how the results I’m seeing are possible. The Nano, it can’t work this way. It’s just … not possible.”

“What is it Peter? Speak frankly.” Iain’s professionalism was wearing thin.

Dr. Wulfric paused a moment, closing his eyes to continue rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The nanoparticles, they’re still alive in his blood. Rather, they are dying, but also replacing themselves. They are regenerating.”

“Replacing themselves? How is that possible? He has not received an injection in over a week. The stuff lives for, what, twenty-four hours?”

“Twenty-four to thirty-six. It doesn’t have a set parameter for its own demise, but rather dies off naturally. Some particles die before the others. However, it simply cannot survive for longer than thirty-six hours. It doesn’t have the capability.”

“So—”

“So … it has begun to replace itself. The Nano is reproducing in his body. It is adapting to its own, well, ecosystem, if you will. Ben’s biological cells are coexisting with the nanoparticles, and they have formed a rather symbiotic relationship. It’s reproducing much the same way as many single-celled organisms, a process called binary fission. Basically, each cell divides in two, grows, and then divides in two again. Even though the Nano is dying off, it is reproducing at a greater rate than its natural mortality; and although it is reproducing very slowly, slower than we would see with most bacteria, it is not dying off. The numbers are steadily increasing.”

“Jeeesus,” Michael let out.

“How is that possible?” Iain asked. “We designed it—
You
—designed it to leave the body, flush itself out completely, so no traces could ever be found. We learned our lesson with Etha—”

“I know, Iain.”

Dr. Wulfric leaned across the desk. The saga of Ethan Moore was the saddest and most difficult chapter in Dr. Wulfric’s entire career, the worst outcome that could ever happen as a byproduct of his scientific research. He screwed up badly, and the result wiped out an innocent man’s existence. Ethan was a young man, only twenty-three. He was troubled, had no family or friends, was raised in foster care most of his life, and continually suffered with headaches and insomnia. It was Dr. Wulfric’s fault that Iain and Michael visited Ethan’s apartment all those years ago.

He screwed up the serum back then, and he did it again now.

But how—how did I make another mistake?

After the debacle with Ethan Moore, depression plagued Dr. Wulfric, and he announced his retirement—for real this time. Without any choice, Mr. Kalispell scrapped the project. All that time and money wasted. The old lab was stripped, the documents burned, and his precious Nano serum poured down the drain.

Several years passed, and Dr. Wulfric was enjoying his retirement, alone, in a little house out in the woods, surrounded by nature. His dirt driveway never saw any visitors, until that one day, when Iain Marcus showed up unannounced. Dr. Wulfric heard the car bounce over the rolling potholes from where he was fishing at a shallow lake, only a stone’s throw from his house. It was too early in the morning for the mail delivery truck. He felt a sense of dread.

Dr. Wulfric waited, staring out over the gentle lake’s surface, shining back a million reflections of the sun, like the razor-sharp edges of a broken mirror. He turned to see a man in a dark suit walking toward him through the trees. “Iain. What are you doing here?”

“Peter, It’s good to see you. How is everything? I see you’re enjoying your retirement. It’s pretty out here. Quiet.”

Iain was smiling, but he stopped short of the lake by several feet. The hairs on Dr. Wulfric’s body stood on end.

“Listen,” Iain went on, “I’ll get to the point. Mr. Kalispell sent me to talk to you. We’re starting work on Lucy again and he wants you back on the team.”

The doctor’s eyes went wide. “After everything that happened? That’s prepos—”

“He’s not just asking, Peter.”

“Iain … the work we did, all of the research. It’s gone. We’d have to start from scratch. It would take a lifetime.”

Iain shook his head. “Not exactly. Mr. Kalispell never destroyed the Lucy prototype, and I kept backups of many of your files. Lucy is safe and in working order. We’re in the process of setting up a new lab.”

“That was my work, Iain, years of my life!” Dr. Wulfric felt his blood boil. Lucy had been his obsession, his baby; it even cost him his career at Johns Hopkins. It changed him from a respected member of the scientific community, to someone the other professors—his colleagues—rolled their eyes at. His recent retirement gave him plenty of time to contemplate the choices he made, the mistakes with Lucy, and to accept the fact that he was now too old to change the outcome of his decisions.

“Mr. Kalispell ordered me to destroy all of the files and told me Lucy was going to be dismantled, melted down. He told me—”

“It’s time you stop talking and start listening.”

There was a moment of silence as Dr. Wulfric absorbed the gravity of Iain’s words and demeanor. He looked at the ground.

“Lucy will resume with or without your help. The research is not yours—it belongs to Kalispell Industries. Lucy belongs to Mr. Kalispell, not you. If you come back, he is offering you all the time you need and unlimited finances. Your pay will be beyond adequate. There can be no mistakes this time around. You are being given the opportunity to finish the project you spent your life trying to perfect, and this time, we
will
finish Lucy.”

“But Iain, what about Ethan?”

“What about him? That was the past, Peter; it’s time to look to the future.”

“I … don’t think that I can.”

“I advise you,” Iain’s voice lowered, stressing each word with emphasis, “to weigh your options … carefully. Mr. Kalispell not only has backups of the research, but enough paperwork tying you to Ethan Moore, and the Nano that you made back then—illegally.”

“Iain … what are you saying?”

“What I’m saying,” he took a step forward, shifting Dr. Wulfric closer to the water’s edge, “is that you have an amazing job opportunity presented to you. And if you don’t know exactly what I’m saying, then the best course of action would be to choose your next move wisely. You know what Mr. Kalispell is capable of.”

Dr. Wulfric swallowed back words that were now lost to him. The gentle lapping of lake water against the bank cut through the silence as Dr. Wulfric weighed his options. There weren’t many.

“Let’s go inside,” he finally muttered. “Let’s go inside and figure this out.”

Iain nodded, stepping aside. “After you.”

After nearly an hour of negotiation, Dr. Wulfric agreed to once again lead the Lucy team. He was offered ample time to perfect his research, perfect the Nano. Nothing would be rushed. He would have time to correct any mistakes. He would be in complete control of the lab. His word was God.

After months tinkering with the serum with the help of his new assistant, Dr. Charles Egan—a genius he hand-picked—the Nano was finally perfected. With all the positive results, the doctor felt confident to restart human experimentation.

Now here he was, with Iain Marcus looming before him, just like that time in the woods.

Dr. Wulfric spoke, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “No one was as affected by what happened to Ethan Moore as much as me. No one.”

Iain sighed, “Just tell us what’s going on, Doctor.”

Dr. Wulfric sighed. “The Nano is working with the neurons in his brain, interacting with the electrical output and signal they emit, especially in the pons and frontal lobe—”

“In English, Doctor. Please.”

“The Nano in his system has infiltrated the circuitry of his brain, using it almost how we use a computer. It must have begun in Paris when the serum was slightly altered, but it was reproducing in such low numbers that it was easy to overlook. I reanalyzed a blood sample taken in Paris, one in Rome, and one from two days ago. The Nano transmitters from the injections in Rome recognized the Nano transmitters left in his body from Paris; it adjusted to the weaknesses of its outdated self and began growing stronger. The Nano in his body now is not the same as the Nano we’ve been injecting him with. It’s mutated.” He took a sip from a glass of water. “The Nano is programed to learn, to remember particular nuances in the circuitry of a subject’s body and brain. But never was it programmed to learn from itself. The Nano is doing its job, and doing it well. Too well. It’s evolving.”

The color drained from Iain’s face. “Is it contagious?”

“I … don’t know. No, I don’t think so. I have to further test it to be sure; introduce it to new hosts and different blood samples.”

“There’s no time for that.” Iain looked like he was about to scream; the veins in his temples were throbbing with his pulse. “All right,” he said, “so the serum is still in his body. How does he know what happened in Drapery Falls? His dream, it played as if through my eyes, what I saw, exactly how it went down. It’s not possible.”

Dr. Wulfric sighed. “Do you dream about that night often?”

“I … don’t know.” Iain felt his cheeks redden. “I guess I do. Occasionally.”

“Occasionally, or often?”

“I guess often. Often enough.”

“You must have dreamt about it that night in Rome, the night he got the migraine, and again on the return flight home. Do you remember dreaming about Drapery Falls either of those times?”

Iain shook his head. “No. I don’t remember my dreams at all those nights.”

“Well, I believe you must have. I believe that Ben’s migraine in Italy was triggered by the quick reproduction and the changing nature of the Nano in his body. The mutated serum was able to achieve what we have been striving for—it picked up on the neurological activity of a person who had
not
been injected with the Nano. Your room in Rome was next to Ben’s, and your seat on the return flight was right beside him. He received
your
dreams like a radio receiver picks up a signal within a certain range. It took itself to the next stage of it’s own evolution.”

“Jeeesus,” Michael let out again.

Dr. Wulfric asked, “Did you sleep on the plane ride home?”

“Yes, I did.” The color drained from Iain’s face.

“The worst part,” Dr. Wulfric sighed, “is that the Nano is not only picking up on Ben’s neurological activity—it’s becoming a part of it. He’s beginning to experience dementia and mental instability because of it, and it may only get worse as the Nano continues to reproduce and evolve. The troubling part is that Ben’s immune system should have flushed away the Nano from the very start. The Nano is designed to be recognized by the body as a low-level bacterium—a threat, like a common cold. Any Nano lingering twenty-four to thirty-six hours after injection is flushed out of the body by its natural defenses. For some reason, in Ben’s case, his body is not fighting the Nano the way that it should. There’s a block—something’s blocking his immune system from working properly.”

“Is it curable then? Can you cure it?” Michael asked.

“I … I don’t know. I have to run more tests. I need to get Ben back in the lab. In time, maybe, yes. Almost certainly. All I have to do is find out why his immune system is failing.” He paused. “I think we can all take a guess at what’s causing that.”

Iain dismissed Dr. Wulfric. “And while you’re taking time to figure this out, he’ll not only be experiencing severe mental instability from our experiments—illegal experiments, might I remind you—but could possibly be contagious with a blood-borne parasite, the Nano, or whatever it is now. He could also start remembering more about Drapery Falls at any given moment.”

“Iain—”

“It’s already there, in his brain. We saw it play back from his dream, all of it, not just what he told us. It could come to him at any time. Perhaps he’ll remember that
you
were the one who filled the syringe with the toxic dose of heroin, along with whatever else you mixed in that concoction.”

“I had to do it, Iain, and it will haunt me until the day—”

Iain put his hand up, waving Dr. Wulfric to be quiet as he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. He left it on speaker as it rang.

Dr. Wulfric went back to rubbing the bridge of his nose, very much wanting a large glass of scotch from the bottle he kept in the desk drawer, only a few inches from his knee.

A deep voice echoed out from the phone.

“Iain, what’s going on?”

“Yes, Mr. Kalispell …” He did not know where to begin.