The Ruling Impulses

by Francesco Portone

  «Feeling guilty?», William sarcastically insinuated.

  Lucinda was able to calm down and resume breathing regularly. She poured water and sprinkled her face to cool off a little.

  «You're a fucking paranoid, William», she said with a trembling voice. «And your illness is getting worse day after day.»

  Lucinda paused and deeply breathed the stench of bitterness and insanity.

  «I'll give you one last tip: entrust yourself to the best doctors in the business and let them treat you properly. When there's no one left to blame, you'll hurt yourself. I guarantee you.»

  William was puzzled by such a frank reaction and thought that maybe he had been too hasty in jumping to conclusions. Besides, no one could pretend so well and Lucinda seemed genuinely sorry.

  «Please tell me what the number 27 means», he asked more calmly, holding her forearms and slightly drawing her to him.

  «I tell you again», Lucinda justified herself, bowing her head forward, «I have no idea about that story and the meaning of damn number 27. I said a random number, maybe I read it somewhere and, unintentionally, I memorized it. If you believe there's a plot against you, come to my house and search everywhere. Obviously, you won't find anything. Because there's nothing to find. Nothing! Unfortunately, you're not able to think clearly anymore, William. And now please let me go.»

  Lucinda pulled away and went back to the bedroom to collect her things. She had brought her travel bag with her. What a fool I've been, she thought. She packed her bag, putting stuff randomly, and hurried to the front door.

  «How do I open this fucking door?», She said angrily, pressing keys at random.

  «It opens with my fingerprint», William sadly replied, freeing her from that involuntary imprisonment.

  «Save yourself, William. Save yourself», was Lucinda's last advice before leaving the attic of Building 16.

  Chapter XIII

  At the age of five, William Deveux was diagnosed with a degenerative disease of the central nervous system, the origin and causes of which - despite medical progress – could not be identified with certainty. The St. Andrew's Hospital team gave rise to the term Lore-Burr syndrome , from the name of the two researchers who first detected common traits in some children who had the same unexplained characteristics. In the presence of a normal clinical picture, without imbalances such as to justify those marked psychophysical reactions, the only indications that led the doctors to believe there were progressive disorders were the study of behavior over time and the painful phenomena, which were more and more frequent and intense. Before William Deveux, three such cases had already come to light in as many young children. In all cases the disease began manifesting itself with unexpected and unmotivated screams, violent impulses - or, on the contrary, extremely affectionate - and intense and sudden painful symptoms, especially in the temporal region. The children's parents, who were worried about the repetition of the episodes, correctly decided to bring their little ones to the hospital for tests and it was the concurrence of such events in a short period of time which triggered the alarm and pushed the staff of St. Andrew's Hospital to verify the existence of a common thread between them. And yet, despite the accurate analysis, nothing in particular emerged and the children themselves enjoyed good health. They grew regularly and had good reasoning skills; they had no eating disorder or learning delay. In the presence of only one case of that type, the doctors would have probably classified it as a form of childhood schizophrenia, but four cases in just over a year, concerning patients who had no relationship or kinship between them, they could not fail to raise strong suspicions. Only a detail could partly explain the mood swings: frequently varying serotonin levels. That was why the researchers focused on creating a palliative which could at least alleviate the symptoms, waiting to learn more. A cocktail of massive doses of tryptophan and antioxidants, plus analgesics and antipsychotics in smaller quantities to avoid the risk of addiction. A medication which was calibrated and perfected over time and then marketed under the registered name of Sefinol . The remedy proved to be quite effective, even if not decisive. William and Dominic were able to control symptoms until adolescence, but then - as a result of the boy's hormonal development - they became more frequent and complicated to manage. The doctors decided to increase the dose of Sefinol and began to subject him to induced-sleep sessions, within which they studied the functioning of his brain and the reactions to certain external stimulations. The loss of neurons - limited in the first years of life - became more worrisome and emotional stress only made the situation worse. This led the researchers to modify the treatment and, at the same time, break new ground with the aim of developing therapies with greater efficacy. The proportion of analgesics was increased and anxiolytics were introduced to limit anger outbursts. One way or another, William had managed to get by until he was thirty-eight, but he felt increasingly worn out, more and more tired of having to slavishly follow the medical protocol and act as a guinea pig. He started letting himself go and only occasionally followed the treatment, complying with therapeutic program only when the phenomena recurred again and they were more painful. In the meantime, however, he had not stopped investigating on his own, looking for news on the net and finding useful information. Unfortunately, he had not been much lucky yet: there were no new or experimental cures, all he found was old interviews, medical-scientific articles and newsletters, all related to St. Andrew's Hospital. So different points of view on the subject were not available. In any case, the hospital would have surely given him an update if there had been vital news.

  After that last conflict with Lucinda, William was determined to settle the issue once and for all. He promised himself that there would be no more violent episodes, that he would no longer be a problem for himself and others. He did not feel he could exclude a possible plot against him, indeed he was firmly convinced that he was caught in a dirty business involving multiple actors, from Militia to Minneman Company, and who knows who else. Yet he had few clues to believe that Lucinda was also part of that conspiracy and her bitter reaction gradually dispelled his doubts and increased his sense of guilt for having impulsively attacked her. So he decided to put body and soul into searching for news that could help him solve the problem, dedicating every spare minute to keeping up to date with his illness. He would have liked to contact the other people who were in the same situation, but it was nearly impossible because St. Andrew's Hospital had always kept extreme confidentiality on the matter, citing privacy reasons so as not to reveal the other patients' identity. He considered resorting once again to the help of his faithful friend Charlie DeClerk. He had lost contact with him since the day they discovered that Numbered District was mainly populated by people suffering from pathologies, so much so that, perhaps, it would be better to call it Sick District. William wondered if back then the hospital was aware of the reason for the deportations or, worse, it had an active role. Maybe it was St. Andrew's Hospital itself which reported to Militia or College of Guilds all the subjects with serious disorders, who had to be managed in an unconventional manner. Needless to think about it: he had just glimpsed the tip of the iceberg, the story could not but be more complex and involve a wide range of players. Perhaps he would never know the whole truth, yet he still had the duty to investigate, try everything possible: he could not be satisfied with just hypotheses or speculations. No matter how long it would take, he would set aside personal ambitions, goals to be achieved and secret wishes. He was not at ease on that path, but he was now too far to go back. Besides, he would also have to use some of the working hours for his purpose, hoping that they would not send him too often on missions: his ability to stay concentrated and his enthusiasm were at a low ebb.

  November rain had never been so unwelcome and inconvenient. His morale was battered and his confidence was disappearing after weeks of downpours and bleak skies. If he could, he would pump himself full of tranquilizers, go to bed and awaken in the spring. Better get lost in oblivion a
nd forget everything. He had been wrong not to accept Lucinda's invitation to stay together that dark morning. He would thus have had one more reason to fight and a little more serenity to stay tough and face adversity. He was forced to start all over again, instead, and go on with much less fortitude and even less strength.

  The strange case of Pilgrim's Refuge remained unsolved. That Tuesday evening, in the end, had not unraveled the mystery, but had added others. The new piece of the puzzle had a name, Laura, and that new character, accidentally, strikingly resembled that Cassie from whom everything had started. William was sick of believing in randomness and absurd explanations, every week he added some new ones. Even if the decision had been taken in a moment of great confusion - during the grotesque discussion with Lucinda on the meaning of the number 27 - he did not deny it: he would suspect everything and everyone, he would no longer blindly trust anyone and he would not take anything for granted anymore. If his mind was not so full of thoughts he would reopen the Pilgrim's Refuge file to try to decrypt it once and for all, but for now, he had to queue it up and manage it later. The priorities were, first of all, to limit or cancel the effects of his illness and, secondly, to understand something more about the weird story of Numbered District. He had to sort out things a little and set a timetable for the various tasks.

  Unfortunately William did not have time to give rise to his new and good intentions: a storm arrived to blacken an already dark sky. On November 23, returning from one of the most boring workdays he could remember, William found a Militia officer at his door, a guy named Todd Roberti. The diligent militiaman, after having briefly completed the formalities relating to the identification of the subject, notified William Deveux the writ of summons containing the list of charges brought against him by Minneman Company, including the obligation of having to report the following morning to Scarlet Militia Downtown Headquarters for the initial stages of the proceedings against him. Todd Roberti warned William Deveux to pay close attention to some fundamental information he would shortly list. First of all, since it was not an indictment for murder, attempted murder, or a crime of any kind committed against Militia or a Guild, William Deveux was exempted from forced transfer, so he would have to present himself to headquarters, though he would be picked up and escorted by two officers. Secondly, until the start of the trial, scheduled for November 24 at 9 am, he would not have to use any communication or computer tools; he would not have to contact anyone, receive calls or let anyone in. In the event of a medical need, he would have to call a special number of Militia headquarters, which Roberti quickly showed him, inviting him to memorize it. He would not therefore have to leave the apartment for any reason, Roberti made sure he had food at home and commanded him to eat enough so as to avoid fainting during transport or in the courtroom. Third point: William Deveux would have to wear - during each courtroom session and during each travel back and forth from home to the headquarters - the wetsuit, a kind of form-fitting orange-colored garment which resembled the one used for scuba diving. Todd Roberti handed William a specimen sealed in a cellophane bag, telling him not to worry if it was not exactly his size. Roberti clarified - citing the current legislation - that the wetsuit had multiple functions: prevent the accused from carrying objects that could endanger himself or other persons; prevent the accused from stealing evidence or stealing community property; be easy to spot in the courtroom, on the street or - in the unlikely event of an escape - in the midst of a crowd; be comfortable to wear and allow the accused to feel at ease. Point number four: William Deveux would have to leave any personal or non-essential accessory at home; only drugs were allowed and, in that regard, Roberti asked him if he was still under treatment with Sefinol. William - who had not even had the time to be surprised or frightened until that moment, since the officer had flooded him with news and warnings - barely nodded to confirm. «Very well, don't worry about carrying it, we'll give it to you», Roberti hastened to point out. The precaution was aimed at preventing the subject from carrying any substance which could be harmful to himself or others. The main concern, for Militia, was that the defendant might decide to commit suicide in the courthouse, during the trial. It would be an unacceptable and scandalous thing, which would sully the image of the Most Excellent Institute and disturb the tranquility of the splendid community of East Eden. Roberti concluded, then, declaiming the fifth and final point, that related to sanctions. He enumerated them all, associating each of them with the respective violation, from the slightest to the most serious. Once finished listing, he stressed that any attempt to escape would be punished with immediate and indefinite detention and, if he was found in possession of guns, he would be first imprisoned and then executed within two days.

  «It is more than obvious», Todd Roberti added with a smile, «that it has never been considered necessary to provide any indication about the penalty for those who physically or verbally offend an honorable member of Our Most Excellent Institute. There has never been a need for it.»

  Roberti then gave William Deveux a paper document that summarized what he had said up to that point, with the table of penalties attached. William touched it: he wasn't used to handle sheets of paper. «Don't lose it», Todd Roberti warned him again. Then the officer took his leave, urging William not to do nonsense and to be packed and ready to go the next morning.

  The procedure foresaw, lastly, that the defendant entered his house under the officer's watchful supervision, so Roberti stretched out his arm to indicate the front door. «Lock yourself in and make yourself untraceable», the militiaman said before leaving Milton Avenue.

  Chapter XIV

  William Deveux followed the suggestion of Militia officer Todd Roberti to the letter . He shut himself in the house, set up the security device, checked through the monitor that the officer was far enough, and then, in order: he began to scream like a madman; swept away all the items scattered around the house, taking care just to save the computer and the communicator; he shouted again and cursed everything and everyone; he collapsed on the bed and cried his eyes out, like he had never done in his life. The spasms, tears and saliva risked making him go into asphyxiation. He coughed many times, then went to the bathroom and drank water directly from the tap, eventually succeeding in freeing his throat from that sense of obstruction. When the outburst was over, he felt exhausted and took many deep breaths with his mouth open. He put his head on the pillow and closed his eyes for a few minutes, but time was short and he could certainly not spend it sleeping. Fear would not allow him to rest peacefully, so he put himself in a sitting position with his elbows on his knees, crossing his hands like a prayer and putting them close to his mouth. He racked his brains, hoping to come up with something useful, but the more he repeated he had to find a solution, the less he could concentrate. Roberti had recommended him to eat enough, but he was not hungry at all, his stomach was in knots. The thing he could not stand was to have to wait for those senseless night hours that separated him from the start of the trial. He would prefer to end it immediately and go straight to the point, so he would get the chance to size up his enemy and be able to defend himself accordingly.

  In the post-republican East Eden legal system, innocence or guilt had become futile arguments. William had become aware of it over time. If some subject - a person, as well as a company or an institution - believed that some other subject was responsible for something, and knew the right people, he could drag him to court and, on many occasions, have him condemned. Every form of popular jury had been abolished, there was no room - and there shouldn't be - for opinions or feelings. Being more or less convincing had no relevance: only facts and evidence counted; and the one who formally presented the best proofs, the clearest evidence, which could not give rise to diverse interpretations, he won. For that reason, they managed to make impracticable turning to attorneys by imposing a bail of one hundred thousand credits for the defendants who insisted on wanting to choose a private lawyer. Very few people, therefore, had the possibility
to take advantage of the best options allowed by the legal system, though, in essence, those who had that kind of privilege succeeded very often in avoiding reaching the stage of the courtroom debate. So, green light for the systematic use of court-appointed lawyers - named as delegates because they acted under delegation of the court - whose main function, before defending the interests of their client, was to guarantee that the accused was aware of the procedures and the rules that governed the courtroom sessions and ensure, therefore, that he held an irreproachable conduct so as not to jeopardize the good name of the Most Excellent Institute.

  William Deveux wanted to get in the courthouse with an ace in the hole, something to use at the right time to tip the balance on his side if things went badly. He had no clear idea of how the trials took place in East Eden, there was great secrecy. Information sector employees were not admitted, much less common citizens. The sentences were made public as soon as they were issued and it was possible to alternatively interview either the delegate or the prosecutor in front of the entrance of Scarlet Militia Downtown Headquarters. The defendant - guilty or not – could not make any statements. In any case, William was confident that if he brought with him some vital piece of information to keep secret until the end, he would have a better chance of getting away with it. It wasn't easy because, obviously, he could not present news obtained in an illicit way, such as those on deportations to Numbered District, nor could he make accusations without any proof. Patrick Rea had emphatically reminded him: never respond to an accusation with another accusation. The defendant just had to try to find irrefutable evidence in his defense. So it was necessary to direct all the energies into collecting information in the public domain, which he could bring out at the right time to discourage the other party and push it to back off. Information which he would keep hidden, he wouldn't certainly pass it to a court-appointed lawyer. Information, yeah, but which one? He had no way or time to find it, he could not use the computer and he could not contact anyone. Charlie had done some search and collected data, maybe nothing fundamental, but it could still be useful. They should have met long before to discuss the matter again but, in one way or another, they had not got the chance. However, he needed him more than ever at that moment. Charlie had to become his operating arm, he had to replace him in performing those activities forbidden to him. And William was convinced that, after a first moment of confusion, Charlie would enjoy poking around in off-limits places.