Predominance

by H. I. Defaz

  By the time the couple was done narrating their last fishing adventure, the captain had turned off the seatbelt sign and we were in midair. I thanked them for keeping me busy during the take-off—I'd barely noticed it—and they said, “No problem,” explaining that they'd noticed my anxiety from the moment they saw me board the plane. Hence the reason they'd approached me.

  I thanked them again, a bit embarrassed, and leaned back on my seat. I popped another painkiller and hoped not to feel the rest of the trip.

  After a terrible ordeal of switching planes, security check points, and turbulence, I finally arrived at Gravina Island, home of Ketchikan International Airport. Outside, passengers waited for an unusual-looking ferry that would take us to the mainland—a job originally intended for a bridge that was once proposed, yet never constructed. People called it the Bridge to Nowhere.

  The more I learned about this place, the more I liked it.

  The ferry took seven minutes to take us across the water. I must admit, I'd never seen any landscape like it before. The scenery was a canvas in which majestic mountains embraced a myriad of evergreen trees; or was it the other way around? A touch of soft mist was enough to make it impossible to tell where the summits ended and the sky began. The town's history of fishing, prospecting, bordellos, and waterfront canneries graced the horizon—the perfect finishing touch to this astonishing masterpiece.

  The air was cool but crisp and pleasingly invigorating. Just being there was making me feel better already. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, feeling the breeze combing my hair while the ferry sailed across the water—it almost felt like it was soothing my pain. When I opened my eyes, I saw two bald eagles soaring high above the water. I saw it as a sign, an omen that everything was going to be all right.

  Once we docked, I decided to go and explore the picturesque town of Ketchikan. But to my surprise, transportation seemed to have been arranged for me in advance. At the curbside, a black Lincoln Town Car waited for me, complete with a uniformed driver holding a little white sign with my last name on it.

  “Hi,” I greeted him as I walked towards the car. “You're waiting for me?”

  “Mr. Bellator?” the driver prompted. He must've been a few years older than me, but his outgoing demeanor and naive personality made me perceive him as a very young fella. But then again, my perception had been adjusted according to my experiences—which probably made me a twenty-three-going-on-fifty kind of man.

  Anyway, I approached him and shook his hand. “Yeah, that's me,” I replied. “And you are…?”

  “Denali, sir. It's nice to meet you.”

  “Like the mountain?”

  “That's right, sir.”

  “Nice to meet you, too, Denali.” I gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder and brought my bag to the trunk. “But please call me Victor, all right?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Victor.”

  I laughed at his refreshing simplicity. “No, no—just Vic…” I backpedaled, watching the earnest look on his face. “Oh, never mind.” I shook my head, smiling. “Listen, Denali. I was hoping I'd get to have a look around town before going to the clinic—maybe get something to eat, too. What do you say you drive around and pick me up in about an hour, huh?”

  “I'm sorry, Mr. Victor, but I'm under strict instructions to take you straight to the mansion without delay,” Denali said earnestly. He opened the back door for me, smiling like a manikin.

  “Oh, hell,” I mused, disappointed. “Well, I guess the tour’s going to have to wait, then.” I threw my backpack in the backseat, and let my body follow. “Wait—why did you call it 'the mansion'?”

  “Oh, you'll see.” His smile widened as he closed the door.

  The drive to the clinic turned out to be longer than expected, but I didn't mind. Denali managed to keep me entertained the whole hour that it took us to get there. He was truly the epitome of Alaskan hospitality, born and bred in Sitka. But more than that, he was a good and decent man, trying to make an honest living. He told me about having to move to Ketchikan after the death of his grandfather, who'd left him everything he ever owned—including a cabin in the woods. I gave him my condolences as soon as I heard of his loss.

  He wasn't happy about leaving his family behind, especially his fiancée. But he knew that after a few months of hard work, he'd be able bring everyone over and give his fiancée the wedding of her dreams. That's why his job at R.C. Labs was so important. They were paying him a small fortune to do a job that anyone could've done with their eyes close.

  Talking about R.C. Labs gave me the chance to try to get more information about the place. But the funny thing was that not even Denali, who worked for them, knew exactly what the place was really about. All he could tell me was that for the last six months, he'd been picking up patients at the pier. More than a hundred, he said—which staggered me, because as far as I was concerned, my condition was unique. Or so I'd thought.

  I got so caught up in the intriguing conversation that I forgot to pay attention to where I was going. The next time I looked out the window, I saw nothing but gargantuan firs that overarched the lonely road. They must be part of the forest, I thought—the one that I'd been hearing so much about. But what were we doing here? I would have imagined a place like R.C. Labs taking up a couple of blocks in a commercial district, not an inaccessible place like this.

  I was just about to ask Denali how much farther we needed to go when he suddenly took a sharp left into a narrow and easy-to-miss gravel road. “We're almost there!” he announced, carefully guiding the car along the snakelike path. I leaned my head back against the headrest and waited, wondering about this place as my stomach plunged with anxiety. I was definitely beginning to feel the pressure of having made a decision without having all the facts at hand for the first time in my life.

  Denali finally stopped next to a keypad entry-box, in front of a huge metal gate. The letters R.C. were engraved in the center detail of the steel beast. After punching the entry code, Denali continued down a long driveway that led us to an astonishing three-story building of a kind you definitely wouldn't expect to find in the middle of the woods.

  The entire place was surrounded by dozens of enormous pines and weeping willow trees, and the astonishingly green meadow behind the building must've been as big as a football field. Not to mention the striking landscaping design that adorned the front of the building. But what really amazed and disconcerted me was the extreme security that surrounded this place. Surveillance cameras and armed personnel were posted everywhere I turned. The word Alcatraz flashed into my mind for a second.

  Denali parked in front of the building and helped me with my bag. Once again, I told him what a pleasure it had been meeting him, and wished him luck with his wedding and all. He thanked me and returned the good luck wishes as he shook my hand.

  I waved as I watched him drive away.

  I turned to the main entrance with my backpack in one hand and my carry-on in the other, and saw an older gentleman in a lab coat waiting for me at the door. He must've been over sixty, yet his demeanor and posture presented a very vigorous man standing over six feet tall. His hair was gray and long, and his imposing stare lurked behind a pair of rimless glasses.

  “Hello, Mr. Bellator. I'm Dr. Walker,” he introduced himself, extending his hand for a shake. “How do you do?”

  I quickly slung my backpack over my shoulder and shook his hand. “Very well, thank you. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Dr. Walker—and please, call me, Victor.”

  “Well, Victor, I'm glad you could join us. How was your trip?”

  “Eh… let's just say I'm not the best flyer.” I chuckled.

  “Well, you surely look like you could use some rest. Let me show you to your room.” He opened the glass door and gestured for me to enter.

  “Thank you.” As I enter, I realized why Denali had called this place the mansion. The floors were paved with marble, and astonishing crystal chandeliers hung above the vestibule. Extrava
gant paintings decorated the elegant beige walls, further embellishing this humongous place. “Wow!” I couldn't help but exclaim as I followed Dr. Walker to what appeared to be a reception desk.

  “Amy,” he called to the young woman behind the desk, “this is our newest patient, Mr. Victor Bellator; he'll be staying with us on the second floor of the southeast wing. Please make sure he gets everything he needs.”

  “Will do, Dr. Walker.” She then turned to me with a smile. “Welcome to R.C. Labs, Mr. Bellator.”

  “Victor, please,” I corrected her with a smile. I honestly wasn't trying to flirt, but I guess she took it that way, because she responded to me with a very coquettish lopsided smile, which Dr. Walker caught sight of.

  “Thank you, Amy,” he acknowledged with a suppressed smile of his own, and turned back to me. “Victor? If you please…” He signaled me to follow him again.

  “Of course!” I turned back again to say goodbye. “See you, Amy.”

  She smiled.

  I followed Dr. Walker to the elevators, where he entered a code into the touchscreen panel to activate the lift. I tried to peek, but he made sure I couldn't see it. Once aboard, he pressed the number 2 among an array of buttons that didn't match the structure of the building, which seemed weird. Ten buttons didn't make sense for a three-story building, unless they had an underground parking garage I didn't know about. Anyway, once on the second floor, we emerged into a long, red-carpeted corridor with four doors along either side. Dr. Walker walked me to the one farthest from the elevator and opened the door. “I hope you find it comfortable,” he said, smiling.

  My jaw dropped when I walked into the room. Not only it was as elegant as the rest of the mansion, but it had all the amenities you'd find in a five-star hotel. Furthermore, my window faced the football field-sized meadow that I'd seen when we first pulled in. I was awestruck, but I tried to play it cool by joking around. “Are you sure I'm in the right place? Because I didn't sign up for a vacation.”

  Dr. Walker smile was unreadable. “Just try to get some rest, Victor. We have a long journey ahead of us.” He turned around, closing the door.

  “Wait!” I snapped. “I was hoping we could talk about the procedure and how…”

  “I'll be giving a presentation this evening in the main hall,” he interrupted. “You're more than welcome to join the others, and present all the questions that you may have.”

  “Others?”

  The same unreadable smile lit the doctor's face as he spoke. “You're not as alone as you think you are, Victor.” He paused. “Get some rest. I'll see you at six.” He smiled again and closed the door behind him.

  ***

  Unpacking, a quick shower, and a change of clothes were enough to make the afternoon fly by. I looked outside my window, and I saw that the bright green meadow was now covered by the shroud of the night—which startled me for a moment, because I thought that I'd missed the presentation. But after a quick glance at the digital clock on my nightstand, I realized that it was only five-thirty-five in the afternoon. Becoming conscious of this reality made me laugh at myself, because the sunset wasn't off—I was! My internal clock was all out of whack now, and it was going to take some time to adjust to this new environment.

  After a few more minutes, I decided to head down to the lobby. I climbed on the elevator and found that only two buttons would function: 1 and 2. A clearance code was required to access any other level. So I pressed 1—no other choice, really.

  I walked to the reception desk, where an older lady had relieved Amy, and asked her about the presentation. She pointed me in the direction of a small chamber adjacent to the main hall—apparently it had been specially prepared for tonight's presentation. When I entered this room I encountered five other people, three men and two young women, seated around an oval conference table. They obviously had no idea why we were there; their expressions showed nothing but curiosity—a familiar feeling, I must admit. I took the last empty chair and sat down. A nervous nod and a tight smile seemed to be the common greeting around the table...or at least, that's all I got. I returned their greetings the same way.

  After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Dr. Walker made his entrance through a door no one knew was there; one of the girls started when he entered the room next to her. “Well…” he began, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “I see we're all here. I suppose the first order of business is for me to introduce myself, although I think I've met most of you already.”

  He smiled pleasantly. “But for the ones I haven't met: Hello, my name is Dr. Ethan Walker, and I'm the Neuro-Oncologist in charge of this research facility center—as well as the treatment protocol for each and every one of you. On behalf of everyone here at R.C. Labs, I'd like to welcome you, and to thank you for your understanding and cooperation with our security protocols. I know all of you must be equally excited and curious to learn what our new procedure is all about. But before we jump into that, why don't you just go around the table and introduce yourselves? I'd like you to have an idea of the amazing similarities that bond your extraordinary conditions. As I've said to some of you before: You're not alone as you think you are.”

  He paused for a second, meeting every eye in the room. “Please…” He invited the skinny blond man on my left to speak first. He was probably in his late twenties, but like most of us, his condition made his face look tired and bitter, and therefore a lot older. “Why don't you start by telling us your name and your particular condition?”

  It took the guy a second to realize that Dr. Walker was taking to him. “Oh!” he said, adjusting himself in his chair. “Um… my name is Tom, and, uh… I was left with an unexplained intracranial pressure after a hang-gliding accident. The doctors said they couldn't find the cause, and that I was going to die from it, really soon… ahem, so I've been waiting.” His voice weakened at the end.

  “How long ago were you diagnosed, Tom?” Dr. Walker asked gently.

  “Two years.”

  “Aftermath symptoms?” the doctor probed.

  “Headaches and seizures.”

  “Thank you, Tom.” Dr. Walker gave him a warm smile. “Would you like to be next?” he asked the guy sitting next to Tom. I looked over and noticed he was just a kid; he couldn't possibly be over eighteen. His long brown hair was tucked underneath a Red Sox baseball cap that he kept twiddling with, like a nervous tic. He looked so young that it was painful to see him there.

  “My name is William,” he said, shifting uneasily. “But you can call me Billie. I have the same pressure in my head that you were talking about.” He glanced at Tom. “My friend hit me in the head with a baseball bat during practice—it was an accident. But after that, I started having seizures and headaches. My mom took me to the hospital, but they told me the same thing, that I was going to…” he trailed off. “Well, you know… But it's been a year since it happened and I'm still waiting.”

  “Can we move this along?” the blonde woman sitting next to Billie burst out, annoyed. She was definitely over-medicated. Poor excuse to act like a bitch, I thought. But she was young, too, early twenties, maybe—yet she talked like she'd been around the block a few times, if you know what I mean. “I thought we were here to find a cure, not to hear our sad little stories. And we all have one, believe me!”

  “And you are, my dear?” Dr. Walker intervened.

  “My name is Barbara and yes, I suffered a major head injury, too! Two and a half years ago. Different side effects, though—headaches and sensitivity to light,” she said smugly.

  I startled when I heard she that suffered the exact same symptoms I did. So I wasn't the only one. I really wasn't alone.

  “Just that, huh?” the oldest of the group spoke. You didn't need to take a second look to realize that this man was different from the rest of us. He was in his early thirties, and yet his posture and demeanor suggested that he'd never had to endure a day's work in his entire life—other than sign a few papers behind a desk, maybe. The silk shirt and
gold Rolex he wore left no doubts that he was a very wealthy man. “So the rudeness is just a natural trait?”

  Barbara smirked at him; Dr. Walker gestured for him to proceed.

  “My name is Damian, and I too was diagnosed with an intracranial pressure due to a severe TBI I suffered three years ago. The details of my condition I'd rather to keep to myself, if you don't mind.” He stopped and leaned back in his chair, arm-crossed.

  “Very well…” Dr. Walker sighed, then turned to the last woman in the group—possibly the closest one to my own age. “What about you, my dear?”

  When I turned to pay attention to what she had to say, I realized she'd been staring at me. My heart skipped a beat when my eyes met her gaze; not because the extraordinary hue of her eyes resembled the clearest, brightest blue skies I've ever seen in my life, but because they reminded me of something—a feeling, something buried deep inside my heart. I couldn't put my finger on it. She looked away swiftly the second she realized I'd caught her observing me, and let her impossibly straight, long jet-black hair fall like a curtain over her angelic face, avoiding me completely.

  “Hi,” she began in an innocent, velvet voice, “My name is Yvette, and, uh… my story is no different than any of yours, except my major side effects are uncontrollable tremors. Um… It's, uh… been two years since it happened, and not a day goes by that I don't wish that I could find a way to put an end to it. And that's the reason I'm here.” She stopped, finally tossing her hair back, allowing me to see that angelic face again.

  “Victor?” Dr. Walker called, revealing my name before I did, and gestured me to proceed.

  I cleared my throat before I began. “Well, that's my name. I'm Victor Bellator—headaches and light sensitivity. All I can say is that I can relate to every single one of you. It's been three years for me. Three years of pain and misery, and sometimes even wishing I was the kind of person who could end it myself… But I'm not. I am, however, the kind of person who doesn't give up. I'm here because someone once told me that one day, the answer to all of my problems would come knocking on my door.” I chuckled bitterly. “And I'm really hoping this is it.”