by Jack Kilborn
G was right. I’d made the commitment to get in shape. It was time to put up or shut up. Even my wife, after having our lawyer try unsuccessfully to break the heath club contract, had begun encouraging me to go.
“You wasted all that money!” she’d say, encouragingly. “Put down the cheese wheel, get off your lazy ass, and go work out!”
But, truth be told, I was scared. I knew if I went to the club I’d be surrounded by beautiful people, and I would be alienated and my self-esteem would sink even lower.
My plan was to get in shape before I went to the club. It could happen. I lost four pounds just last week, though I found it later, in my upper thighs.
“G, I feel too uncomfortable to come in. Can we do this over the phone?”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Konrath. There are plenty of fat, ugly people who come here every day. You’ll fit right in.”
“If they come there every day why are they still fat and ugly?”
“You’re disappointing me, Mr. Konrath.”
“Sorry, G. I’ll drop by later today.”
“Great! See you then.”
“Are you mad at me, G?”
“No. Not this time.”
“Thanks. Bye.”
I hung up the phone, happy about recommitting myself to getting into shape. Twenty minutes later I was in the health club parking lot, finishing the last of my pizza. G greeted me warmly, pumping my hand like I was a lat machine. He was bigger than I remembered. I bet he had more definition than Webster’s Unabridged.
Well, come on, all the jokes can’t be good.
“How’s my bestest buddy, Mr. Konrath?”
“Hungry. How about that smoothie?”
“Sure thing. You bring your Visa?”
“My wife took it. But I found some change in the couch.”
G led me to the juice bar, and spent five minutes measuring out assorted powders into a stainless steel blender.
“The base is macrobiotic organic yogurt,” he told me. “Low fat and sugar free.”
“What flavor?”
“Plain.”
“Sounds good. Can you add a few scoops of those chocolate chips?”
After the smoothie, G and I hit the equipment. Almost immediately I knew we were going to have problems. First of all, he wanted me to start a program he called “weight training.” From what I gathered, this involved picking up weights, and lifting them up and down. G gave me a preview, grabbing a barbell the size of a Cadillac (when they still made them big), and curling it up to his chest several times. I very politely told G that he was out of his freaking mind if he thought I was going to do that. You couldn’t pay me to do that. I certainly wasn’t go to pay them to let me.
G let out a friendly laugh and then threw me a weight belt and told me to get started while he went to the juice bar for a creatine shake. “For a boost of energy,” he said.
“Put in some of those mini marshmallows,” I told him. “And some ham.”
While I waited for my energy boost, I sat on an exercise bike, content with watching a girl in a string bikini do leg presses. She had a body that could make a priest give up choir boys. When G came back I was sweating like a pig.
“How are we doing, Mr. Konrath?”
“Great, G. I’m glad I signed up.”
“Let’s not overdo it your first day. Time for your rubdown.”
While G rubbed my achy muscles for three dollars a minute, I had to admit that this health club thing was a good idea after all. Sure, I had to take out a second mortgage to pay for it, but seeing that girl do those leg presses gave my heart a workout it hadn’t had in years.
And later that night, I actually got in a few minutes of strenuous exercise. With my wife, while thinking of the leg-press girl.
I was so quiet I didn’t even wake her up.
JA Konrath’s Works Available on Nook
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Rusty Nail
Fuzzy Navel
Cherry Bomb
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Prologue
“I'm going to kill somebody. Soon.”
David leaned back on the mattress, fingers laced behind his blond head. His overdeveloped biceps strained the fabric of his T-shirt sleeves. He flexed his pecs, and his chest trembled like a bull shaking off horseflies.
Manny muted the television, sighing loudly enough for David to hear him. This was a familiar dialog.
“No, you won’t. You don’t want to get in trouble again.”
David grunted. He stared at the ceiling, imagining that this was a real apartment with people living above and below. But it wasn’t real; it was a cage, pure and simple. The fake scenery outside the window and the phone that only dialed out to one number made it even more ludicrous.
“I’d rather go back to prison than stay here.”
“You know that isn’t true. This is better for us, David. We can get through this. Look at all we’ve been through together.”
Manny was right. They’d been through hell. But the future only promised extra helpings, with no end in sight.
“I can’t take it.”
“You have to.”
David clenched his teeth. The hate buzzed around in his head like a hornet’s nest, desperately trying to get out. He made his decision.
“I want you to kill me.”
Manny turned away, shaking his head.
“No. That’s not an option.”
“Anyone can take a life, Manny. All you need is the proper motivation. What if I took that fire ax in the hallway and chopped up your little girlfriend? Does it have to come to that?”
“I hate it when you talk like this.” Manny stood up and went to the kitchenette. He got a glass of water, staring at David’s reflection in the framed Dali poster hanging above the sink. His stomach fluttered. David was older, bigger, and had a vein of mean running through him. A rich vein, that seemed to be growing. “I’m sure they’re listening.”
David laughed, a sound like a large dog growling.
“Of course they’re listening. We signed our privacy away. It’s lost, just like our freedom. Our minds are next.”
Manny finished the water and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to sound soothing. “We’re a team, David. We have to see it though. That was the deal.”
“To hell with the deal.”
“David…”
“How can you handle it, Manny? How can you handle the dreams?”
Manny thought about the question. He suppressed a chill.
“I handle them.”
“Well, I can’t. I have to get out. And if I leave, you know that a lot of people are going to die. I can’t control myself, Manny. It’s like a thirst.”
“It’ll get easier. You’ll see.”
David pressed his hands to his face, as if he were trying to keep his skull from exploding.
“At least you’re the prize show dog. I’m the big mistake, kept in the shadows. Science gone wrong. Kill me.”
“No.”
David reached out and grabbed Manny by the hand, imploring.
“Just do it. Stick a knife in my ribs.”
“I can’t.”
David’s grip tightened. Manny tried to pull away, but couldn’t. A shadow settled behind David’s face.
“I can hurt you. I can hurt you real bad.”
“Please… David…”
With a quick snap, David bent Manny’s pinkie backwards. The pain was instant and nauseating.
Manny yanked his hand free. His little finger jutted out at an odd angle. The blood leeched from his head, leaving his face ghost-white. He tried to stand, but his knees were spaghetti.
David’s eyes got big. He put a hand on Manny’s shoulder.
“Manny, Jesus, I’m sorry.”
Manny pulled back.
“Get away from me.”
“I didn’t mean it. I swear. You see how I get? I can’t control it.”
Manny managed to get to the bathroom. He ran cold water over his hand, but it didn’t numb the pain.
“Did I break it again?”
“Go to hell.”
“I think it’s just dislocated. I can pop it back.”
He gently tugged Manny’s wrist away from the sink. Manny began to shake.
“Please, go away.”
“This’ll just take a second.”
David got a good grip on the dislocated finger. Manny felt the bile rise.
“No, please…”
For the longest moment, Manny was convinced that David wanted to twist it backwards even farther, wrench the finger until it came off. But David simply gave it a quick tug and the pinkie snapped back into place. He stared at Manny, eyebrows knitted.
“I’ll stick with it, Manny. For you. But promise me that if I hurt anyone else, you end it for me. I know you could do it. You’re not as squeaky clean as they think.”
The pain was subsiding, and Manny’s stomach began to settle.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Sure. You do that. We have plenty of time.” David grinned. “And plenty of fingers.”
David left, and Manny locked the bathroom door. The situation was getting worse, and the mandatory shrink visits didn’t help at all. He thought about telling one of the research team, but that would ruin everything they’d worked so hard for.
Manny stared into the mirror, searching himself for an answer.
Maybe murder was the only alternative.
But could he actually kill him? Could he actually kill his own brother?
Manny looked down at his swollen finger and wondered if he could.
Chapter 1
“What would you give for an extra thirty years of life?”
The big man was no longer at the podium. He circulated among the tables, his grandiose voice having no need for a microphone. A neatly trimmed beard, the color of a black bear, extended along his jaw line and connected with a shock of matching wiry hair. Except for some busboys hustling empty plates, all the eyes in the banquet room, over a hundred sets, were on him.
“Think of it. More time to spend with your family. More time to get all the things done that need to get done. More time to enjoy life to the fullest. Time is money. Time is precious. But most of all, time is a resource, like oil or natural gas. How much is it worth to you?”
He paused, eyes twinkling. Dr. William May had seen this speech once before, but was no less impressed. Unlike other scientists Bill had met in his career, Dr. Nikos Stefanopolous had magnetism to match his brilliance. The barrel chested Greek could have hawked cooking utensils on late night TV with equal aplomb.
“We sleep one third of our lives. Thirty years. We don’t have any say in the matter. But what if we did? What if we could take a simple pill that could replace a full night’s sleep? Think of it.”
The audience did think of it, Bill included. An impressive feat, if possible.
“You would feel just as refreshed, just as fit, just as rested, as if you’d spent eight hours in bed. But instead of eight hours, this pill would do the same amount of work in just twenty minutes. Senator, I’m sure a pill like this would do wonders for your filibusters.”
The room laughed, and Senator Donner acknowledged with a nod and a grin.
“Such a pill is the culmination of twenty years of research into sleep. My daughter, Dr. Theena Boone, and myself have dedicated a good portion of our lives to the study of sleep, and its effects on the body. What does sleep actually do? What is its purpose? What chemical changes occur in the body during sleep? And most of all—can it be synthesized? At this point I’d like to introduce Mr. Emmanuel Tibbets.”
Dr. Nikos rallied some applause. Bill sat up, craning his neck to see over the table in front of him. This was new.
A large man got up from the head table and walked to the empty podium. Like Dr. Nikos, he was in a tuxedo. But his fit better, every cut and pleat hinting at the chiseled physique underneath. He had dirty blonde hair, cut in a military style, and his features were hard and angular, like a child’s action figure.
“Thank you, Dr. Nikos. I would like everyone in the audience to think about the last time you’ve been up all night. We’ve all experienced the symptoms; being lethargic, grumpy, unable to concentrate or focus. We look, and feel, terrible, and that’s from missing only one night’s sleep. How many of you have been awake for more than twenty-four hours?”
There was a show of hands, over half of the audience.
“How about forty-eight hours?”
Most of the hands dropped.
“And seventy-two hours?”
Only a few remained raised.
“After seventy-two hours, your judgment becomes extremely impaired. You drive with the same skill as someone with a blood alcohol level of zero point two. You’d be constantly falling asleep, taking micro-naps for minutes at a time, without being aware of it—even if staying awake was a matter of life and death.”
Bill could relate. He’d had his share of sleepless nights. Especially in the last year.
“After seventy-two hours without sleep, you begin to hallucinate. You become paranoid, delusional, unable to function. Isn’t it true, Dr. Nikos, that an EEG done on a person without three days of sleep is identical to someone suffering from acute schizophrenia?”
“True, Manny.”
“How was my last EEG?”
“Perfectly normal.”
“I ask the audience, do I seem to be experiencing any symptoms of sleep deprivation? Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been without sleep for seventy-two hours? How about ninety-six hours? A hundred and twenty? Dr. Nikos, do you have the time?”
The doctor made a show of rolling up his sleeve and looking at his watch.
“It just turned nine o’clock.”
“Nine o’clock. Which means I’ve been awake now for nine hundred and eleven straight hours.”
The audience was stunned to silence. After a moment, a single person began to applaud. It snowballed into a roaring ovation. Bill joined in.
Dr. Nikos joined Manny on the stage, eyes twinkling. He patted the larger man on the shoulder, then held out his palm to quell the clapping.
“Manny is part of the final phase of our project, the clinical test subject. Our drug, Nonsomnambulox—N-Som for short, has already passed the Chemistry and Pharmacological reviews of the Food and Drug Administration. Manny has taken one pill every day for the last thirty-eight days, which was the last time he’s had a conventional night of sleep.”
The applause began to build again. Dr. Nikos talked above it.
“The R & D is nearing an end, and pending Medical approval, we’re ready to go into production. Needless to say, what this drug could do for the economy, for the efficiency of the human race, for the quality of life of every person on this planet—it staggers the imagination. We can take some questions.”
Hands went up throughout the room, lawyers and politicians and businessmen; a who’s who of status and influence in the Midwest.
“Is the pill expensive?”
“We plan on introducing N-Som to the market at fifteen dollars a dose. Are eight hours of your life worth fifteen dollars?”
“What about side effects?”
“I’ll let Manny field that one.”
Manny grinned, showing perfect teeth.
“Since taking N-Som, I’ve lost fifteen pounds in fat and gained eight pounds in muscle mass. My immune system and healing abilities have increased dramatically. I also don’t get tired. In fact, three days ago I was on a treadmill for eighteen hours.”
The audience murmured its disbelief. Dr. Nikos beamed.
“We were even more amazed by this than you folks are, but we’ve found a reasonable scientific explanation. N-Som stimulates the pituitary gland, increasing production of human growth hormone. Manny may be the most fit human being on the face of the earth.”
A woman at a far table spoke.
>
“What about dreams? I, for one, wouldn’t give up my dreams for anything.”
Someone else chimed in. “I love my dreams, too.”
There were many nods of agreement, Bill one of them. On most days his dream life was better than his real one.
“The dreams.” Manny’s eyes got a faraway look, and his smile was beatific. “They’re the most vivid dreams you’ll ever have. Even though they only last a few minutes, they seem to go on for hours. And you remember them, every detail, from beginning to end.”
“And when does the stock go public?”
General laughter. Dr. Nikos joined in.
“That depends on the FDA. And actually, the CDER agent responsible for N-Som’s approval is sitting among us. Bill, please come up here.”
Bill shook off the momentary surprise and was beckoned up to the podium. This was unexpected. Though getting in front of groups was part of his job, he liked to be prepared first.
He walked to the stage and Dr. Nikos shook his hand warmly. Manny offered his hand next; his grip was like slamming your fingers in a car door. Bill disengaged himself and Dr. Nikos put an arm around his shoulders.
“May I introduce Dr. William May, from the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. We shall continue to extend our fullest cooperation to the Food and Drug Administration, and I’m sure once our data is examined, N-Som will be judged even safer than aspirin.”
More applause. Bill felt a tad queasy; he wasn’t sure if his stomach was balking at the crème brulee, or if he was afraid he’d be asked to say a few words. Thankfully, Dr. Nikos wrapped up his speech and escorted Bill back to the head table amid a standing ovation.
“Dr. May, let me introduce my daughter, Dr. Theena Boone.”
Dr. Boone was around Bill’s age, in her mid-thirties, dark and shapely. She had a smaller version of her father’s Greek nose and enough hair on her head for several women. The soft black curls rested on her bare shoulders, and the neckline of her dress made eye-contact an effort.
“A pleasure, Dr. May.”
Bill took her hand and responded in kind.
“Please sit, Dr. May.” Dr. Nikos pulled out a chair for Bill. “I have to be social for a little bit.”
Dr. Nikos and Manny blended into the gathering crowd. Bill sat and faced the woman. He’d neatly slid from one uncomfortable situation into another. Small talk wasn’t one of his strengths.