by Sheila Lowe
“That’s what I think, too,” said Jessica.
Jenna walked to the door and opened it wide. “Thank you, Doctor Gold,” she said. “We’ll think about it. And we’ll let you know if we need your help.”
t h i r t y – o n e
Jenna locked the door behind Dr. Gold with a decisive click.
“That was rude,” Jessica said. “He drove a long way to see if we were okay.”
“He was going to try and talk us into giving up on the Project, and that’s not happening.”
“Why not just hand it over to Detective Jovanic and let him figure out what to do with the information.”
“I don’t have enough evidence for them to do anything. They’ll just laugh at me”
“You don’t know that. Anyway...”
“What those people are doing is wrong, Jess.”
“Of course it is, but like Dr. Gold said, after everything that’s happened, are you totally certain you still want to try and fight them?”
“Especially after everything that’s happened. If they got away with what they’re doing I could never live with myself.”
“But you’re not even sure what it is they’re doing.”
“I’m sure they’re experimenting on people without telling them the truth about it. I just don’t know specifically what it is. I don’t even know what they did to me. Now, are you with me or not? I was doing it alone before you got here. I can finish it alone.”
“No,” Jessica said, with more than a twinge of misgiving. “I can’t let you get into any more trouble by yourself.”
“What was the email that got you thinking something was wrong?” Jessica asked.
They had eaten a quick lunch of cheese and crackers and fruit. Jenna was back at the computer desk, Jessica stretched out on her stomach on the bed.
“It was from Dr. Kapur,” Jenna said. “A printout of an email was stuck in some papers Simon gave me to file. He obviously didn’t know it was there.”
“What did it say?”
“I’d already read some of the memos about advertising for subjects with sexual dysfunctions, and also normal people who would like to boost their sexual prowess, male and female—like, who wouldn’t? We were advertising at colleges and sex clinics, places like that.” She paused and went through a series of mouse clicks that brought up an email on the screen. “I’d typed up all those specs, so when I found this printout, I read it. But then...Look, here it is, the original email.”
Jessica got up and bent over Jenna’s shoulder to read the monitor.
Venerated Dr. Lawrie,
“Kind of a strange greeting.”
“He’s from Bangalore. They’re much more formal than we are.”
“Okay...” Jessica continued reading aloud.
The first rounds of animal testing have been a rousing success— pun intended. We are now ready to begin testing human subjects. The subject will, of course, be able to fully control the main device. The sub-device, which the subject will be completely unaware of, will piggyback off it. Currently, it has a range of about 1 mile +-.
Frowning, Jessica re-read the words out loud. “Am I reading this right? There are two devices and one is unknown to the person who gets it?”
“That’s what got my attention. The way I read it, the volunteers are getting something they didn’t agree to.”
“So, if the sexual stimulant is the secondary device, what does the main device do?”
“My point exactly! And whatever it is, if they don’t know about it, it needs to be exposed. Maybe if we keep digging through all these files we’ll find the answer. When I call the FDA or FBI, or whatever 3 letter organization controls things like this, I don’t want to look like some wacko.
“I didn’t want Simon to get into trouble, so before I did anything, I had to see what else he might not have shown me. That’s why I downloaded everything from his computer that had anything to do with the project. I hid the flash drive in the planter and was planning to go back for it on the weekend. I planned to invent some excuse to go to the office.”
“Like I did with the coffee cup,” Jessica said.
“Twin minds thinking alike,” Jenna said, scrolling down the monitor. “There’s a whole batch of emails here. Let’s see what they say.”
They scanned through the list, but most contained nothing more enlightening than routine scheduling issues.
“Boooring,” Jessica said with a wide yawn after a long series of uninteresting communications between Simon Lawrie and Dr. Kapur.
“Take a break,” Jenna said. “I’ll keep going for a while.” She pointed the cursor at the next envelope icon and started to read. “—holy crap, wait! Jess, look at this.”
My Dear Dr. Lawrie,
Another test subject—not the one we discussed last week—has been experiencing unanticipated side effects. The pulse generator has become unstable and he needs to be immediately removed from the trial.
“I wonder what the side effects were,” Jessica said. “And I wonder whether it was the primary or the secondary device that gave him the problem.”
“That’s a very important question. We need to know who the test subjects were that had problems.”
Jessica got down flat on the floor and began to bicycle her legs to keep her bruised knee from stiffening up. She felt like a creaky old woman.
“Are there any spreadsheets or database files that would list the people participating?”
“How would that help? We don’t know who the subjects are that Kapur is referring to. He said “another” test subject.”
“Wouldn’t they have to record it when someone was booted from the trial?”
“Yep. If we can find out who they are, we can call and pretend to be following up for the lab.”
Jenna sorted the computer list by file type and browsed through it. One file had an xls extension, which designated it a spreadsheet. She double-clicked on the file to open it and her eyes brightened. “Here we go, Ariel!”
The rows and columns of data that filled the screen gave Jessica a zing of excitement. “It’s got names, code numbers, contact information, everything! How many people are in the study?”
Jenna tapped the Ctrl and End keys, which took her to the bottom of the spreadsheet. “Two-hundred forty seven.”
“Okay, now go to the top of the document and look at the column headings. Is there one for rejects?”
“Jeez, Jess, give me a chance....There’s a column titled “dismissed.” That must be it.” Using a keyboard command, Jenna selected the entire spreadsheet and sorted it by the column she’d pointed to.
When the sort was complete, the top four cells had a date entry in the “dismissed” column. The following rows in that column were blank, which meant that four people had been removed from the study.
The dates in the cells for the “dismissed” subjects fell within the previous two months. Following the row back to column A with a fingertip on the monitor, Jenna pointed out that three of the subjects who had been dismissed were male, one female.
“Read me the names and phone numbers,” Jessica said, picking up the pen and steno pad that were still on the nightstand since the night she had found Jenna’s mobile phone.
After Jessica recorded the numbers, Jenna set her cell phone so caller ID would not identify her name or number, and dialed the female subject.
Candace Childers, age 36, lived in Moorpark, a few miles from the BioNeutronics lab. An automated message came on, informing them that Childers’ voicemail box was full.
“Let’s Google her,” said Jenna. She pulled up a browser and typed in the woman’s name and town.
“She’s on Facebook,” Jessica said, pointing over Jenna’s shoulder to the top Google result. The link took them to Childers’ Facebook profile. “Jeez, why would she need a sexual stimulant?”
Candace Childers’ profile picture portrayed an attractive woman lying on a lounge chair in a semi-provocative pose. She wore black leather pan
ts with an emerald green tank top. Head thrown back, cascade of copper hair; seductive smile.
“Oh hell,” Jenna said in a troubled voice. Jessica looked to where she was pointing. Several posts had been left by Childers’ Facebook friends.
“We miss you, Candy.”
“Wish there were more like you.”
“When will it stop hurting?”
“RIP, Candace.”
“Today, I heard that song you used to love and I cried.”
Jenna rubbed her hands over her face. “Does that sound to you like it does to me?”
“If it sounds to you like she’s someplace we’re never gonna get to talk to her unless we hold a séance.”
“I wonder what happened. Car accident? She was 36.”
“It doesn’t say. We’re out of luck on that one. What’s the next number?”
“Tyrone Spence, age 48, lives in Goleta. That’s a forty mile drive to the lab.” Jessica read out the phone number and Jenna punched it into her cell phone and counted off the rings—two, three....
“Hello, is Mr. Spence available?” There was a pause, then she said, “This is uh, Mary Jones with the BioNeutronics Laboratories. I’m calling to follow up on—excuse me?” Jenna looked over at Jessica, her eyebrows lifting into her hairline. Jessica could hear a raised voice coming through the phone, but the words were undistinguishable. Whatever the person on the other end of the line was saying, they were pissed.
Jenna said, “I—yes, I—I’m so sorry to hear—Can you tell me—oh, I see. Thank you, Mrs. Spence, I’m so sorry to have disturbed you.” She ended the call and turned to Jessica with a troubled expression that confirmed Jessica’s fears. “Tyrone is in a psychiatric hospital and his wife blames it on the BioNeutronics study.”
“Did she say what happened?”
“A week or so after he got into the study he started having extreme headaches and acting fucked up, like a crazy dude—her words.
“She said he was having these mood swings and then he got violent, which was out of characters. It was bad enough that she called the cops and had ol’ Tyrone picked up on a three-day hold. The hospital kept him, even after the hold expired.”
“Why would she tell you all that?”
“I think she’s so furious, she’d tell anyone.”
The sisters exchanged an uneasy glance. “Could be a coincidence,” Jessica said. “Maybe Tyrone was already a fucked up crazy dude when he went into the study.”
Jenna shook her head. “Uh uh. The specs called for all subjects to be screened for psych problems before they could be accepted into the program. We have to assume the research people followed the protocol. They would have to if they wanted to keep the funding. Who’s next on the list?”
“Matthew Casey, age 52. Lives in Venice.”
Jenna punched up the number. “Hello, is this Mr. Casey?” She nodded at Jessica with a thumbs up. “Mr. Casey, this is Mary Jones with BioNeutron—just calling to follow up on your—I—what’s that? Well, okay, sure. When would be a good time? Are you still at your Venice address? Good. How’s tomorrow at 1:30? I’ll see you then. Thank you.”
“He asked for a meeting?” Jessica said in surprise when Jenna ended the call.
“He actually sounded kind of spooked that I called. Said he didn’t want to talk on the phone. So, we’ve got a road trip tomorrow.”
“Do you think he’ll call the lab and check your creds?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. He didn’t seem suspicious, just a little nervous. Who’s next on the list?”
“Sean Gilchrist,” Jessica read from her paper. “Woodland Hills.”
“That’s another 80 mile round trip. These guys are pretty motivated to improve their nookie.” Jenna punched in Gilchrist’s number and put the phone to her ear. A moment later, she signaled Jessica that someone was answering the call.
“Could I speak to Sean Gilchrist, please? Mary Jones with BioNeutronics Laboratories to—he what?” The color leached from her face. “Oh, I—I see. I had no idea.” Jenna listened in silence for what seemed a long time. Then she said, “Oh, yes, uh, I guess some wires got crossed. I apologize for—”
Staring at the phone as if it could tell her why the call had abruptly been terminated, she turned to Jessica. “Gilchrist is dead. He had what she called ‘a psychotic episode’ and killed himself three weeks ago.”
“Jesus. What else did she say?”
“I quote, ‘ What do you want me to say, ‘thanks for the money?’ I want my husband back. Can you give me that?’”
“Wow. If they paid her off, Isn’t that an admission of wrongdoing?”
“She would have had to sign a confidentiality agreement when she accepted the money.”
“Jen, what are the chances it’s a coincidence that two of the four people thrown out of the study are dead and a third is in a psych ward?”
“That would have to be a pretty big coincidence.”
As if even after all that had happened the implications were too much to grasp, Jenna looked over at her twin with growing alarm. “Jess, what’s going on here? What did they do to these people—and me?”
t h i r t y – t h r e e
Jessica woke with a start from her first dreamless sleep since falling into the black hole of amnesia. The room was dark and for a terrified instant she was back locked in the basement room at BioNeutronics. It took a moment to get her bearings and realize she was alone in her twin sister’s bed.
Then she smelled smoke.
Racing across the bedroom to the closed door, she touched her hands to the wooden surface. Finding it cool, she opened it an inch. The acrid smell of burning paper came from a small bonfire in the middle of the living room floor.
In the flickering light she could make out the slight form of her twin through the smoky haze, dropping an armload of books onto the pyre, one at a time. The fire was starting to take hold.
Above the bedroom door, the smoke detector started wailing.
Jessica ran toward her, panic swelling. “What are you doing? Jenna! What are you doing?” Either not hearing, or ignoring the shout, Jenna dropped another book onto the flames, sending a shower of sparks into the air.
When Jessica grabbed her arm to pull her back, Jenna planted her feet and twisted out of her grasp, books tumbling to the floor. She dropped to her knees, scrabbling to retrieve them.
I have to call 911.
Where had she left her purse—Jenna’s purse....
Someone was pounding on the door, yelling over the noise of the smoke alarm.
“Jen! Jen! Are you okay? Jenna!” The voice belonged to Zach Smith, the upstairs neighbor. Jessica rushed to unlock the door, seeing with relief as he pushed past her that Zach had a kitchen fire extinguisher.
The sight of Jenna dumping the trash bag onto the floor halted him mid-stride. He spun back around to Jessica, puzzlement on his face: what the...? But instead of wasting time asking the question, he yelled for her to get water.
He yelled at Jenna, too, to move, but whatever had control of her mind had immobilized her. Eerily illuminated in the firelight, her eyes were enormous, each dark pupil dilated to the edge of its blue iris.
Zach elbowed her none too gently out of the way and aimed the fire extinguisher at the base of the fire. As a plume of white powder blanketed the burning books he yelled at her again. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Her palms pressed against her stinging eyelids, Jessica stood at the kitchen faucet filling a cooking pot with water. Thank God the floors were all ceramic tile. Carpeting would have had the place in flames by now.
When the pot was three-quarters full she carried it into the living room and dumped it onto the smoldering embers. Hot steam rose in a hiss as she turned to Zach. “I don’t think she can hear you.”
Zach’s mouth formed a question that he did not get a chance to ask. A fat man in striped pajamas pushed the front door wide open and stood in the frame. “Hey dude. The fuck’s going on? You peopl
e okay in here?”
“Yeah, man.” Zach said. “We got it, thanks. I think we got it covered.”
“You call 911?”
“We’re okay. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s all out.”
“What the hell, man? I can smell smoke up in my place. What happened? It’s three a.m. I hafta work in the morning.”
Jessica fetched a dish towel from a kitchen drawer and began fanning the smoke detector, addressing the neighbor over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. It was an accident.”
He made a thick sound of incredulity. “Doesn’t look like any accident to me.” He pointed at Jenna, who was on her knees again, her lips moving silently as if in prayer. “Looks like goddamn arson. What the hell—?”
Jessica kept fanning, but the smoke alarm was wailing loud enough to pierce alligator hide. “Can we talk about it later? Please? I need to take care of my sister.”
The fat man scowled and she thought he was going to argue with her. Not that she could fault him for being bent out of shape. He shook a warning finger at her. “Okay, fine, but I will be back. I hope you have renter’s insurance.”
Renter’s insurance? We’ll be lucky if we don’t get arrested.
A knot of neighbors in robes had flocked to the gate of Jenna’s unit and were talking among themselves. Jessica heard the fat man advise them that the show was over, then his heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs, followed by the slam of a front door.
When Zach climbed on a chair and removed the battery from the smoke detector, the ensuing silence was as deafening as the shrieking alarm. He jumped down and addressed Jessica. “I didn’t know you had a sister,”
“Actually, I’m the sister. This is Jenna’s apartment.” She held out an unsteady hand. “I’m Jessica.”
He took it and held onto it firmly for a moment too long. “Jesus. Are you saying—”
“It’s a long story, Zach. Too long for right now. God, if you hadn’t brought that fire extinguisher—”