Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

by Frank Klus

  “Impossible! Impossible! Neuron connections severed. Impossible!”

  “Schmidt says the same thing, but she’s shouting Menendez’s name in her sleep. What do you make of that?”

  “I told Menendez this wasn’t a toy. He wouldn’t listen,” Grifton said in a gruff tone. “The probe is a delicate instrument. You have to use it just right, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Grifton, I’m talking about my wife.”

  “I tried to tell him to reduce the settings, at least.” Grifton sounded panicky as he looked up to Casimir. “I said, ‘see that dial behind you’, then he just jabbed my head with the probe. He was happy about it, too. He just jabbed and jabbed and jabbed.”

  “Grifton! What about my wife? What about Sandy? We’re talking about Sandy. She’s starting to remember, and don’t tell me about impossible. She’s calling out that bum’s name.”

  “I don’t know how many times it was. It was just over and over and….”

  Casimir began to leave when Grifton shouted, “Sedratol.” Casimir turned around and stared at Grifton, but Grifton began rambling on again.

  “Dr. Schmidt,” Casimir said, sitting down across from Schmidt’s desk. “Grifton wasn’t much help. As soon as I mentioned ‘Fernando’ he started reliving that day Menendez stuck the probe on his head. Look, Schmidt, Sandy’s shouting ‘Fernando’ in her sleep, and she’s reliving the treatment. He says this is impossible and you say it is impossible, but I’m telling you, Schmidt, she’s reliving those treatments. She wakes me up shouting Fernando’s name. What’s happening, and what can I do about it?”

  Schmidt knew Casimir was no one to patronize. He appeared shocked by this revelation. “I don’t understand how this can happen. Oh, maybe from some other doctor who didn’t apply the treatment correctly, but from Dr. Grifton?” He hesitated and looked at Casimir, who just stared back at Schmidt. “Nevertheless, if you say this is happening, it must be.”

  “Doc, please forgive me for raising my voice, but this is terrible. Can I bring her in? Can you help her?”

  “I don’t know if I can. Bringing her in may only make things worse. I’d have to use the brain probe machine.”

  “Oh, no! You’re not going to do that to her again. You have to do something else.”

  “There’s nothing else to do, Commandant. Some of the memory neurons must have reconnected. There is still so much we don’t know, but this is what must be happening. We must have missed some synaptic connections. If there are any buried connections they could resurface in a dream state. This must have been happening with your wife. Once an initial memory comes back, the brain will search for the memory. It will make new connections. The only treatment is with the brain probe.”

  “Sedratol,” Casimir said.

  Dr. Schmidt just stared at Casimir with a look of incredulity. “Grifton said that?”

  “Nothing else; just Sedratol. What do you know of it?”

  “Grifton isn’t thinking clearly. Forget what he said.”

  “It was the only time he did seem lucid, Dr. Schmidt. What did he mean? What is it? If it’s something that can help my wife, I want to know.”

  Schmidt’s eyes were downcast. “I helped Fred develop it and conducted the testing myself. It’s dangerous and not certified by the FDA for human use. Just forget it, sir.”

  “Tell me about it—that’s an order.”

  Schmidt just stared at Casimir, and then he stood up and began pacing around the office. Finally, he turned toward Casimir. “It’s an inhibitor, and it’s very dangerous. We used it on various test animals. It’s designed to inhibit the limbic system to reduce dreaming, but without the correct dosage it can lead to various psychotraumatic illnesses such as PTSD. It may be years before we have all the answers.”

  “Could you get it for me?”

  “Commandant, I could lose my license for that.”

  Casimir just stared at Schmidt. Schmidt knew Casimir had the power to do just what he feared if he didn’t cooperate. “Let me talk to Grifton.”

  “I want it now. If Martinez should ever find out about Sandra, he’ll order her back to Hell House or kill her. Anything is better than those alternatives.” Schmidt knew he couldn’t refuse the Commandant.

  Chapter 17:

  Trouble at Hell House

  “Hello, hon.”

  (Pause) “Yeah, I’m still in the office. I’ve got to get this research on S-1051 for Trident. I’m already late with it, and I promised him he’d have it on his desk first thing in the morning. I think I’m going to be pulling an all-nighter.”

  (Pause) “What’s that?”

  (Pause) “Oh, sure. I’ll be home for an early breakfast. Then a quick shower, and back to the office.”

  (Pause) “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll take a little catnap.”

  “Huh?”

  (Pause) “Oh, I don’t know. We got some procedural votes in the afternoon. I’ve got to be here for that. After that I should be able to get home. It depends on how the vote goes. I could be stuck in a meeting. You know how Trident is. He’s always got to have a plan—”

  “Huh?”

  (Pause) “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

  (Pause) “Sure. Make reservations for us, okay?”

  (Pause) “Love you too.”

  Senator Everson Moore hung up the phone, opened the spreadsheet, and began entering more numbers; but he couldn’t get his mind off Pamela. He got his pocket phone out. “Gino, any word on those Hogs?”

  Moore made a face after Gino filled him in. “Sure.”

  (Pause) “What should I tell her?”

  (Pause) “Christ! It’s a sort of you’re damned no matter what you do.”

  (Pause) “Yeah, I’ll relay those options to Ray. It’s best I let him make the decisions.” He hung up the phone and dialed Ray.

  “Ray, it’s Ev. I got some information for you, but it isn’t exactly good news. Any place you go west there’s going to be someone looking for you. They know you’ve switched vehicles, so they’re looking for faces. No matter where you stop someone’s going to see you and report your position to the Hogs.”

  (Pause) “I know. It’s sort of damned no matter what you do.”

  (Pause) sh“Okay, Ray. Keep me posted.”

  Ev got back to his spreadsheet, staring at the numbers. He didn’t like the answers, but he knew to be thorough. What if we boosted the variable for commerce? Let’s see. About point one.

  He heard a knock at the door that momentarily startled him. “Yes?”

  “Janitor.”

  “I’m rather busy in here.”

  “It’ll only take a minute sir. Just trying to do my job.”

  Christ, he said to himself. “All right, just a minute.”

  As Moore opened the door three men burst in. They quickly wrestled him to the ground, put a large piece of tape over his mouth, and tied his hands. They hustled him down the hall quickly and out a service door to a waiting van. He was then blindfolded and taken somewhere. Moore was frightened out of his mind.

  “Casimir. It’s Al.”

  “Yes sir. Always good to hear your voice.”

  “Cut the shit. We’re bringing in Senator Everson Moore.”

  “Who, Al? I don’t understand.”

  “You know—the guy who warned you off Eugene Sulke.”

  “Was that this guy, Moore?”

  “The one and only. He’s as much a thorn in our side as yours. Always causing trouble for us and, apparently he’s won over the Traffic Committee minority leader; a man named Trident. They’re trying to make it easier to get exit visas to travel to Sick America.”

  “That’s very good news, sir.”

  “We want to use Alt House, and treat Senator Moore.”

  “Okay, Al. We’ll keep it open.”

  “According to my men in Washington, they’re supposed to upgrade their security. We had to act fast, and when we found out Moore would be working in an empty part of the building…well…we couldn’t pas
s up the opportunity.”

  “I understand, Al. What do you want me to do with Sulke?”

  “Go back to the original plan. Arrest him, stick him in jail, have a trial for co-conspiracy to commit murder, and let him spend a few years in prison. Plenty of time then to put him through Hell House.”

  “Sure. We can do that, but what about the Blues?”

  “We’ll find a place for them. Now, where are you at on that prick’s capture?”

  “We’ve got him holed up somewhere in the southeastern part of South Dakota. They appear to be moving toward the Canadian border. I’ve got my best men hunting for them. It shouldn’t take long.”

  “Just make sure they don’t make it to Sick America.”

  “No problem on that end, Al. We’ve got our men at the Canadian border and we have a network of volunteers in Montana in case they go that way. It’s just a matter of time sir.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Senator Trident, Linda Gomez, a Senate page, wants to talk to you.”

  “I really don’t have time. I can’t find Moore, and I don’t have any research on S-1051.”

  After a few minutes the secretary came back in. “I’m sorry, Senator Trident, but this woman won’t go away. She says she has important information for you.”

  “Very well. Show her in.”

  “Senator Trident, Senator Moore was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes sir. Last night.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes, sir, but I don’t think they believed me. You see, I was cleaning Senator Dickens’ office last night. He had me running a bunch of errands. It was around ten o’clock last night that I heard a shout and some commotion a few doors down from where I was. I opened the door a crack and I could hear voices and a muffled sound. Then I saw three men taking Senator Moore out the service door. That’s all I know.”

  “And you reported this to the police?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why do you think they don’t believe you?”

  “They asked me if I was positive it was the Senator. I said I didn’t see his face, but they came out of his prep office. They said they’d take care of it. I spent the whole night waiting for them to come, and no police came. Then I waited for you to get here.”

  “Okay, thank you. We’ll take it from here.”

  After the page left, Trident’s secretary looked at him. “What do you think, Senator? Why haven’t the police come? Do you think Senator Moore really was kidnapped?”

  “I’m going to take a look in his office.”

  Moore’s prep office was just four doors down from his. Moore’s secretary was already there.

  “There you are, Senator Trident,” Trina, Moore’s secretary, said. “I got here about a half hour ago and I can’t find Senator Moore. He’s been working here. He must have been here all night. He’s got a word processor and spreadsheet program open, his coffee cup’s still here, but no Senator Moore.”

  “A page heard a commotion last night. She claims the senator was kidnapped.”

  Trina gasped, holding her hands up to her face. “What do we do, Senator?”

  “The police are on the way. Take the rest of the day off.”

  Trident alerted building security, which conducted a thorough investigation, and alerted D.C. police, who finally came and did its own investigation; but it went nowhere. Moore had simply vanished.

  “Hello.”

  “Dr. Schmidt, its Horace Hayfield. My customers are starting to remember.”

  “Hold it, Hayfield. Your name is familiar, but—”

  “You sold me the machine and gave me training.”

  “Oh yeah, yeah. Well, what’s the problem?”

  “I just told you the problem,” Hayfield said in a deep southern drawl. Hayfield spoke slowly and deliberately. “My customers are starting to remember. I’ve been getting’ calls from parents for a week now about how their little angels are talking in their sleep, and waking up crying. What the hell is going on?”

  “How many have you treated, and how many are starting to remember?”

  “Hold on a sec. I’ve got that right…yes, here it is. I’ve had thirty-seven kids come in for treatment and seven are rememberin’. Now you told me this was impossible.”

  “Impossible if you did the procedure correctly.”

  “I did the procedure correctly. I did it exactly as you taught me, and they’re rememberin’. What the hell is going on?”

  “Mr. Cornfield….”

  “HAYFIELD!”

  “Yeah…uh…Hayfield. It is critical that you disconnect all the neurons in the medial temporal lobe at the bright red image in the cerebral cortex. If you’ve done the brain scan correctly, this will be the activity of the latest probe. You must cut these connections through the ‘dialing down’ process.”

  “Yes, yes. I know. You taught me all this during my training.”

  “Yes, I know, but it is equally important you understand the process perfectly. Now, what is happening to the individual neurons is that you are blocking the receptor cells. This is only temporary. They still have memory of the pain since other neurons are involved here. As you finish the synaptic treatments you have to further treat the closed connections so that the synapse is weakened. Then, over time, the unused connections completely sever. If you’ve done the procedure correctly, they can’t ever remember. As time goes by the chance of remembering is reduced further until that memory is completely gone.”

  “Look, doc, I don’t want to sound like a pain in the ass, but these kids are rememberin’, and I did the procedure precisely as you told me to. Furthermore, I’ve maintained a log of precisely what I did, and when I did it. Those kids left my tough love camp cured of bad behavior. Now, I’ve got parents talking about suin’ me and shuttin’ down my camps.”

  “I’ll admit that there is a small chance of remembrance even if the procedure was done correctly, but there shouldn’t be any cognitive recognition of the treatment. It is just some echo of the treatment from the non-cognitive functions of the brain. I’ll talk to Dr. Grifton, and get back to you.”

  This seemed to satisfy Hayfield for the time being, but Schmidt was worried. He gave Grifton a nootropic, and they sat down at a conference table. Grifton seemed to stabilize on a steady diet of nootropics that both doctors perfected.

  “Fred, more patients are complaining of remembering their treatments. That Hayfield character was telling me that some of his customers are threatening a lawsuit because their sons and daughters are dreaming of the treatment. Have you thought any more about this?”

  “There had to be something we missed,” Grifton said. “We know that the brain has a way of storing the same memory in different locations. If the neural connections aren’t blocked immediately after treatments, the very thought of the treatments create retrocognition.”

  “The point is, Fred, what can we do about it? Further treatment is probably out of the question. According to Commandant Casimir, Sedratol prevented the memories of the treatments from Sandra’s dreams.”

  “Yes, the dreams are a problem. When the person wakes up from a memory dream, and starts thinking about the dream, it could result in retrocognition. Sedratol is the only answer.”

  “We can’t give him that. He’ll screw it up, and then his ‘little angels’ will really have problems. I have to tell Hayfield something. If I don’t, he’ll turn around and sue us. Casimir, not to mention Martinez, isn’t going to like that. That will mean trouble for us.”

  “Couldn’t we give him a low enough dosage—call it a mild sedative?”

  “But what dosage? That’s the problem, Fred.”

  Schmidt could see that Grifton was having trouble concentrating again and didn’t answer. He looked troubled. “It’s okay, Fred. Get some rest now.”

  “Sandy is missing,” Casimir said.

  “For how long?” Captain Miller asked.

  “I don’t know precis
ely. She wasn’t home when I got back to the house from work. There was no note. I stayed up most of the night waiting for her, and still no Sandy. I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll issue an all-Squad alert, Commandant. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

  Eugene, Pamela, Ray, and Cassandra were in a motel room in northwest Minnesota. With the Hogs looking for them north and west, the four felt their best move was to go northeast, deeper into Minnesota. Retracing their steps was ruled out because they could be trapped. Moving to Minnesota gave them an opportunity to escape to Canada, but that would be difficult now that Pamela’s contact in Washington hadn’t responded to her call. The four gathered in Pamela’s room, around a round table in the sitting room.

  “How’s our money?” Eugene asked.

  “We’re fine on that end,” Pamela said.

  “What about you guys?” Eugene asked, addressing Ray and Cassandra.

  “Not good. We won’t have enough money to make it all the way there,” Ray said.

  “Don’t worry,” Pamela said. “If you can get us out of this mess, I’ll pay you. If you can’t, then money is your least problem.”

  They all laughed.

  “Anyone have a plan?” Pamela asked.

  “For now, we’re going to have to hang out in Minnesota for a while,” Ray said. “We need help. It’s the unknown that’s our biggest enemy.”

  “I know this may sound a bit reckless,” Cassandra said, “but maybe we should let the Hogs know where we are. We could ambush them. I’ve got three more clips—more than thirty rounds, and I know you got at least two more clips.”

  “No, Cass,” Ray said.

  “Ray, we’ve been in worse jams before. Remember, I took out three Squad members in a matter of seconds.”

  “You really want to hang that one on your resume, Cass?”

  “You’re never going to let me off the hook on that one, are you?”

  “Sorry, Cass. I said we’d forget it and that’s that. But what you’re forgetting is that those guys were regulars. These guys are Blues. They aren’t going to walk into a trap, and they’re not going to be ambushed. If we had Armstrong, or a couple of his men, like Wrenn or Foote, then maybe it’d work, but it’s way too risky. What we have to do is wait for information. Ev hasn’t returned my last call either. In the meantime, we should be safe. We’ll just hold out here, and then figure out what to do.”