Josh studied the charts on his computer screen. The stock and commodities markets were not inanimate objects. They were a living, breathing entity with emotions and mood swings. There were numerous “trading gurus” who wrote books and taught seminars. Josh was beginning to realize that there was no one method or truth. The answer was a composite of all methods, along with some additional insight that resided within himself. He did not yet have that insight.
Josh had sectioned off one part of a room that was filled with a large, beat up oak desk. There were papers covering the entire floor area. On the walls, there were pinned-up poster boards with stock market acronyms, times and symbols that were meaningless to the casual observer. To anyone who had ventured into that part of the house, it was a housekeeping nightmare. To Josh, it was the road map to his dream.
He had become especially interested in Dominex Pharmaceuticals. Not because his wife was sleeping better, but because the recent rise in their stock valuation did not make sense. Dominex had been prepared to market a generic drug that had the potential to make the company billions in annual revenues. Their market date had been postponed when they were suddenly required to provide additional research. It did not make sense for the company’s stock valuation to rise so drastically, just when they had been hit with such a long delay. What is going on with that company? Josh wondered. He wrote some notes down in his spiral notebook, and moved on to another chart.
Chapter 7
There was an excited buzz in the air as the research team of Dominex gathered in the conference room. Jeff Edwards stood at the head of the table, accompanied by a few members of his department. Sam Reynolds was seated at the far opposite end of the table, followed by Sheila Montgomery and a few people from her staff.
“Well, I think everyone is here, so let’s get started,” Jeff directed. He nodded to a young man sitting to his left, who stood and handed out packets to everyone.
“Thank you, Rick,” Jeff said. “Now will everyone please turn to the first page? On page one, you will see a list of our research volunteers and the corresponding numbers, which we will use to identify them during all phases of the study. This is being done to avoid any age or gender bias. The number ranges will be used to organize their start dates. I will maintain their corresponding identities. Any questions?"
Jeff scanned the room and noted that Sheila was studying page eleven. Not good. There were no questions and Jeff forced himself to ignore Sheila.
“Now, if everyone will turn to page two, you will see all the additional information on each volunteer.” Sheila was still on page eleven. “Turning to page ten," Jeff continued, “we have outlined the start date structure. We will see ten volunteers each day. They will come in for complete physicals and drug screens, which will provide us with a baseline for each volunteer. On the date the volunteer comes in for their physical exam, they will surrender all of their medication. It will be returned at the end of their six weeks of abstinence.
“The startup phase, or Phase One, will take ten weeks to complete." Jeff paused for input. No one had any. “Moving on then," Jeff directed, “everyone turn to page eleven."
The group noisily turned pages. Sheila was staring straight ahead at Jeff. He continued to ignore her, and kept his focus on the other members of the team.
“On this page, we have outlined the follow up process for Phase Two of the study. The volunteers will come in every ten days to have their vitals checked and to submit to a drug screen. We know that all the volunteers will test positive for the basic compound on their first day, but it should be completely out of their systems after ten days to two weeks.
“What is Pharmlab?" Sheila interjected.
Jeff did not answer her, and looked to Sam for assistance.
“It is the onsite lab we created to save costs," Sam interjected.
“It can’t be that much to test for one substance," Sheila argued.
“We are not testing for just one substance," Jeff spat back. “There are a multitude of substances that effect the brain in a similar way. Drug addicts have known that for hundreds of years.”
Sam gave Jeff a warning glance.
“Alcohol, for instance, affects the same part of the brain as the drug Valipene. If any of the volunteers were to compensate for the drug by using another, they would have to be eliminated from the study."
“Besides," a member of R&D interjected, “we’re being required to do complete drug screens by the FDA, so what’s the point of debating this?"
“I agree,” Jeff stated. “Now, may I continue?" he said mostly to Sheila, daring her to speak. “Our department will maintain all the Phase Two data prior to turning it over to the FDA."
“Now," Jeff emphasized. “Are there any questions?"
“What will the rest of us need to do during the study?" a member of marketing asked, afraid of getting any of Sheila’s leftover wrath.
“Nothing," Jeff answered. “Your work is done, and I want to thank all of you for bringing us this far."
“Yes. Good work everyone," Sam added. “And rest up this weekend. We have a busy ten weeks ahead of us."
With that, everyone stood to go back to their primary jobs. Everyone, that is, except Sheila, who remained behind scrutinizing page eleven.
Back in her office, Sheila continued to ponder the one question that kept sticking out in her mind. Why had she not heard one word about any onsite lab until now? She thumbed through her files and pulled out the expanse of paper that made up her preliminary research files. She had every single memo and outline that had been printed since the first day of this project. Carefully scanning each page, she worked through the stack until she reached the packet she had received today.
“Nothing," she said. “There is not one word here about an onsite lab.”
She also wondered how they would be able to present Pharmlab as an independent test site. The lab was in their building. How could it be considered to be objective screening, when it was owned by the same company submitting the data? None of this was making any sense. I don’t know what is going on, but I intend to find out.
Sheila waited until the building had cleared. On a Friday night, everyone left on time. When she reached Jeff’s office door, she felt inside her pocket and fished out the keys she had gracefully removed from Charles Roman’s desk. He had been so busy removing my clothes, he never noticed my hand inside his desk drawer, Sheila thought. She slipped one key inside the door, but it would not turn. She tried another with the same result. “Third time’s a charm," Sheila said, as the key opened the office door.
Inside the office, Sheila quietly closed the door and retrieved her tiny flashlight. The tiny light scanned an immaculate office. “Anal asshole," Sheila said under her breath. The animosity between herself and that man had grown to be a large and wonderful hatred of each other. Sheila went to Jeff’s desk and dug through each drawer, looking for files. There was nothing in the drawers but drawer stuff. “Figures," Sheila said with contempt.
She moved to the file cabinet and was not surprised to find it locked. This was of no concern to Sheila, who was an expert with a nail file. File cabinets had “dummy locks,” or locks for dummies. They were no match for the “criminally gifted.” The whole idea was to never invite the criminally gifted to hang around your files.
She had the cabinet unlocked in a jiffy and was thumbing through the files with their neatly typed tabs, when she heard footsteps coming from down the hall. “Shit," Sheila whispered, and quickly scanned the office for a place to hide. She had just dived into the closet and closed the door as she heard two men enter the office.
“She is far too curious," a voice
said. Sheila noted that the voice sounded very much like Jeff’s.
“So, what are you going to do about it?" the second, unidentifiable voice questioned.
“I don’t know,” the Jeff voice answered, “but this is too important to be screwed up by that twit." Sheila could feel her face turning red.
“Hey," the number two voice said. “Why don’t you give her some ‘important’ assignment to keep her busy?"
There was silence.
“That’s not a bad idea," the Jeff voice said finally.
“Good, so can we go home now?" the number two voice said.
“Sure, let’s go," the Jeff voice answered. Sheila could hear them moving towards the door. “I bet the boss has an important assignment for her," the Jeff voice laughed.
“Too bad she isn’t more generous," the other agreed. Both men were now laughing as though they had just heard the funniest joke ever delivered. The laughter grew faint, as the door closed behind them. Sheila could still hear the jokes and the laughter continuing down the hall.
She waited five minutes before daring to come out from the safety of the closet. “That anorexic weasel," Sheila hissed. “If he’s such a marketing genius, how come he didn’t even notice his office door was unlocked?”
She moved back over to the files, more determined than ever. In the third drawer, Sheila found what she was looking for. She removed a file, labeled P2. Clever, Sheila thought. Like no one will figure out that P2 means Phase Two. Sheila carried the file over to Jeff’s desk and made herself at home. She carefully scanned each page until she found pages she had not seen before. What the hell is this? Sheila scanned memos dated from two months prior, outlining an onsite lab that would carefully screen and monitor each patient’s progress. The last memo discussed the importance of controlling the final results and made the claim that the onsite lab would most efficiently accomplish that goal. The location of Pharmlab had a different downtown address. Very clever. The other location was probably a Chevron Station. She had never seen these memos, and wondered how they had been distributed so easily without her knowledge. She stared at them as though they were on fire. Did Dominex intend to forge the lab location and the results if necessary? There was so much more involved with this study than a volunteer’s drug screen result. She scribbled down the alias pharmlab address and returned the file to its place, remembering to re-lock the file cabinet.
I don’t know what they’re trying to pull, Sheila thought, but if they think they can get away with this, then they must be nuts.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Carol had been lying on the couch for two days. She felt officially beaten. Life offers no rule handbook or user guide. You just know inherently that when you are knocked down, you should get back up and fight harder for what you want. Another unfortunate reality is that there are a given number of tries. After those have been exhausted, it is time for a new game plan. The only problem with this cold, hard reality is that by the time a person reaches the “new game plan” stage, they are out of juice. For an undetermined length of time, the individual feels void of any power. There is no fight, no creativity, and no sense of hope.
Carol dragged herself off the couch and walked in to the kitchen. Maybe some coffee would help. Standing at the kitchen sink, she began to fill the pot with water, and noticed her wilting plant in the windowsill. She stuck a finger into the dirt. It was dry. This plant had been the product of an oversized spider plant. The original plant had been thrown out and neglected. Yet, after months in exile, the plant had refused to die. Carol had dragged it out of its dark, abandoned corner, and had given it a new home. To her, the plant and its offshoot represented an undying spirit – survival against all odds.
Carol poured some water into the dirt and thought, Even hard core survivors need to be watered occasionally. She was feeling sorry for herself. A condition she felt had been hard earned. She felt justified. Carol stood at the kitchen counter and waited while the water began to run through the coffee grounds. The gurgling sound of the coffeemaker gave re-assurance that help was on the way. She had one more night of drug-induced sleep to look forward to, and then she would be off her medication. The money for the research could not have come at a better time. She wasn’t ready to embrace the heartache of pounding the pavement looking for another job just yet. She intended to wallow in her demotion for a while.
Chapter 8
Monday morning at Dominex Pharmaceuticals began day one of Phase One. The first ten volunteers sat facing each other in the waiting room in nervous anticipation. Some of the volunteers had been on their medication for ten years or more. The primary motivation for all of them was the knowledge that after six weeks of inconvenience, they would never have to pay for the drug again.
Carol waited her turn in silence. As a counselor, she was surprised that the commonality of their issue did not inspire more conversation. She noted that this was a scared looking group of people. She felt compelled to ease the tension, and mentally kicked herself. Although she was not in the same position as some of these people, she had her own problems. It was not her job to be the drug company’s cheerleader.
“Brian Carter," the nurse called from an open door. Carol watched as Brian got to his feet, and Carol gave him a smile that said, “I know. Just hang in there.” Brian Carter disappeared as the door closed behind him.
“I don’t know why I’m so nervous," the woman sitting across from Carol said. Carol wasn’t sure the woman wanted a response, but answered her anyway.
“It’s the unknown."
“Well, I don’t think it will be a big deal," another volunteer chimed in. Carol felt an ease in the tension. At least they were all talking to each other.
“Yeah, it’s only for six weeks," the first woman responded. Carol noticed that the woman was holding on to her medication bottle with a death grip.
This is a house full of issues, Carol thought, and decided she had preferred the silence.
“Carol Freeman." The nurse had appeared again in the opened door. Carol was glad to move on, and followed the nurse inside. “Please go into exam room three, remove your clothes and put on the gown.
Carol hated the intimacy that was demanded of people in doctor’s offices. In no other situation would an individual be expected to drop every guard that maintained their dignity and sense of safety. Here, it was expected, and Carol reluctantly complied. She sat on the exam table in the flimsy gown, swinging her legs back and forth and reading the poster on the wall for the third time. Don’t let arthritis keep you from your life. She studied the picture above the caption showing a vital middle-aged woman playing soccer with two children at her heels. All of them were laughing and appeared to be having the time of their lives. Below the poster was a stack of brochures with the same caption and picture. Maybe I should take up soccer, Carol thought to herself humorlessly.
The nurse arrived and began the standard exam process. She cuffed Carol’s arm and checked her blood pressure. “One twenty four over eighty. Very Good." Carol was amazed.
“Wow," she said. “All I needed to do was get demoted and my blood pressure is back to normal.”
The nurse ignored the comment and completed the preliminary exam. She then asked Carol about her medication history. Carol told the nurse that she had been on the medication for six months and that she had increased her dosage from one milligram to two milligrams one month ago.
“Well, that would explain the decrease in your blood pressure," the nurse said. Carol looked at the nurse with a confused expression on her face. The nurse continued. “We find that after the patient is on a low dosage for
a while, they experience some strange side effects. After we increase the dose, they are fine. Don’t ask me to explain why," the nurse said candidly. Carol just nodded. Now that she thought about it, the strange flu symptoms had also disappeared in the past month. She had been so pre-occupied with her job situation, she hadn’t noticed. The nurse handed Carol a cup and instructed her to provide a urine sample. “Once you have done that,” the nurse said, “the doctor will be in to see you.”
Carol took the plastic cup into the bathroom. She put the sample inside the little metal cabinet marked, “Place Sample in Here," and returned to the waiting room. Why hadn’t her doctor’s office said anything about ‘low dosage’ side effects?
Instead, they had scared the crap out of her, talking about mysterious causes and blood pressure medications. She made a mental note to confront the doctor next time she saw him.
A kind looking man with gray hair entered the examination room. “How are you today, Mrs. Freeman? I’m Doctor Walsh."
“Okay," Carol responded.
“Now, I just need to listen to your heart."
Carol allowed the doctor to place the stethoscope under her gown.
“Good," the doctor announced, and placed the instrument on Carol’s back. “Take a few deep breaths," the doctor instructed. Carol complied. “Your lungs are nice and clear," the doctor informed her. “Now comes the part all patients hate."
“Oh good," said Carol in an attempt to keep herself calm.
“Well, the ticklish ones anyway," the doctor clarified. “Lay down on the table," the doctor instructed. Carol scooted forward and lay down. The doctor checked her abdomen and Carol tried not to jump off the table. “You are one of the ticklish ones," the doctor told her.
Silent Epidemic (Book 1 - Carol Freeman Series) Page 7