by Brian Kirk
Alex dabbed the corners of his mouth with a crumpled paper napkin. He glanced at his brother, then quickly averted his eyes. “There’s no telling. I don’t even know that he’ll be allowed back. We’re just going to have to take it day by day.”
Rachel sighed. She looked at Jerry and shook her head. “I don’t get it. He was doing so well. What happened?”
“What do you mean, ‘what happened’? Schizophrenia happened. It’s the nature of the disease. He’s always going to have these…” Alex twirled his drumstick in the air like some whimsical conductor, “…episodes. The best we can do is help minimize them with medicine.”
Jerry’s apartment always gave Alex the creeps. There was something surreal about it, like visiting an alternate reality where his brother had been replaced by a psychotic imposter. This is not where you were meant to end up, he thought, recalling their shared bedroom, their childhood bond. His hero had become his patient. His father’s favorite son had become a burden. But he knew that Jerry still lived somewhere deep inside that scrambled mind. That was the most troubling part—to think of the brief moments of lucidity when the old Jerry would awaken to this new life and wonder where things had gone wrong.
“Hey.” Rachel sat up straight in her seat; she placed her hands flat atop the table. “What about the medicine that you’re working on? When will that be ready?”
Alex plugged his mouth with a chunk of fried chicken. He wasn’t ready to tell her about his failure with Philax. He wasn’t yet sure what had even happened or how to fix it. And he was afraid it would lead to further questions regarding their finances that he was equally unprepared to address. He rolled his hand in the air to pantomime progress as he chewed the chicken into paste. Eventually he had to swallow, and Rachel was still staring at him expectantly.
“Well…” she prompted.
“Soon,” Alex said. “The tests have been successful so far.”
“I ain’t no queer bait!”
“We’re just waiting on final clearance from the FDA, then we should be ready to move into the development phase.”
“That’s great!” Rachel clapped her hands together and held them against her chest. She took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I’m sorry, I… Well, with the events from last night I forgot to ask how things went.” A strand of hair fell across her face and she tucked it away. “So it works,” she said, her eyes sparkling, her full lips stretching into a wide smile.
Alex shrugged. “Yeah. I mean it hasn’t been officially approved yet, but…” He looked into her eyes and saw the enamored girl who had once been awestruck by his intelligence. He returned her smile, basking in her sudden adoration.
“But, yeah, it works.”
Rachel lowered her voice. “Well then, why don’t you use it to treat Jerry? I mean, isn’t that what it’s for?”
Alex, who had just taken another bite of chicken, nearly choked. He coughed into his napkin and took a small sip of tea, his face turning red. The sound of his swallow was enormous in the quiet room. “It’s still a ways from being available for commercial use. It could take some time.” Especially now that I don’t have a prospective buyer or any way to even test modifications to the compound.
Alex turned and looked at Jerry, his once handsome brother who had wasted into this gaunt, withered shell of his former self. He’s still in there, though.
Rachel seemed to read his mind. “Forget about commercial use. What about family? What about your brother? If it works, couldn’t it help get him well? Couldn’t it help bring Jerry back?”
“Eli would never allow it.”
“Why should Eli have any say in how you treat your brother? And…” Rachel reached a hand towards Jerry and began stroking his arm, “…if he’s not being treated at the hospital, why would Eli have to know?”
Jerry began to rock back and forth. He hadn’t eaten. Rachel placed a fork in his hand and guided it towards his plate of food. He raked it through the mashed potatoes, then fed it into his mouth and moaned. Whether from satisfaction or disgust, Alex wasn’t sure.
Rachel smiled and continued, “I mean, it’s your formula. You created it. Forget all the rules and regulations. If it can help Jerry get well and he’s under our care, I don’t know why we have to wait for some bureaucratic commission to tell you it’s okay to use. All that should matter is what’s best for Jerry.”
Alex looked at Jerry and his faraway eyes; a tan patina of mashed potatoes coated his slack tongue. It had been over ten years since his father had come by to visit. He couldn’t handle seeing his son in this state. And it seemed as though he had written Alex off as well; no modicum of success would ever make him worthy of his father’s respect.
But what if he was able to bring Jerry back to his former self? What would his father think of him then? And if in treating his brother he was able to work out the kinks of the compound in order to sell the formula to a future buyer, well, wasn’t that what the fancy pharmaceutical execs referred to as a win-win?
“We’ll have to keep it quiet,” Alex said.
There was a sparkle in Rachel’s eye; she shimmied in her seat and quietly clapped her hands.
“And this means you’ll have to keep a close eye on him.”
She pointed two fingers towards her wide-open eyes.
“But, yeah. It’s about what’s best for him.”
“Alex, it’s the greatest gift you could ever give him.”
It’s the greatest gift I could ever give my father, he thought, then raised his cup of tea. His cheeks ballooned as he blew out a gust of air. And it just might help save us from financial ruin.
“To Jerry,” he said.
Tears welled in Rachel’s eyes as they touched paper cups.
Chapter Fourteen
“You’re not going to want to watch this,” Alex said as he reached into his medical bag and began pulling out supplies. The sedatives had taken effect and Jerry was resting peacefully on the bed.
“Sure I do. I want to help,” Rachel said. She was standing at the end of the bed, holding Jerry’s sock-covered feet and massaging their soles.
Alex pulled out the syringe and set it on the bedside tray. He moved aside so that Rachel could see the seven inches of gleaming steel.
“Oh.” She took a step back, releasing Jerry’s feet as though they carried some contagious disease.
“Exactly. I’ll call for you if I need anything.”
“Okay.” She took a last look at Jerry with those telepathic eyes. It was a sad expression, but Alex knew the intent. She was wishing him well. She eased the door closed on her way out.
Alex turned and inspected the machinery procured from the hospital storage room. The equipment, which was designed to scan and monitor brain activity during surgery, didn’t receive much use under Eli’s tutelage. Alex wasn’t worried about anyone realizing it was gone.
His only concern was for the refinements he had made to the formula. That had been a much more complicated task. The chemical compound he had created was designed to regulate the release of neurochemicals that control the way we perceive reality. Branches of this compound, however, represented some of the strongest hallucinogenic chemicals known to mankind.
In previous tests, patients had experienced moments of total lucidity soon after receiving the medicine, followed by heightened hallucinations. Alex’s hypothesis was that the malfunctioning brain of a schizophrenic was flooding the patient with hallucinatory neurochemicals in response to the compound’s attempt to suppress their production. The compound simply wasn’t strong enough. So he had made it stronger, upping the amino-acid profile against the tryptamine suppressors.
He was reluctant to test this more potent version of the formula on his brother, but at least he would be on hand to help if anything went wrong.
“How are you feeling, Jerry? Still with me?” Alex asked, happy to see that
all of his vital signs were strong.
Jerry mumbled as if talking in his sleep.
“Good.”
The syringe sat empty on the tray, the long, sharp needle pointed in his direction. From this angle, it looked like the stinger on some alien wasp. And in a way it was. Only, he had developed the serum and it had yet to prove venomous. Ineffectual, maybe. But not harmful. Still, it felt strange to be using it on Jerry.
He closed his eyes, remembering, for a moment, the first time he’d been stung.
He was mowing the yard to earn his weekly allowance. Five dollars for forty-five minutes of hard work (his father required that he bag the clippings). It was mid-August; the air was hot and humid, but the ground was dry from a three-week-long drought. The mower kicked up plumes of dust as he pushed it in orderly rows. And the dull blade crushed twigs into splinters, stirred up rocks and flung them into the unprotected skin on Alex’s shins, face and arms.
That’s what he thought they were at first, the stings. Just shards of wood ejected from the blade. But then the wasps got under his shirt and began stinging his back. He stopped the mower then and screamed in pain, but the low drone of the engine kept on purring. It was the angry war chant of the wasps as they swarmed his body and attacked.
It felt like someone was stabbing him with an ice pick. He spun within a circle that he couldn’t escape. He didn’t realize what was happening, only that something was hurting him and wouldn’t stop.
Then he heard Jerry calling his name, saw him running hunched over while swatting at his head and neck. He reached Alex and ripped off his shirt, tearing it straight down the middle like he’d seen Hulk Hogan do on TV. Right then, Jerry seemed just as strong, just as heroic as that muscle-bound pro wrestler whom Alex had idolized. Then he lowered his head and pushed Alex across the yard towards the house. Just bulldozed him away from the horde of wasps.
The pain intensified when they got inside, once the adrenaline drained. It was like his veins were filled with shattered glass. It dropped him to the floor, where he began screaming and flopping about like a fish on dry land.
His father came in, looking more upset than concerned. “What’s the matter with him?”
But Jerry was there, by his side. “You’re tough, Alex!” he said, trying to bolster his confidence and fill him with strength. “Toughest kid I know! Come on, show me how tough you are!”
And somehow it worked. Jerry’s words acted like a salve, dulling the pain and pumping him full of some misbegotten pride. He wanted to be as tough as Jerry said he was. He at least wanted to try.
The memory faded as Alex grabbed the syringe, hefting it in his hand. Not near as tough as you, he thought, then dipped the needle into the vial and filled the chamber to the designated mark. Jerry’s words echoed in his mind as he leaned over, placing the needle’s tip against the inside of his brother’s eye socket and angling it upward. “You may feel a little pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt.” I hope, he thought.
He could sense the faintest tremor threatening his fingers, so he pressed forward and pushed the needle through. Be tough, brother.
It only took a few seconds and the needle was out. Alex returned it to the bedside table and plugged the puncture wound with a ball of cotton. Jerry’s vital signs remained strong. Now, the only thing to do was wait.
Alex was rising from his chair when Jerry began to convulse violently, his body thrashing against the bed. Alex grabbed Jerry’s head and held it steady, clamping his jaw closed. It took all of his strength to hold it in place.
“Okay, I could use a little help in here,” he called out, trying to sound calm.
Jerry’s back was arched high overhead and his legs were pumping like pistons, causing the pinewood bedframe to screech against the floor.
The door burst open and Rachel rushed through. She stopped as soon as she saw Jerry’s condition and spun back around. “Jesus, what’d you do!” It was the panicked voice from the night Popeye died.
“Grab his feet. I need you to help restrain him.”
Rachel peeked over her shoulder and winced. She thrust clenched fists down by her side and stomped. “Please! Make it stop!”
Jerry’s throat became tight, bloated; he wasn’t getting any air. His body went rigid, his hands curled in and his toes pointed down. He began to gurgle—a protracted nnnnnhhhhggggg—and his mouth began to foam. Then the convulsions returned, more fearsome than before.
“Goddammit, get over here!” He had to insert a breathing tube. He needed to help Jerry get air. He looked around the cluttered bedroom, the walls closing in, the seconds slipping away.
Maybe it’ll look like natural causes. Even his internal voice sounded scared.
“Rachel! Now!”
She turned. Her face crumpled in disgust. She shook her hands as though they’d been stung. “Just fix him! Hurry! Hurry!”
Alex stared at her in disbelief. He’s going to die because of her. Then the realization hit him. No, he’s going to die because of me.
He released Jerry’s head and used his hands to pivot, swinging his legs up over Jerry’s body, straddling his hips and pinning him against the bed. He placed his palm against Jerry’s forehead and pushed it back to open his airway, but his tongue was clogging his throat.
Alex looked around, searching for his cache of medical supplies. But this was not a hospital room or even a test lab. It was just the small, dingy bedroom where his brother was about to die.
Jerry’s face was turning purple. Spittle continued to foam from his lips. Alex pried open Jerry’s mouth and shoved his fingers through his teeth, grabbing the tongue and pulling it forward. A reedy gasp escaped. Then another. Alex dug his thumbnail deep into the tongue tissue to maintain his grip as his brother struggled to breathe. Shallow and hitched at first, catching in his throat, and then deep and unrestricted.
Alex let go of Jerry’s tongue and it fell back into its natural place. His breathing became regulated. Then his body began to relax, so Alex slid off and stood beside the bed.
Jerry’s eyes fluttered, revealing two crescent moons, and then they sprang open all the way. The eyeballs rolled backwards, and Jerry squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again they remained in place. They found Alex and fixated on his face. There was life behind them, a spark of lucid recognition.
Rachel released a ragged wail, and Alex and Jerry both turned their heads. She was bent over, hiding her face behind both hands. Her shoulders hitched as she silently cried until her next exhale, when she released another loud, wavering wail.
Jerry sat up, a concerned look on his face. But Alex stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. He propped a pillow behind his brother’s back so that he could sit upright against the headboard. He checked Jerry’s vitals, slightly nodding his head. “Just take it easy,” he said.
Jerry looked at Alex, swallowed and winced in pain, pointing to his throat. “Water,” he croaked.
“Rachel, go get Jerry a glass of water,” Alex said.
Rachel nodded and left the room.
Alex exhaled. His collar was damp with sweat, his hands tingling. He wiped them on his khaki pants as he continued to monitor his brother.
Rachel returned with a glass of water sloshing in her unsteady hands and set it beside Jerry. He mouthed the word thanks, then grabbed the glass and took a sip. He winced again and set it back down.
Quiet descended, thick and oppressive, save for Rachel’s sniffles. They grated on Alex’s frayed nerves. “Do you mind waiting outside?”
Rachel looked insulted. “What? No, I want to help.”
“Help, huh?” Alex shook his head. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”
“Oh, screw that, Alex. You didn’t tell me that that was going to happen. You said you’d worked out all the kinks. You could have killed him.”
Alex stood and stepped in front of Jerry to blo
ck his view. “That’s enough,” Alex hissed. Spittle flew and a few strands of hair fell across his forehead. Rachel glared at him and he glared back, red heat rushing to his face.
A dog began barking in the distance, the high-pitched yap of a small terrier. It continued for several seconds and then stopped with a sudden yelp like the sound of a screeching tire. Silence returned to the room.
Rachel blinked and looked away, confused, eyes cast down in contemplation.
Alex cocked his head, then turned.
Jerry was looking up at him, a wan smile on face. “Streak,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
Alex returned to Jerry’s bedside. He stared down into his brother’s eyes. One pupil was fully dilated; the other was constricted down to a tiny pinprick. As he watched, they switched places, the dilated eye constricting while the constricted pupil expanded wide. They went back and forth several times before becoming the same normal size.
“How are you feeling?” Alex asked.
Jerry scanned his body as though assessing himself. He looked over at Rachel, then back up at Alex. He lifted his left hand off the bed and closed it into a fist. His thumb shot up in the air. “Good,” he said softly. His lopsided smile expanded. “I feel good.” He looked up at Alex, his eyes bright and full of wonder. “What happened?” he said.
“I administered some medicine. It should help you to feel…” He searched his mind for the right word.
“Like me,” Jerry answered for him, smiling wider still.
Alex smiled back down at his brother. “Yes,” he said. “Like you.”
Chapter Fifteen
The window was no longer a window. It had become a tableau, its surface etched in staggered lines of golden Sanskrit, luminescent letters that produced a radiant glow in the gloom of the group-therapy room. This one was named Serenity.
The message was encoded in an ancient language that Crosby had never learned, yet it was easy to decipher its meaning. The translation came to him in a calm and resolute voice heard in the center of his head, offering a dire warning. He scowled as he scrutinized the people sitting in chairs arranged in a circle, hiding behind their placid masks. The battle wages on, he thought.