Soul Suites

by Hulden Morse

  “Are you kidding me?” Charles blurted out, astounded that such a thing existed, or that such a man would have any part in its creation.

  “Yes. It was a medication that could double-check the work done by the human body when developing a baby. It ensured that there were the right number of chromosomes, that they were formed correctly, that the DNA was replicated correctly, stuff like that. However, one side effect of the drug was that it could take longer for a woman to get pregnant. Which, if you think about it, makes sense. This pill is designed for people with a family history of genetic disorders and so their offspring have a higher chance of acquiring these disorders. If this medication detects an error in the formation of the zygote, then it is disposed of and the female merely experiences what she would assume to be her period. Because of that, it may take longer to develop a baby that is, well, perfect, for all intents and purposes.”

  “Holy shit. That’s incredible.” The CEO could not believe what he was hearing. That man, that monster, had created something truly brilliant and of real worth to the human population. He simply couldn’t understand why the medication was not widely known for its miraculous effects.

  “Why did you get kicked out if you created something like that?” Charles asked.

  “Because it was a lie.”

  “Huh?”

  Dr. Raymond smiled and put his hands together as if he may start rubbing them and laughing maniacally.

  “The medication I created did not do any of that,” the doctor continued. “I created fake data for it and told people it was approved for human trials by the FDA and prescribed it to them. Do you know how stupid humans are? I am a stranger! A total stranger wearing a lab coat and claiming I went to medical school. I did, but the point is I could have lied about that too. People do not check these things.”

  “But-but… shit! Then what did the pills do?”

  “They were a type of birth control I developed. If someone took the birth control regularly for more than eight months, then she became infertile. One very particular and certain way of preventing people from having children with mental disorders or other birth defects.”

  The CEO’s jaw hung open. He stared at the man, a fellow member of his own species, who had the audacity to destroy the dreams of expectant mothers and fathers. And for what? To engineer a population of perfect humans in a world where diversity and imperfection was its most beautiful trait? Those men and women were punished for having a family history of schizophrenia or autism or deafness, prevented from reproducing simply to hinder the production of another perfectly imperfect child.

  “Oh my god. Jesus Christ!” He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what to do with himself. “Um… well, but, wouldn’t people tell their doctor? Um, you tell your doctor if you’re taking medication.”

  “Not if I tell them not to.”

  “What? Why the hell would that make sense?”

  Dr. Raymond shook his head at Charles’s lack of understanding.

  “Pearson. Come on. This is how our society works! People put their faith in professionals. Everyone trusts the doctor, or the fireman, or the lawyer. Well, maybe not the lawyer. He is the exception. But if I tell someone that this pill will help prevent her from having a kid with autism, then she will take it no questions asked. If I tell them that this is a closed study and that they legally cannot tell anyone about it, including their personal physician, or they will be charged with releasing privileged information, then they will listen to me even though it makes no sense!”

  The CEO was shaking with rage. He could not believe that the demon seated a couple feet away could commit a crime so cruel, so diabolical, and so premeditated. Charles longed to stand up, reach across the desk, and beat the doctor senseless. Yet he knew that the best way to punish that individual was to find a way out of the facility and alert the authorities, putting him behind bars forever.

  “You want to hurt me, don’t you, Pearson?”

  “How did you get back into the country?”

  “Same way all the illegals find their way in. Was not that difficult. Especially when you have tons of people and shit loads of money on your side.”

  “But why? I-I just don’t get why.” Charles’s fists were clenched beneath the desk. The fingernails of his good hand dug into the skin, yet he felt no pain.

  “Why? Why what?”

  “Why what?” the CEO yelled angrily. “Why the fuck would you do that to people? What do you have against people with genetic disorders?”

  “Nothing at all. That’s a ridiculous claim.”

  “You seem to have something against homeless people as well,” Charles said, ignoring the doctor’s denial.

  “I do. They do not contribute to society. Which is why I respect your company so much.”

  “Oh! So you think that these people with autism and schizophrenia and deafness don’t contribute? Therefore you prevent—”

  “I do not think that!” Dr. Raymond cried. “People with mental disorders are not a burden! They are just as much a part of society as anyone else.”

  “Then why are you removing their mothers from the gene pool?” Charles remained cool throughout his questioning, pressuring the doctor into an uncomfortable place, forcing that madman to frantically defend his wrongdoings. “How can you justify something so cruel?”

  “I am preventing those good people from suffering the brutality of a society that shits on children and adults with any sort of physical or mental impairment.”

  “Huh? You talking about the parents or the handicapped children?”

  “Both.”

  “Well, aren’t you altruistic.”

  “It is not altruism. It is mercy.”

  “Don’t speak like that,” Charles said angrily. “You’re not God.”

  “Then why do I possess His powers?”

  Those words hung in the air. Jesus Christ, how they floated upon a cloud of revulsion, reminding Charles that he was subservient to the wicked. They circled about his head, slapping him in the face upon every idle passing. He could not shake from his mind what Dr. Raymond had said, nor could he deny that those words were accurate. Somehow, that mortal man had acquired the ability to give and take away life, adopting a trait that no human should hold. The CEO marveled at the calm of the doctor as he graciously gifted his guest, his subject in an experiment, with privileged information concerning his research and background. That man truly thought of himself as omnipotent, unable to be overcome by any force he encountered, whether it be the laws of nature or the overbearing eyes of his government. Charles felt less like a threat to the doctor, and more like a pawn that could be removed once his usefulness had been exhausted. He pondered his purpose in that facility, his reason for existence, dwelling on the fact that he was an educated, influential man that could not find his way through a locked door.

  “Why am I here? Why keep me?” he said somberly.

  “Ha! You think I am stupid? I cannot get rid of you. You have seen all of this.”

  “Then why not just kill me? Be done with me.”

  “There is no sense in killing you. I was given a healthy subject that does not have malnutrition or a drug-abused body. You are a source of great data. You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wait, why were you on the streets in the first place?”

  Charles glared at the man, angered by his confidence. Who would raise a child so sinister, so uncaring, so diabolical? Who would marry someone that voluntarily killed and tortured innocents? What had happened in that man’s past to warp his mind so severely?

  “You are not homeless,” Dr. Raymond continued. “Why the hell did we find you sleeping on the streets in a camp?”

  “I thought you wanted to know who Louisa is?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, you only get one question.”

  “Alright, we
will come back to that one. Why were you on the streets?”

  The CEO looked at his lap and remembered the moments that had led him to temporarily denounce his identity and wander into Chicago with nothing more than the clothes on his back, a sleeping bag, and a pad of paper. He had been warned by his assistant many times and was even deterred from going undercover in Los Angeles for fear of being harmed. He remembered himself back in his office, making plans to leave his comfortable life in San Diego, and he wished that he could return to that very instant in order to reverse all of it. Charles wanted so desperately to slap some sense into his naive self and prevent the nonstop volleys of suffering that had taken over his once pleasant world.

  “I was pretending to be homeless,” he stated. “I was hoping to be picked up by my company so I could go through the program we offer and I could learn things. I wanted to be able to provide better care to people.”

  “How noble,” the doctor teased. “That certainly ended poorly for you.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Hey! I don’t—”

  “Tell me about the hospital room,” Charles interrupted, not wanting to take any more of that man’s abuse.

  “What hospital room?”

  “I woke up in a hospital room and was then returned to my cell. What the hell was that? Was it all fake?”

  “Oh!” Dr. Raymond leaned back and emitted a cold laugh, full of pride for his own brilliance. “Yeah. That. Well, I want to know about Louisa. I have given you a lot of information today. I told you about my background, something I do not normally do for anyone.”

  “Alright. Then tell me about the hospital room and I’ll tell you who Louisa is.”

  “Fine,” the doctor said triumphantly. “It is a trick. It is a way we get people to think they are no longer at the facility and this increases the odds that they will actually tell us the truth about what they saw.”

  “That’s fucked up. You really don’t give a shit about other people, do you?”

  “Ouch, Pearson. That hurts. You are mean. I think you would appreciate the ruse a little more if you saw how we did it. In case people are having an out-of-body experience, we have to stage an entire scene for authenticity. It is quite elaborate. But not as complicated as the police raid.”

  “The what?” Charles asked, finding it difficult to hide his interest.

  “It is another scene we do. Except it is a staged police raid. Another way to get people to think they are safe so that we can ask them questions.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you do not have a police raid scheduled. It does not affect you.”

  “You have a schedule?” the subject asked, continually amazed at the sophistication of the facility.

  “Of course. Every subject, every trial they have done, every trial they will do, all responses . . . it is all mapped out.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “No, I am efficient. It is called being organized, Pearson. It is called excellent and impeccably high-quality research. I am sure you were just as organized with Reaching Dreams.”

  Charles avoided the attempt by the doctor to unleash the man’s boiling anger. He did not want to be thrown into another trial for attacking the one in charge, especially another water trial. His chest hurt from merely imagining being forced into that shallow tub and drowned. He had never experienced pain like that and didn’t dare give the doctor a reason to bring that upon him again.

  “Now, about Louisa,” Dr. Raymond continued.

  “I’m done with this.”

  “Whoa. We had a deal.”

  “Deal’s off, you asshole.”

  “Pearson. I know you are a nice guy. You hate me, yet going against your word would bug you for a long time.”

  Charles remained silent.

  “Come on. I like talking to you. Please?”

  He couldn’t stand the thought of giving that man what he wanted, but he knew Dr. Raymond was right. Charles had made a deal and if he went against his own promise, then the guilt would drive him mad. He had enough trouble thinking logically and did not need to take on another conflict.

  “Fine. Fine. She was a homeless woman,” Charles said tersely.

  “That’s it?”

  “I tried to help her. But I couldn’t. She’s why I started RD.”

  “I thought you started Reaching Dreams because of that philanthropist in the orphanage?”

  “She’s why I wanted to help people. The reason I built the company to rehabilitate homeless people specifically is because of Louisa.”

  “Alright, so why is she so special?” he said condescendingly.

  “Every day I’m reminded of her and what I couldn’t do at the time. I never want to feel that again. I want to always be able to do something, to be able to help in some real, tangible, meaningful way.”

  “So, she is not even an estranged family member?” Dr. Raymond said, a grin on his face. “She is just some dead homeless chick?” The man then began to laugh at the absurdity of the subject’s vision. “And here I thought it was your long-dead mother or something.”

  “Do you typically see dead people during the trials?” Charles said, his eyes glistening.

  “Yes. Exclusively.”

  The CEO began to cry. It was soft at first, slow to start, but then progressed into uncontrollable sobbing. He used the bandage around his hand to wipe the tears away as they rolled down his swelling face.

  “The hell is this?” the doctor asked in utter confusion.

  With his head pressed tightly into his hands, Charles choked out, “I didn’t know she was dead.”

  Chapter 48

  Like a sea turtle burying its eggs, like a man on his wedding night, like a bird heading south as winter loomed, Charles had reverted into a primal state where instinct reigned supreme. The turtle did not make a decision on location, nor did the groom think twice about his thrusts, just as the bird somehow knew in which direction to fly, and Charles felt an automated part of his brain take over. It was a piece of his mind that had not been tapped into for a humanly long period of time.

  The chisel was light in his hand. He held it as a toddler would hold a spoon, with little precision yet maximum strength. He did not drive it into the bathroom wall with force, fearing that such a solid whack would create far too much noise. Instead, he slowly chipped away at the plaster by pressing the tip against the wall, pushing the sharpened end as deep as he could into the hard material, and then prying up on the tool in order to remove a chunk of the barrier that kept him locked away from the outside world. Charles’s motions were consistent, effective, yet drained the energy from his already depleted body. He and Damian would switch positions every ten minutes in order to prevent either one of them from completely burning out, yet it required slow transitions on their part so as not to alarm the guards monitoring the security cameras. Any quick movements would certainly be noticed by whoever was watching over the subjects.

  And it was that overbearing entity, that unseen figure maintaining control over their lives, that caused the men to work quickly behind closed doors. Their time in that experiment was running out. The plan to escape would either be uncovered by security, or the doctor would not be able to revive them during a trial, bringing about the conclusion to their fantasy of simply feeling the sun against their frail bodies.

  The subjects were unsure how thick the wall was in the bathroom. They could hear voices passing into their room and could hear running water on the other side, a sign that it was indeed hollow but possibly thin. Yet those signs also instigated concern for being discovered by the inhabitants of the other room, causing the men to chisel as quietly as possible, not wanting to alert the persons behind the wall that two people were attempting to escape.

  With a strong hand that shook and trembled, Charles chipped away at the plaster on the bathroo
m, admiring the large hole they had created. It was almost two feet in diameter and eight inches deep (after breaking through the half-inch of plaster), a sizeable blemish in the expertly finished wall. The men had discussed how to go about creating their hole, whether it should be small and inconspicuous at first in order to determine how much space was actually inside the wall, or if they should simply maximize their efforts and create a large portal through which their bodies could fit. Ultimately, the latter won out, with Damian stating that if someone were to enter the bathroom, any sized hole would certainly be noticed. They may as well create a tunnel that was actually usable and not waste any time in doing so, accepting that it would increase the risk of discovery.

  As Damian sat on the bed, looking as relaxed as possible, his roommate rushed out of the bathroom with wild eyes and particles of plaster on his clothes. He hurried to the man’s side and tapped him rapidly on the leg, not daring to look at the camera behind him.

  “Hey. The chisel went through. It’s, um, it’s through.”

  “Really? Crap. Okay.”

  The men slowly made their way into the bathroom, cautiously wandering toward the large hole and kneeling on the ground in order to peer through the tiny opening that Charles had created. It was only a couple inches across, though they instantly noticed that some plaster had fallen upon the tile floor of the room on the other side. After analyzing the area they were looking into, both men saw that it was a similar bathroom to theirs, possibly another dwelling for two subjects.

  The CEO was about to tell Damian that they needed to keep working despite the accidental puncture when an audible gasp was emitted through the opening. The two subjects stood up in surprise, looking at one another. They heard a muffled voice yell, “What the hell?”

  His wheelchair screeched against the tile floor as Herman excitedly thrust himself into the bathroom. He saw a small pile of debris on the floor just below a decent-sized hole that had magically metastasized in the wall. He stared at it, wondering how something had come to exist within his own bathroom. The man worked to lean further over to look through the hole, though the wheelchair prevented him from becoming eye-level with the opening.