The man in the hallway was wearing jeans and a leather jacket. He wasn’t delivering sweet and sour pork or any other food. Most irritating of all, it was someone that Townsend knew, and happened to dislike.
“What are you doing here?”
“Hello doctor.” David grinned, his pleasure genuine. “I came here to kill you.”
When he saw the scalpel, Townsend’s annoyance puddled into fear. He took several steps back.
“This… this is a mistake. You’ll jeopardize the project.”
“That’s the point. Manny and I are sick of being guinea pigs. I think it’s made us somewhat unhinged.”
“Manny and I? What do-”
Townsend saw the slash, saw the blood, but didn’t feel a thing. He tried to speak and it came out in a gurgle.
David appraised the wound.
“The first cut is the deepest.”
When Townsend coughed, it was through the gash in his neck rather than his mouth. Things became blurry, and he fell over.
David closed the door behind him. He inspected the apartment, giving an empty monitor box a small kick.
“New computer? Nice.”
Townsend crawled over to his desk, reaching for the phone. He came up short and pulled his keyboard down on top of him.
“Careful, Dr. Townsend. You’ll void the warranty if you bleed all over it.”
Townsend began to pass out. He knew that if he did, he’d never wake up. He had to get the phone, had to get help.
“Do you want the phone?” David laughed. “What are you gonna do with the phone, Dr. Townsend? Your tongue is hanging out your neck. Maybe I can help.”
David knelt down next to him. Townsend felt his consciousness ebbing, the darkness closing in.
He was almost dead when David began to work on him with the scalpel.
Almost.
Jack Kilborn
Disturb
The sheer amount of collected data impressed Bill, but not nearly as much as the content. Each document he read was more fascinating than the last. He got up from his sofa and stretched, his back crackling like a bag of chips. He took a sip of coffee. Cold.
The clock told him it was coming up on one in the morning, but Bill wasn’t ready to turn in yet. He plodded into the kitchen for another cup. He used three spoonfuls of instant, extra strong, and popped it in the microwave. The deluxe espresso maker stared at him from the counter, dejected.
The machine was Italian, a top end model. It had been their first purchase together, after moving into the condo. Kristen loved making lattes, and double cappuccinos, and espresso so thick you could eat it with a fork.
Bill turned away from it. The microwave dinged and he stirred some sugar into his coffee and went back to the sofa.
The log he was currently reviewing detailed experiments with rhesus monkeys. An early version of N-Som had kept a test animal awake for almost eight months. Bill wanted to find out how the experiment ended.
Day 236-Sam continues to act strangely, refusing his usual morning fruit. Vitals are normal, though his eyes seem a bit glassy. After discussing the situation with Theena, I order for a complete blood work up.
Bill reached for the next page, but there were no more in file.
He looked by his feet, to see if it any had fallen under the table. Coming up empty, he sifted through the previous pages, then the pages of several other folders.
Nothing.
Bill frowned. The guy in charge of organizing everything, Dr. Townsend, had done an amazing job putting every relevant bit of information about the project into coherent, chronological order. Previous experiments had ended with a calculation of results and Dr. Nikos’s notes and conclusions. There were none to be found in this case.
Bill yawned. “Maybe back at DruTech.”
He took another sip of coffee and peeled off his socks, balling them up and taking them into the bedroom. As he undressed, he thought about the unlimited potential for this drug. Revolutionary didn’t begin to describe it.
A world without sleep. Where commerce existed twenty-four hours a day, and brilliant thinkers never became fatigued. There would be more time for work, to get things done, to make more money. And more time for play, to be with friends, to spend extra hours with loved ones. How much were those extra hours worth?
Bill knew. He knew more than anyone.
He yawned again, and glanced down at his coffee.
“You’re not doing your job.”
It was late, anyway. Tired as he was, he might actually sleep well tonight. Bill was just sticking his toothbrush in his mouth when the phone rang.
Theena?
She hadn’t come on to him again, after the scene in Manny’s bedroom, and had remained strictly business for the remainder of the tour. Their meeting ended with a brusque handshake. Had her flirting really been an act? Or did she really find him as attractive as he found her?
Bill picked up the phone.
“Dr. May?”
It wasn’t Theena. The voice was male, Midwestern, deep and cold.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“There’s a package for you in the hall.”
A click, and then Bill was left listening to the dial tone. He walked, warily, to the door. The peephole showed an empty hallway.
Keeping a firm grip on the knob, he unlocked the dead bolt and eased it open a crack.
There was a thick manila envelope sitting on his doormat.
Bill again peered down the hall, then snatched the envelope and locked his door.
It was unmarked, unsealed. Inside was a VHS videotape without any label.
Bill searched his mind for a friend or coworker that might pull a stunt like this, but he came up empty. No one he knew would do this. Especially this late at night.
He shivered.
Part of him didn’t want to play it, to put it away until the sun was out, until he had other people around him.
But curiosity overcame his trepidation. Bill popped the tape into his VCR.
After several seconds of black, a dimly lit room came on screen. It had concrete floors and walls. Possibly a basement. Bill could tell by the quality that it was home video.
“Come over here.”
The voice was off screen. Then two men walked into frame from the left. One had on a ski mask, and he was holding a gun to the back of the other man.
Michael Bitner.
Bill’s golf friend, the doctor who had been assigned to the N-Som case before him.
“Kneel down.”
Mike had some blood in the corner of his mouth, and his right eye was swollen almost shut. He looked terrified. His captor forced him to his knees.
“N-Som will get FDA approval.”
Mike whimpered. “Yes. I promise it will.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
The shot made Bill bite the inside of his cheek. Mike flopped sideways, twitched twice, then was still.
The tape ended.
Bill double checked to make sure the door was locked.
Then he called the police.
Jack Kilborn
