frequented by the four doctors who worked for the Institute, although the other investigators were free to come and go as they wished amongst the rows and rows of bottles and medical equipment. Kelly had found what she sought without difficulty, then she had recovered a disposable syringe from the drawer which was so carefully marked.
Everything in the pharmacy was maintained by a woman in her forties known to Kelly only as Mrs King. She was responsible for ensuring that everything was in its correct place and it was a job which she did very efficiently.
Kelly knew that Mrs King usually left for home at around 4.30 so she had waited until nearly 4.50 before venturing into the pharmacy.
To her relief it had been deserted but still she had felt the compulsion to hurry, wondering what explanation she was going to use if someone should discover her poring over the chemicals which were the domain of the physicians.
She had drawn off 10ml of atropine sulphate and then placed the syringe in her pocket.
Now, as she approached Maurice Grant’s quarters thoughts began to tumble through her mind with increased rapidity. But one in particular seemed to flash like neon in her consciousness. The incident the day before last when Grant had finally persuaded her to undertake this new experiment without either the knowledge or authorization of Dr Vernon. Deprived of sleep for forty-eight hours, Grant had become violent and Kelly remembered how the subsequent tests on him had revealed activity in an area of the brain normally dormant. The question of what would happen to him if he were not allowed to sleep and dream for longer than two days had tortured her ever since. She had wondered what he’d be like after a week but Kelly didn’t have a week.
She would not, could not, wait that long.
The injection of atropine would have more or less the same results.
She knew that, given in overdose, the drug caused stimulation of the brain and autonomic nervous system. The usual dosage was 2ml.
She planned to give Grant three times that amount.
Kelly knocked on the door and waited, casting one furtive glance up the corridor as she did so. The Institute was silent.
‘Come in,’ Grant called and Kelly did so.
He was sitting at a table finishing a plate of fish and chips which had been brought to him ten minutes earlier.
‘Sorry if I’m interrupting your tea, Mr Grant,’ Kelly said.
He smiled and shook his head.
‘I was just finishing,” he told her. ‘That’s one good thing about this place, the food’s terrific’ He belched loudly, excused himself and pushed the plate away.
Kelly thought how different he looked from the last time she’d seen him. In place of the demonic, violent and unkempt would-be killer there was a calm, clean-shaven even handsome man. Grant wore only a white shirt and grey trousers, both of which looked neat and fresh.
‘What can I do for you now?’ he asked.
‘I’m afraid we need your help with something else,’ Kelly told him.
‘Which is your polite way of saying “Excuse me Mr Human Guinea Pig, we want you back on the slab,” right?’
Kelly smiled thinly.
‘Yes it is,’ she said.
Grant chuckled.
‘No need to sound so apologetic. After all, I was the bloody fool who volunteered for all this,’ he remarked, good-humouredly.
Kelly had one hand dug deep in the pocket of her lab coat, fingers toying with the syringe.
‘What exactly is it that you want me to do?’ Grant enquired.
‘Do you remember anything about the incident the day before last?’ she wanted to know. ‘When you attacked one of my colleagues?’
He shrugged.
‘Not much. I remember trying to …’ The words trailed off, aimost as if he were ashamed of the recollection. ‘I didn’t hurt anyone badly did I?’
Kelly shook her head.
‘You’d been kept awake for over forty-eight hours,’ she told him. ‘People become aggressive when they’re forced to go without sleep for too long.’
‘Why?’ Grant wanted to know.
‘If we knew that for sure, Mr Grant, you wouldn’t still be here.’ She thought about mentioning the dream theory then decided not to. There was a long silence broken eventually by Kelly. ‘For the last two nights have you dreamed?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘The dream about killing your wife and son?’
He nodded.
‘But it wasn’t as vivid. In fact, last night it was different. I woke up before I killed them.’
‘That was probably because you weren’t given any drugs,’ Kelly told him. ‘The amphetamines we’d been giving you had been intensifying the dreams up until that point.’
‘So, what happens now?’ he asked.
Kelly felt the hypodermic in her pocket.
‘We try a different approach,’ she said.
On the table beside Grant’s bed was a new tape-recorder and Kelly checked that it was working properly. Satisfied, she asked Grant to lie down. There were restraining straps which could be fastened around his wrists and ankles but, as yet, Kelly did not touch them. She ensured that Grant was comfortable then asked him to roll up the sleeve of his shirt which he did. The vein bulged invitingly in the crook of his arm and Kelly carefully pushed the needle into it, one thumb on the plunger of the syringe.
She began to push, the atropine flooding into Grant’s bloodstream.
She watched the markers on the syringe as she forced the liquid into his vein.
0.25ml.
0.75ml.
lml.
Grant still had his eyes open, wincing slightly as Kelly pushed a little too hard on the syringe. She could see the
needle-point beneath his flesh as she pressed on the plunger again.
1.5ml.
2ml.
2.5ml.
She was trying to stop herself from shaking, worried that too much movement would tear the vein open. Grant sucked in a painful breath and Kelly apologised but kept the pressure on the plunger, watching as more of the liquid was transferred to the man’s body.
3ml.
3.5ml.
4ml.
Grant closed his eyes, his chest beginning to heave as his respiration became more laboured. Kelly looked at his face then at the needle embedded in his arm and finally at the markers on the slim receptacle itself.
4.5ml.
5ml.
5.5ml.
Kelly knew that the atropine would not take long to work and, with the increased dosage she was administering, that time should be curtailed further.
