Disturb

“I’m going to kill somebody. Soon.”

David leaned back on the mattress, fingers laced behind his blond head. His overdeveloped biceps strained the fabric of his T-shirt sleeves. He flexed his pecs, and his chest trembled like a bull shaking off horseflies.

Manny muted the television, sighing loudly enough for David to hear him. This was a familiar dialog.

“No, you won’t. You don’t want to get in trouble again.”

David grunted. He stared at the ceiling, imagining that this was a real apartment with people living above and below. But it wasn’t real; it was a cage, pure and simple. The fake scenery outside the window and the phone that only dialed out to one number made it even more ludicrous.

“I’d rather go back to prison than stay here.”

“You know that isn’t true. This is better for us, David. We can get through this. Look at all we’ve been through together.”

Manny was right. They’d been through hell. But the future only promised extra helpings, with no end in sight.

“I can’t take it.”

“You have to.”

David clenched his teeth. The hate buzzed around in his head like a hornet’s nest, desperately trying to get out. He made his decision.

“I want you to kill me.”

Manny turned away, shaking his head.

“No. That’s not an option.”

“Anyone can take a life, Manny. All you need is the proper motivation. What if I took that fire ax in the hallway and chopped up your little girlfriend? Does it have to come to that?”

“I hate it when you talk like this.” Manny stood up and went to the kitchenette. He got a glass of water, staring at David’s reflection in the framed Dali poster hanging above the sink. His stomach fluttered. David was older, bigger, and had a vein of mean running through him. A rich vein, that seemed to be growing. “I’m sure they’re listening.”

David laughed, a sound like a large dog growling.

“Of course they’re listening. We signed our privacy away. It’s lost, just like our freedom. Our minds are next.”

Manny finished the water and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to sound soothing. “We’re a team, David. We have to see it though. That was the deal.”

“To hell with the deal.”

“David…”

“How can you handle it, Manny? How can you handle the dreams?”

Manny thought about the question. He suppressed a chill.

“I handle them.”

“Well, I can’t. I have to get out. And if I leave, you know that a lot of people are going to die. I can’t control myself, Manny. It’s like a thirst.”

“It’ll get easier. You’ll see.”

David pressed his hands to his face, as if he were trying to keep his skull from exploding.

“At least you’re the prize show dog. I’m the big mistake, kept in the shadows. Science gone wrong. Kill me.”

“No.”

David reached out and grabbed Manny by the hand, imploring.

“Just do it. Stick a knife in my ribs.”

“I can’t.”

David’s grip tightened. Manny tried to pull away, but couldn’t. A shadow settled behind David’s face.

“I can hurt you. I can hurt you real bad.”

“Please… David…”

With a quick snap, David bent Manny’s pinkie backwards. The pain was instant and nauseating.

Manny yanked his hand free. His little finger jutted out at an odd angle. The blood leeched from his head, leaving his face ghost-white. He tried to stand, but his knees were spaghetti.

David’s eyes got big. He put a hand on Manny’s shoulder.

“Manny, Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Manny pulled back.

“Get away from me.”

“I didn’t mean it. I swear. You see how I get? I can’t control it.”

Manny managed to get to the bathroom. He ran cold water over his hand, but it didn’t numb the pain.

“Did I break it again?”

“Go to hell.”

“I think it’s just dislocated. I can pop it back.”

He gently tugged Manny’s wrist away from the sink. Manny began to shake.

“Please, go away.”

“This’ll just take a second.”

David got a good grip on the dislocated finger. Manny felt the bile rise.

“No, please…”

For the longest moment, Manny was convinced that David wanted to twist it backwards even farther, wrench the finger until it came off. But David simply gave it a quick tug and the pinkie snapped back into place. He stared at Manny, eyebrows knitted.

“I’ll stick with it, Manny. For you. But promise me that if I hurt anyone else, you end it for me. I know you could do it. You’re not as squeaky clean as they think.”

The pain was subsiding, and Manny’s stomach began to settle.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Sure. You do that. We have plenty of time.” David grinned. “And plenty of fingers.”

David left, and Manny locked the bathroom door. The situation was getting worse, and the mandatory shrink visits didn’t help at all. He thought about telling one of the research team, but that would ruin everything they’d worked so hard for.

Manny stared into the mirror, searching himself for an answer.

Maybe murder was the only alternative.

But could he actually kill him? Could he actually kill his own brother?

Manny looked down at his swollen finger and wondered if he could.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“What would you give for an extra thirty years of life?”

The big man was no longer at the podium. He circulated among the tables, his grandiose voice having no need for a microphone. A neatly trimmed beard, the color of a black bear, extended along his jaw line and connected with a shock of matching wiry hair. Except for some busboys hustling empty plates, all the eyes in the banquet room, over a hundred sets, were on him.

“Think of it. More time to spend with your family. More time to get all the things done that need to get done. More time to enjoy life to the fullest. Time is money. Time is precious. But most of all, time is a resource, like oil or natural gas. How much is it worth to you?”

He paused, eyes twinkling. Dr. William May had seen this speech once before, but was no less impressed. Unlike other scientists Bill had met in his career, Dr. Nikos Stefanopolous had magnetism to match his brilliance. The barrel chested Greek could have hawked cooking utensils on late night TV with equal aplomb.

“We sleep one third of our lives. Thirty years. We don’t have any say in the matter. But what if we did? What if we could take a simple pill that could replace a full night’s sleep? Think of it.”

The audience did think of it, Bill included. An impressive feat, if possible.

“You would feel just as refreshed, just as fit, just as rested, as if you’d spent eight hours in bed. But instead of eight hours, this pill would do the same amount of work in just twenty minutes. Senator, I’m sure a pill like this would do wonders for your filibusters.”

The room laughed, and Senator Donner acknowledged with a nod and a grin.

“Such a pill is the culmination of twenty years of research into sleep. My daughter, Dr. Theena Boone, and myself have dedicated a good portion of our lives to the study of sleep, and its effects on the body. What does sleep actually do? What is its purpose? What chemical changes occur in the body during sleep? And most of all-can it be synthesized? At this point I’d like to introduce Mr. Emmanuel Tibbets.”

Dr. Nikos rallied some applause. Bill sat up, craning his neck to see over the table in front of him. This was new.

A large man got up from the head table and walked to the empty podium. Like Dr. Nikos, he was in a tuxedo. But his fit better, every cut and pleat hinting at the chiseled physique underneath. He had dirty blonde hair, cut in a military style, and his features were hard and angular, like a child’s action figure.

“Thank you, Dr. Nikos. I would like everyone in the audience to think about the last time you’ve been up all night. We’ve all experienced the symptoms; being lethargic, grumpy, unable to concentrate or focus. We look, and feel, terrible, and that’s from missing only one night’s sleep. How many of you have been awake for more than twenty-four hours?”

There was a show of hands, over half of the audience.

“How about forty-eight hours?”

Most of the hands dropped.

“And seventy-two hours?”

Only a few remained raised.

“After seventy-two hours, your judgment becomes extremely impaired. You drive with the same skill as someone with a blood alcohol level of zero point two. You’d be constantly falling asleep, taking micro-naps for minutes at a time, without being aware of it-even if staying awake was a matter of life and death.”

Bill could relate. He’d had his share of sleepless nights. Especially in the last year.

“After seventy-two hours without sleep, you begin to hallucinate. You become paranoid, delusional, unable to function. Isn’t it true, Dr. Nikos, that an EEG done on a person without three days of sleep is identical to someone suffering from acute schizophrenia?”

“True, Manny.”

“How was my last EEG?”

“Perfectly normal.”

“I ask the audience, do I seem to be experiencing any symptoms of sleep deprivation? Would you believe me if I told you I’ve been without sleep for seventy-two hours? How about ninety-six hours? A hundred and twenty? Dr. Nikos, do you have the time?”

The doctor made a show of rolling up his sleeve and looking at his watch.

“It just turned nine o’clock.”

“Nine o’clock. Which means I’ve been awake now for nine hundred and eleven straight hours.”

The audience was stunned to silence. After a moment, a single person began to applaud. It snowballed into a roaring ovation. Bill joined in.

Dr. Nikos joined Manny on the stage, eyes twinkling. He patted the larger man on the shoulder, then held out his palm to quell the clapping.

“Manny is part of the final phase of our project, the clinical test subject. Our drug, Nonsomnambulox-N-Som for short, has already passed the Chemistry and Pharmacological reviews of the Food and Drug Administration. Manny has taken one pill every day for the last thirty-eight days, which was the last time he’s had a conventional night of sleep.”

The applause began to build again. Dr. Nikos talked above it.

“The R amp; D is nearing an end, and pending Medical approval, we’re ready to go into production. Needless to say, what this drug could do for the economy, for the efficiency of the human race, for the quality of life of every person on this planet-it staggers the imagination. We can take some questions.”

Hands went up throughout the room, lawyers and politicians and businessmen; a who’s who of status and influence in the Midwest.

“Is the pill expensive?”

“We plan on introducing N-Som to the market at fifteen dollars a dose. Are eight hours of your life worth fifteen dollars?”

“What about side effects?”

“I’ll let Manny field that one.”

Manny grinned, showing perfect teeth.

“Since taking N-Som, I’ve lost fifteen pounds in fat and gained eight pounds in muscle mass. My immune system and healing abilities have increased dramatically. I also don’t get tired. In fact, three days ago I was on a treadmill for eighteen hours.”

The audience murmured its disbelief. Dr. Nikos beamed.

“We were even more amazed by this than you folks are, but we’ve found a reasonable scientific explanation. N-Som stimulates the pituitary gland, increasing production of human growth hormone. Manny may be the most fit human being on the face of the earth.”

A woman at a far table spoke.

“What about dreams? I, for one, wouldn’t give up my dreams for anything.”

Someone else chimed in. “I love my dreams, too.”

There were many nods of agreement, Bill one of them. On most days his dream life was better than his real one.

“The dreams.” Manny’s eyes got a faraway look, and his smile was beatific. “They’re the most vivid dreams you’ll ever have. Even though they only last a few minutes, they seem to go on for hours. And you remember them, every detail, from beginning to end.”

“And when does the stock go public?”

General laughter. Dr. Nikos joined in.

“That depends on the FDA. And actually, the CDER agent responsible for N-Som’s approval is sitting among us. Bill, please come up here.”

Bill shook off the momentary surprise and was beckoned up to the podium. This was unexpected. Though getting in front of groups was part of his job, he liked to be prepared first.

He walked to the stage and Dr. Nikos shook his hand warmly. Manny offered his hand next; his grip was like slamming your fingers in a car door. Bill disengaged himself and Dr. Nikos put an arm around his shoulders.

“May I introduce Dr. William May, from the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. We shall continue to extend our fullest cooperation to the Food and Drug Administration, and I’m sure once our data is examined, N-Som will be judged even safer than aspirin.”

More applause. Bill felt a tad queasy; he wasn’t sure if his stomach was balking at the creme brulee, or if he was afraid he’d be asked to say a few words. Thankfully, Dr. Nikos wrapped up his speech and escorted Bill back to the head table amid a standing ovation.

“Dr. May, let me introduce my daughter, Dr. Theena Boone.”

Dr. Boone was around Bill’s age, in her mid-thirties, dark and shapely. She had a smaller version of her father’s Greek nose and enough hair on her head for several women. The soft black curls rested on her bare shoulders, and the neckline of her dress made eye-contact an effort.

“A pleasure, Dr. May.”

Bill took her hand and responded in kind.

“Please sit, Dr. May.” Dr. Nikos pulled out a chair for Bill. “I have to be social for a little bit.”

Dr. Nikos and Manny blended into the gathering crowd. Bill sat and faced the woman. He’d neatly slid from one uncomfortable situation into another. Small talk wasn’t one of his strengths.

“Your father is an excellent speaker.”

To Theena’s credit, she seemed completely at ease. As if suddenly being forced into conversation with a complete stranger was normal for her.

“He believes all Greeks should be outspoken; the result of seeing Zorba too many times.”

Unlike her father, Theena didn’t have the slightest trace of an accent. Her voice was low, but soft in an undeniably feminine way.

“He does remind me a bit of Anthony Quinn.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that; he’d be insufferable. I’m to understand that you’ll begin your investigation tomorrow?”

Bill nodded. “It’s not an investigation, really. All I do is review your testing and give a preliminary report to the committee.”

“But you have the power to stop the process before it gets to that, correct?”

“Yes.”

She took a sip of wine, leaving the tiniest trace of red lipstick on the glass. The rim had a complete circle of half moons around it, like a deliberate design. Bill thought of his own wine, back at the other table. A nice Merlot would take off the edge.

“I’ve seen Dr. Nikos lecture before, but this was the first time he introduced Manny. It’s incredible.”

“Yes, we’re all terribly excited. Manny especially. This drug has done wonders for him.”

“Was he the first human test subject?”

Theena’s demure expression flickered.

“Actually, no. There was someone else who began the program at the same time as Manny. But there were… complications.”

“Something to do with the drug?”

“No, nothing like that. It was a personal matter. The N-Som worked fine.” Theena smiled. “I hope you aren’t ignoring Mrs. May to be sitting here with me.”

Bill automatically looked at his wedding band.

“She… died last year.”

“I’m so sorry. Was it sudden?”

Bill almost blurted out a yes. He caught himself in time.

“She was sick for a long time.” The image of Kristen, lying in the hospital bed, filled his mind. “And you? Is Mr. Boone off mingling?”

Theena wiggled her large diamond ring. It caught the light and winked.

“Last I heard he was in Texas. I kept the name because anything is preferable to Stefanopolous. So, how does one get a job at the FDA?”

Bill thought about the long, boring version. After completing his studies at the University of Chicago and his internship at Rush-Presbyterian, Bill was undecided between a residency or private practice. He’d known from a young age that he’d be an M.D., but when the day finally came he realized that he enjoyed learning about medicine more than actually practicing it.

Congress made the decision for him. The year was 1992, and they’d just passed PDUFA-the Prescription Drug User Fee Act, which authorized the FDA to charge drug sponsors for their services, expediting the approval process. Suddenly CDER, which had been impossible to break into, had hundreds of openings for reviewers. Bill had leapt at the chance.

“I was just in the right place at the right time. How about you? You’re a chemist, right?”

“Actually, I’m a pathologist, like my father. Specializing in neuropathology, of course.”

Bill’s confidence slipped another notch. Beautiful, and a brain surgeon.

“Exciting work?”

Theena laughed, a rich, warm sound.

“I think I’ve developed a permanent squint from looking in the microscope so often. No, it’s not what I would call exciting. But it’s not without rewards, either. What time shall we expect you at DruTech tomorrow?”

“Whenever is convenient.”

“Anytime is fine. Research continues around the clock. Your predecessor preferred to work during the night shift.”

Bill raised an eyebrow. “My predecessor?”

“The prior CDER agent. Did you ever find out what happened to him?” Theena studied Bill’s face. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? He was sent by the FDA last month to review some preliminary research, worked with us for a week, and then left without a word. A Dr. Bitner?”

Bill knew Michael Bitner. They’d golfed on several occasions. He’d have to give him a call, find out what had happened.

“Someone call the police!”

The cry came from the other side of the banquet room, followed by shouts for a doctor. Bill hurried through the crowd, Theena on his heels. The activity was centered around the Men’s Room. Bill had to shove gawkers out of his way to get in.

“I’m a doctor! Give me some room!”

At first, all Bill saw was blood. It took his brain a second to register that under all that blood was Dr. Nikos.

Theena screamed.

Bill knelt down, soaking his pants leg. He automatically reached for the carotid artery, then stopped his hand when he saw the gash in the doctor’s throat, deep enough to expose the esophagus. Dr. Nikos was gone, long beyond anyone’s help.

“Over here! There’s another!”

Bill was ushered over to a second pool of blood. In the center of it was Manny. His tuxedo shirt was shredded, over half a dozen wounds covering his abdomen and chest. A scalpel handle protruded from his sternum.

“Tried… tried to save… da…”

Manny coughed, spitting red. Bill tilted Manny’s face to the side so the blood didn’t run down his throat. His pulse was strong, but when Bill tore off Manny’s shirt he didn’t hold out much hope. The guy looked like a lasagna.

Bill left the scalpel embedded, concerned that removal would cause more bleeding. He enlisted four guys with cloth napkins to keep pressure on Manny’s many wounds. He also put Manny’s feet up on a chair to stave off shock.

The paramedics arrived shortly thereafter, intubing Manny and carting him away.

Bill looked around the room, trying to spot Theena. He went back into the banquet hall, the crowd parting for him when they noticed his bloody clothing. He checked her table, the hotel lobby, and finally the parking lot.

She was gone.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Bill was in the shower when the phone rang. He let the machine pick it up, holding the curtain partially open to hear who it was.

“Bill, this is Theena Boone…”

Bill grabbed a towel and hurried out of the bathroom. The fact that Theena was attractive and single wasn’t lost on him, but Bill tried to rise above that and convince himself his concern was professional. She’d just lost her father.

“Theena?”

“Bill. Hello. I… was wondering what time you were stopping by DruTech today.”

The question caught him completely by surprise.

“I wasn’t planning to, actually. I figured, because of yesterday-how are you holding up?”

“I’m strong, Bill. Dad raised me that way. He also wouldn’t want this to interfere with our work. N-Som was his dream. Now that he’s gone, it’s even more important that I finish what he began.”

Tough lady. Bill wondered how much of it was genuine, and how much was bravado.

“How’s Manny?”

“Surprisingly well, for fifteen stab wounds. Collapsed lung, perforated small intestine, internal bleeding. He needed over sixty stitches, but is listed as stable.”

“Have the police found anything?”

“Manny said there were two attackers, both with ski masks on. No leads yet. Are you coming?”

Bill glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “I can be there by ten, if that’s okay.”

“That’s fine. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Theena hung up. Bill dried off and went into the bedroom. He noticed a spring in his step that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. Being honest with himself was a trait Bill nurtured, and he knew he was excited to be seeing Theena again so soon.

Admitting it brought guilt. He glanced at his wife’s side of the closet, full of clothes. Kristen’s presence was still there; her plants that Bill carefully maintained, their wedding pictures on the walls, the Hummel figurines she collected. The casual observer couldn’t have guessed that the condo had been occupied by a single man for more than a year.

Bill dressed in his best suit, a dark blue Armani pinstripe. He could tie a Windsor knot with one hand in complete darkness, but he still preferred the solace of a mirror. There was a tinge of red in his blue eyes; something he hadn’t been able to get rid of since Kristen got ill. He used some Visine, then combed his light brown hair and noted that he’d need a trim soon. After a quick electric shave he was in his Audi and on the way to DruTech Industries.

The weather was unusually tame by Chicago standards, especially this late in the fall. At every crosswalk there was at least one person in shorts, and the few jackets Bill saw were draped over shoulders rather than being worn. The sun felt good on his face for a while, but he eventually pulled down the visor when the glare became too much.

He played stop and go, eventually reaching I-90 and the path to the suburbs. Traffic was hellish, made even worse by the omnipresent construction, which had closed one lane off with orange cones. Bill had lived in the Windy City his entire life, and he’d never been on the Kennedy Expressway without suffering some kind of delay. The trip took seventy minutes, ten of which were spent on the off ramp to Schaumburg.

DruTech occupied an impressive five story building off a frontage road parallel to the expressway. It was sandwiched between a water reclamation plant and an AM radio station. Bill parked in a lot that was nearly empty. The front entrance was located between two water sculptures, marble and cascading, vaguely Roman in theme.

The lobby was expansive, the size of a small movie theater. It continued the motif, with polished terrazzo floors, white columns, and a front desk located under an arch. There were two elevators next to a small cafe, which was dark and quiet. In fact, Bill didn’t see any people anywhere, other than the security guard.

He was sitting behind the desk, dressed in a gray uniform which fit a little too tightly. Before Bill had a chance to say a word the guard had a black phone in his hand.

“Good morning, Dr. May. I’ll tell Dr. Boone you’ve arrived.”

“Thank you.”

Bill busied himself with wrinkle patrol, the trip having done cruel things to his suit. He was checking his hair in a chrome garbage can when Theena arrived.

Her white lab coat ended several inches above her knees, under which the hem of a short black skirt was barely visible. The doctor’s face was carefully made up, her lipstick a more conservative shade than the previous night’s. She didn’t seem bereaved in the slightest.

“Hello, Bill. Thank you for coming.”

A handshake led to an awkward, but welcome, hug.

“If there’s anything I can do.”

She pulled back and smiled. “Welcome to DruTech. Let me show you around.”

She took Bill by the arm and led him through the empty lobby. He commented on the dearth of people.

“Oh, that’s Albert’s doing-Albert Rothchilde. He insisted everyone take the day off due to yesterday’s tragedy. Just a security guard and us today.”

“I’ve met Albert. Cheerful guy.”

“When the stock is up, yes. How much do you know about DruTech?”

“A bit. DruTech is a subsidiary of American Products. They make dish soap.”

Bill, like millions of other Americans, had a box of it at home.

“Correct. They lead the industry in environmentally conscious cleaning agents. Soaps, cleansers, whiteners, stain removers. A.P. also has a large share of the waste disposal market; biodegradable plastic garbage bags and such. DruTech was bought out by A.P. ten years ago, based on the strength of one of my father’s patents.”

“Pain-Away.”

She flashed Bill an appreciative smile.

“A skin absorbing analgesic. Doing a great business with athletes and the elderly. Albert is President of A.P., and is also the supervisory head of DruTech.”

“He runs both, personally?”

“I know, he seems too young. After his parents died, he did away with the committees. He’s very hands-on, and both companies are flourishing under him.”

They stepped into a chrome elevator and Theena removed a plastic card from her coat pocket. She stuck it in a slot under the call buttons, and a green light flashed. The lift descended.

“Upstairs is all corporate office work. It’s downstairs where we have all the fun.”

She winked. Was she flirting with him, the day after her father was killed? Bill wondered if this was her coping mechanism. He cleared his throat.

“Is N-Som the only drug you have in development?”

“There are others; an experimental burn cream, a decongestant-but N-Som is the main focus.”

“How many people are working on it?”

“Six, plus Manny.” Her smiled faltered. “Five, now.”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“It feels better, to talk about it. Grieving is a process that takes time.”

“Grief?” Theena’s face was caught between a smile and a snarl. “My father was a brilliant scientist, and the world will mourn his loss. I have a mixed opinion. He… he did things.”

Before Bill could ask what she meant, the doors opened and she was walking briskly down the hallway. He followed, her words hanging in his head like a crooked picture.

The decor had changed drastically, all antiseptic white tile and harsh neon lights. It reminded Bill of a modern hospital.

“There are over a dozen rooms down here.” Theena spoke without facing him, her demeanor no longer playful. “Labs, offices, the computer center, two gyms, more medical equipment than an urban emergency room. And this.”

She opened a solid white door and held it for Bill. Inside, rather than an office…

“It looks like an apartment.”

Bill took in his surroundings. It was a fully furnished studio, complete with kitchen, den, and dining area. A stereo, cluttered with CD cases, and a pizza box on the TV gave the impression it was in use.

“Manny’s room. This allows us to closely monitor him, while also giving him a semblance of normalcy. My father’s idea; allow the N-Som test subject to go about daily life while taking the drug.”

Bill looked at a window. The sun peeked through the curtains, which was impossible.

“Fake view. It’s a television monitor, can simulate all kinds of weather.”

She picked up a remote control and pointed it at the window. She switched from morning to night, a soft crescent moon replacing the sun. Another switch and it was day again, but overcast and drizzling.

“That’s impressive.”

“I can also switch it to play movies, cable, pay per view. Even porn. Do you enjoy pornography, doctor?”

Bill faced her. Theena was unreadable-he couldn’t tell if she was amused or sardonic.

“I don’t have much of an opinion on the subject.”

Theena moved closer, into his personal space. Her breath was warm and smelled of mint.

“I’ve studied the neurological effects pornography has on the human brain. You’ve heard the old story, that men are turned on visually, while women are stimulated emotionally? Not according to my research. I’ve found that men and women get equally excited, mentally that is, while viewing pornography.”

“Interesting.” Bill felt his collar get a little tighter, and he fought the urge to pull at his tie.

“No one else seemed to think so, and I lost my funding. I think this country places too much importance on sex. It’s a natural, necessary, biological process, but we keep it behind closed doors. No good comes from repression, don’t you agree?”

Her smile sent a shock through him.

“I, uh, agree. Repression isn’t a good thing.”

“It’s different in Europe. More relaxed. There is no shame in a naked body. No shame in being open about your sexuality. Have you been with a woman since your wife died?”

Bill blushed. He was at a loss for an answer. The truth was he hadn’t had sex in over a year, but that wasn’t any of Theena’s business. She may have been born in Europe, but Bill hadn’t had that luxury. Her bluntness made him uncomfortable, and if that was an indication of his own repression, so be it.

Still, he was flattered to be hit on. If, indeed, that’s what she was doing.

Theena touched his hand. Bill’s ears burned.

“Would you like to see Manny’s bedroom?”

He fought the urge to take a step back.

“Dr. Boone-Theena, I find you very attractive, but I don’t think this is the right time.”

“Do strong willed women scare you, Bill?”

“No. But I wouldn’t want to take advantage of your situation.”

She moved closer, her hand touching his hip, her long curly hair brushing against his neck.

“But I’m the one in control, Bill. How could you be taking advantage of me?”

Damn good question.

“Your father just died. You’re confused.”

“He really wanted N-Som to be approved.”

Bill pushed her at arm’s length.

“Is that what this is about? Theena, my job here is to review your research and based on that…”

Theena began to laugh. Her abrupt change of character was shocking.

“What’s funny?”

“Sorry, Bill. I was just messing around with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“I wanted to see how you’d react, that’s all. It’s strange to find any gentlemen left in this profession.”

Bill blinked. He blinked again.

“This-this was a put on?”

“You’re cute.” Theena touched him on the end of the nose. “But I’m not that easy. And my father did just die yesterday. Call it an integrity check. You passed. Come on, I’ll show you the other rooms.”

Theena took his hand and led him out of the pseudo apartment. Bill felt as if he’d just been subjected to a battery of psych tests. He had to remind himself she was mourning, and people did crazy things while mourning.

But had it really been a gag? Bill was positive, if he’d wanted, he could have had her right there. Was he that easily fooled? Or was she that good?

Or was he that needy?

“We call this the Sweat Room. Treadmill, Nautilus Machines, Stairmaster, free weights. One of our testing criteria is to judge N-Som’s effects on motor skills and muscle fatigue. Lack of sleep makes a person physically tired. Before Manny was put on the drug, we did a series of control scores. Prior to N-Som, he could stay on a Stairmaster for three hours before collapsing from exhaustion.”

Bill studied Theena. She was acting like a professional again. Part of him was disappointed.

“And while he was on N-Som?”

“We had to quit at nine hours because the machine blew a gear.”

She took him to a room across the hallway. Bill recognized several machines, including an EEG and an oscilloscope. Both were in operation, the electroencephalogram drawing a jagged polygraph line on an endless ream of paper.

“Is someone being tested right now?”

“Those are Manny’s. He has remote sensors surgically implanted in his scalp, and they send the signal here. It’s the only way to be sure he never sleeps, since it is almost impossible to watch him twenty-four hours a day.”

Bill was familiar enough to interpret the data. The frequency of the peaks and troughs indicated beta waves. Manny was awake and aware. Curiosity made Bill flip through the pile of folded pages, all with the same, continuous pattern.

He looked for a variation which would indicate unconsciousness. Delta, theta, or spindle waves were obvious signs of sleep; the frequency would slow and the voltage would increase, making bigger and wider peaks. But he couldn’t even find alpha waves.

“Doesn’t he ever close his eyes?”

“Amazing, isn’t it? Normally closed eyes slow down electrical activity, because the brain isn’t being visually stimulated. Manny’s brain remains in beta, even when he keeps his eyes closed for hours.”

“Shouldn’t this show when he was put under for his operation last night?”

“Manny didn’t go under. He insisted on a local anesthetic.”

“To repair a collapsed lung?”

“He didn’t want to jeopardize the experiment.”

Bill thought about invasive surgery while being conscious. He shuddered. The guy was either very committed, or out of his mind.

The EEG needle began to move faster, the small peaks and troughs so close together it was hard to see the cycles between them.

“What’s happening now?”

Theena looked closely at the readouts and frowned.

“Beta 2 waves. I’ve seen this before, usually when he’s very irritated, or having an argument. But the police have a guard on him, and no one is allowed into his hospital room.”

“Maybe some reaction to medication.”

“No. He’s not on any medication.”

“Not even antibiotics?”

“He doesn’t need them. His immune system is incredible.” Theena pursed her lips. “No, he’s definitely arguing with somebody. I wonder who?”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“How did you get in here?”

Manny’s voice was high pitched, frantic. The flimsy hospital gown he wore made him feel even more vulnerable.

David smiled at him.

“Your armed guard is taking a nap outside. Remember naps, Manny? Don’t you miss them?”

Manny tried to rise out of the hospital bed, but David put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t bother getting up. I won’t stay long. Pity about Dr. Nikos, isn’t it? You know what I saw in his eyes when I slit his throat? Not fear. Not pain. Just disappointment. It was delicious. How’s your chest?”

David lifted up Manny’s gown and peeked.

“Looks nasty. What is that tube?”

Manny tried to melt into his mattress.

“A drain.”

“Does it hurt?”

David prodded at the protruding plastic, pinching it between his fingers. Manny forced courage.

“What do you want, David? Did you come back to finish the job?”

“I wasn’t after you, Manny. You know that. But you tried to get in the way. Don’t you see the only way we can be free is if the experiment ends?”

“I told the cops.”

David grinned, patting his brother on the cheek.

“No, you didn’t. You lied to them. I know you did. Now-who should we kill next?”

“Please…”

“How about the computer geek, Dr. Townsend? All those ridiculous graphs and charts, as if he could reduce us to just statistics. Or Dr. O’Neil? Aren’t you sick of his fumbling attempts at taking serum samples? Maybe Dr. Fletcher. He tries to poke around in our heads with all the subtlety of a linebacker. Or Theena…?”

Manny’s eyes got wide.

“Maybe I should pick up your Theena.” David rubbed his face, as if mulling it over. “We could have some fun together. I bet she’s a real tiger.”

Manny tried to raise his arm, but it was taped to the rail so the saline drip IV wouldn’t pull out. This greatly amused David.

“Yes, I think Theena it is. Unless you’d prefer someone else. Who should I kill instead of Theena? I’ll let you pick.”

Manny stared at his brother with tortured eyes. This was worse than being attacked. David was going to kill someone, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

But at least he could save Theena…

“Townsend.”

David’s smile was ghastly.

“The computer geek. Excellent. I’ll come back later with the details. Maybe even some pictures. See you, bro.”

David left. Manny looked at the phone. He had to talk to Jim Townsend, warn him what was coming.

He called DruTech and got the number from Barry, the head security guard. Barry attempted to wish him well, but Manny hung up on him, anxious to make the call.

Townsend wasn’t home. His machine picked up. Manny left a message.

“Dr. Townsend. This is Manny. Your life is in danger. The same people that killed Dr. Nikos are going after you.”

Manny squeezed his eyes shut at the lie. How could he still be protecting David, after all he’d done? He swallowed hard, and continued.

“You have to go away for a while. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. These people-they can’t be stopped. They’re maniacs. Please believe me. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

He gently set the receiver in its cradle and laid back down. Outside, clouds had covered the sun, turning everything gray.

Manny closed his eyes and wished, for the thousandth time, that he could just go to sleep.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Dr. Jim Townsend hated days off. The call from Rothchilde’s secretary came while he was in the car and already halfway to work. He’d briefly argued with her, insisting on coming in anyway, but she told him security had been informed not to let anyone in.

Irritating.

He was essential to the project. Without his organizational skills the experiment would be all over the place, untamed. Townsend had been the one to lay out the plans, run the schedule, catalog the results. His conclusions dictated what would be tested next. Though he didn’t invent N-Som, it would never be ready for FDA approval if he wasn’t on the team. The Nobel Prize people had better be aware of that when the time came.

Faced with the ugly prospect of nothing to do, Townsend pulled the Hundai into a supermarket parking lot and weighed options. A frown creased his doughy face. He scratched at a spot on his glasses, pushed the comb-over back on his balding head, and tried to think of something to kill time until tomorrow.

Movies, and all forms of media entertainment, bored him. There was nothing to do back at the apartment; the little amount of time he spent there was for sleeping, dressing, and washing. Eating was a joyless necessity, usually something quick and convenient. His burgeoning stomach was a testament to this, but exercise bored Townsend as much as anything else.

The library? He needed to catch up on his reading; many of his subscriptions had run out, and prestigious scientific journals didn’t send you a little card to fill out as a reminder.

A search of his wallet revealed his library card was expired. To get a renewal meant lines and hassles. The library was out.

Museums? It seemed a chore to go into the city, search for parking, fight the crowds of school children.

He thought, enviously, of his computer at work. When the strain became too great, he’d play a chess program to help ease his mind. It was somewhat banal, and he never lost, but it was the closest thing to entertainment that he pursued.

Though efficient on many different operating systems, Townsend had never gotten around to owning his own computer. The ones he worked on were always vastly superior to home versions. But he knew that modern models had a tremendous amount of speed and memory, quadruple that of only a year ago. Was it time to join the personal computer revolution?

“Why the heck not?”

Computer stores seemed to be everywhere in the suburbs, and Townsend located one of the larger chains and went inside.

Four different salespeople approached him, and each time he shooed them away, annoyed at the interruption. He finally did require assistance after deciding on a model, and of course it took forever to find help. Such a burden, shopping.

After rebuffing pitch after pitch for accessories, Townsend allowed himself to be talked into two chess programs, each claiming to have beaten grand masters. He even felt a tinge of excitement, driving home with his purchases in the back seat. It wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as work, but these boxes represented a slight promise of challenge, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It took three trips to bring everything up to his third floor apartment. Badly out of breath, he needed a rest and a glass of orange juice before setting up his new system. His answering machine was blinking, but he was too preoccupied to notice.

Assembly was easy, and he didn’t bother with the instructions. The system had dutifully included a CD for free internet hours, but he decided to put that off until later. Townsend installed the first chess program, somewhat surprised by his new computer’s speed, and after familiarizing himself with the controls he began to play.

Within forty minutes, the computer was up a piece.

Townsend had to grin at the move. It was a brilliant one, a pin that forced him to give up his rook to save his queen. Townsend made the computer go back several moves, not to cheat, but to see if he could have prevented it. He couldn’t have. The program had planned it at least six moves in advance.

“Wonderful.”

He hunkered down and continued play, trying to be wary but thrilled at the possibility of being beaten.

It was only when Townsend began to squint at the keyboard that he realized the sun had gone down. He checked the clock and was surprised to see he’d been playing for seven hours.

The computer had beaten him three games out of six. They were tied in this seventh game, and Townsend was preparing a sacrifice that would lead to checkmate if the computer didn’t see it. The odds were slim; the computer saw just about everything. Unlike the chess program at work, this one could think several hundred moves ahead, and understood the concept of sacrifice for the sake of position.

He paused the game on his turn and ordered some Chinese food to be delivered. After a bathroom break and a splash of water on his face to keep him focused, he returned to the computer and made his move.

The computer didn’t take the bait.

“I figured you’d see it. Good one.”

A knock at the door. Townsend was so involved with the game that he never bothered to question the obvious fact that his food couldn’t have been there so quickly.

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

Disturb

“How could he be gone? There was a cop outside the door.”

Captain Halloran scratched his graying mustache and shifted his bulk in the chair, which was small for him and seemed too low to the ground. He shouldn’t have taken the seat when offered. It hurt his back, his knees, and made him seem fatter, older and less important that he actually was. Halloran knew Rothchilde had bought that chair for those very reasons-his own was higher and wider, with armrests that ended in polished mahogany knobs, like a throne.

He didn’t like Albert Rothchilde. The man was whiny, arrogant, and spoiled. Whereas Halloran earned his rank by busting his ass for twenty plus years, Rothchilde was simply born into the right family. Halloran knew the guy wouldn’t last two minutes on the street.

But this wasn’t the street. This was Rothchilde’s twenty-two room house, the one that was featured in People Magazine. Halloran glanced at some stupid painting hanging behind Rothchilde’s desk. Rothchilde had casually mentioned its worth during a previous meeting, and then chuckled saying he’d bought the Mayor for less.

To make matters more uncomfortable, Rothchilde was completely right. Halloran’s men had screwed up. All Halloran could do was grit his teeth and bare the storm.

“The Officer said he’d gone to get a cup of coffee. When he came back, Manny was gone.”

“Coffee?” Rothchilde smiled, but his beady eyes showed no trace of amusement. He was a thin man, almost skinny, with soft hands and slender fingers that were always carefully manicured. His hair was black, parted on the side, and his hawkish nose and slight overbite reminded Halloran of a rat.

“This man is worth over a billion dollars to me, and you lost him for a fifty cent cup of coffee.”

“The guy just had surgery. Who would have thought he’d get up and leave?”

“How do we know he left? How do we know he wasn’t taken?”

Halloran tried to sound like the authority his title represented. “Couldn’t have happened. Patient in the room across the hall saw Manny steal some clothes from a drawer. He called the nurse, but too late.”

Rothchilde let out a slow breath. Truth be told, Halloran was afraid of him. It didn’t matter that he could break Rothchilde’s skinny little canned-tan body over his knee like a broomstick. Rothchilde’s power was greater than physical. The President of the United States took his calls. So did the capos of the biggest families on both coasts.

“We need him found, Captain.” Rothchilde used the rank as if it tasted foul in his mouth. “Whoever killed Dr. Nikos obviously wanted Manny dead too. We can’t let that happen. It would cause an unforgivable delay.”

“We’ll find him.”

“Then why is your fat ass still sitting here?”

Halloran ground his teeth. The extra money wasn’t worth it. He should tell this bozo off right here and now.

Instead, he left the office and went to check on the search for Manny.

Albert Rothchilde watched him go. Insulting Halloran was normally a fun activity, but there was no joy in it today. There was too much at stake.

Rothchilde swiveled around in his leather chair and stared up at his Miro. He found the use of color garish, and didn’t think the composition was correctly balanced. But it was a Miro, and status couldn’t be much more symbolic than that.

If things went according to plan, he’d be able to plaster every wall of his mansion with Miros. That was frivolous yet lofty enough to make people talk about him. He could make his home the largest Miro museum in the world.

But that was only the beginning. Art was a hobby. Rothchilde wanted power. He wanted American Products to expand, for his corporate empire to grow.

And grow it shall. Perhaps he would become big enough to take over Microsoft. Or Disney. General Motors might be fun to run. He imagined launching a new sports car, calling it the Rothchilde GT.

“Maybe I’ll buy it all.”

Rothchilde had his people come up with projected sales figures for N-Som. It staggered him, and he’d been around money all his life. With a conservative estimate of only ten percent of the US population taking the drug, Rothchilde would be making nine billion dollars a month. Of course, more than ten percent would take it. Within five years, half the population of the world would be taking it. And that didn’t even include the proposed military contract, which would make him richer than the combined fortunes of the next seven runners-up.

Rothchilde idly wondered if France was for sale. He’d have his secretary make a few calls.

But first things first.

Someone was trying to sabotage the N-Som project, and Rothchilde needed to find out who.

There was a chance, however slight, that Dr. Nikos’s murder had nothing to do with N-Som. Perhaps the doctor had personal enemies. Or perhaps it was just some unfortunate random lunatic. Rothchilde hoped that was the case, but he had to plan for the worst.

Besides the CPD, Rothchilde had enlisted his friends in the government for help. He also sent feelers out to all of the families he supported, to see if anyone in the underworld had issues with him. So far, nothing had come up.

“Could be anyone. Anyone at all.”

In his more creative moments, sipping hundred year old port and snorting coke off a call girl’s welted backside, Rothchilde imagined he was being challenged by another pharmaceutical company. Sleeping pills were a billion dollar industry. Perhaps the manufacturer of Dalmane or Halcion was trying to keep their bread and butter.

It could even be the Sealy Mattress company, afraid of losing long-term sales. Soon, the bedroom would be a thing of the past. The same with pajamas, hotels, night lights, caffeinated beverages, and a slew of other products related to the sleep/wake cycle.

Rothchilde delegated it to the back of his mind. All the wheels were in motion. Manny would be found, and his attacker would be dealt with. The important thing now was Dr. Bill May and FDA approval.

He opened a side drawer in his desk and took out Bill’s file. The doctor had been a medical officer with CDER for over ten years. During that time, he’d overseen clinical trials on forty-eight different drugs. Only eight of these had gone on to receive FDA approval. Bill was responsible for killing the other forty.

Like most governmental offices, the FDA worked by committee. Besides the clinical review, new drugs must submit to Toxicology and Chemistry panels. Rothchilde had been able to pass these already-the chemistry reviewer had children. It was easy to coerce her into approval without having to reveal the secret manufacturing process. As far as pharmacology went, N-Som wasn’t toxic. The way it was made didn’t negate the fact that it worked, and worked well.

Unfortunately, the previous clinical reviewer asked too many questions. Rothchilde stared at Bill’s file and hoped this wouldn’t end up the same way. The doctor’s history showed him to be smart, ethical, and stubborn. Three times in the past, companies had attempted to bribe him. Those companies were no longer in business. Even if Rothchilde threw an obscene amount of money at him, he knew Bill wouldn’t take it.

Especially after the unfortunate occurrence with Bill’s wife.

Perhaps there was a way to work that angle. It warranted some thought. Unfortunately, there was no other person in Bill’s life that they could use to squeeze him.

Rothchilde wondered if the video tape was having its desired effect. Was Bill terrified and eager to please?

Doubtful. But that wasn’t Rothchilde’s plan. He hoped to unhinge Bill just enough to keep his full concentration off the review process. A scared man might miss the things his predecessor had uncovered.

Rothchilde predicted Bill’s course of action. He’d call the police, who wouldn’t help-Halloran would see to that. Bill might look closer at N-Som to find out its secret, but Rothchilde had disposed of all the risky paperwork. Another threat or two, maybe an actual physical encounter, and Bill would have no evidence that N-Som was dangerous, but every incentive in the world to approve it.

In a way, it was lucky that Dr. Nikos was murdered. He would have had to be dealt with sooner or later. The same as his daughter, and the rest of the team.

The grandfather clock in the corner of the den chimed four times. Rothchilde smiled. He was fully awake and alert, and would be for another eighteen hours. And the total cost? Only eighty cents a pill.

“I’m going to be the wealthiest man in the world.”

Rothchilde’s mirth disappeared when he remembered how N-Som was made. He couldn’t get the antacids out of his pocket quick enough.

“Chemicals. That’s all. Nothing more than chemicals.”

But it took the whole roll to calm his stomach down.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Manny looked around Townsend’s apartment. The first thing he saw was a heap of bloody clothing, stacked in the middle of the living room carpet.

Upon closer examination, he realized it wasn’t clothing at all.

Manny turned quickly to get out of there, slipping on a wet spot. He fell forward, covering himself in gore. The scream grew in his lungs, and Manny squeezed his eyes shut and clamped a hand over his mouth to squelch it.

Don’t attract attention, he thought. Stay calm.

He forced himself to carefully get off the floor. His clothes were soaked. He needed to change. Townsend’s clothes? Doubtful. The man was half his size. Maybe he had a large sweater, but pants would be impossible.

After a focused search he found the laundry room behind some double closet doors. Manny quickly stripped and threw his bloody clothes into the machine, adding half a box of detergent. He left red hand prints on the lid and the knob.

There was some underwear folded neatly on top of the dryer. Manny took them and wiped the entire surface of the washer. Careful not to touch anything else, he walked naked through the condo, looking for the bathroom.

“Hello, Manny.”

Manny yelped.

David was stretched out in the bathtub, the water a bright pink. He frowned at Manny. “Quit acting like a baby, and see if there’s another bar of soap in that cabinet.”

Manny couldn’t move his feet. He stared down at his brother, who was picking bits of something out of his fingernails.

“Did you hear me, bro? Soap!”

Manny recoiled at the shout. He tore open the vanity and found a bar of soap.

“Thank you.” David unwrapped the bar and rubbed it onto a rag, making red bubbles. “Want to come in? Water’s fine.”

Manny took a breath and found his voice. “Do you… do you feel better now?”

“Now? You mean, now that I’ve killed?” David thought it over, eventually grinning. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“You’re a monster.”

“Sure I am. We both are. Created in a lab, just like Frankenstein. It’s the N-Som, Manny. You know it as much as I do. I don’t see how you can stand the dreams without cracking.”

Manny bit his knuckle, drew blood.

“They’re only dreams, David.”

“Sure they are. Here.”

David searched through the bath water and came up with a scalpel. He held it out to Manny.

“I don’t want it.”

“You promised. You promised if I killed again, you’d end it for me.”

Manny stepped back.

“I can’t, David.”

“Kill me, Manny.”

Manny shook his head.

“Kill me, or I’ll skin you like I did Townsend.”

Manny reached behind him, trying to find the door knob. David stood up, bloody water cascading off his naked body.

“It was hard, Manny. Like pulling the upholstery off a couch. You really have to put some muscle into it.”

David climbed out of the tub. He held the blade in front of him.

“I’ll hurt you, Manny.”

“Please, David. I don’t want to kill you.”

David frowned. The scalpel caught the light and glinted.

“Too bad. Well, I guess I don’t have any choice then. You broke your promise, and I have to punish you.”

Manny began to cry.

The cries quickly became screams.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The phone was ringing when Bill walked in the door. He was exhausted and scared, but his prevailing emotion was anger. This was insane.

Six hours at the police station had provided no help. The tape was clear evidence of a murder, and the fact that it was given to Bill was a threat that even a three-year-old could see. But the cops seemed to wallow in skepticism and ennui. The case was given to an overworked duty officer who thought it was a prank, and Bill was told they’d get back to him after their so-called investigation.

Bill answered the phone, half-hoping it was the asshole who gave him the tape. He wanted to vent.

“Bill? It’s Theena. I’ve been trying to call all night.”

Bill sat on the couch and rubbed his face. It had occurred to him that Theena could be involved. He had her down as a bit flaky. But the hundred grand question was; did that extend to murder?

“I was at the police station.”

“Are you okay?” Her concern sounded genuine. “What happened?”

“It… I got a death threat. It has to do with approving N-Som.”

“My God. Was it Manny?”

“Manny? No, why?”

“He’s been missing from the hospital since last night. I have no idea where he is. I think the people who killed my father took him.”

Bill tried to make sense of the news. “He could have left on his own.”

“Maybe. But he was in bad shape.”

“Have you checked…” Bill began, wondering if she’d checked Manny’s remote EEG.

“Yes.” Theena had anticipated him. “Manny’s still alive. I’m at DruTech right now. He’s in distress, running Beta 2 waves. It’s been going on for a few hours. Are you okay, Bill?”

Her voice was soft, genuine.

“I’m fine. Someone sent me a video tape of Mike Bitner being killed.”

Bill got no reply.

“Theena? Are you there?”

“I… I don’t believe it. He’s actually dead? This is, this is just horrible. What are you going to do?”

“Do you think your boss could do something like that?”

“Albert Rothchilde? I don’t like the man, to be honest, but he’s not the killer type.”

Bill had only met the man once, and didn’t like him either. He rubbed his eyes and tried to think.

“Is American Products doing well?”

“Extremely well. Stock is way up. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“What do you know about the other investors?”

“Albert has a controlling share. But there are dozens of other stakeholders. Politicians, businessmen…”

“The mob?”

Theena’s silence told him more than if she’d answered.

“Look, Theena, I’m going to the Feds. They have an organized crime bureau. Maybe they can help.”

As he said it, Bill realized he’d left the tape at the police station. Maybe he could get it back somehow.

“I’m scared, Bill.”

“You’ll be safe at DruTech. It has security. I’ll give you my cell phone number if you need to talk.”

“I’m sorry. I feel like I’m the one who got you into this.”

“I’ll be by in a few hours.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

Bill hit the disconnect button, then dialed his office at the FDA in Maryland, hoping that someone was there early. Luckily, a secretary picked up.

“Hello, Dr. May. How’s the sleep research?”

“Exhausting. Laura, can you look up Mike Bitner’s number and address for me?”

“Sure, just a sec.”

“Have you heard from Dr. Bitner lately?”

“No, not for a while. Here it is.”

Bill memorized the information and thanked her. When he called, he got Mike’s answering machine. There were at least ten seconds of beeps, indicating unheard messages. Bill hung up.

“The police have to investigate.” Bill said it to reassure himself, but it didn’t help. As the duty officer had repeated over and over, “There’s no crime without a body.”

Bill was positive Mike was dead, but if a video of his murder wasn’t enough proof, maybe he could find more.

Bitner lived in Roscoe Village, only fifteen minutes away. Bill took a cold shower to wake himself up. After dressing in chinos, a polo shirt, and an older blazer, he hit a corner store and bought a large coffee and a bottle of ma haung weight loss pills. He choked down four.

The sun was up by now and the city was opening its eyes. Bill’s condo came with a garage, which he shared with three of his neighbors. He climbed in his Audi and headed north. Traffic was sparse, but there were a good number of joggers and bikers out. The caffeine and ephedrine hadn’t kicked in yet, so Bill paid careful attention to his driving.

Bill took Addison to Hoyle and located Bitner’s two-flat without difficulty. It was brick, slightly lighter brown than the buildings on either side of it. The porch light was on. He parked in front of a hydrant and waited until a roller blader passed.

Instead of trying the front door, Bill walked straight to the gate leading into the back yard. The rear entrance was attached to a deck, where a wooden chaise without a cushion and a somewhat rusty gas grill kept a silent vigil. Checking either side of him for witnesses, he approached a window and peered inside. It was dark, quiet.

Bill could hear his heart, pounding with a combination of fear and stimulants. He contemplated returning to his car and leaving; other than traffic violations, Bill had never broken the law in his life. Breaking and entering was a felony, right?

The police won’t help you. You need more evidence. Just do it.

He took off his jacket, put it up against the pane, and hit it with the heel of his hand.

The glass cracked with the sound of a gunshot, and the falling pieces seemed to tinkle forever. He locked his knees and refused to run away. Searching for the latch to unlock the window reminded Bill of the first time he assisted in surgery as an intern, trying to find the appendix while all eyes were on him.

A dog barked, a few backyards away. Bill probed the inside of the window frame for a full minute before locating the lock. Two seconds after that, it was up and he was in.

It was the kitchen. The only light was streaming in from the opening he’d crawled through. A steady hum from the refrigerator seemed to exaggerate the silence. He stepped clear of the broken glass and made his way into the hallway.

The drapes had all been drawn, and seeing was tough. He took a minute to let his eyes adjust, and then began poking around, careful not to touch anything.

There was a stereo, hundreds of CDs organized in a rack. An entertainment center hugged the wall, flanked by two large floor plants that were going brown. The sofa and loveseat were black leather. He searched a bookshelf and found some current bestsellers, magazines, some medical texts.

Nothing in the hall closet, nothing in the bathroom. Bill located the basement stairs and flipped on the light. He descended, slowly.

The odor hit him halfway down. It was a smell he knew well, and one he always hated. Musky, putrid, clinical, final.

At the bottom of the stairs, Bill went right. A hand was over his face, and when that no longer worked, he covered his nose with his shirt bottom. The basement was unfurnished, the walls and floor bare concrete. In one corner was a washer, dryer, and an oversized utility sink. Some cardboard boxes were stacked in the center. The furnace and water heater were side by side, next to a large PVC pipe that stretched down from the ceiling and into the sump hole.

To the left of all that, a concrete wall with a door in the middle of it. Much as he hated to, he made it his destination.

When Bill pushed the door open the smell enveloped him like a dry heat. He had to take several steps back or risk vomiting.

Bill decided to examine the rest of the house first, allowing time for the death room to air out. He went up to the second floor and located the bedroom. The dresser and closet contained nothing extraordinary. The bed was unmade. A nightstand drawer revealed a remote control for the TV, some Kleenex, and a Robin Cook paperback.

Bill headed across the upstairs hall and found a study. The drawers had been pulled out of the desk, their contents strewn over the carpet. A large file cabinet had been similarly disturbed, files and papers littering the floor. Bill didn’t think poking through it would provide any answers. It was doubtful that whoever made the mess left anything important.

On a hunch, Bill went back to the bedroom. Many doctors took their work to sleep with them. He looked under the bed, behind the nightstand, and eventually found the file wedged between the nightstand and the bed. The tab on the manila folder read N-SOM. It was thick, held closed by a large rubber band. Bill tucked it under his arm and went into the adjoining bathroom.

In the closet was an old tube of Ben Gay. He dabbed some on his upper lip. It burned, but it was a small price to pay to smell menthol rather than rot. Then he pushed aside his trepidation and walked back down to the basement.

The door was waiting for him. Bill approached without enthusiasm, knowing what was in there, knowing he had to look anyway. When he pushed it open, the stench surrounded him like a tropical breeze. He pulled the cord on a hanging bulb.

The tarpaulin-covered bundle in the middle of the floor was the source of the odor, and the shape left no doubt as to its contents. Bill still had to be sure, and holding his breath he pulled back the canvas.

Mike Bitner’s eyes were open, two white marbles stuck in a pink, bloated face. Bill looked lower, saw the exit wound in the chest. The amount of dried blood staining the floor around him left no doubt that this was where he died. They’d videotaped Bitner’s murder in his own basement.

Bill left the room and tried to think it through. He had to get the authorities to see this, without them knowing he’d been here. Maybe he could leave an anonymous tip. Pretend he was a neighbor, complain about a smell coming from the house. Or even say he heard shots, or saw someone breaking in.

Once the police found the body, they’d have to protect him.

Bill walked over to the stairs, planning the call in his head. The creak took him by surprise.

It had come from the floor above. Bill stopped, and heard it again, louder this time.

There was someone upstairs.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“That window could have got broken weeks ago.”

Franco came up next to Carlos, the broken glass crunching underfoot. Carlos shook his head and scratched at his graying goatee. He had a dark face, all sharp angles, and it suited his personality.

“Floor’s dry. It rained two, three days ago. This is recent.”

Franco shrugged, but he took out his weapon just the same, a laughably large Coonan 357 Magnum with a six inch barrel. Carlos’s Colt Model 38 was already in hand, a reliable gun that never jammed like Franco’s cannon.

“So you want to search the place?”

Carlos thought it over. If someone had been here, that someone might be coming back with heat. He didn’t want to waste any time.

“No. Let’s do it and get the hell out of here. Just be careful.”

Franco laughed at the warning, a girlish giggle that didn’t fit with such a large, muscular body. He bore the badges of pro boxing; scar tissue around the eyes and a grossly misshapen cauliflower ear. Nothing frightened Franco. But Carlos had been in the business a lot longer, and you could get dead even if you weren’t scared.

“Jesus, you smell that stink?”

Carlos didn’t. He’d come prepared. The suit he wore was throw away, and he’d cut a menthol cigarette filter in half and shoved a piece high up in each nostril. The method was so old hat that his speech was barely affected.

Franco led the way into the basement. Carlos stayed a few steps behind, taking in everything. When he saw the light on in the corner room an alarm went off in his mind. Carlos was sure he’d turned it off.

The larger man walked in without a care, grumbling about the smell. Carlos stood at the bottom of the stairs and scanned his surroundings. There were some boxes. A large sink. A water heater. Several places a person could hide. He thumbed back the hammer on his gun and walked towards the boxes.

“I thought we wasn’t searching.”

“Real quick. I wanna be sure.”

“Hurry up. I stay down here long, I’ll deliver a street pizza.”

There was no one behind the boxes, or in the big sink. That left the water heater. He approached it and brought his gun around in a firm, two handed grip.

No one was there.

“You sure are cautious, for an older guy.”

“That’s how I got to be an older guy.”

Carlos walked over to the room to help with the body removal. He didn’t hear the small expulsion of breath come from beneath the cover of the sump pit.

Bill knew he wouldn’t have been able to do anything if they’d found him. He was on his knees in the sinkhole, curled up. It was a tight fit, made even tighter by the discharge pipe pressing into his back. He’d unplugged the sump pump before climbing in, and since it wasn’t running and his head was bent forward he was practically drinking the foul water. If the killers had lifted the lid, it would have been like shooting a big fish in a small barrel.

When he’d heard them upstairs, Bill knew his hiding places were limited. He put the N-Som file in the dryer and was relieved beyond words that hole was large enough to hold him. Once the contorting was complete, the hard part was keeping still. As the footsteps drew nearer, Bill was sure he’d be discovered. He’d closed his eyes and begun to pray.

But the moment had passed, and it looked like he might actually live through this.

He sighed, too loudly for comfort. There was an odor, but it wasn’t as bad as the death smell in the other room. Bill kept his left eye on the light coming in through the crack in the lid opening. He wanted to change position, but didn’t dare for fear of making noise.

They’d come to get the body. He only had to stay there for a few more minutes, then he could get out.

Then something brushed his hand.

He flinched. It was a reflex. His head bumped against the sump lid, knocking it slightly askew.

“Did you hear that?”

Carlos cocked an ear to the side, listening.

“I didn’t hear shit. Lift your end up higher.”

Carlos pulled on his end of the tarp, drawing it closer to his chest. The effort made him groan.

“Don’t have a heart attack, Grandpa. I don’t wanna have to lug two stiffs outta here.”

Franco laughed at his own joke. Carlos frowned. He shouldn’t have been here with Franco, doing this. He was a specialist. The murder, that was worthy of him. This was grunt work. He stared at Franco, the cauliflower ear stuck to the side of his head like a fat pink pretzel. No wonder he didn’t hear anything. Gino liked to joke that Franco’s ears were for decoration only.

“I heard a noise in the corner.”

“You checked it already.”

Carlos nodded. There was nothing there. But he was sure he’d heard something.

“Maybe it’s, whaddaycallit, senile dementia.”

Franco laughed again. Carlos pursed his lips, making a silent wish that someday Gino put a hit out on Franco. Carlos would take that contract for free.

“Lift higher. You’re not doing your part.”

Carlos strained with his end. He hadn’t been paying attention, and Franco had gotten to the stairs first. When the tarp began to leak, it leaked on Carlos.

Whatever had brushed against Bill was bony and covered in fur. He’d stirred it climbing in, and felt it move up along his body and breach the surface next to his cheek.

Dead rat, bloated and rotten.

Bill closed his eyes. The gorge was building in his throat, and he knew he had to do something or he’d throw up.

Carefully, he moved a hand up to the rat and took it between his fingers. He dragged it back under water, where the smell couldn’t get to him.

The air was still funky, but the nausea had passed. He stared up at the lid. The crack was wider now, the cover several inches off center.

He braced for the worst, sure that they’d heard him and were on their way over. They’d pull up the lid and point their guns. The same guns that killed Mike Bitner. Bill would die curled up in foul water, clutching a dead rat, hearing the laughter of petty thugs.

But the seconds slouched by without incident. Bill heard nothing. His neck had begun to cramp, and his legs had long ago lost circulation. Slowly, gently, he straightened up his head and pushed back the cover, peering over the edge of the hole.

The basement was empty.

He climbed out, cold and shaking.

Carlos slammed the car trunk closed and wiped his gooey hands on his pants. Franco giggled.

“You look worse than the stiff.”

It was true. On the way up the stairs, the tarp came open and spilled all over. Carlos was a mess.

“I gotta go clean up.”

“No shit. Ain’t getting in my car like that.”

Franco leaned against the hood and lit a smoke while Carlos made his way back into the house.

Bill was in the kitchen when he heard the back door open. There was nowhere to go except the bathroom. He was there in two steps, throwing the N-Som folder in the cabinet under the sink. Then he climbed into the tub and closed the shower curtain.

The shower curtain was transparent.

Carlos immediately noticed the water on the floor. He pulled out his gun and peered down the basement stairs. Dirty wet footsteps, leading up through the kitchen, and into the bathroom.

“Dr. May, right?”

Bill was pressed into the corner of the shower, shivering. The man before him was thin and angular. His hair and beard were dirty gray, and he had eyes the color of flint. He raised the gun to Bill’s head.

“Answer me.”

“I’m William May.”

The man nodded. “Thought you looked familiar. We’ve got our eye on you, you know.”

The man winked at him. Then he fired the gun.

Bill crumpled into a ball. The shot was so loud it hurt. He hit his head on the bathtub edge and covered his face.

But other than his new lump, there was no wound. He hadn’t been shot.

He peeked through his fingers and saw the man at the sink, washing his hands with some soap.

“Consider that a warning, Dr. May. I only miss on purpose. You see the body?”

Bill didn’t trust his voice to answer.

“Did you see the body, or do I have to drag you outside and shove you in the trunk for a closer look?”

“I saw it.”

“Then you saw what happens when good doctors don’t follow orders.”

The man rubbed a rag on his face. Another man, much larger, appeared in the doorway with a gun. He aimed it at Bill, but the older man pushed his arm down.

“We don’t need to kill him, Franco. He’ll cooperate.”

The big man squinted at Bill.

“That so?”

Bill nodded. His heart was a lump in his throat.

“Dr. May knows what’s best for him. He knows he can’t go to the cops, because we own the cops. That’s why he didn’t get any help with the video tape. He also knows he can’t run, because we can follow him anywhere in the world. The only way he’s gonna live through this, is he if approves the drug.”

Franco leaned over the bathtub and grabbed Bill by the shirt. He pulled him close with an ease that was terrifying.

“That right, Doc? You gonna approve our drug?”

Bill had never felt so helpless.

“Yes.”

Franco giggled like a woman. He gave Bill an approving slap on the cheek. It was like being hit with a board, and the stars came out.

“Good boy. Are you a medical doctor?”

Bill nodded.

Franco’s face became solemn. He released Bill and unzipped his fly. Bill blanched. Revulsion and shame mixed in with his terror. He decided he had to do something, even if they killed him. When the big man dropped his pants, Bill made a fist and got ready to punch.

“What does that look like to you?”

Franco had hiked his boxer shorts over his upper thigh, and was pointing to a small brown mole.

“What?”

“Is that cancer?”

“It’s… it’s just a mole.”

“You sure? I don’t remember having it.”

The smaller man laughed. “You don’t remember how to count to ten without using your fingers.”

“Shut up, Carlos. I want the doc’s opinion.”

Bill cleared his throat. “Has it gotten bigger? Or has it ever bled?”

“No.”

“Then it’s just a mole. Sarcoma has an irregular shape, and it grows and bleeds.”

Franco seemed relieved. He pulled up his pants and walked out of the bathroom.

Carlos tossed Bill the rag and winked again.

“Be seeing you, Dr. May.”

Then he was gone.

Bill sat back in the tub. He wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He did neither.

After a few minutes, he got up and put his hands on the bathroom sink. His stomach was dancing Mambo number five, and he leaned over the toilet. Nothing came.

Bill washed up without looking at himself in the mirror. Then he sat on Mike Bitner’s sofa in the living room, the N-Som folder clutched to his chest, and didn’t move for almost half an hour.

The drive back to his place was a blur. Bill felt nothing, and yet he felt everything. He knew that he had almost died, and an experience like that was life-changing. He also knew that he’d done nothing to prevent it, and his cowardice made him rethink his self image.

They hadn’t killed him, but they’d changed him forever. The important question; was he changed for the better, or for the worse?

When Bill pulled into his garage, he didn’t notice the man hiding in the shadows.

The man with the scalpel.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

The blinking light indicated the call was a transfer. Special Agent Smith set down his coffee, hit the button, and picked up the receiver.

The caller was Dr. William May of the FDA.

He laid it all out for Smith, starting with the murder of Dr. Nikos.

Smith listened closely, asking the questions he was trained to ask, taking notes when appropriate. The caller went on to talk about the video tape, the lack of police involvement, and finally went into the harrowing tale of discovering the body and being caught by the two killers.

When Dr. May was finally finished, Smith reassured him that the Bureau would get some men on the case. He advised him to stay in his home, avoid strangers, and try to always have friends around him.

Smith gave Dr. May his personal cell phone number, and said he should call if anything else happened. He also told him that the FBI would keep him under protective surveillance, but they were going to stay out of sight so as not to arouse suspicion. It seemed to calm Dr. May a bit, and he thanked Smith before getting off the phone.

Smith reviewed the notes, to make sure he had the story straight in his mind. When he was satisfied that he did, he picked up the phone and called Albert Rothchilde.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

When he saw himself, he was someone else.

The gun was in his hand. He knew what he was going to do, and he was powerless to stop it.

His wife was asleep. He woke her up, let her look down the barrel and have one last scream before he shot her in the forehead.

The sound woke up the kids. Bobby, the youngest, began crying in his bed across the hall. His older sister Sally came into the room, eyes wide.

“Daddy! What did you do to Mommy?”

She took the bullet in the chest, and when she fell it was slow motion, almost beautiful, like a ballet dancer.

He went into Bobby’s room. His son was frightened, hysterical.

“Don’t be afraid. Daddy’s here.”

He picked him up, held him close. When Bobby began to calm down, he put the gun under the boy’s chin and fired.

“Just one more.”

He turned the gun around so his thumb was on the trigger and the barrel was pointed at his own chest.

“Forgive me, Lord.”

Then he pulled.

Manny opened his eyes and screamed. It took him a second to realize where he was. He saw the scalpel in one bloody hand, the bottle of pills in the other.

N-Som dream.

He shivered and pulled his knees up to his chest. Bad batch. One of the worst. He wondered how many of the pills in the bottle came from the same source. Manny shook his whole body like a wet dog, trying to erase the memory from his mind.

But he couldn’t, of course.

Didn’t matter. It was over, and he was fully refreshed. The fatigue that had been setting in before he took the N-Som was gone. His fear was replaced with a feeling of strength and well-being.

Manny stood up. He was in Dr. May’s garage. There was a car parked in Dr. May’s spot, where one hadn’t been earlier.

The doctor was in.

Manny was infused with a sense of purpose. He hoped he wasn’t too late.

He put the scalpel and the pills in the shopping bag, on top of the Tupperware container, and eased the entry door open. It led into a hallway, beneath Bill’s condo.

Manny walked fast, not wanting to be seen. The washer had faded the stains on his clothes, but the bandage on his hand was soaked with blood and would prompt questions.

The elevator took him to Dr. May’s floor. He knocked on the door. Almost a minute passed. Manny knocked again, harder. His tongue tasted like pennies, and he realized he was biting it.

“Manny?”

Bill was in a bathrobe. His hair was wet and smelled of shampoo.

“Dr. May-quick! Inside where it’s safe.”

He stepped past the doctor and looked around the room to make sure it was empty.

“Is anyone else here?”

“I’m alone, Manny. Are you all right? What happened at the hospital?”

Manny walked to the sofa, thought about sitting down, decided against it, and paced back to Bill.

“They took me.”

The lie came out weak. He wasn’t sure why he was still covering for David, after all the horrible things he’d done. Fear? Devotion? Guilt?

“What happened to your hand?”

Manny stared at his fist, the gauze almost completely red.

“They cut my finger off. Can you sew it back on?”

Manny reached into the bag and removed the Tupperware container. His little finger was carefully sealed in plastic wrap and surrounded by ice.

Bill reached for the phone. “We have to get you to the hospital.”

“No! He… they, they’ll find me there. I have to stay here, to protect you.”

“Manny, you need microsurgery to reattach a finger. I don’t have that kind of equipment here.”

Manny held Bill by the arm, imploring.

“You don’t understand. It’s not safe. The people who took me… they said that you were next.”

The doctor seemed to think it over.

“Fine. Let me put on some clothes, and we’ll go someplace safe.”

Bill went into another room. Manny chewed his fingernails, both eyes locked on the front door. He knew David was close by. He could practically smell him.

When they were kids, Manny and David had been very close. Even when they were fighting. Even when David did bad things. And more bad things were coming, Manny was sure of it. He could feel them drawing closer.

“Are you ready?”

He jumped at the doctor’s voice. Bill put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. It must have been horrible, but you’re safe now. Got the finger?”

Manny clutched the bag to his chest.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Bill led him down the stairs and back into the garage. It was a hellish walk for Manny, expecting David to pop out behind every corner. He felt a tad safer once they were in the car and driving.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you light headed?’

“A little.”

The car stopped at a light. Manny checked to make sure his door was locked.

“When was the last time you took N-Som?”

“A little while ago.”

Bill nodded. “Do you think maybe you should put the experiment on hold for a little while, get some sleep?”

“NO!”

The doctor flinched at the outburst. Manny tried to tamp down his emotion.

“I mean… I can’t stop now, there’s too much at stake here. This was Dr. Nikos’s dream. I’m okay. I really am. I’m just scared. As you said, I’ve been through a lot.”

A car honked behind them. Manny jerked around. Just an SUV, wanting Bill to go because the light turned green. Bill complied.

“So… what’s it like? Being on N-Som?”

“Like?”

“How does it feel?”

Manny was used to questions. He was asked them every day by the team’s shrink, Dr. Fletcher. The familiarity made him relax a bit.

“It feels normal. You just don’t get tired. Dr. Nikos calls it ZFS-Zero Fatigue Syndrome.”

“Physically or mentally tired?”

“Neither. I can exercise for a very long time. I can also concentrate for extended periods. I never get sleepy.”

“How about when the drug wears off?”

“As long as I take it every 24 hours, the effect never stops. If I miss a dose, I start feeling tired and I know it’s time to take it again.”

Like earlier. Manny couldn’t remember when he’d last taken the drug; the visit to the hospital had interrupted his daily dose. But the fatigue had been an indicator it was time.

“Are there side effects? Does it make you jumpy? Irritable?” He looked at Manny. “Paranoid?”

“N-Som isn’t a stimulant, Dr. May. I’m acting paranoid because people are really after us.”

They drove in silence. It got to Manny, and after a minute he had to talk.

“Look, Doctor, this is an amazing drug. Not only does it replace sleep, it improves your health. I don’t get sick anymore. Dr. Nikos and Theena have injected me with different diseases, and none have any affect. I can gain muscle mass at an amazing rate-in one week my biceps grew two inches. And healing… watch this.”

Manny found the scalpel in his bag and took it out.

“What are you doing?”

He brought the blade up to his cheek and make a shallow cut from his ear to his lip.

“Manny…!”

“Calm down, Doc. I have a pretty high threshold for pain. Now look.”

He lowered the visor and adjusted the vanity mirror so he could watch too.

There was bleeding, but not much. After a few seconds he wiped his cheek with his sleeve to show that it had stopped all together.

“See?” Manny put his fingers on either side of the cut and spread them open. The wound had closed.

“It’s healed?”

“Not completely. My blood clots at the same rate that yours does. But both sides have knitted together already.”

“How is that possible?”

“Sleep promotes healing. While asleep, the glands manufacture chemicals.”

“The pituitary gland. It makes human growth hormone. It’s responsible for building muscle, repairing damage, and a slew of other things. But an abundance of HGH is dangerous, Manny. It produces a condition known as acromegaly. The bones and organs enlarge, causing deformity and ultimately death.”

“Not in my case. N-Som fools the brain into thinking it has slept, and the brain responds by increased hormone production. But my increased metabolism compensates for it. In technical terms, N-Som overrides the superachiasmatic nucleus of the hypothalamus and the midbrain recticular formation, resulting in…”

“I know,” Bill interrupted. “I read the chemical review. N-Som is a synthetic exitatory neurotransmitter. But I didn’t know it affected anything other than the Circadian Clock.”

Manny grinned, his pleasure genuine.

“Pretty amazing stuff, huh? So you understand why this experiment is so important. Once this drug is approved, not only will the productivity of the human race increase, the individual quality of life will too.”

When Bill pulled into the parking lot, Manny saw that they were at the hospital. His smile melted.

“What is this?”

“Unless you can grow your finger back, you need surgery.”

“I told you…”

“Manny, I’ll be with you the whole time. We’ll be safe.”

But Manny knew better. If he went in here, there would be forms to fill out, insurance information, DruTech would be called…

David would find them.

“I can’t…”

“Manny, please be reasonable.”

Manny looked down at his hands. He could live with nine fingers. But eight? Six? Two?

David had threatened to cut them all off if he tried to interfere. That, and worse.

“My finger doesn’t matter, Doc. The Project matters. You, Theena, everyone involved is in danger. He wants to kill all of you.”

“Who, Manny? Who wants to kill us?”

Manny nervously glanced in the rearview mirror. He was so shocked that he yelled.

David.

“You have to get away, Doc. Go!”

Manny pushed out of the car and ran away as fast as he could.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

When Bill arrived at DruTech, Theena was waiting at the front door. Her lab coat was over another short skirt, and her hair was in a loose ponytail. She hugged him, and Bill felt the tension slip away for the short time she was in his arms.

“What happened?”

Theena was appraising the mark on Bill’s cheek, where Franco had slapped him.

He gave her the whole story as they made their way to the research level. When the elevator stopped, he’d just gotten to the part with Manny.

“He’s okay?”

There was excitement in her voice, perhaps a bit more than Bill found comfortable.

“He says some people took him from the hospital and cut off his finger, but he got away from them. I took him back there so they could reattach it, but he ran off.”

“That poor man. He must be terrified. And you too. Bill, I don’t know how you managed it. You’re very brave.”

Theena kissed him on the cheek.

Bill tried to shrug, but it came out more like a squeak. She took his hand and they left the elevator.

“The others are here-everyone except for Jim Townsend. I left several messages, but haven’t heard from him.”

“Is that normal?”

“For Jim, no. I keep wondering if he had some kind of accident.”

Theena ushered Bill into a conference room. It was a moderate size, the walls adorned with motivational posters with sayings like “All answers began as problems.” The lighting was softer than the harsh neon of the hallways, and the air smelled faintly of tobacco. A large oval table was surrounded by a dozen chairs, only three of which were taken.

“This is Dr. Bill May, from CDER. I’m sure you all remember him from the other day. Bill, this is Dr. Mason O’Neil, our MD.”

Bill shook his hand. Mason was about ten years older than him, short and stout. He had furry gray sideburns that seemed to swallow his ears, an obvious attempt to make up for the lack of hair on his head.

“Next to him is our chemist, Dr. Julia Myrnowski.”

Julia was young, chubby, with short blonde hair. She smiled shyly at Bill and offered a moist, limp hand.

“And this is Dr. Robert Fletcher, our psychiatrist.”

“Call me Red.”

Bill couldn’t imagine why-the doctor’s hair was pure white. Red seemed to read Bill’s mind.

“Nothing to do with my hair. I was a bookworm when I was younger. Nickname stuck.”

“Nice to meet all of you.” Bill glanced at Theena, unsure if he was supposed to tell the day’s events. She pushed on without acknowledging him.

“I’d like everyone to state a brief overview of their work here, to give Bill an idea of how we’re running this project. Can you start, Mason?”

“Of course.” Mason had a school teacher voice, the friendly kind. “I’m basically Manny’s doctor. I oversee all of the testing. Tissue work ups, serum samples, vitals, lab tests, that sort of thing.”

“And how is his health?”

“Remarkable. Every possible stat has improved since he began using N-Som. Blood pressure, cholesterol, body fat, endurance, you name it. You’re an MD yourself, correct? I’d be thrilled to go over his charts with you.”

Bill had seen many of them already. Mason did thorough work.

Theena smiled, comfortable playing group leader. “Julia? Can you tell Bill about your job?”

“Well, I work in the lab a lot. Sometimes with Mason doing testing, but my specialty is NMRs and mass spec.”

“Julia is the one that mapped the atomic make-up of the N-Som molecule.”

“Three molecules, actually.” Julia blushed. “It’s a beautiful drug, on an atomic level. I’ve built several models.”

“I’d like to see them.”

“Sure.”

Julia blushed. She was so shy Bill felt an urge to pat her head.

Red coughed into his hand and cleared his throat.

“And I assess Manny’s mental state, along with providing needed therapy.”

“Does he need therapy?”

“We all need therapy, Bill. Perhaps Manny needs a bit more than others.”

Bill had gone over some of Manny’s physical reports, but hadn’t been privy to any of his psych evaluations other than a brief bio.

“I’ve read a little about his past. He grew up in a foster home.”

“Yes, with his brother, David. Their mother was a drug user, neglectful. The state took over custody.”

“Can you give me your personal assessment of him?”

Red smiled, apparently delighted by the question.

“Complicated man. He has a grounded sense of right and wrong, yet many times in the past he chose the wrong. Burglaries, car theft. We got him through the CIRP, you know.”

Bill hadn’t known that. The Correctional Institution Reform Project offered prisoners reduced sentences by allowing them opportunities to volunteer in scientific programs.

“What was he in for?”

“Assault. He started a fight in a restaurant, hit another man with a beer mug. When the police arrived, he fought with them as well.”

“So he’s temperamental.”

“When I first got him, yes. I’d like to say that my guiding hand has made him a calmer person, but I don’t think I’m the cause in this instance.”

“N-Som?”

“I think so. Besides his many physical improvements, Manny has become calmer, more at ease with himself, and even a nicer person.”

“Is he ever paranoid? Delusional?”

Something passed behind Red’s eyes.

“Manny has some unresolved issues involving his childhood, and has resulting ego problems. I’m sure you know how hard self acceptance can be, especially if you’ve made some big mistakes.”

Bill was taken aback. Did Red know? Was this talk of self acceptance and big mistakes a reflection on Bill’s past?

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m sure you do. I read about you in the paper last year, Dr. May. You and your wife. But obviously, with therapy, a person recovers. You did seek professional help, right?”

Bill felt it build inside him. He tried to repress the bottled emotion.

“The topic is Manny, Red.”

“Surely you can talk about it after all this time.”

The memories came flooding back, and Bill couldn’t stop the switch from being flipped. With them came pain, guilt, and self-hatred.

“Whether I can or I can’t isn’t your goddamn business.”

Red stared at him without expression.

“I apologize, Dr. May. If you need an ear, I’m here. It’s almost impossible to get over things like that without help.”

Bill tried to swallow, couldn’t. All eyes were on him, watching him while he cracked. He stood up to leave.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Bill fought to keep his voice even. “The last thing I want to do is tell a group of complete strangers about how I murdered my wife.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Theena watched Bill storm out of the conference room, his face ablaze with pain. Against the advice of Red, she followed, somewhat surprised by the degree of her own concern.

Bill was leaning against the wall, his thumb and index finger pressing his eyes closed. Theena touched his shoulder and discovered he was trembling.

“Bill? What happened in there?”

When he took his hand away from his face, his eyes were red.

“I’m not sure I can talk about it.”

“Have you ever talked about it?”

Bill said nothing. Theena waited, watching him wrestle with some inner demon. When he finally spoke it was flat and without emotion.

“My wife Kristen had an inoperable brain tumor. It didn’t respond to conventional therapy. I knew there was an experimental drug that looked promising, but it was still in pre clinical development-it hadn’t been tested on humans.”

His mouth twisted in a sour smile.

“I pushed the application through the Investigational New Drug process, even though the sponsor wasn’t prepared for clinical testing. The FDA can do that for emergency cases; allow a treatment IND even if the drug hasn’t been approved.

Theena could guess where this was going. Her stomach clenched with pity.

“The tumor was slow growing, but I didn’t want to waste any time. I rushed her into treatment. I can remember promising her it was going to be okay.”

His red eyes glassed over. His voice was a pain-filled whisper.

“The first dose killed her.”

Theena tried to touch his cheek, but Bill turned away.

“I shouldn’t have pushed it through. If I had more thoroughly investigated the drug…”

“She was going to die anyway, Bill.”

He laughed, a harsh expletive sound.

“The very next month, a doctor in Europe perfected a new procedure for mid-brain tumorectomy. If I’d waited a few weeks, Kristen would still be alive.”

There was nothing Theena could say, but she tried.

“You did it to save her.”

“I killed her. It was no different than putting a gun to her head.”

Bill walked off in the direction of the elevator. Theena could imagine trying to live with that guilt, and she felt terrible for him. She also felt something else; a tenderness inside her that had been missing for a long time.

Theena followed, grabbing his sleeve.

“Don’t go.”

He shook his arm free. She grabbed him again, harder, yanking him around to face her. Bill’s face was vulnerable, but there was also inner strength there. He was hurt, and for some reason this hurt her too. It was impossible to bring his wife back, and almost as impossible to make him forgive himself.

But maybe, for just a moment, she could help.

Before he could object, she had her fist locked around his tie and her mouth pressed to his.

Bill resisted for the briefest of moments, and then kissed her back.

It wasn’t tender or tentative, as first kisses usually were. This was hard, frantic. He gripped her tight, both hands pressing into her lower back, and she wrapped her fingers in his hair and tried to pull him even closer.

It didn’t take much effort to lead him to Manny’s room. The passion continued to grow in Theena until it drowned out all other thoughts. Bill’s wife, N-Som, her father’s death, Manny’s disappearance; nothing mattered except sensation, and she gave herself to it fully.

They got as far as the sofa before the clothes came off. She didn’t expect Bill to last long-it had been a while for him. But he surprised her, and when the rhythm she liked began he was able to maintain it until she found release, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.

He came while she was riding the wave, and for those few precious seconds, everything in life was perfect and pleasant and real.

Theena luxuriated in the post-glow, his weight on top of her, their sweaty bodies, the feeling of his heart beating against her breast. Sex with a new man was often awkward, but this was as good a start as she could remember.

She whispered in his ear, giving it a tiny nibble and tasting salt. “I really needed that.”

Bill pulled away and grinned at her. “It sure beats psychotherapy.”

“Cheaper, too.”

He kissed her, tenderly this time, and then maneuvered so he was sitting on the sofa. She curled up next to him, hooking one leg over his knee.

“Are you okay?”

He thought about it for a moment, and nodded.

“I’ve got a lot on my plate, but I’ll manage.”

“Can I be forward?”

Bill laughed. “I think you already were.”

“My father’s funeral is tomorrow. I’d like you to take me.”

“Of course.”

Theena had been putting off mourning. When she saw Dad in that casket, she knew she’d break down. Having Bill with her would help.

“So it’s really been over a year?”

He nodded.

Theena found the remote control and aimed it at the fake window. After a few sunsets, the porno channel came on.

“After that long, I bet you have a shortened refractory period.”

Her hand found him, and she proved herself correct.

They took it slower this time, now that the urgency was gone. Theena enjoyed the change of pace, almost as much as she enjoyed the change of partner.

She wondered, idly, what Manny was doing at that moment. She’d never said they were exclusive, even though the poor dope proposed marriage every time they made love. He would probably fly into a jealous rage if he found out.

But as she approached orgasm, it wasn’t Manny she was thinking about. Nor was it Bill.

In her mind’s eye, she saw someone completely different.

The only man she’d ever truly loved.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

After sitting in the conference room for several minutes, Dr. Red Fletcher knew that Theena and Bill weren’t coming back. He assumed that they were in Manny’s room-it was obvious they had the hots for each other, even if you weren’t a trained psychoanalyst. Under the guise of testing his assumption, he bid good-bye to his colleagues and went to his office, located a few doors down.

The room was an intentional replica of the office at his practice downtown, with the same style Victorian desk, the same leather couch, many of the same books on the shelves. There was no view, naturally, but he compensated with several landscape paintings and soft track lighting. A place for thinking, a place for healing.

The main difference between his two offices was the secret place, as he liked to call it. The brown door in the corner was always locked, and Red had the only key.

Red went into the secret place and switched on the light. The Mac on the desk hummed; it was always on. The space was small, cramped, the size of a large closet. He sat down at the keyboard.

Dr. Nikos had been the only other person that knew about this place-Red had needed his permission and funding to set it up. But Nikos hadn’t even known the tip of it.

Along the walls, in racks, were dozens of labeled CDRs. The computer looked like any other modest system, unless you examined the back and noticed the extra cables running to and from the CPU. Red typed a command and the sound came up on the speakers.

Moaning and breathing, from Manny’s room.

Red smiled. He’d been right. He checked to make sure it was being burned on the CD, and then turned the sound down.

Bugging Manny’s room had been his idea. Red was an ethical doctor, but this was an exceptional case. Manny was his patient, yes, and he wanted to help him. But first and foremost, Manny was a guinea pig for an experimental drug. Red’s job here was to evaluate the psychological effect it had on Manny, and if that meant violating his trust, so be it.

It was a good thing he did, because some of the things Red had recorded were extraordinary.

He took down a CD labeled “MANNY and DAVID #7”, put it in the second disk drive, and turned up the volume.

Voices filled the small room, David and Manny in a heated argument. Red sat down and picked up his notebook, leafing through it.

“You cover for me. You always cover for me.”

“I have to, David. You’re my brother.”

Red squinted at his handwriting, wishing it were more legible. He found the session he wanted and read. Manny had been talking about his youth, describing an instance where David killed a neighbor’s dog. Manny told their foster parents. David was sent to juvenile hall, and like most kids in juvee, he’d been abused.

Manny had never gotten over the guilt of doing that to his brother. Even though Manny hadn’t been the one to beat the animal to death, he felt responsible.

“Stop it, David! You’re hurting me!”

Red pursed his lips, listening to the tape, wondering if he could actually hear the singeing sound of the hot iron on skin or if it was his imagination.

He questioned, yet again, if he should have attempted to stop it. True, Manny’s healing abilities were accelerated, but shouldn’t he have stepped in and tried to prevent him from being hurt?

“Not my job.” Red said the words to reaffirm his decision. “My job is to observe and evaluate.”

Dr. Nikos had never known about the friction between Manny and David. Red had planned on telling him, but had wanted to gather enough data to formulate a diagnosis first. He knew David was violent, but was unsure if his incessant mention of homicide was real or imaginary. He believed that David would never actually kill someone. It was just tough talk; bravado and swagger.

Or was it?

A sobering thought, especially in light of Dr. Nikos’s murder. But Red was sure it couldn’t have been David. David hadn’t been there.

No, someone else killed Dr. Nikos. Red set it in his mind. It had to have been someone else.

He popped out the CD and checked on the sounds in Manny’s room.

More moaning and groaning.

Red smiled. “Ah, youth.”

He left it on, again telling himself it was for professional rather than prurient reasons. Theena intrigued him. As a Freudian, he was immediately aware of the complex she suffered from; it was her primary motivation for beginning the affair with Manny. Red was unsure of her motive in this instance.

It might have been the need for sex, but she seemed to have been getting enough of that already. Was she doing it with Bill out of pity?

The moans didn’t sound like pity to Red.

Something else then. Romantic feelings, perhaps? Or perhaps Bill was a more appropriate substitute than Manny was.

Red switched off the sound and left the room, locking the door behind him. Fascinating as she was, Theena wasn’t his patient. She had a right to her secrets.

He did, however, pocket a CD labeled MANNY and THEENA #4, to listen to later.

It was only lunch time, but with Manny still missing, Red had no reason to stay at DruTech. He pondered going into the office downtown, but everything there could wait.

Red chose to go home. Rather than track down his fellow employees to inform them he was going, he used the intercom. Units were in every room, on the wall next to the entrance. He stood next to his and pressed the speak button.

“I’m heading home. Good day, everyone.”

His voice echoed loudly over the house speakers, imbedded in all the ceilings throughout the complex. A moment later, the speakers bellowed with a feminine voice.

“GOOD-BYE, DR. RED.”

Red smiled. Julia always responded. He hardly ever talked to her professionally, but he knew her shy nature made self-reaffirmation through others a necessity. In return she always offered affirmation back in greetings and farewells.

He knew she was awaiting a response, and he gave it to her.

“Good-bye, Julia. See you tomorrow.”

“SEE YOU TOMORROW.”

“Have a nice day.”

“YOU TOO. HAVE A NICE DAY.”

He could have replied again, knowing Julia would keep this up forever. But amusing as it was, he wanted to get on his way.

Red owned a ranch house in the wealthy town of Barrington. The sun was out in full force, and in the parking lot Red paused to take some big, full breaths. Autumn was in the air, with its own special, earthy smell.

The weather was mild enough to roll down the windows halfway, and he took a route through the forest preserve to see the trees turning. Nature pleased Red, and fall colors were a special delight. The leaves reminded him of his youth, placing them under paper and rubbing them with a crayon to get impressions. Simple tactile pleasures.

The hit from behind was wholly unexpected.

Red always drove under the speed limit. Mostly for safety’s sake, but he also got a secret pleasure causing road rage in the impatient.

As a result of his driving habits, he’d been rear-ended several times. It had never been his fault, and was never anything more serious than a fender bender.

This was different.

Red’s head was jerked back, and his car swerved onto the shoulder. He hit the brakes, spun, and finally came to a stop facing the wrong side of the street.

When focus returned, he saw what had hit him. It was a pickup truck, full size, the chrome bumper wrinkled like a piece of tin foil.

The driver hopped out of the cab and hurried over to Red, opening his door. Red was grateful for the speedy assistance, until he looked into the driver’s eyes.

“David?”

“Hiya, Doc. Beautiful day for a drive.”

David reached down and unbuckled Red’s seat belt. He firmly tugged the older man out of the vehicle. Red was a solid man, tall enough to have played basketball in high school. But David handled him as easily as if he were a child.

Another car slowed down beside the accident site, the driver sticking his head out the window.

“Are you guys okay?”

“I think so.” David shrugged. “No one’s hurt, but my wife’s gonna have a fit.”

“Do you want me to call the police?”

“Already did. Thanks.”

David waved, and the car sped off.

Red was still stunned, and his neck was beginning to ache, but he wasn’t afraid. David had apparently followed him from DruTech, and he obviously needed to talk.

“You seem sort of edgy, David. Any idea where Manny is?”

“That cry baby? No idea.”

“I have to question your method of approach here. Wouldn’t a phone call have been easier than rear-ending me?”

“Sorry, Doc. You know I’m impulsive sometimes.”

Red nodded, then winced.

“Neck hurt? Let’s go sit down.”

David took Red’s arm, assisting the older man with his footing on the bumpy grass. David led him down the ditch and over to a copse of trees. He leaned the psychiatrist against a massive oak.

“Thank you, David.”

“With the ditch, you can barely see the road over here. It’s like we’re all alone in the woods.”

Red agreed. “Private. It’s nice to get away, sometimes.”

David sat next to the doctor and twirled a brown oak leaf in his fingers. Red waited. Silence was important. It was good to let patients work things out for themselves.

“I was there.”

“Where, David?”

“When Dr. Nikos died.”

Red did his best to hide his alarm.

“I didn’t notice you there.”

“I came later, after the speech. I know Dr. Nikos didn’t want me there. Manny’s the success. I’m the failure.”

“That’s not true…”

“It is true. That’s why I killed him.”

For the first time in his professional career, Dr. Red Fletcher felt a spike of fear. He’d had David pegged as antisocial, prone to fits of temper, but not homicidal.

His diagnosis had been wrong.

It all made sense now. And Red was in serious danger. Stupid, to have let his own ego blind him from the truth.

Red controlled his breathing, trying to treat the conversation like it was just another therapy session.

“You believe Dr. Nikos thought you were a failure.”

“Of course. If anyone knew about me, do you think N-Som would get FDA approval? I know I’m a secret. That new CDER guy, Bill, doesn’t even know about me, does he?”

“No.”

“See? Big embarrassment.”

Red chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to get David riled up. They had a relationship, mentor and student. He could still control where the situation went.

“You’re not an embarrassment, David. You may have some problems…”

“Problems?” David spat. “I sliced Dr. Nikos up like a pizza. And when Manny tried to stop me, I did the same to my own brother. The one person in the whole damn world that I love.”

“You… you need help, David.”

“No shit.”

“But we’ll be able to work it out. It isn’t your fault that Dr. Nikos is dead. We can actually blame the drug. You can get through this, David.”

David crumpled the dry leaf in his hand, the brittle flakes grabbing the air and blowing away.

“Sometimes I think I can. Sometimes I really do.” His mouth formed a lopsided grin. “But it would be a lot easier if I just killed you.”

David took a scalpel out of his back pocket. Red felt the sweat bead up on his forehead. He kept his voice steady.

“That’s not in your best interest, David.”

“You said it yourself. I can blame the drug.”

David moved closer. Red crab walked backwards, keeping his feet between him and the advancing blade.

“I can help you, David. I can help make you well.”

“I appreciate the effort. Really, I do. But between me and you, Doc, I think psychiatry is a big load of horseshit.”

The scalpel flashed. Red tried to defend himself, tried to ward off the unrelenting slice after slice after slice. After a while he gave up and just prayed for it to end quickly.

But it didn’t.

“Now it makes sense.” David laughed, digging in. “Why they call you Red.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Nathan White liked every aspect of his job except this one.

His mother thought being a courier was the same as being a pizza delivery boy. She couldn’t have been more wrong. They both involved driving, and dropping things off, but the similarity ended there.

Even though he worked for a company, Nathan was technically an independent contractor-his own boss. But more than that, he was actually part of something. Many people, companies, and institutions depended on him.

Fed Ex offered next day service, but in many cases that wasn’t quick enough. Sometimes it had to be the same day, or even within an hour.

Nathan had delivered contracts that saved companies from bankruptcy, organs for emergency transplants, evidence that helped convict murderers, water to disaster victims-things that helped make the world better.

He was paid well, treated with respect, and people were always happy to see him when he arrived just in the nick of time.

Kind of like Superman, Nathan thought. Except Nathan was fat with acne and no super powers.

The job had only one downside; the DruTech run. Or, as he called it, the cadavalivery.

He picked up his two-way radio and spoke to headquarters.

“Dispatch, I’m at the morgue, over.”

“Roger, Nathan. Make it quick-you wouldn’t want the corpsicle to thaw.”

Nathan winced at the joke. He got out of the car and rang the buzzer at the rear entrance. Like always, his mind began to wander while he waited.

Once a week, for almost two years, Nathan had been coming to the morgue to pick up packages. The procedure was always the same. He’d give Sully a sealed envelope, Sully would give him an insulated box.

The boxes varied in size, some small enough to hold shoes, some large enough for a TV. They were always cold to the touch. Sometimes they steamed slightly, and the odor made Nathan gag. A year back, a package had even leaked, and the stain was so rancid Nathan had to cut it out of the upholstery, resulting in a hole in the back seat.

Nathan knew that even the big boxes were too small to hold an entire cadaver, but he had no doubt the boxes had something dead in them. After all, this was a morgue.

So his mind played tricks every time he made the DruTech run. He’d imagine the box was full of illegal third trimester abortions. Or severed limbs, which were going to be cooked and served to a secret club of corporate cannibals. Or that he was picking up different body parts each time, and a mad doctor was building a monster out of them.

One thing was certain; the weekly deal was shady. It always took place at the back entrance, which was never in use. It always involved an exchange for an envelope full of cash (Nathan never opened it, but it felt like cash). And Nathan was paid for the run off the books, in cash as well.

Nathan patted his pocket to make sure he had the envelope. He did, naturally. If there was one run he didn’t want to screw up, it was this one. Nathan harbored many fears of what would happen if he’d accidentally lost the envelope. He figured he’d wind up in one of those insulated boxes, and his replacement would deliver his parts to DruTech for nefarious purposes.

The door swung open, and Nathan jumped. Sully snorted at him. Pale, hairy, a drawn out face-Sully looked exactly what a morgue attendant should look like. As usual, he wore his bloody apron. Little things were stuck to it on this occasion, and Nathan had no desire to know what they were.

“Got the envelope?”

Nathan handed it to Sully. The dour man stuck it in his back pocket, then bent down and handed Nathan a medium sized Styrofoam box, the lid sealed with tape.

It was steaming.

Nathan held it away from his body, trying not to sniff the rising fumes. Sully laughed.

“Get a move on. You don’t want to have it with you when it thaws and wakes up.”

The color drained from Nathan’s face, and Sully slammed the door. Sully always messed around with him like that. There couldn’t be something actually alive in there.

Right?

Nathan didn’t want to find out. He hurried to his car, placed the box on the roof as he opened the door, and when he went to grab the package it slid out of his hands and hit the ground.

Nathan yelled in surprise. This was the worst thing that had ever happened in his twenty-three years of life.

The package landed on its corner. The impact caused the top to pop off, flapping open like a hinge, the tape still stuck to one edge.

The steam slowly dissipated, revealing the thing inside the box.

Nathan stared down in horror. It was worse than anything he could have imagined. His mind screamed at him to run away, but his legs remained locked and his eyes couldn’t tear away from the nightmare before him.

It was a human head.

The head was severed under the jaw line, packed in smoking dry ice. Two curly wires were stuck in the tear ducts of its open eyes, the other ends attached to a large lantern battery.

And it was opening and closing its mouth.

The scream was in his lungs, filling them, but he couldn’t get it out of his throat. He was so terrified he couldn’t exhale.

There was a soft, rhythmic click click click as the head’s upper and lower teeth met, as if it was chewing.

Or trying to speak.

“Whoops.”

Nathan turned and saw Sully standing next to him. The scream finally came out, but it was more like an asthmatic wheeze, so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.

Sully bent down and picked up the box, holding it under Nathan’s face.

“See? You woke him up. Now it must feed on the blood of the living.”

Nathan’s bladder let loose and the blood drained from his head. He was about to pass out.

Sully snapped the lid on and put the box in the back seat.

“You okay, kid?”

“… it’s… it’s… still alive…”

Sully laughed and clapped Nathan on the shoulder. “It’s not alive. Some doctor’s going to use it for experimental research. The battery keeps a small electric charge in the brain so the tissue doesn’t decay, and the jaw moving is just a reflex.”

Nathan began to sob. Sully frowned, clearly embarrassed.

“Look, kid, it’s no big deal. No harm done. You want to come in, get cleaned up?”

Nathan shook his head, his hand reaching into his wet jeans for his car keys. Sully took out the envelope Nathan had given him and removed a fifty dollar bill. He shoved it in Nathan’s vest pocket.

“Here, have a nice dinner on me.”

Nathan mumbled a thanks. It was automatic. He didn’t feel thankful at all.

“If there’s anything left, pick up something for our friend here. Maybe he’d like a pack of gum.”

Sully opened his jaw and clicked his teeth together, doing an eerie imitation of the head.

Nathan climbed into the car, oblivious to Sulley’s laughter. He drove in a daze, way over the speed limit, paying no attention to traffic signals. When he got back to headquarters Nathan quit on the spot, and demanded they remove the box from his back seat and take it to DruTech themselves.

The next day he got a job delivering pizzas.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Bill had never been to a funeral where it hadn’t rained.

Today was no exception. He huddled under an umbrella, Theena clutching his arm hard enough to bruise it, trying to remain calm while the minister’s droning voice got lost in the wind.

There had been a wake earlier, loud and good natured, pharmaceutical people mingling with politicians, investors, family members. But it was all bad for Bill. The closed casket brought back memories of his wife’s funeral, and several colleagues he hadn’t seen since then felt the need to ask how he was coping.

Theena hadn’t said a word since this morning, when she apologized for not putting on any make-up. Her nonstop crying since then was the reason why.

But he’d managed to stay strong through the wake, for Theena, for himself. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. When he’d learned that the funeral was being held at St. Matthew’s it took all of his will power not to walk out on Theena.

He looked to his right, again, over the rows of graves, to a barren tree on a hill a hundred yards away.

His wife was buried under that tree.

Bill hadn’t visited her once since she’d been interred. The scene had been very much like this one, support people mumbling meaningless words of sympathy in the rain.

A procession had formed before Dr. Nikos’s casket, mourners pulling flowers from an arrangement and setting them on top. Bill tried to ease Theena into line, but she refused to move. The people standing to their left had to walk around them.

Finally, adorned with flora, the coffin was lowered into the muddy earth. Theena wailed, a sound like a tortured ghost, and collapsed onto the ground. Bill knelt next to her, cradling her head, feeling his wife watch them from the hill.

Several people came by, including the minister, offering their assistance. Theena simply sobbed. After a while, she and Bill were the only ones left.

The wind got worse, stinging as it slapped their faces. Bill’s pants were soaked to the thigh. He could imagine how cold Theena was, in a black skirt, sitting on the ground in a little ball.

“We have to get you inside.”

“No.”

“Theena, you’ll get sick out here.”

“I’m not leaving Daddy.”

Bill tried to lift her by the armpits, but she fought him. He had an irrational impulse to slap her, make her get up so he could leave, and that made him feel even guiltier than he already was.

“I want to put a flower on his casket.”

She allowed Bill to help her up, and they approached the grave.

The hole was already filling with water. So cold and wet and alone. Awful.

Theena picked a rose and dropped it. The flower bounced indifferently off the casket and fell alongside. Theena shook herself free of Bill’s arms and ran, across the cemetery, towards the parking lot, her face in her hands.

Bill watched her go. He wanted to follow, but his feet had something else in mind. They took him in the other direction, up the hill.

Kristen’s headstone was black marble. All it listed was her full name, her birth date, her death date. The carver had asked Bill if he wanted anything else, a phrase or line.

To sum up a person’s life in one phrase had seemed so pathetic at the time, and Bill had passed. Now he wished he’d put something, anything there, to set it apart from all of the other nondescript graves, rows and rows of them.

“I’m sorry, Kristen. I’m so sorry.”

He cried, letting it all out, sobbing with his whole body like Theena had. He was so overwhelmed with grief that he didn’t notice the two men approach him from behind.

“Well, lookee here, Franco. It’s the Doc’s wife.”

Bill spun around. It was the two thugs who’d almost killed him the day before.

“It’s nice that you visit her, ain’t it Franco?”

Franco put out a palm and shoved Bill backwards. Bill tripped over his wife’s stone and landed hard on his butt.

“I thought we told you not to call the cops.”

“Easy, Franco. Can’t you see the guy is grieving here? You gonna kick his ass on top of his wife’s grave? Show some respect.”

The older man, Bill remembered his name was Carlos, held out his hand to help him up. Bill refused to take it.

Carlos shrugged and got down on his haunches.

“Franco is right, though. We warned you not to call the cops, and you went and called the FBI. We feel like maybe you didn’t take us seriously.”

“Fuck you.” Bill spat in his face.

Carlos smiled. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his cheek. Then he backhanded Bill across the face.

“I’m sentimental, so I’ll forgive that. But we need you to understand that no one’s gonna help you, Doc. You could call the CIA, Internal Affairs, the goddamn Governor, and no one will help. But we’ll hear about it. And we won’t be happy.”

Bill probed the inside of his mouth with his tongue, tasting blood. A tooth was wiggly. He stared up at Franco, but there was no fear. There was no pain, either. All Bill felt was a coldness inside him. He embraced it, drew strength from it. This wasn’t going to be a repeat of yesterday.

He made a show of getting to his feet, looking weak and beaten. Then he made a tight fist and hit Carlos with everything he had.

Carlos went down. Franco stood there, immobile and confused. Bill lowered his head and charged the bigger man, connecting solidly with his gut. Franco grunted and doubled over, and Bill swung hard between his legs, an upper cut that he put his whole body behind.

Then he ran.

The grass was slippery, and it was hard to keep his balance. He heard the thugs yelling after him, heard a shot and felt it go over his head, but he didn’t stop. Not until he reached the parking lot and found Theena sitting in his car.

Bill scrambled for the door handle, his free hand digging for the car keys in his jacket pocket.

They weren’t there.

He tried his blazer pockets, vest pocket, pants pockets, patting his body all over.

No keys. They must have been lost in the scuffle.

Theena hadn’t even noticed him-she was staring blankly out the window, an emotional zombie.

“Theena! We have to get out of here!”

She didn’t bother looking. Bill glanced over his shoulder, saw Franco and Carlos coming down the hill.

He reached in the car and wound his fingers around Theena’s long, black curls. Then he yanked.

She was jerked from her seat, the pain making her yell. Bill locked his hand around one of her flailing wrists and pulled her out the driver’s side door.

“We have to go!”

There was a boom and a crash, and a spider web of cracks blossomed in the Audi’s rear windshield. Theena’s eyes widened, and Bill dragged her away from the car as another bullet smacked into the open door.

With her long legs, Theena had no problem keeping up with him. They ran, hand in hand, through the parking lot and onto the street. There were apartment buildings on either side, for blocks in either direction. Bill tugged her towards the nearest one, heading for the front entrance. The security door was locked. He frantically pressed buzzers, hoping someone would let him in.

“Who is it?”

Bill put his face to the intercom speaker.

“Please! Someone is trying to kill us!”

“Who is this? Lionel?”

“Open the door!”

Another thunderclap, the bullet slapping into the brick wall and peppering Bill’s face with bits of wet rock.

They took off in a crouch, making a beeline for the next apartment building.

No one answered the buzzers.

“They’re coming.”

Theena’s voice was soft, fatalistic. Bill chanced a look. Carlos and Franco were jogging towards them, less than a hundred yards away.

Bill looked in the other direction. The street was deserted, not a vehicle in sight. They ran for it.

Halfway down the block, a car turned the corner and began to approach. Bill released Theena and waved his hands over his head, yelling for the car’s attention.

The car didn’t slow down, and veered slightly out of their direction as if to drive past. Frantic, Bill tried to position himself in front of it, holding out his hands, praying the driver would stop.

The driver slammed on the brakes. The tires couldn’t find purchase on the wet pavement and the car hydroplaned, rushing at Bill faster than he was able to get out of the way.

It slid to a stop just a foot before impact.

Bill placed his palms on the hood. The driver was invisible behind tinted gray glass. He was probably petrified, wondering if this were a robbery or a car jack. The car was a late model Lincoln Continental, the rain beading off the many coats of wax.

Bill motioned for Theena to come over.

“We need help! Someone’s after us!”

The driver’s window rolled down.

“Bill May? Theena?”

It was DruTech President Albert Rothchilde.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Theena glared at Rothchilde. He was in all black, except for a blood red rose pined to his lapel. He had come to the funeral late, and left early. But she had a pretty good idea why he’d stuck around.

Rothchilde returned her obvious anger with a blank stare, then focused on Bill. “Are you both all right?”

“Some people are chasing us. They have guns.”

“Guns?” Rothchilde raised an eyebrow.

Theena kept her voice even. “Open the doors, Albert.”

“Of course.”

Rothchilde hit the unlock button. Bill climbed into the back seat, Theena the front. She watched her boss try to feign concern.

“Shall we head to the police station?”

Bill shook his head. “They won’t help. Just get us out of here.”

Theena noticed the faintest of smiles appear on Rothchilde’s lips. “Are you sure you’re okay? Who were those men? Were they trying to rob you?”

“I think they’re organized crime.” Bill opened his mouth to say more, but nothing came out.

He suspects Rothchilde, Theena thought. Maybe the guy isn’t as gullible as he looks.

“Just take us home, Albert.”

“Well, I still think we should call the authorities. Do you want to go home, Dr. May?”

Bill said nothing.

Theena could understand his trepidation. They knew where he lived.

“You can stay with me, Bill.”

“Are you sure?”

Theena nodded. Rothchilde gave her a slight jab in the ribs, which she ignored.

“If I can stop at my place and pick up some things.”

“Of course. Just show me the way.”

Bill directed Rothchilde to his condo and told them he’d only be a minute. When he was out of the car, Theena turned to Rothchilde and slapped him.

“You asshole! They were shooting at us!”

Rothchilde’s eyes twinkled.

“They missed. They’re pros, Theena. They were just delivering a message to Bill. You weren’t even supposed to be involved.”

“You’re a bastard.”

He gave her knee a squeeze.

“We both have the same goal here, darling. I see you’re playing your part to the hilt. How was Dr. May? It’s been a while for him, I understand.”

Theena refused to be baited.

“Have you found out who killed my father, yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve got the whole Chicago PD on it.”

“Maybe they aren’t looking in the right place.”

“Meaning?” Rothchilde moved closer. “Oh, I understand. Maybe they should be looking in this car, right?”

Theena looked into his eyes. Beneath the amusement they were blank, dead. She wondered, not for the fist time, what she’d gotten into.

“You killed Mike Bitner, didn’t you?”

“There’s no way to prove that.”

He did, the bastard. And he was reveling in it. Theena felt a tickle of fear spider-walk up her spine.

“How do I know you didn’t kill my father, too?”

“You know I didn’t. It wouldn’t make sense. He was worth too much.”

“What does that matter? Maybe you had your own warped little reason. Once a killer, always a killer.”

Rothchilde pinched her cheeks and squeezed them together, making her lips pout. “And once a whore, always a whore.”

She shook out of his grip. He put his hand on her knee again, rubbing.

“I didn’t kill your father, Theena.”

His caress was cold, oily. She didn’t know if she believed him or not.

“How about Dr. Townsend and Dr. Fletcher?”

“What about them?”

“They weren’t at the funeral.”

Rothchilde frowned. “Yes, I noticed that, too. I’ll have Halloran check on them. I should probably put some men on you as well. If someone’s trying to sabotage me, they may go for you next.”

Theena folded her arms.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can, dear. If the bad guy comes to your door, you can always fuck your way out of danger.”

She made a fist, intent on putting a permanent dent in his long pointed nose. But Bill was leaving the building. He’d changed into jeans and a new jacket, and was lugging an overnight bag.

Rothchilde blew her a kiss. “It’s that fire in you that makes you so dynamite in the sack.”

Bill climbed into the back of the car, putting his suitcase on the seat next to him. “All set.”

Rothchilde didn’t need directions to Theena’s apartment, but she gave them anyway. Bill may have suspected Rothchilde, but he gave no signs that he suspected her. She wanted to keep it that way.

They drove in silence. Theena harbored so many doubts that sorting them out was difficult. She had originally aligned herself with Rothchilde because they shared a common goal. Whomever sponsored N-Som needed to have deep pockets and major clout. Theena was a large part of the reason that American Products acquired DruTech. She’d slept with him at her father’s request.

But sex and murder were two entirely different things.

Theena knew men, what they wanted, and how to control them. She thought she had Albert wrapped around her finger. Now she wasn’t so sure. And the stakes had gotten higher than simply getting N-Som approved.

Theena thought about Townsend, and O’Neil, and Julia and Red. She’d been working with these people for years. They were her family. Now Townsend and Red were missing, Manny had been attacked twice, and her father was dead.

Could she be next?

Theena furrowed her brow, trying to come up with a solution. Rothchilde owned the police. He had friends in both the state and federal government. He was in bed with organized crime. If Rothchilde wanted them all dead, who could she go to?

Don’t panic, she told herself. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe it would all work out for the best.

She knew it was a lie, but she clung to it anyway.

It was all she had.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Carlos was holding a napkin to his swollen lip when the car phone rang. He had a pretty good idea who it was.

“Yeah?”

“You were supposed to scare them, not shoot them.”

Carlos spat some blood out the window. He pretended it was in Rothchilde’s face.

“The prick sucker punched me.”

“I thought Gino told you to follow my orders exactly. Shall I tell your boss you’re having a listening problem?”

What was with this guy? They were doing him a favor. He could show a little respect. These big business types felt like the whole world should bow at their feet.

“No, Mr. Rothchilde.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. I just dropped them off at Theena’s place. The situation has changed. I want them out of the picture.”

“Out of the picture?”

“Theena and Dr. May have worn out their usefulness to this organization.”

Carlos shook his head. At the first little bump in the road, Rothchilde wanted to whack everybody. And saying this on an open line, yet. Gino must have been making a real mint off of this idiot to keep him around.

“That’s not a smart idea, Mr. Rothchilde. Two FDA agents dead, both on the same case, plus her father and her.”

“We had nothing to do with her father.”

“So? Cops will still look.”

“Let me handle the cops. You just clean out your wop ears and do what you’re told.”

“I’m Cuban.”

Rothchilde went off on a yelling jag, and Carlos hung up. He looked at Franco, who was clutching an ice pack between his legs.

“He wants us to take out the Doc and the girl.”

Franco smiled.

“Good. I’ll enjoy snuffing that guy. And the girl will make a yummy dessert.”

Carlos frowned. He didn’t like the way any of this was going. He decided to call Gino.

“Whaddaya want?”

“Gino, it’s Carlos.”

“No shit. You see that big bright display on your phone? It’s called Caller fucking ID.”

No respect. Didn’t anyone see the movie Scarface? Now Pacino, he had respect. Maybe it was just this generation. Carlos had worked for Gino’s father, years ago. That man respected everyone who worked for him, and he got that respect back. Carlos would have taken a bullet for him. He wouldn’t take a mosquito bite for Gino.

“He wants us to take the doc and the girl out.”

“Jesus. That guy. Okay, you do it, make sure it don’t get back to me. I don’t want it to look like a hit. Maybe a robbery. Or some crazy killer Charlie Manson thing. Messy. Franco is good at that psycho shit.”

Carlos sighed. It kept getting better and better.

“You got it, boss.”

Gino hung up.

“We gonna do it?” Franco was practically drooling.

“Yeah. We have to make it look messy.”

“I like messy. We need to stop at the store for supplies.”

Carlos kept a box of disposable latex gloves in the trunk. He also had duct tape, carving knives, and some butcher’s aprons, along with his disguise. The tools of the wet trade.

“We’re set.”

“You got rubbers, too?”

“Rubbers?”

“Make it messy, right?”

“Jesus, Franco.”

Maybe it was this generation. Carlos suspected MTV had a lot to do with it.

“Stop at that place on Damon. They sell the extra large kind.”

Carlos pointed the car east.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Theena’s apartment didn’t match her personality. It was plain, with little frill or flourish. There were no photos of friends or family anywhere, and the bland painting hanging over the sofa looked like it came with the frame, probably purchased because the color scheme matched the sofa and love seat.

Neat, tidy, impersonal. Sort of like a motel, Bill thought. The only distinctive object in eyeshot was a potted cactus next to the front door, jutting out of its terra cotta pot like a two foot, green exclamation point.

“Are you hungry?”

“Tired, mostly.”

They’d spent the previous night in Manny’s room, and hadn’t slept much. Bill could say without question it was the best day he’d had in over a year. It was more than just the sex. He felt connected. For a few wonderful hours, Theena had taken away his guilt and loneliness, and given him back a shred of self-worth.

But the woman Bill had been with yesterday was nowhere to be found at the moment. Today’s Theena was withdrawn, distant, defeated.

“The bedroom is the second door, there.”

Bill yawned. He needed a nap, but there was a lot he had to do. The N-Som folder he’d taken from Bitner’s house was in his overnight bag. Among other things, Bill was anxious to see how the experiment with Sam the monkey ended.

But it was more than that. Bill didn’t want to sleep because he was afraid Carlos and Franco might find him. He couldn’t be caught unaware.

“I’m okay, thanks.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am. But I don’t think sleep is a good idea right now.”

He wanted to share his doubts about Rothchilde with Theena. Bill had a solid feeling that the A.P. President was behind those two thugs, Franco and Carlos. He also believed that Rothchilde had some kind of pull with the Chicago PD, which is why Bill hadn’t gotten any help.

But something held Bill back. Even with all he’d shared with Theena, there was still something he didn’t completely trust about her.

Or maybe the lack of sleep was just making him paranoid.

“I have some N-Som.”

“Hmm?”

“You could take a pill. Then you don’t have to sleep.”

“No thanks, Theena.”

Theena came over to him, serious.

“Bill, I’ve been working with this drug for almost a decade. It’s safer than taking Vitamin C.”

Bill didn’t answer. Any courage he might have harbored concerning unproven drugs died with his wife.

“Look.” Theena dug into her purse and took out a pill bottle. “You’ve read up on the chemistry, right? There’s nothing toxic in here, Bill. They’re neurotransmitters. The body manufactures these naturally. It’s an acetylcholinesterase inhibitor, which activates the aminergic drive.”

“I know what it’s supposed to do. But is that all it does?”

“Manny’s been awake for over a thousand hours. He’s fine.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“This is how sure I am.”

Theena popped the top off the bottle and placed a pill in her mouth, swallowing it dry.

“It takes about four minutes to be absorbed into the bloodstream-the drug has an amino acid chelate so it immediately passes through the ion channel. Then it produces a reaction similar to narcolepsy. But it isn’t really sleep because the brain stays in alpha.”

Theena sat down on the sofa and stretched out her legs.

“The effect lasts anywhere from ten to twenty minutes, and then you snap immediately out of it and you’re completely awake and aware.”

“No residual effect?”

“None. The brain counteracts the drug with an increased production of norepinepherine. You wake up refreshed.”

Bill was intrigued.

“If it inhibits sleep, why do you have a narcoleptic episode for twenty minutes? Shouldn’t it simply keep you awake?”

“N-Som doesn’t inhibit sleep. It replaces it. The same neurotransmitters that are responsible for waking are responsible for sleeping. N-Som affects the sleep center first, causing a state we call hyper-relaxation. The brain automatically releases its own neurotransmitters to counter the effect. The result is twenty-three hours of ZFS.”

“Zero Fatigue Syndrome. Manny mentioned it.”

Theena laid back on the sofa and closed her eyes.

“I may toss and turn a little. It’s possible to rouse a person in hyper-relaxation, but not easy-it’s like trying to wake up someone in deep sleep.”

“Will you dream?”

Theena nodded. “Extremely realistic dreams. You’ll almost swear they’re really happening. Even though they only last a few minutes, several hours can seem to go by in your head.”

“Well, then. Sweet dreams.”

Theena nodded. After a minute, her breathing began to slow down.

Bill sat down next to her and took her pulse. Her heart beat twenty times in fifteen seconds. That was average. He waited and tried again. It had slowed to sixteen. A minute later it went down to thirteen, and stabilized.

He opened an eyelid, and the eyeball was moving back and forth. REM. She was focusing on some unseen object. He reached for the table lamp and moved it closer, but the pupil didn’t dilate.

“Theena? Can you hear me?”

Bill gave her a light shake and a tap on the cheek. She didn’t respond. Her skin was noticeably cooler to the touch.

If Bill hadn’t read any of the N-Som reports, he might have thought she was going into shock rather than reacting to the drug in a predicted manner.

He waited by her side for the next ten minutes, holding her hand. It brought back images of Kristen, sitting next to her hospital bed as she slept. The memory hurt, but not as much as it used to.

Perhaps he was beginning to heal after all.

Theena’s hand slowly became warmer, and her breathing quickened. She opened her eyes a moment later, her face cracking in a smile.

“I was surrounded by loved ones, warm and happy. It was beautiful.”

Bill couldn’t deny she looked one hundred percent better. The dark bags and redness were gone from her eyes. Her face was brighter. She seemed like a new person.

“Want to try it?”

“I’m still not sure.”

Tina touched his lips with her fingertip. The moodiness was completely gone, and she was back to playful and flirtatious.

“I bet you were one of those kids in college who never tried pot.”

“Wrong. I had a roommate who grew the stuff in our dorm closet. He had a pair of four foot female plants, called them Laverne and Shirley.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

“I already told you.”

“Bill, if you can’t trust your own judgment, why do you stay with the FDA?”

Damn good question.

Bill sighed, relenting.

“Fine. I’ll try it.”

“One thing. I just had a pleasant dream. But some of the dreams in hyper-relaxation aren’t pleasant. I’d say the ratio is something like ten to one. It has something to do with the refining process, we’re not entirely sure yet.”

“So I might have a nightmare?”

Theena nodded.

“Nightmares and I are old buddies. I can handle nightmares.”

Theena handed over the pill. It was oval and the color of caramel, covered with tiny brown flecks. Like a miniature robin’s egg.

Bill swallowed it without water.

“Would you like the sofa, or the bedroom?”

“The sofa is fine.”

He traded places with Theena, reclining as she had. There was a tickle in his throat. He hoped this wasn’t a mistake. He hoped nothing would go wrong.

Bill closed his eyes, and felt the beginning stirrings of panic.

“It’s okay.” Theena put her hands on his. “Nothing to be nervous about. You’ll have a quick dream, and be back to full capacity in fifteen minutes. You trust me, right?”

I want to, Bill thought. But I don’t know if I can.

Then everything went black.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Carlos and Franco circled Theena’s apartment building twice before finding a parking spot.

“I’m outta change. Pay the meter.”

Franco giggled. “We come here to waste some people, you’re worried about a traffic fine.”

Carlos sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You ever hear of the Son of Sam?”

“I saw the movie. Mass murderer guy.”

“Where is he now?”

“In jail.”

“You know why he’s in jail? The cops traced his parking tickets to the scenes of his crimes.”

Franco paid the meter.

Carlos checked the street for bystanders, then popped the trunk. In a gym bag, next to the murder kit, was a baseball cap and matching jacket, both with a Fed Ex logo. Carlos put them on and picked up a medium sized Fed Ex box and an electronic clipboard. The gizmo was key to the disguise. Only the real deal would have an expensive gadget like this, with an LCD screen that recorded your signature.

“I’ll call when I’m in, be ready.”

Franco was picking his teeth with his thumbnail. If he’d heard Carlos, he didn’t acknowledge it.

Carlos walked to Theena’s building, package under his arm, putting himself in the role. The key to any deception was believing it yourself. He was an employee for an overnight delivery service. This was his tenth delivery of the day, and he only had three more before quitting time. Before he pressed Theena’s buzzer, he took the time to fill out the blank receipt taped to the package.

Then it was show time.

“Yes?”

“Federal Express delivery, for Dr. Theena Boone.”

“Who is it from?”

“Albert Rothchilde, American Products.”

Carlos took a step away from the door. If she were able to see him from her window, she’d see a Fed Ex guy.

Sure enough, she buzzed him in.

Carlos took the elevator to the fifth floor. He turned on the electronic clipboard, and the screen glowed faintly. His gun was in his belt, under the jacket. Carlos rehearsed his lines before approaching her door.

Knock knock. “Fed Ex.”

He tried to look bored while she gave him the once over through the peephole. When the door opened, it was only a few inches. The safety chain was on.

“Dr. Theena Boone?”

She nodded. Carlos showed her the box. The Fed Ex box was too big to fit through the crack in the door. If she wanted her package, she’d have to open up.

“I need your signature, here.”

He held out the clipboard, making no attempt to slip it through the door.

“Just a second.”

The door closed, and he heard the chain come off.

Carlos had his gun in hand when the door reopened. He shoved it under her chin hard enough to make her teeth click.

“In the apartment, move.”

She stepped back, her face awash in surprise. Carlos took a quick look around. The doc was on the couch, snoring.

Carlos pulled Theena close, one arm around her neck. He reached back into the hallway for the dropped box, and closed the door behind him. Then he fished out his cell phone and hit the speed dial.

“I’m in.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

When he opened his eyes, Franco and Carlos were standing over him.

“Good morning, Doc.”

A large hand grabbed him by the shirt.

“This is what happens when you don’t play along.”

Fear coursed through him, so hot and deep it was just as palpable as the blood in his veins. He was off balance, and summarily dragged away in a half stumble, half crawl.

A gun was pressed to his head. It felt huge. He watched, unable to move, barely capable of drawing a breath, while Carlos pulled on a ski mask.

There was a camcorder resting on a nearby box.

They were going to videotape his death.

He looked around the room for a weapon. There was nothing suitable. Do something, he screamed in his mind. Don’t die without a fight.

He made a fist and swung, a big loping blow aimed at Franco’s chin. The large man twisted, catching the punch on his shoulder. He giggled, high pitched and horrible, and then hit back.

The hitting went on. And on.

“Quit it. We have to do this on tape.”

Franco gave him one more kick.

“Aren’t you excited, Doc? Gonna star in a movie.”

The world had become pinpoints of pain. Rather than cringe, he embraced the sensation. It might very well be the last thing he ever felt.

Carlos handed Franco the camcorder.

“If it means anything, Doc, I kind of liked you. You were an okay guy.”

Franco pointed the lens.

“Action!”

The red light on the camera began to blink.

“Come over here.”

Carlos led him into the corner of the room. He couldn’t get his brain around what was happening. The magnitude was so tremendous he refused to accept it.

“Kneel down.”

He tried to think of something, a reason, a point. Not just for his death, but for his life. Something, anything, to take with him into the void.

“N-Som will get FDA approval.”

A speck of hope. Was this all just another scare tactic, to make him approve that damn drug?

“Yes. I promise it will.”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

He didn’t even feel the shot. The wind left his lungs, as if he’d fallen on his back. He tried to breathe, but his brain couldn’t get his lungs to work. Everything got fuzzy, soft. His life leaked out the large hole in his chest.

I hope there’s something else.

But he knew there wasn’t.

That was his last thought, and he died.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Bill’s eyes sprung open and he sucked in air. He sat up, frantic. His hand felt his chest.

No hole.

N-Som dream.

Theena had said they were realistic, but he had no idea. The detail, the imagery, the tactile sensations, all making him feel as if he’d actually been there.

Mike Bitner’s death.

The perspective was different than the video tape. Bill felt like he’d actually lived through his death, seeing everything happen through Bitner’s eyes, feeling what he felt up until the very end.

And unlike a regular dream, this remained lodged in Bill’s head like a real memory. He could close his eyes and still feel the cool concrete of the basement floor under his knees…

“Good morning, sleepy head.”

Bill stood up and spun around. Carlos was standing by the front door. He had on some kind of delivery uniform. Standing next to him, a gun pressed to the back of her head, Theena was fighting not to cry.

Bill blinked and shook his head.

This was no dream.

“Sit down, Doc. Put your hands above your head.”

“Where’s your fat buddy?”

“He’s coming. You in a hurry to get this party started?”

Bill considered his slim options. Carlos was only half a dozen feet away, the sofa between them. Going over it was faster than going around it, but either way Carlos would be able to shoot him before he got there.

He had to think of something, and fast. Once Franco arrived the odds would become much worse.

“I have a lot of money.”

“Is that so?”

Bill nodded. He laced his hands behind his head and walked over, trying to look submissive.

“Two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. You let us go, you can have it.”

“And you got this where, in your wallet?”

“In a CD. Two phone calls, I can pull it all out.”

He stood in front of Carlos, his muscles tensing.

“And how do I get the money, once you pull it out?”

“We can go to the bank, together. Franco stays here with the girl, so I don’t try anything funny.”

Carlos laughed. “I like that, Doc. You’re a thinking man. Wouldn’t work, though. Soon as we got out in public, you’d start screaming your head off.”

Bill set his jaw. He had to make a play for the gun. It would endanger Theena, but there was no other choice. They were both going to die anyway, and he wasn’t going to go out like Mike Bitner did, on his knees wondering what the meaning of life was. One memory like that was enough.

“I can call my lawyer. He’s got authorization on my account. He can bring the money here.”

Carlos grinned. “It’s getting better. But wouldn’t the bank be suspicious, taking out all that money?”

Bill eyed Carlos’s pistol. He hadn’t ever fired a gun, but he had a basic understanding of how they worked. Carlos had a revolver, the kind that gunslingers from the old West used. Pulling the trigger caused the hammer to draw back. When the hammer fell, it would hit the bullet in the cylinder, causing the gun to fire.

Bill stood in front of Carlos, his hands out in supplication, his voice frantic.

“I’ll tell him I need it for bail, for my cousin.”

“Clever, Doc. You’re a clever…”

Bill shot out his hand, aiming for the hammer, grabbing the gun near the back.

Carlos fired. A spark of pain shot up Bill’s wrist.

Instead of falling on the bullet chamber, the hammer pinched the webbing between Bill’s thumb and forefinger. The gun couldn’t fire.

He tugged. Carlos refused to let go of the weapon, being pulled along with it. They fell to the floor.

Bill was bigger, and younger, but he’d never been in a real fight before. The older man snarled and kicked with ferocious energy, tearing at Bill’s eyes with his free hand, trying to bite Bill’s arm.

Bill strained, trying to kick Carlos away, but he received a stiff poke in the eye and the pistol was ripped from his hand.

“You son of a…”

There was a thumping sound, and a scream. Bill squinted, focusing his blurry vision.

Theena had whacked Carlos across the face with her cactus.

She dropped the pot. Half the plant was gone, a ragged break on top leaking milky fluid.

The other half was embedded in the killer’s face. He wrestled with it. Some of the needles held like fish hooks, stretching his skin as he pulled. His wail was keening, a hurt puppy.

Bill scurried to his feet and picked up his overnight bag-he didn’t want to lose the N-Som file. Then he grabbed Theena’s wrist.

“Back door!”

She stared for a long moment at the man writhing on the floor, then ran with Bill to the apartment’s rear entrance.

They hit the stairwell and bounded down two at a time. Their footsteps echoed on the concrete, and Bill couldn’t be sure he didn’t hear someone above, coming after them. It fueled his fear.

The cold gave Bill a shock when they stepped outside. The earlier drizzle had frozen, forming an icy sleet. Without a coat, the weather pinched at his cheeks and hands. He tugged Theena through the alley, trying to decide where to go.

He saw a cab, coming down the block. Bill chanced a look behind him. Franco, charging towards them like a bull, his head down and fists pumping.

Bill stepped in front of the cab, forcing it to stop. He and Theena practically dove inside.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The cabbie gave Bill a look of annoyance. He opened his mouth to object and then noticed Franco barreling towards his cab.

“A hundred bucks to get us out of here!”

The cab squealed tires, doing a little fishtail peel-out, leaving the overgrown thug hollering after them.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Bill didn’t answer. Where could they go?

“We could try the police…”

Theena shook her head. “Those were Rothchilde’s men. He owns the police.”

Bill remembered he had Agent Smith’s cell phone number. Carlos and Franco had known he’d called the FBI, but they could have found out by bugging his condo, or hacking into his phone records. Or the FBI could have told them. Should he take the chance?

“Does he own the FBI?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

Bill’s cell phone was in his jacket, back at Theena’s. He looked at the cabbie’s picture, posted on his license. His name was Fasil. Bill tapped on the glass partition.

“Fasil, do you have a cell phone?”

“I’m sorry, I do not lend it to customers.”

“One call. I’ll give you another hundred.”

Bill fished out his wallet and slipped four fifties through the opening. The cabbie handed Bill his phone.

Bill’s trembling fingers refused to obey, and he dialed the wrong number three times. The fourth time, the call finally went through.

“Agent Smith.”

“This is Dr. William May, I talked to you the other day.”

“Yes, Dr. May. Are you in trouble?”

“Yes. You still have agents watching us, right? We need them to take us in. Too much is going on.”

“Where are you right now, Doctor?”

Bill didn’t sense any kind of deception. But that could have been because he wanted a way out of this so badly.

“We’re in a cab, heading southbound on Foster.”

“Foster and what?”

Bill squinted out the window.

“Irving Park Road.”

“Okay, Doctor. I need you to park and wait there until I can contact my men. Can you do that?”

Bill instructed the cabbie to pull over. Theena shot him a panicked look.

“Okay, I did it. Now what?”

“Some agents will approach the cab. They’ll show you ID. You can go with them, they’ll take you to a safe house. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

The line went dead. Bill patted Theena’s thigh. “It’s okay. The good guys are coming.”

The cabbie swiveled around in his seat.

“You want me to park here?”

“For a few minutes. Someone is coming to pick us up.”

He put an arm around Theena and felt shivering. Bill wasn’t sure if it was her or him.

A few minutes passed.

“Come on, Smith. Where are you?”

“Smith?” Theena pulled away from Bill, her eyes wide. “Gerald Smith?”

“Special Agent Smith is the Fed I talked to. I don’t know his first name. Why?”

“I’ve overheard Albert on the phone before, talking to someone named Gerald Smith. I got the impression he was with the FBI.”

Bill chewed his lower lip. To his right, a dark sedan with tinted windows approached the cab and slowed to a stop.

“Bill, we have to get out of here!”

The doors of the sedan opened, and two men in suits got out of the car.

“Bill, please!”

“Fasil, get ready to move if I give you the signal.”

“I appreciate the money sir, but I am becoming frightened. Please get out of my cab.”

One of the men tapped on the window. He was holding up a wallet, showing Bill his ID and badge.

“Dr. May? We’re the FBI. Step out of the vehicle.”

Bill was torn apart with doubt. If Smith was a good guy, this whole thing would end here. The Feds would take them in, they’d tell their story, and hopefully it would be enough to put Rothchilde away.

But if Smith were in this with Rothchilde…

“Bill, if we go with them, we’ll die. Please.”

Theena squeezed his arm, imploring. Bill decided he couldn’t take the chance, tempting as it was.

“Fasil-please drive us away from here.”

“I do not want to get involved.”

“Please, Fasil. If we get out here, these men will kill us.”

“Then they may kill me as well. Get out of my cab.”

Bill took off his watch, a high end Movado with a diamond at the twelve o’clock mark. He held it up to the glass.

“It’s worth over two grand. Just drive us away from here, and it’s yours.”

The FBI agent tried to open Bill’s door. Theena screamed, and Bill pulled on the handle to keep it closed.

“Please, Fasil!”

There was a screech, then the cab rocketed forward. Bill turned around.

The agents had drawn their guns.

“Get down!”

The pop-pop-pop of gunfire ensued, immediately followed by the metallic twang of bullets hitting the trunk.

Fasil made a hard right, the cab skidding around the corner at such a speed Bill thought for sure they’d crash.

But even on the slick street, the tires held.

Fasil followed up the maneuver by narrowly cutting off a bus, careening into oncoming traffic, and taking a hard left into an alley.

He stood on the brakes. The cab screeched to a halt a few feet in front of a dumpster.

“We shall wait here for ten minutes, until we are sure they are gone.”

“Thank you, Fasil.”

Bill began to put the watch in the pay slot, but Fasil held up a hand.

“No need. I come from a country where the government oppressed me. Many people helped me to escape. I am happy to help you.”

Bill put his watch back on. With his shaking fingers, it required every bit of his concentration.

Theena leaned towards Bill, snuggling against him. He put his arm around her.

“We have to go to DruTech, Bill.”

“Won’t they guess we’ll do that?”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s security around the clock, and they work for me, not Rothchilde. We can be safe there, until we sort this out.”

“Maybe we should just leave the state. Or the country.”

“For how long? If we run, they’ll be waiting when we get back. I’m not going to let these bastards chase me away from my life.”

“Why don’t you two go to the media?”

Theena and Bill looked at Fasil.

“I do not know what your story is, but it seems very big. If you involve the media, it will force the government to take action against those who are after you.”

Bill’s foot was resting on his overnight bag, which contained the N-Som file he’d gotten from Mike Bitner’s place. If he could prove something crooked was going on, the media was a logical place to turn.

But was Theena involved? How deep was she in?

“Fine, we’ll go to DruTech. How about the other doctors on the team?”

“I’ll call them, tell them to meet us there.”

Bill handed Theena the cell. “Have them pack a bag-we don’t know how long we’ll have to stay.”

Theena dialed a number and spoke for a few minutes with Dr. Julia Myrnowski, the chemist. Then she left messages with Dr. Jim Townsend and Dr. Red Fletcher.

Bill was staring out the window, watching for the sedan, when he felt Theena jerk next to him.

“You okay?”

Theena was holding the cell phone at arm’s length, staring as if she’d never seen one before.

“I just called Mason O’Neil, our MD.”

“What’s wrong? Is he all right?”

She looked at Bill, terror filling her eyes. “He was screaming.”

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Dr. Mason O’Neil tried to judge how much blood he had left by looking at the puddle on the floor.

The outlook wasn’t good.

He was down at least a pint. His blood pressure was dangerously low, hypovelemic shock just around the corner. The tingling in his extremities and his rapid heartbeat confirmed the diagnosis.

Mason tried, once again, to put some pressure on his brachial artery to staunch the bleeding. His hand was knocked away.

“Don’t prolong it, Dr. O’Neil. I have other things to do today.”

His tormentor paced before him, like an expectant father in a waiting room, constantly checking his watch. David. When Mason had let him into his apartment fifteen minutes ago, he couldn’t have predicted this turn of events.

“I’ve done nothing to you. In fact, I always considered you a friend.”

“You conduct experiments on all of your friends?”

Mason’s mouth was dry; his tongue felt like a paper towel. It was getting harder to speak.

“You volunteered. All you had to do was say you wanted out.”

David sneered. “And go back to prison. Some choice.”

The doctor watched the blood run down his fingertips, still flowing freely from the deep wound on his wrist. Drip. Drip. Drip. Like sand in an hour glass, each passing second bringing him closer to death.

“So why are you still taking the drug? If you’re so against the experiment, why are you still using N-Som?”

David appeared confused.

“I’m not.”

“I can see the pill bottle, in your coat pocket.”

David shoved the bottle father down, as if it shamed him.

“You treated us like lab rats.”

“But you’re not in the lab now. Your free. So why are you still taking it?”

David’s face became pinched. He nervously twiddled the scalpel in his fingers.

“It’s addictive.”

O’Neil let out a slow, soft breath. He was getting sleepy.

“We both know it’s not addictive. You’re taking it because you want to. Because the experiment is important to you.”

The MD gently lifted his wrist above heart level, a pathetic attempt to stave the flow. David didn’t notice.

“If the experiment is so important, why am I killing everyone involved?”

Mason’s thinking was becoming blurry, and he couldn’t have made up a lie if he’d wanted to.

“Because you’re out of your mind.”

David laughed. The sound was forced, but it caught and quickly escalated into an hysterical giggle. Mason shifted, again pressing his fingers deep into his brachial artery. His pulse was rapid, weak.

“Okay, Doc. I’m crazy. I’ll admit it. But you did it to me.”

“I didn’t know, David. No one did.”

“Dr. Fletcher knew. Good old Red knew for a long time.”

“He didn’t tell us. If he had, we would have stopped this. No one wanted to hurt you.”

David knocked his hand away. Mason groaned, the blood coursing through his arm and spurting. It sounded like a small squirt gun.

“Do I have to cut off your fingers to get you to stop that? Consider yourself lucky. I skinned Townsend, and Red is hanging by his intestines in the forest preserve. I’m letting you off easy.”

Mason’s head titled forward. His eyes were rheumy.

“I’m going to die.”

“That’s the point.”

“Manny wouldn’t want me to die.”

David bit his knuckle. He paced away from the doctor, then back again.

“Call an ambulance.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You can still help me.”

“No help!” David pointed at him, his finger accusing.

“Please, David.”

“You know how N-Som is made?”

Mason knew. They all knew. The fact that Rothchilde had somehow passed the FDA’s pharmacological review was amazing. The president of DruTech couldn’t have done it honestly.

“You know how it’s made, and you let me take it anyway.”

“You volunteered.”

“Not for this.” David’s eyes took a trip somewhere. Somewhere horrible. “I’ve seen things, Doc. Things no one alive has seen. Can you imagine?”

Mason couldn’t imagine. Once was bad enough.

“Do you know I’ve died forty-three times? And I remember each time, like movies branded into my head.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

His breath was becoming fainter, and consciousness was drifting away. All of Mason’s senses softened, grew fuzzy.

“Seeing things like that can really mess a person up, Doc.”

Mason felt as if he was sinking in a deep, dark pool. A small part of him wanted to protest, but didn’t have the energy.

“Manny… Manny…”

“Manny isn’t here, Dr. O’Neil.”

David cradled the doctor’s head in his hands. Mason only had a vague awareness of it.

But he became fully aware when David began to pound his head against the hardwood floor, over and over, trying to crack it open like an egg.

And he was still somewhat aware when David succeeded.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

“Don’t let anyone into the building except DruTech staff. If the police come, demand to see a warrant.”

“No problem, Dr. Boone. Everything all right?

Theena smiled thinly at the security guard. “No, Barry, it’s not. Has anyone else arrived?”

“Dr. Myrnowski went down to the lab a few minutes ago. She’s the only one.”

“Did the delivery come?”

“It came this morning. I signed for it, but the box looked damaged.”

A flash of fear. “Damaged?”

“Cracked on the side, top kind of messed up.”

“Was it leaking?”

“Didn’t seem to be.”

“Thanks, Barry.”

Theena went into the elevator, Bill a step behind her. If something had happened to the contents of that package…

“I know this is a stupid question, but are you okay?”

Theena put her key card in the slot and looked away from Bill. He was so concerned. She felt a tinge of something in her gut, and wondered if it might be guilt.

From a very young age, Theena realized that men were the ones with the power. Her father had proven it time and again. Men controlled the money, the government, the world. They did it by threatening, bribing, blackmailing, fighting, insulting, extorting, stealing, and killing. None of these were inherent female traits.

But a woman could have power. All she had to do was learn to control men.

Theena was an expert at this. Flirting. Flattery. Seduction. Sex. They were all tools; a means to an end. Her personal taste didn’t interfere with her goals-sometimes she liked the guys she slept with, sometimes she didn’t.

Bill, she liked. She liked him so much it was messing up her game plan.

Theena glanced at him, his broad shoulders, the laugh lines in the corners of his eyes. For the briefest of moments, she forgot about N-Som, and power, and goals. She pretended that she was just a woman, and Bill was just a man, and they were together. No control, no betrayal, no ulterior motives. Just love.

It was a sweet little fantasy, but that was all it was. Real life conspired otherwise.

“I’m fine. This is a lot to handle.”

Bill nodded. He took her hand. She hugged him, unsure if her actions were real or pretend.

“I have to check something in the lab. If you don’t mind, I need to do it alone.”

“Not a problem. I want to look at the N-Som file anyway.”

She forced some crocodile tears and looked at him.

“With all that’s happened, you think the drug can still be approved?”

“If it’s safe, I’ll approve it.”

Theena hugged him again. The elevator stopped and Bill went off to the conference room, a folder tucked under his arm. She had a momentary spike of panic, but then she remembered that there was nothing incriminating in the N-Som file she’d given Bill-it had all been edited.

Her mind drifted to Michael Bitner. Another man she’d liked…

Dr. Julia Myrnowski was in the lab, peering through a microscope when Theena walked in.

“Hi, Julia.”

“Hi, Theena. How are you holding up?”

“Fine. The package is here?”

“In the freezer. I haven’t opened it yet.”

Theena took a white smock from her locker and removed a hair net from the side pocket. She put both on. After snapping on a pair of latex gloves, she went to the freezer.

The box was definitely cracked, and the tape on the lid looked like a repair job. This wasn’t Sully’s work-she paid the morgue attendant too much for him to make mistakes. The courier must have done it.

Theena made a note to change services. If they’d seen what was inside the box, she could explain it away. But dropping important material like this was inexcusable.

“I want to do the biopsy and convert right away. Can you assist?”

“Dr. O’Neil is better at it than I am.”

“Dr. O’Neil isn’t here, and I could use a second set of hands.”

Julia frowned. Theena couldn’t blame her. It was a pretty hairy extraction procedure. But there was no one else, and this had to get done now.

Theena placed the box on the table, next to the surgical vise. She snugged a pre-fitted plastic cover onto the clamps and turned the handle to open them wider.

Then she went to the autoclave and pulled out the sterilized instruments; enlarging burs, dura separator, skull traction tongs, cranial drill, saw blade and guide, and various retractors, curettes, forceps, and rongeurs.

After spreading out the tools on a tray, the moment of truth arrived.

Theena broke the seal on the box, letting out a breath when a wisp of carbon dioxide plumed upward. If there was still dry ice, perhaps the specimen hadn’t been compromised.

She unwound the tape and lifted off the top. The smoke dissipated, allowing her to see the perfectly preserved severed head.

Theena’s lower lip trembled. She pulled the wires out of its tear ducts and gently removed the head from the box.

“Daddy.”

The tears came. Theena gingerly placed Dr. Nikos Stefanopolous’s head in the vice, and after sniffling once, she reached for the scalpel.

Jack Kilborn

Disturb

Bill sat in the conference room and leafed through the file he’d found at Mike Bitner’s house. Almost immediately, he began to notice differences between this file and the one Theena gave him. Omissions, mostly. But also some completely different experimental results.

Some of Manny’s CTs and PETs showed abnormalities, which grew as his N-Som usage continued. In the file Bill had at home, the scans were all healthy and normal.

There were also notes that Manny had been put on the antidepressant Prozac and Xanax antianxiety. The doses had continued to go up, rising to levels that Bill thought were toxic. Eventually, Dr. Red Fletcher began giving him Compazine. This was a powerful antipsychotic, given to people with serious mental problems.

Manny’s mental health wasn’t the only irregularity. His diet had become increasingly extreme. He once went without food for a period of six days, refusing to eat. When the fast ended, he went into a phase where he only ate marshmallows and raw meat. Last month, Dr. Nikos came into Manny’s room to find him devouring a box of pencils.

Theena’s story of Manny being on a Stairmaster for nine hours was true, but it didn’t end because the equipment failed. It had ended because Manny began to scream, and was unable to stop screaming for several hours, until his throat began to bleed.

But Manny wasn’t N-Som’s only casualty. The more Bill read, the worse things became. He leafed through one disastrous animal experiment after another. Test subjects would become catatonic, or erratic. They would refuse food and sex. Some became sick, others became violent.

The worst thing that happened was to poor Sam the monkey.

Bill located the missing page, the end of the experiment. After Sam had become lethargic, he’d gone into a rage, attacking Dr. Nikos, biting Theena, and eventually…

Bill read the paragraph again.

Day 241-We found Sam this morning, dead in his cage. Cause of death was a massive hemorrhage. Sam had pulled his own eyes out.

He scanned through the autopsy report. A lesion was found in Sam’s corpus callosum, extending upwards to the cerebrum. Smaller lesions were found on the cerebellum, medulla, hypothalamus, and pons.

The monkey’s brain was almost twenty percent scar tissue.

Bill put down the folder and pushed away from the table. Could Theena have known how dangerous this drug was? Could all of this information have been hidden from her somehow?

He tried to make it work. He wanted her to have been deceived. Her father could have falsified data. Maybe she was kept in the dark. Maybe…

He picked up the Sam report again. The notes were in Theena’s handwriting.

So she knew.

She knew N-Som was dangerous. And she tried to hide that fact.

“What else have you done?”

Bill stood up, his heart racing. Had she been lying to him about her feelings, too? Was she in league with Rothchilde? Worst of all, did she have a part in Mike Bitner’s death?

He’d been deceived. Used. Played for a fool. The tenderness that had been growing inside him crumpled and blew away.

Bill collapsed in the chair, wondering what to do next. There was only one certainty. He wasn’t going to approve N-Som.

There was probably another certainty as well; Rothchilde’s men were going to kill him.

Bill had to make sure the truth about the drug got out, so even if he died, the drug wouldn’t be released. The media was probably the best option for that.

But first…

First he had to confront Theena.

Bill headed for the lab. He had every right to be angry, but mostly he was numb. He had no idea what he was going to say to her. Accuse her? Ask for an explanation?

He opened the lab door, watched as Theena quickly tossed a cloth over whatever she’d been working on.

“Bill! I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of something. If you could wait outside…”

“I know.”

She began to say something, then stopped. Her eyes changed. Bill detected sorrow in them, but sorrow wasn’t good enough. Nothing would be good enough.

Julia, who was standing by Theena, saw the intensity going on between them. She excused herself and hurried out of the room.

Bill walked over and calmly pulled the sheet off the bulge on the table.

Dr. Nikos’s head was in a vice. Theena had performed a craniotomy, and the skull cap was resting next to the head, upturned like a bloody, hairy bowl.

All at once, Bill knew. He knew a secret even worse than N-Som’s damaging effects.

N-Som wasn’t synthetic.

“You make the drug out of people’s brains.”

Theena said nothing. She just gave a soft nod.

“So the pill I took, where I had the nightmare about Mike Bitner’s death…”

“I didn’t know, Bill. My father prepared that sample. I thought Rothchilde had paid Bitner off. I swear.”

Bill was barely listening. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

“That wasn’t a nightmare, was it? It couldn’t have been. The images were too strong for a nightmare.”

“Bill…”

Bill focused on her. “I was experiencing his last thoughts, wasn’t