The Ghost Pattern

…18

Dr. Theo Adenauer pushed his food around with his spoon, too deep in thought to be aware of how hungry he was, or to register the annoying sounds made by the aluminum spoon scraping against the aluminum plate.

For the third time in as many days, they’ve been served cabbage. Chopped, boiled, and tasteless, with about zero nutritional value. He had to admit that today’s serving tasted better due to the clever Dr. Fortuin, who played in the lab a little and came out with salt, chunks of salty deposits on the bottom of a Petri dish, but edible salt nevertheless.

Fortuin had joked while handing them the salt, saying that he’d graduated from biochemistry and pharmacology to molecular gastronomy, and was committed to get them some oil and some protein next.

Theo looked at his prison mates, scrutinizing them one by one. How different people were! Some took their abduction really badly, cried a lot, or let themselves spiral into worry and depression. Lila Wallace, their flight attendant, was one of those. Dr. Teng, for understandable reasons, considering his family was in the test subject population, was another. Dr. Chevalier, who had held on bravely for a couple of days, was coming apart, thinking of her husband with advanced coronary artery disease.

Others were calm, probably keeping their feelings bottled inside, or engaging the use of reason and logic to fight the feelings of terror and absolute powerlessness brought by what was happening to them. Drs. Mallory and Davis were like that. Calm, composed, holding it together, at least on the surface.

Finally, Drs. Fortuin, Bukowsky, and Crawford were irritatingly accepting of the entire situation, applying the precepts of positive thinking to the point where he wanted them slapped back into reality. Yes, people, even if you’re still alive now, that doesn’t mean you couldn’t be dead the next minute!

And then there was him, struggling with the huge burden of guilt he felt, so overwhelming he couldn’t even breathe sometimes. To be responsible for the abduction of hundreds of people, for the death of Dr. Faulkner and who knows how many more to come… He didn’t know how he could live with that burden, even if they somehow made it out of there alive.

Because it was him, Dr. Theo Adenauer, who the Russians had hijacked the plane for; he knew that for sure. After all, he was the world’s highest regarded expert in molecular psychopharmacology and transitional addiction. Whom better would they choose if they wanted a psychotropic drug formulated? It was him they put in charge of the research team. That Russian doctor, Bogdanov, knew exactly who he was and what his lifelong work was about.

The latest antidepressant that had hit the market, the first one in history to reduce suicide risk in patients by more than 90 percent, was his formulation, the result of five years of research. The pharmaceutical company had valued it at more than four billion dollars within a week of the drug obtaining FDA approval for release in the United States. Yes, whom else would they have hijacked the plane for?

His head hung low and deep ridges formed around his mouth, underlining the tension in his lips. He was no longer proud of his professional achievements. It was the first time in his life he’d felt such overwhelming guilt. Shame. Despair.

“Do you think they’re looking for us?” Dr. Bukowsky said, chewing vigorously his half-cooked cabbage with added salt.

“Who?” Gary Davis asked.

“You know, the people who normally search for missing planes,” Bukowsky replied. “Don’t they have crews, teams who search for planes? There’s always someone… A plane doesn’t just disappear, and no one’s looking, right?”

Theo Adenauer put his plate down noisily. He hadn’t even eaten half his food.

“No one will come rescue us, because no one is looking,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Gary Davis asked, blood visibly draining from his face. The American was so impressionable.

“If the plane appears to have crashed in the Pacific, that’s where they’ll be looking,” Theo replied, “for bodies and debris, not for people to rescue. Not for us.”

“So… you’re saying there’s no hope?” Dr. Chevalier’s voice reached a high pitch, conveying her desperation and anguish in just a few words.

Dr. Bukowsky reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to comfort her. Tears started running on her face, and her hands started shaking uncontrollably, as she muttered, “It can’t be… It can’t be…”

Mein Gott… Theo thought. He should have known better than to eliminate all the hope these people had, even if it was built on a false, delusional foundation. Some bedside manner he had.

“There’s always hope, Marie-Elise, you know that. Life is a mystery, ja? You don’t know what’s going to happen next. Correct?”

“I definitely didn’t know what was gonna happen when I boarded the damn flight,” Dr. Crawford said bitterly. “But I, for one, ain’t giving up hope, no matter what he says,” she added, pointing at Adenauer. “They’ll come looking, don’t worry. You’ll see.”

They chewed silently for a little while, as he studied them some more. His victims, all of them, suffering through hell.

His fault.