CHAPTER 13
In a quasi-dream state, I hear someone say, “Dr. Burcham? Dr. Burcham, it’s time to get up.”
I slowly open my eyes to see Ms. Montgomery crouching beside my cot. I swear she has a pencil poised, ready to tap me on the forehead if I don’t wake up. The corner of her mouth twitches. “It’s almost time, Dr. Burcham. We should have breakfast.” She stands up and runs her hands over her clothes to straighten any wrinkles. When she walks away, I turn to see that Tucker is just waking, too. He stretches then pulls the rubber band from his hair and shakes out those glorious golden-wheat-colored locks before arranging them back into a tight ponytail.
I slowly sit up and yawn, stretching just enough to make my bones crack.
“Ouch,” he says. “Sounds like someone would have been better off in a soft bed.”
Trying to talk through a yawn I say, “Ah...not really...happens then, too.”
Abe walks over and sits beside Tucker, “Good morning. We have about forty minutes before we have to meet Mr. Caulfield.”
“Good,” I say, “I’m in serious need of coffee. Do you all know where the cafeteria is?”
Ms. Montgomery pipes in as she walks back over toward the cots, “I was listening when the admin gave directions. I can take us there.”
Trying to ignore the slight jab, I smile and say, “Great. Lead us to caffeine and protein with a side of sugar.”
She turns and starts walking toward the exit without bothering to see if we will follow. I guess it is just an assumption. Actually, after the way she has acted, it is probably more of a “follow me if you want, I will not be bothered if you don’t.” The level of her disinterest in others is a study in what I call social dissociation, not necessarily in the clinical sense. A person acts within society, even contributes, but artfully and rather bluntly makes little or no commitment to associate with others. Keeping your distance is a profession with these types. I have always wondered if it is an issue of not having any emotions toward others or skillfully, almost certifiably, separating those emotions from the activities of every day life. If the project lasts long enough, maybe I’ll get a better understanding of this woman.
We follow her down the hall to a very lavish cafeteria. The set up here makes the accommodations at the other facility look like a grade-school lunchroom. There are breakfast items to quell the appetite of even the pickiest eater. Even more enjoyable is the fact that we have the place to ourselves, so we don’t have to fight for a place to sit.
As we begin collecting our trays and silverware, I become conscious of what I should choose to eat since I am dining for the first time with people that I barely know. One gluttonous selection could have me forever painted as Miss Piggy in the minds of my peers. I choose some fruit, yogurt and a boiled egg with a generous cup of steaming black coffee. Yay for will power.
We all sit at the same table. As chance would have it, I end up sitting between Abe and Tucker with Ms. Montgomery sitting across from me. First thing’s first, I need to begin the intake of coffee.
“Is anyone else apprehensive about what is going to happen after breakfast?” Abe asks.
“That’s an understatement,” I say as I open my yogurt.
“I think the trick is to keep reminding yourself that regardless of what happens, think of all of the people who will be saved by this research,” Tucker offers.
Abe bobs his head, “I totally agree. I don’t want to necessarily see certain things.”
“Like a vampire dying a brutal death?” I ask.
Abe nods. “Well, kill one to save millions?” I suggest.
Tucker grunts, “Millions of humans. There will be plenty of vampires that will die.”
“Vampires who are killing humans,” Abe says. “There is no prison system in the world that could hold one vampire, much less the number we’re discussing. Death will be the only way to protect future generations of the species.”
I look at Abe, “If you are so in favor of this, then why does what we’re about to do seem to bother you so much?”
He looks deeply into my eyes, “Because I am a human and not a vampire.”
“We kill humans who kill humans,” Ms. Montgomery says.
We all look at her, simultaneously amazed that she actually says anything. She looks up at us, “The death penalty for capital crime is nothing new. There should not be a change in our morality because we’re talking about vampires. What does that say about how we view humans?”
“True, but we don’t do experiments on humans to try to prevent crime. We have a punitive system in place to deter such behavior,” Tucker says.
“And that works oh, so well,” I respond.
“Don’t kid yourself that we don’t do experiments on humans,” Ms. Montgomery states.
We all stare at her in complete silence. She goes back to eating her breakfast, not bothering to offer any explanation.
I clear my throat, “Those medical and psychiatric experiments have been viewed as unethical since the early 1970s. Human subjects cannot be used unless they volunteer in the sense of giving consent, not because they have done something that is not socially acceptable like is the case with Thalia.”
She slowly looks back up. “And the fact that certain benefits, such as money, being offered for participation doesn’t preclude consent? I would suggest then that we research the scientific altruism of the poor and various minority groups.” She again goes back to eating her breakfast.
Abe nods, “Any way you look at it, it’s a necessary evil.”
Inhaling deeply I say, “A necessary evil is still evil.”
Solemnly, Tucker replies, “I’m sure that we would all feel just a little bit differently if one of our loved ones had been killed by one of these vamps.”
We eat in silence after that comment, as if we are meditating on what Tucker had said and whether or not such an experience would have made a difference in our view of the current state of the world. It is hard to argue against the good that could be done in stopping senseless human deaths. It is also hard to argue that cruel experimentations on vampires are the only solution. The thing is that if we were talking about dogs, all of this would be illegal and there would be a contingency of voters protesting at the gates. But vampires? No one seems to notice or care.
As we finish our breakfast, Abe pushes away from the table after looking at his watch. “It would appear to be time.”
We all deposit our trays in the designated area and walk silently through the halls to meet up with Mr. Caulfield who is patiently waiting for us outside of Thalia’s holding cell. When we appear she begins spitting at the glass wall and laughing like a possessed clown at the spawn of Satan’s birthday party. Mr. Caulfield glances her way then addresses us. “Good morning. I hope that you were able to get enough rest and prepare for the day’s events.”
“What exactly are the day’s events?” I ask.
“Perfect timing, Dr. Burcham,” he motions down the hall, “our help has arrived.”
The loud clanking of metal against the marble floor and grating sound of metal gears catch our attention as we gaze down the hall and see a woman encased in what could only be described as a robotic suit of armor. As she moves toward us, making her way to the side door of the cell, Mr. Caulfield continues, “Ms. Cooper will sedate Thalia and obtain the required specimens for the experiment.”
“Required specimens?” Abe asks. “I thought Thaliawas the required specimen?”
“Not at all, Dr. Krishnamurthy. We only need a part of Thalia, not her whole person. There is no reason to kill the vampire for such a small observation.”
I look wide-eyed at the holding cell as the door opens, Ms. Cooper’s metal visage taking up the whole opening, blocking Thalia from escaping. Thalia begins pacing back and forth in the cell, staring at the titanium omen of impending doom. Ms. Cooper seems to stand at attention, waiting for the opportune time to begin her assault on her target. The only thing missing is the iconic yell of “get away from her you bitch” a la Ripley inAliens.
“If you are going to sedate her, why the Ripley get-up? Why not just use a tranquilizer gun?” I ask.
“Vampires move too quickly. Even with our best shot, she would most likely dodge the tranquilizer dart.” Mr. Caulfield explains.
He turns around and motions for Ms. Cooper to proceed. The large, robotic arms spread out as if Ms. Cooper is going to give Thalia a big bear hug. Thalia crouches low, moving side to side as she stalks her aggressor. Within a split second Thalia charges and Ms. Cooper catches her around the mid-section, practically crushing her. She then rams Thalia against the far wall where she proceeds to bolt her to the wall with metal clamps around her wrists, neck, waist and ankles.
Thalia struggles against her restraints as Ms. Cooper removes a syringe from her robotic sleeve and injects it into Thalia’s neck. I want to look away but feel obligated to watch since I had agreed to go along with the experiment. Well, I didn’t necessarily agree, but I didn’t refuse. The ends are the same.
When Thalia’s head begins to sag in drug-induced unconsciousness, Ms. Cooper puts the syringe back in her sleeve. Another woman in a white coat joins her in the cell. The new assistant holds out transparent containers to contain the specimens. Ms. Cooper nods then removes something from her sleeve. I’m not sure, but it looks like surgical scissors. My lips slightly part as I concentrate on the scene before me. In some ways I feel like I am trapped in a night terror, although I know that what is happening is real life and not the machinations of a mind distraught from late-night junk food binges. I quickly glance at the others who stand motionless, eyes glued to Ms. Cooper and the instrument in her hand. She leans forward and grasps Thalia’s left hand. Deftly holding the vampires hand out, Ms. Cooper begins to cut individual fingers off.
At this point I no longer feel a nagging obligation to watch and allow my eyes to drop to the floor. I feel a hand on my elbow but do not move to see who it is. After several minutes I hear footsteps walking in our direction and dare to glance up to see Ms. Cooper’s assistant approaching. She hands Mr. Caulfield the specimen containers. As they exchange some words I can’t understand, Ms. Cooper starts the process of removing the metal bands from around Thalia’s body, starting with her ankles. When she releases the last wrist, Thalia drops to the floor, blood streaking down the white wall, her bloody stump the paintbrush of the scientific art we were about to create.
Like most artists we work in death and will be praised by the masses for our vision and ingenuity. Also like most artists, we will get no satisfaction from it although we will become immortal for our work. Future generations will know us for what we did. Thankfully, unlike the vampires, I won't have to look any of them in the eye and graciously acquiesce to their admiration.
Mr. Caulfield turns to us with the specimen containers in hand. There is a bloody finger in each transparent box. “You will use these specimens in your experiment with sun light. We felt it necessary to make sure that the specimens contained bone so that you could observe the full effect on more than just flesh.”
Abe clears his throat, “Sir, with all due respect, surely there was another method that we could have pursued that didn’t include mutilation.”
“To ensure the integrity of the results, we must create an experimental environment where the variables are as close to real life as possible,” Mr. Caulfield explains. “The only thing closer to real life would be to put Thalia out in the sun and observe her dying. Would that be more suitable to your sensitivities, Dr. Krishnamurthy?”
“Of course not, sir,” Abe replies, “I was just making an inquiry into other less gruesome options.”
“The videos that you all viewed were the only other possibility. And since you made it abundantly clear that the videos were not good enough to answer the questions that had arisen in your respective projects, we arranged this experiment on your behalf.” Mr. Caulfield is turning a slight red color, as he seems to struggle to maintain his composure. I can only guess as to why the question is upsetting him so much. “With all due respect, Dr. Krishnamurthy,” he continues, “when we find ourselves questioning the legitimacy and efficacy of this tactic, we should remind ourselves that it was members of your project team that requested such an arrangement.”
Abe visibly tenses his shoulders, “Yes, sir.”
“Now, there are separate designated areas on the grounds for you to do your observation with a minimal amount of distraction.” He hands two containers to Abe and two to me while Ms. Cooper's assistant provides us with surgical gloves. When I hesitate in taking the specimens, Ms. Montgomery retrieves them, seemingly without a second thought as to what they contain.
“When your observation is complete, return to the front door of the facility. Once everyone - save Dr. Vinh and Dr. Allstedt - has gathered, you will be escorted back to the other facility where you may return to your living quarters for the day.”
I slowly nod my understanding and look over my shoulder to see that the hand on my elbow belongs to Tucker. He purses his lips as he nods his ascent before looking sympathetically at me. He slowly removes his hand from my elbow and directs his attention to Abe. I look at Ms. Montgomery who is as stoic as ever. We are really going to go through with this. I am really going to go through with this. What would it say about me if I got all of this way and then didn’t go through with it? What would it say about me if I did? Maybe the point is not what it would say about me, but like Mr. Caulfield said, what would it mean to human life in general? One of the downfalls of human nature is our rather self-centered world perspective. We view everything in terms of how it will impact us individually. Science strives for objectivity. I guess the ultimate test is how objective I can be in the face of a reality adverse to my natural self-centeredness. Or how willing I am to embrace a survival of the herd instinct.
I think about these things as we walk toward the back of the facility where we will exit and take our positions in the designated areas. I notice that Ms. Montgomery and Abe have both placed the specimen containers in their pockets. Shielding from the sunlight may protect a vampire from death, which may mean that the sun itself is the source of our weapon and not just the heat needed to dehydrate. Very curious.
We exit into the warm fall sun and see two tents set up, approximately one hundred feet away from one another. I guess the distance is the best we're going to get in privacy for our observations. Without discussing it, Ms. Montgomery and I head to the tent on the left and Abe and Tucker go to the tent on the right. A table is setting out in front of the tent, fully exposed to the sunlight. I stand under the shelter, collecting my thoughts on how we will begin.
"Um, I think that we should keep one specimen in the container and take the other out to see what type of impact a transparent covering would have on the process." I look at Ms. Montgomery, waiting for her agreement to my plan of action. I start to wonder if she had even heard me.
Finally she says, "I'm an archivist, Dr. Burcham. I cannot give my opinion or any direction on how to proceed. My job is simply to observe and record."
"Right," I say, "okay, we will go forward with my plan. Question, how are you going to record any of this? Write it down by memory once we get back to the other facility?"
She reaches into her right pocket and pulls out a small, hand-held digital video recorder.
"Good. That will actually be very helpful. And it's fully charged?"
She looks at me, blinking several times, "You're stalling."
"What?" I say in the most indignant voice I can muster. "I am not."
"I'm very good at my job and have it covered," she responds.
I nod then slowly put the gloves on, taking extra care to make sure that they are perfectly on my hands. It's an odd occurrence that I have such small hands and wrists given that I'm a rather big girl. Okay, I am stalling. This is by far my least favorite part of the project and I'm not looking forward to handling the amputated fingers of a tortured vampire criminal.
I turn to her, hold out my hand and simply say, "The specimens." She places the two containers into my hands. Balancing both boxes, I open one and remove one of the bloody digits then hand her the empty container. I look up at her and take a deep breath, "Here goes." She pushes the on button on the recorder and begins tracking my every move. I walk out to the table, laying the occupied container and naked finger out in the sun. Ms. Montgomery kneels to get a better look at the reaction.
Unlike what I saw on the recordings, what looked like smoke emanated from the finger. A vapor began to rise while the skin takes on a pallor and extreme dryness, a rather contradictory reaction. The finger wrinkles while bubbles form all over the area. What is left of the digit seemingly melts while also flaking away in the light wind until there is nothing left but small red globs. More curious.
In the specimen container, the other amputated finger is undergoes a similar reaction only at a much slower rate. The sides of the container are fogging up, as if there were an increase in air saturation. I sit back on my heels watching the process while thinking that the evidence of this slower reaction indicates that the "smoke" people often saw when vampires are exposed to sunlight is possibly an effect of fluids evaporating. If that truly is the case and not some type of special vampire smoke that I don't know about, then we have our answer. At least part of what happens is that the sun causes a hyper-accelerated dehydration in vampires. It evidently happens so quickly that it causes near instantaneous death. What doesn’t make sense is the appearance of bubbles on the skin and the fact that the skin looks similar to wax running down the side of a burning candle. There has to be another part of the puzzle that would explain all of this. We'll have to get any leftovers of the specimens under a microscope to know for sure.
Once the encased finger is nothing more than globules and flakes I stand and look at Ms. Montgomery, "I think we're done here. Unless you think there is something else that we should do."
She tilts her head. "I'm not saying anything." She then hands me the empty specimen jar and a flat plastic utensil that I use to collect the exposed specimen.
Holding both containers in my hands, I start to say something then stop. “Yes?” she asks.
“Vampires have supernatural healing abilities. Does that mean Thalia’s fingers will grow back?” A part of me hopes that the answer is yes. It would do wonders for my sense of guilt at doing something so horrific.
Ms. Montgomery blinks rapidly while staring at me, as if she doesn’t completely understand the question. “Dr. Burcham, vampires heal rapidly, sometimes even growing new flesh. They don’t, however, regenerate missing bones.”
I gasp. “Does that mean limp, boneless fingers will grow back?”
She purses her lips and seemingly refuses to acknowledge my question.
I shrug both shoulders then hand her the containers. "Okay, let's head to the main entrance."
As we make our way to the front of the facility I notice that Abe and Tucker must already be done and waiting for us. When we arrive at the front entrance, Abe and Tucker are sitting in chairs by the front door, talking very animatedly about football. They both become silent and stand as we approach.
Abe nods at me, "Are we ready to head back?"
"More than ready," I respond. "Are our escorts here?"
Tucker looks out the window, "It appears so. The SUV is in front of the door with two uniformed individuals in it. I think that's our ride."
We all look at each other for several moments as if we were silently communing over what we had just done. The look on Abe's face has hints of sadness along with unwavering determination. Tucker and Ms. Montgomery look as if they are simply waiting to find out what they should do next. Horrifyingly enough I am somewhat proud of myself for going through with it. In some ways I don’t know the strengths, and weaknesses, of my character until I am put in a position to do something that I abhor. Pride in doing this is tempered with a disgust at the apparent necessity. My shock slowly dulls that I had witnessed any of these things, when I had actually been an active part in it. It's easy to stand back as an observer and say something is not right. Your definition of "wrong" tends to change when you have to measure it against something that's, well, even more wrong.
I think that what scared me more than anything right then is the fact that above anything else, I just wanted food.
“Anyone want to go to lunch?”