Predominance (31 page)

Dr. Palmer took another sip of Scotch and explained. “The third patient not only survived his accident, but recovered from all his injuries except one… An unexplained intracranial pressure, which according to most doctors would eventually trigger a venous thrombosis and kill him.” His words were now bringing up painful memories of my own diagnosis. “When I met this patient, he was suffering from severe headaches, uncontrollable tremors, and painful seizures. He had lost his family in the accident, and according to him, he had nothing left to lose.”

Dr. Palmer shook his head with an expression of pity. “After running numerous tests, I came to realize that there was unusual neural activity in an isolated part of his brain. A concentration of once-dormant brain cells was now trying to fire. But something was somehow blocking them from doing so. I quickly compared his data with the second patient's, and discovered that these cells belonged to the same group that had been excited in our weatherman. This led me to believe that the cells that did fire up on the second patient were not only the ones responsible for his unexplained ability, but also the ones responsible for impairing certain regions of the prefrontal cortex, affecting his higher cognitive functions. This, in turn, led me to theorize that the third patient was in the middle of a neurological conflict between these rebellious new cells trying to fire up and his prefrontal cortex, which was sending signals to stop them.”

“Do you really think that this… neurological conflict was the cause of the intracranial pressure?” Sarah asked.

“It was indeed!” Dr. Palmer exclaimed, “Which, of course, left the third patient which extremely limited options.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?” I asked.

“Had the condition been left untreated, the intracranial pressure would have killed him eventually, just like it did the first patient.” Dr. Palmer paused and glanced at Yvette and me. His logic troubled my resolve—because I understood then what our ultimate fate would had been if Walker hadn't gone through with the procedure that had cursed me. “So besides dying,” Yvette asked, “What other options did he have?”

“A medically induced coma,” Dr. Palmer responded, pouring himself another drink. “This would stop the prefrontal cortex from sending inhibiting messages to the newly-firing cells, allowing them to awake fully.”

“But wouldn't that have left the prefrontal cortex vulnerable and exposed to these freak cells?” Sarah speculated. “I mean, according to your theory, these cells were the ones responsible for the failure of the second patient's higher cognitive functions, right?”

“Yes,” he replied, “but you have to understand that I was just giving him options.”

“With all due respect, Doctor,” I interjected, “I don't think that waking up with a mental impairment should be a viable option for anyone. No matter how extraordinary you think their new abilities may be.”

Dr. Palmer set his drink down and leaned over his desk, scowling at me. “Some people don't have any option at all, Victor. And I wanted to save his life.” His voice seemed sincere.

“Did you?”

Palmer leaned back against his leather chair and let out another profound sigh. “After many failed attempts to stop these newly awakened cells from firing, I realized that this was Mother Nature at its best—a kind of self-defense mechanism. The human brain would rather destroy itself with intracranial pressure than allow these cells to fire. And these cells, which were never meant to be awakened in the first place, could never fire under full brain cognition. It was like the perfectly bioengineered booby-trap,” he mused, his gaze wandering to the ceiling.

“What happened then, Sidney?” Sarah asked respectfully.

Dr. Palmer's eyes returned to us, as his face creased in a regretful frown. “I did what most of us scientists do. I tampered with nature in order to save a life. I created a serum with neurotransmitter-blocking properties in order to stop the prefrontal cortex from sending inhibiting messages to the newly awakened cells, which tricked them into believing there was no longer full brain cognition, stopping them from inducing further damage to the prefrontal cortex.”

“Then what?” I prompted.

“Then, the secondary properties of the serum would locate the cells, and help them fire up when exposed to a controlled dose of radiation.” He drank again. “Patient Number Three volunteered for this procedure. He was a very strong man, yet the procedure proved punitive to his brain. He slipped into a coma that lasted for three days. I was beginning to think I'd lost him. But when he woke up, with full motor and cognitive response, and with no remaining intracranial pressure, I thought I've done the impossible.” A proud smile suddenly lit his face. “But the real surprise occurred two days after the procedure, when he tried to reach for his TV remote control—and the remote just flew straight to his hand. I mean, we were expecting an increase in cognition, yes. A new ability to play music, perhaps, or to sketch paintings or be able to resolve complex algorithms. Never in a million years would I have expected telekinesis.” He chuckled and shook his head.

“The facts of his new condition reached the Department of Defense. And they, of course, insisted that I continue with my research. My project was fully funded and transferred to Ketchikan, Alaska. I believe they felt more comfortable with the isolation. That's when I came looking for Sarah. I knew I needed someone I could trust. I've known her since she was just a little girl; her father and I were like brothers. And when he died, I promised I'd take care of her… like my own daughter.” He met Sarah's eyes and gave her a lovable smile. She responded in the same way. “Besides, she's the most dedicated student I have ever had the honor to teach. That's why I'm so terribly sorry I have dragged her into this.” Dr. Palmer's lowered his head, staring at his desktop.

“You didn't know, Sidney.” Sarah tried to comfort him.

“Wait a second!” I snapped. “Did you say Department of Defense?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains a lot,” Yvette noted. “How they found us. How they knew so much about us. And the military personnel that have been after us.”

“And the reason we can't go to the police.” Sarah reminded us.

“What happened to your patient, Doctor?” Yvette asked.

“He was transferred to R.C. Labs… where he was later destroyed.”

“What? Why?” Yvette asked in shock.

“He became aggressive, violent. The more he used his abilities, the more he got lost in his rage—which eventually made him too dangerous to be kept alive.”

“So they put him down like a rabid dog.” I took a deep breath, and finally got to the point that had brought me to him. “The change. What triggers it?”

“After this... unfortunate incident, I went back to the drawing board, thinking I'd made a mistake, and that the serum was creating this so-called side effect. But after a thorough analysis and more than a dozen procedures, we came to the conclusion that it wasn't the serum itself. The newly awakened cells weren't responsible for the abilities acquired by the subjects. They were merely conductors used to obtain the energy needed for all these preset abilities to work.”

“Preset?”

“Yes,” he said swiftly. “It seems that a countless number of paranormal abilities are buried inside the subconscious mind; however, they're useless without the appropriate energy to make them work. These freak cells, as Sarah has so eloquently put it, were disabled by nature or… by some higher power,” —he frowned in disbelief— “to deny us access to such energy.”

He paused and studied our astonished faces, then said abruptly, “You seem like an educated man, Victor. What's your field of study?”

“Physics,” I said. “And mathematics.”

“Then you just might be able to understand this better than anyone else. Do you remember the First Law of Thermodynamics?”

“Of course,” I said taken aback. “Energy can neither be created nor destroyed. It can, however, change its form.” The words flowed as easy as reciting my ABCs.

“Very good. Now, if this is true, then, we have an unlimited supply of energy all around us, just waiting to be transformed into whatever type of energy we need. Solar energy, kinetic energy, potential energy, possibly even zero-point energy from the vacuum, if that proves out.”

“So what you're saying is that my brain is extracting energy from the atmosphere and using it to activate these abilities.” It was more a statement than a question.

“Well...from somewhere, possible the atmosphere, possibly the zero-point energy I just mentioned. But yes, that's basically it.”

“As fascinating as it sounds,
sir, that still doesn't explain why Damian changed into a monster before he died. Or why my own anger is getting harder to control.”

“No, it doesn't.” Dr. Ivanova stepped in. “But in order for you to understand why a change occurs in the first place, you need to understand more about the energy that you are tapping into.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Palmer agreed. “Dr. Ivanova was actually the one who discovered the reason for the change, and she's been working with me in finding a way to avert it. You'll want to listen carefully to what she has to say. Please, Lena, go ahead.”

She sat slightly on the edge of the desk and crossed her arms. “Would you mind reciting another physics law for us?” she asked politely.

“Sure.” My brows knitted in confusion again.

“Newton's Third Law, please.”

I exhaled heavily. “For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

“Yes, indeed.” Dr. Ivanova's smile didn't reach her eyes. “Now, we have reason to believe that this volatile energy we've been talking about has an opposite counterpart—a dark energy responsible for the change in some patients after the procedure.” Sarah, Yvette, and I were hanging on her every word. “We are just beginning to understand that there is a conflict between the newly awakened cells and the prefrontal cortex. As you have just learned, the activated cells draw this energy pervading our surroundings, whatever its source, directly into the brain. They do not discriminate between the types. But we have come to realize that the prefrontal cortex does. This part of the brain chooses which of these two energies is absorbed.”

“How?” I asked.

“Through the emotions in play at the time,” she replied.

I sighed, trying to register all this new information. “Okay, that makes sense. Walker has his ideas about the two types of energy, and we've already figured out that it was anger that was triggering these evil thoughts that have been threatening to overcome my volition. That's why I've been trying to control my impulses.”

“And you've done an incredible job, Victor,” Dr. Palmer assured me. “So far, you've been the only one with a will strong enough to delay the change this far.”

“Delay?” I prompted. “What are you saying?” Dr. Palmer and Dr. Ivanova exchanged uneasy glances. “Is there a cure?” I demanded.

“Well,” Dr. Ivanova began, “there is. And there isn't.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I said angrily.

“Victor!” Sarah scolded me.

“It's quite all right, Sarah,” Dr. Palmer said soothingly. “I completely understand his reaction.” He turned to meet my glare. “Victor, you have to understand that we still don't fully comprehend the nature of these two forms of energy. However, we do have some good news… Lena?” He signaled for Dr. Ivanova to proceed.

“I have designed a new serum protocol that can inhibit the absorption of this dark energy into your brain—which, according to my calculations, should stop the change from occurring.” Her words alleviated my tension, if only for a second. “Your new abilities, however, could still be triggered by what we choose to call white energy. That, Victor, is the good news.”

“So, by implication, there's bad news as well?” 

Dr. Ivanova took her time answering. Just as I was about to demand what she meant, she replied, “The bad news is that every time you used this dark energy to stimulate your abilities before, you poisoned your brain with it, making it susceptible to the change—predisposed, almost. And my new protocol can only inhibit the subconscious absorption of this dark energy, not its conscience absorption.”

“I'm sorry, I don't follow.” I shook my head in confusion. “What are you saying?”

Dr. Palmer took over then. “What Lena's trying to say is that if you concentrate hard enough, and if you're angry enough, you can still call upon the change voluntarily.”

“Why in the world would I do that?” I countered in disbelief.

“In our last study,” Dr. Ivanova continued her explanation, “we discovered that this dark energy is addictive, and its psychological and physical dependence more than triples that of heroin or crack cocaine. We also discovered that, for reasons still unknown, this dark energy can also increase the power of your abilities exponentially. You can see the problem here, I think.” She paused and met my eyes expectantly. “This dark energy not only makes you dependent on its use, but it poisons your prefrontal cortex, altering your cognitive behavior, personality expression, decision-making, and even your social behavior. And since this cognitive distortion works with extreme negative thoughts, it can easily turn you into a psychopath.”

“I understand the facts,” I conceded. “What I still don't understand is why you'd think I would willingly choose that?”

Dr. Ivanova scrutinized my face. “Because you have had a taste of it,” she said quietly. “And you will want more.”