The Source (13 page)

I lie back on the cot
and stretch out on my side, my face toward Tucker’s cot.  He also rests on his
side, facing me.  He smiles brightly before closing his eyes. 

I take a deep breath
and wish that I could sleep through the day.  I don’t know what to expect and
my stomach spasms tell me that I’m not going to like it.  Maybe they’ll cancel
it at the last minute.  I tremble as a creepy-crawly sensation moves in waves
across my skin.  I take a deep breath.  What I’m willing to do for a little
money to pay off some student loans.  I just hope I’m not emotionally scarred
in the process. 

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 Thalia
was
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 in
Aliens
.

“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.”