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  SPECTRUM

  SPECTRUM

  by Aidan J. Reid

  First Kindle Edition © 2016 Aidan J. Reid

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  www.aidanjreid.com

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  Cover design: goonwrite.com

  Contents

  Notes

  Sunday 23rd April

  Monday 24th April

  Wednesday 26th April

  Tuesday 2nd May

  Thursday 4th May

  Friday 5th May

  Saturday 6th May

  Sunday 7th May

  Monday 8th May

  Tuesday 9th May

  Medical Report for Patient XTI35106

  Author’s Note

  Pathfinders Preview

  NOTES

  What I remember most was the smell of my cornea burning.

  It wasn’t as painful as you might think. At least the video got that part right. Although, the slick five-minute marketing pitch failed on a number of other levels.

  Number one – they didn’t need to give me the hard sell. I wasn’t exactly blessed with alternatives. Number two – the video seemed to brush over some of the actual laser surgery part. They used an illustrated eye to paint the procedure, scientific terms accompanying the arrows as they danced around the screen, like some obscure NFL tactical play.

  The video, narrated by a soft soothing British voice also failed to mention the fact that my head would be clamped down. A suction tool would then help raise my exposed eyeball from its orbital socket.

  I was awake during it. The surgeon made sure of that, asking questions every fifteen seconds. I’d like to think he was being friendly, maybe even flirting - asking my name – the town I’m from – the colour of my front door - but there wasn’t much warmth in his voice. When he had run out of questions he pulled a machine across my line of sight, making adjustments until it was centimetres above my naked eye. My vision at that point was already blurry but now it was even more obscured with this thing on top of me.

  The white mask then moved to a little station beside my bed. Despite orders to look ahead into the pinprick of purple light, I could just about make out in my peripheral vision, an image reflected onto the computer monitor – a bright blue iris. My bright blue iris.

  Shit was about to get real.

  I remember something booting up. I heard it rev behind the machine pointed at my eye. At that point, I’m more conscious than ever of my vulnerable eye, exposed and desperate to blink, anticipating what was coming. My head’s already locked in place. As I began to struggle, freeing millimetres, the surgeon began cursing, the first sign of emotion I had seen from him. The noise from the machine continued to climb. The dot in front of me changes colour from purple to green. It has my attention, and a silence suddenly fills the room. I stop struggling, focusing on the light. Then there’s the flash.

  I’m not able to blink away the image it makes on my retina. A grey sheet fills my vision. Then comes the sickly smell of sulphur.

  Sunday 23rd April

  Instead of clogging up my entries around the time I received this diary, I think it’s better to explain my story from the start. Put together some order of events.

  Enter scene, yours truly, pissed out of her mind. Stumbling down a side street off Tremont Avenue one afternoon. Lucky I still had some connections in the arsehole of the city, many of which, despite appearances I’d happily call my friends. They must have sat my drunk ass down and let me sleep it off because when I woke later, it was already night. The little makeshift bed they had made was pulled up close to the fire barrel. I recognised a few of the other women. Everyone was standing around the fire, rubbing their sweaty hands free of the dirt.

  One of the men handed me a paper plate. It was loaded with beans and had a baked potato boat swimming in the centre, layered with cheese. I sat up and took one of the plastic forks from a bag on the ground and tucked in. There was a commotion at the entrance of the alleyway. Although it was dark, we could tell from the light of the fire that there were three men approaching. Beyond them, a white transit van had pulled up to the kerb, only half its length visible in the narrow alley.

  I’m certain that the guys were used to all sorts of requests from strangers. Some of them eyed the newcomers suspiciously as they stepped closer into the light of the fire. Others sloped away from the fire, returning to their mattresses and pulling the sheets up around them to make like they were sleeping.

  The first man who approached was all teeth. He was dressed like a nineties children’s TV presenter. Zigzag stripes on his cardigan and a blonde Lego man haircut. The type that looked like he still used groovy, gave High Fives and a double thumbs-up. Tall and thin, he walked on Bambi legs tracing the ground with his eyes, swerving around litter and garbage juice.

  Two others lurked behind. They didn’t share the enthusiasm of the front-runner, looking more like hired help that only smiled when ordered. They wore all black, even down to their mood - puffer jackets, jeans and boots and they didn’t seem particularly pleased to be there.

  Even now, I don’t remember what was discussed over that fire. At least not for the hour or so that the men were there. What I do remember was how it ended. That’s why I’m here, in this room writing this.

  Any suspicion the group had soon left when Zigzag sent Bebop and Rocksteady off to the liquor store to buy beers for the group. When they came back, arms loaded, there was enough for everyone. Even those lurking in the shadows joined the circle.

  As the clock ticked nearer midnight, and with drink supplies beginning to run low, the man, who called himself Philip, decided to declare his hand. He said he was head of marketing at an international medical research company. It was his responsibility to recruit volunteers for a new series of clinical trials. The company, BioLuminary, were willing to give the candidates, if they passed the screening process, compensation for taking part. To show he was serious, Philip took out a bundle of notes from a back pocket and waved it at the group. The stunned faces around the fire glanced from his hand to his ever so smug face.

  I didn’t take the hook. I waited silently for the questions which Philip batted away with ease. Yes, it was safe. No, not everyone is picked. Yes, it’s cash in hand. Tax-Free. Free accommodation. Free food. All for as long as you cooperate with the program. Once it’s finished, we would be free to return home.

  I saw his mask slip as he made the last point and looked at the cardboard boxes and plastic sheet roofs of the houses lining the alley. The others were only too keen to sign up there and then. Those interested were instructed to form a line along one side of the wall. I returned to the mattress and sat down to watch.

  Bebop and Rocksteady moved to the first person at the head of the queue. Philip spoke to the group and said that only two could be chosen but only after a preliminary medical check-up. He also said that the specific trials would only apply to those between the ages of 18 and 45. That knocked three off the list straight away. I looked at the group and counted six willing participants.

  Each person in the queue, nervous grins on their faces, performed a series of orders, answering Philip’s questions. I could tell from the responses that were given, he wasn’t happy with the stock - a little sideways glance away from the group revealed his disgust. One by one, he directed those he had fin
ished with to return to the fire barrel. When he had reached the final person, there was some promise in his movements. He hadn’t dismissed the man like the rest and seemed a little more thorough in the physical examination.

  From his trouser pocket, he pulled out a flashlight and shone it into the man’s eyes, and then looked into his mouth. Pleased, he told the man to roll up his sleeves. Bebop and Rocksteady stepped a little closer, suddenly taking an interest in the selection process. A curse from Philip suggested that what they saw didn’t fit the profile. He mumbled something to the other men and took a deep breath, shaking his head.

  It so happened that at that point his vision was trained on me. We stared at each other and I could see a glimpse of hope return to his face. The grunts behind him from the men suggested it was time to go but Philip raised an arm to quieten them before he approached me.

  At this point, I was aware of the others near the fire watching. They were mumbling above the crackle of fire, still wondering if they had just been selected.

  When Philip asked me why I didn’t volunteer, I told him that I didn’t need the money. He asked why I was there and I told him. He asked me to reconsider. My resolve not to get involved wavered. Maybe there was something in the beer. Who am I kidding? I was miserable and the idea of an adventure or escape seemed more attractive at that point. Philip knew that. Soon enough, I passed his questions and the physical examination. Not content with my answer that I didn’t shoot up, he asked me to show my arms, which I did. His smile seemed to wrap around his head before saying-

  “Welcome to the team.”

  Monday 24th April

  They returned next morning shortly after dawn. I had spent a sleepless night hugging the edge of a mattress. It had been pissing down from the heavens but I was warm. Myself and the other two women were bunched under a building stairwell which took most of the rain. A tarpaulin, which in a former life probably covered a fisherman’s pride and joy, was stretched across - an extra layer of protection from the elements.

  It’s impossible to sleep outdoors in the city. Homeless shelters are full of crackheads and thieves – the type that won’t think twice about slitting your throat in your sleep if their paranoia includes you in their twisted reality. The lure of a bed isn’t enough to run that gauntlet, so when I hit skid row I seek the streets. Parks are off limits. We’re hunted away by night-time security patrol. Shop fronts that might offer a flicker of heat, especially in the cold Winter months, are now illegal to sleep outside. Not satisfied with our offer to clear off at first light, the authorities in their infinite wisdom have installed spikes in the ground which make it impossible to sleep on. Charming.

  Despite my hangover, I was relatively fresh when someone spoke up and said we had company. The triangle of people approached, Philip the forward point. There was a stride in his walk, and his assured smile seemed more certain, entering this time under brighter conditions. He didn’t make with any pleasantries and went straight to business. We talked briefly. I could see the others were looking beyond at the other two men, who seemed even more inanimate during the day if that was possible. No such treats on this visit.

  I got up, grabbed my small backpack – essentials that I need for short-term meltdowns - and followed the men to the end of the alleyway.

  I didn’t look back. Why didn’t I look back? It was cruel of me. This crew of ten, most I didn’t even know by name, had given me shelter when the shit hit the fan. More than once. They didn’t ask any questions even though I’m sure they wanted to. I wasn’t like them. I looked like the sort that would pass them on the street without giving a glance. I wish I would have said something. Even goodbye.

  On the road trip, Philip was all sugar and sweetness. He couldn’t be more accommodating. It was an eight-seater with a plush interior that was manna from heaven after the springy mattress. I had a whole row to stretch out, which I did when he told me that the journey would be just over an hour.

  I must have dropped off to sleep. When I woke up, I looked around and noticed that we were in an underground carpark. The van was corkscrewing down to the lower levels, before straightening up and coming to a halt at a reserved spot. The named plate tacked to the wall confirmed the spot was reserved for ‘Philip Pumice’.

  We got out, and I was directed to a big set of double doors that were unlocked by the flash of a swipe card. I stepped through and followed Philip’s signal for the elevator. When we entered, I noticed there were ten floors, two underground. Someone stabbed the ‘G’ button. Not one for small chat on elevators, I was glad when the doors opened. We were suddenly greeted by a receptionist who beamed a smile from behind her desk.

  The BioLuminary symbol was behind her. A rainbow iris framing the ‘o’ in ‘Bio’. When we stepped out, I looked around and was impressed by how neat everything was. Neat. A nice word. Suggests maybe a touch neurotic, an overemphasis on detail. High standards. Everything was as it should be, and as the first face that customers, clients, and business partners would see, the woman approaching seemed to define those qualities. She was slim, blonde, in her mid-twenties and had a frozen face with a flawless bronze complexion. No smudge of lipstick on that smile. Coupled with opal green eyes, a devilish little sparkle, she was the type that would prompt a clergyman to re-evaluate celibacy.

  She seemed to be drinking the same Kool-Aid as Philip, greeting me with a little too much zest. I’m sure I was probably kicking up a stink which must have grated on this polished little tart, but if she felt uncomfortable, she didn’t show it.

  The dark cloud that was the two guards left which instantly made me feel lighter. Being fawned over, as artificial as it clearly was, still felt…well…kinda good. The woman’s name was Lina. On Philip’s command, she went back to her little station and pulled out a slim binder and passed it to me.

  “This is just our medical debrief,” Philip had said. “To cover all eventualities and let you know what to expect in your time here.”

  I weighed it and gave a funny look which made him jump in with more assurances. Lina suggested I take the time that I needed, sit at the little waiting area and read it. I agreed and took a seat. Philip disappeared and when he returned thirty minutes later, I was none the wiser as to what was in the document. It was all tied up in legal terms and medical jargon. Nevertheless, the pictures were very impressive. Private dorm rooms. An entertainment centre. Happy, smiling volunteers (not patients or guinea pigs!) seated around the big screen TV for movie night, munching on popcorn. Men and women of all ages. It reminded me of the college prospectus for the community residence I stayed in a few years back. Being a freshman, I was seduced by the glossy images at the time and made the first of many terrible choices that semester.

  It's funny how you remember things too late. I signed it.

  When Philip returned, he was pleased that I had made the decision and with a final sunbeam smile from Lina, we were back in the elevator. A little camera in the corner panned down to meet me. I hadn’t noticed it before.

  “What do we do now?” I remember asking him, as the doors closed.

  He pressed the button for the top floor. When we were in motion, he finally turned to me, smiled and said, “Whatever we want.”

  Wednesday 26th April

  Two sleeps into my new surroundings and I was already beginning to brighten at the prospects. I had living quarters on the west wing of the floor with the other women. The room was bright, if not spacious. It was smaller than advertised but more comfortable than a pissy mattress that clawed at your back for attention. The first two days were all about orienteering. There was a matron type that hovered in the background, but she wasn’t needed. After all, we were all adults and well adjusted. Well, most of us were.

  The other women that I met during social hours, which was 10am-6pm, were like me. Broken childhoods, addiction problems, on the fringe of society and suffering from some degree of mental trauma. Some had been there for weeks. One, I found out, had been livi
ng in the compound for two years. She was a bit scatty, but the gist of what I got was that she was happy to donate her body for medical research – vital funds to help pay for her teenage daughter’s college tuition. When I probed deeper to understand why she would sacrifice two years of her life without seeing her daughter, she remained unmoved, “she’s gonna get the life I never had.”

  I hadn’t started any of the medical tests yet. The matron, a kind doughy sort with squeaky shoes, visited each dorm room after dinner. Lights out happened at around 10pm, although there were no clocks. All watches were taken before we settled into our new surroundings.

  The men were located on the east wing. The only interaction we had with them was for an hour each day, shortly after lunch when we were able to go up onto the rooftop. If the women were odd, the men were even worse. They clustered to one side of the walled perimeter, shaded from the sun and spent the hour that we had talking among themselves. The women had the rest of the block to roam in the sun’s rays. Sun worshippers seized the opportunity to top up their tan. Those suffering from a little bit of cabin fever, jogged the perimeter, giving the men a wide berth.

  Me? For that first couple of days on the roof, I sat and watched. I didn’t go out of my way to impress or impose myself on anyone. I was happy to acclimatise, and clear my mind though it wasn’t easy. Without booze or cigarettes, I was already beginning to withdraw hard. I half expected some contraband to be floating around. But this wasn’t a prison and I wasn’t a prisoner.

  On the second day, I was getting some glances from the men. I could feel their stares on me, the newbie. Fresh meat. Cameras supervised us from the four corners of the high walls that enclosed us. I didn’t doubt that we were all being watched. Why and for what purpose, I didn’t know. Perhaps it was the reason that the men kept their distance. Not wanting to act on their impulse.