The Experiment of Dreams (5 page)

“You pee it out?”

“Among other bodily functions, yes.”

“Okay, okay …” Ben was rubbing his temples. “This is a lot to take in.”

This certainly was not a simple sleep deprivation test. Contemplating whether to accept this experiment or not could take some time. This was, after all, not the usual hospital setup.

Ben was about to say,
‘Let me think this over.’

But he didn’t.

He could leave, go home to his couch and the bottle. He could spend the night drinking alone, staring at the painting, bawling and crying until he was blacked-out drunk. God knows he’d spent enough nights doing just that.

But if he left—if he walked out the door—he would never know more about Lucy or the experiment. Maybe one day he’d hear about it on the news. He would never know what it would be like to see his own dreams, the parts he could not remember, play out before his eyes. He would never know what Lucy was capable of doing.

Besides from his own curiosity, he had to remind himself that this experiment was what Dr. Wright thought was best for him, for his future. His employment with the doctor was over, and he would either need to pick up more shifts at the bar, or look for another job.
Another
bar.
Another
restaurant. The thought was not appealing.

So, what did he have to lose?

Money, for one. An income. Not to mention the loss of knowledge. To do something with his mind other than rotting it away with whiskey.

The serum did not bother him—he had taken so many mysterious drugs in the past that one more couldn’t hurt. It probably was not much different from the stuff he’d been injected with before taking a CAT scan, the dye, or whatever it was. Ben never had a serious complication from any of the experimental medications, other than occasional nausea and headaches—but the discomfort was little in comparison to a bad hangover.

I can always leave,
Ben thought.
If the test goes sour, I can back out.

“All right,” Ben said, sitting straight in his chair. “Let’s skip ahead a bit, and talk pay.”

Dr. Wulfric’s eyes widened. “We’ll have to get Mr. Marcus on the line. But what I’ve been told is that after the papers are signed, you’ll be paid a thousand dollars for the first night—a sort of test night to see if future experiments will produce results. Judging from your previous work with Dr. Wright, I don’t think we’ll encounter any problems. Future tests will vary in pay.”

“What’s that about paperwork? I thought this was all cash.”

“Yes, absolutely. However, Mr. Kalispell has to protect his interests—like this experiment; this is sensitive technology we’re dealing with. And the potential for reading a person’s dreams is … well, limitless. The general public will be able to spend a night in a clinic and go home the next day with a copy of their dreams. Eventually, Lucy will be able to work in a person’s home and have the dreams loaded instantly onto a PC or tablet wirelessly.

Imagine what people will learn about themselves, about the nature of the human brain, the nature of humanity, art, and philosophy. Psychologists, judges and juries could watch the dreams of serial killers and murderers, learn about the darkest corners of the darkest minds. Or perhaps the brightest corners of the most intelligent mind: a Buddhist monk, world-renowned artists and thinkers, cutting-edge scientists. The applications are huge, endless.

The paperwork is basic nondisclosure stuff. As long as you don’t go public with anything you see or hear, there will be nothing to worry about. We have an opportunity to be part of something big, history in the making, the biggest scientific breakthrough of our lives. At the end of the day, we will all go home happy and wealthy.

“I can’t say much about it, but I want you to know that Mr. Kalispell has some very exciting and lucrative business opportunities for you, as long as the first few tests go well. But again, judging from your previous work with Dr. Wright, I don’t think that will be a problem. Mr. Kalispell, he’s a, well … different sort of man. He has many interests and hobbies, and plenty of money to make his interests and hobbies become realities.”

“Okay,” Ben said. “Okay. I have to admit … I’m intrigued. So, the next step is talking to this Mr. Marcus guy? Why don’t you get him on the line, and let’s get this show on the road.”

“I believe he’s at the house.” Dr. Wulfric turned to Dr. Egan, who was already picking up a phone receiver. “When do you think you could start? What’s a good night for our first test? You would need to be free the next day, until about noon. We would have to give you a basic physical, mostly to get your weight and blood pressure. The experiment itself is basic, just some memory and observational tests. Then we’ll show you images and videos and see if you can recall any or all of what you’ve seen while sleeping. Since we know that you have good control of your awareness during REM, we would be testing the clarity of your memories while sleeping. If you can get into a lucid state of dreaming, that is.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve practiced getting into a lucid state for years. I can choose when and how long I want to dream. I can dream lucidly almost all of the time. My mind is very much awake soon after I fall asleep.”

As long as I’m not drinking,
he thought.

“Excellent! That is excellent. I have a host of acetylcholine-inducing supplements available if you feel inclined to use them. I believe you are familiar with several different nootropics—various memory and neuro enhancers. I have it written down here, somewhere, that you tested many with Dr. Wright.”

“Nootropics, oh sure. Which brand you got?” Ben laughed.

“I, uhh, let me see here.”

“I’m kidding, Doctor, I’m kidding. I’m familiar with them. I’ve tested more than I can count. Thank you, but I’m fine without any supplements.”

Ben had undergone a long stint of tests with supplements designed to increase the brain’s function and potential, called nootropics. The typical nootropic claims to increase acetylcholine levels, which are neurotransmitters in the human body with links to cognitive brain function and long-term memory. A common side effect of many nootropics—based mostly on claims—is that the drugs help the user enter a lucid dream state.

Along with the nootropics, Ben had gone on restrictive diets meant to further increase his acetylcholine levels, eating mostly meat, wheat germ and nuts. Some of the drugs he’d tested included GPC choline, phosphatidylcholine, acetyl-L-carnitine, vitamin B-5 and B-6, and L-Alpha glycerylphosphorylcholine—just to name a few. They were always dispensed to him as nondescript white capsules in nondescript white Dixie cups. Most of the time he did not know what he was taking until after the experiment was over, and he never cared so much as to remember any names.

The majority of the supplements he tested did little-to-nothing for him—no increased attention span, no shortcut to REM, no increased vivid dreams, no boost to his intellect. Perhaps his brain had more than enough acetylcholine to begin with. The results of those tests were inconclusive; however, many other test subjects claimed positive results. During the time of those tests, Ben was drinking heavily. It was impossible to know if a supplement was giving his brain an increase in focus and awareness when a hangover was making him sick and delirious. However, he did notice that some of the supplements shortened the severity of his hangovers, a fact he did not share with Dr. Wright since he wasn’t supposed to be drinking during the trials.

Dr. Wulfric cleared his throat and continued speaking, “Lastly, we’ll monitor the length of your REM cycle.”

“Can’t you just pull up some of my old tests with Dr. Wright? He’s tested my brain wave activity during sleep a dozen times. More than a dozen times.”

“Yes, we’ve seen them, and the results are amazing. However, these tests … are not like anything you and Dr. Wright have done in the past. So, that being said, what day is good for you to start? The sooner the better.”

“Umm, how about …” Ben scratched his chin. He was off from the bar that night … that was for sure, and the next … He shrugged. “I’m here now, why come back later?”

“Ha!” Dr. Wulfric smacked his knee. “You’re a sport, you know that, Ben? Dr. Egan, get Iain Marcus on the line!”

“Yes, yes.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m on hold, Peter.”

I
ain Marcus was a tall man with a wide, sturdy frame—yet he wore his strength well, like an athlete. He did not stand out as being particularly big; perhaps it was the black suit and tie with the crisp, white-collar shirt that masked his stature. His dark blonde hair was neatly parted to the side, and his face was clean-shaven. He looked almost familiar, maybe like a newscaster or someone Ben had seen on TV. Ben pictured him wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, and thought he would look fitting standing beside the president. However, the man was soft spoken, kept a thin professional smile on his face at all times, and moved his hands around the paperwork with the fluidity of an artist.

Not the law enforcing type
, Ben thought.

The two doctors, along with Iain Marcus and Ben, sat around a cluttered desk going over a stack of papers Iain had removed from his leather briefcase. He outlined each sheet, reciting the confusing sentences and words in layman’s terms.

“The ‘persons’ shall be acquitted of all responsibilities should they so desire under any given circumstance, keeping all monetary gain already established and set forth under contract with the governing party, with the governing party not liable for any future compensation … yada-yada-yada. This just says you can stop whenever you like and can keep whatever money was promised to you, but you’re not eligible for any future compensations that may have been discussed but not yet agreed upon.”

“Mm-hmm.” Ben leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. For the last hour, his head had started to hurt. His mind wandered to anything other than what Iain Marcus was talking about. It was the same when he bought and sold his old house, or when he bought and sold his old bar. All the lawyers and paperwork—a bunch of mumbo jumbo, written so that only a select few can understand a word of it.

He nodded along with Mr. Marcus and signed the papers at the bottom, seeing no red flags—although he doubted he would know if there were any. Liability forms and nondisclosure agreements were common at drug trials and tests. Ben had a vague familiarity with the proceeding.

Iain Marcus tapped the papers on the desk, straightening them out, and put them back in his leather briefcase. He removed a billfold from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, peeled away five crisp hundred-dollar bills from a thick-folded wad of hundreds, and handed them across the table.

“According to the contract, you will receive five hundred additional dollars at the conclusion of the test, tomorrow morning.”

Iain straightened his shirt cuffs, adjusting the clasps of the cuff links, and stood. “It was a pleasure.” He shook Ben’s hand, then shook Dr. Wulfric and Dr. Egan’s hands, and turned to leave. “I’ll show myself out.” He walked to the door with urgent footsteps and left.

“Well,” Dr. Wulfric said, smacking his knees as he stood, “shall we proceed?”

Ben tucked the five hundred dollars into his wallet and stood. The bills were so crisp, so new, that they felt dry and tacky against his fingers. “Absolutely, Doctor.”

Ben first endured the routine physical. They checked his weight, height, and blood pressure, along with a quick eye exam and hearing test. They played both loud and soft tones over earphones and had him raise his arm whenever he heard a sound.
Boring stuff
, he thought. He’d done it all before.

Then he was led to a chair opposite a desk by the ‘E’ shaped workstation.

“Now we get to the fun part.” Dr. Wulfric went to a cabinet above the long table hugging the wall, careful that his lab coat did not brush up against the various glass flasks and tubes as he reached overhead. A light turned on inside the refrigerated cabinet as the door opened. Cold vapor pooled out, evaporating in the air as it drifted to the ground like a waterfall. He removed a tray full of vials, selecting one from the others.

“This, Ben, is the serum. The Nano Technological Neuron Frequency Transmitting Fluid. That’s a mouthful, huh? We call it Nano.” He sat on a stool beside Ben, gently placing the small glass vial on the table between them. Someone handwrote the number eleven in thick black marker on the stickered label. The fluid inside the vial was red—not quite blood red, but dark, with a slight silver shimmer when light shone directly on it.

“The fluid inside this container is revolutionary.”

“What, like tiny computers or something?”

“Yes, sort of like tiny computers. These microscopic computers pick up the information your neurons transmit during REM and transfer the data to Lucy, where it is processed. It is quite simple really. The serum currently ranges in frequency to cover the beta, alpha, theta, and delta waves, however it only works at peak capacity during the REM cycle when the delta and theta waves are most active—as of now, that is. It picks up the transmissions from within the body and sends the information back to Lucy, where the information is analyzed and reassembled like a jigsaw puzzle. Of course, there is much more to it than that. The technology behind the serum and Lucy is astounding. I can go into much further detail, if you desire.”

“Feel free, but I can’t promise I’ll understand a word you tell me. The most important aspect for me
isn’t
the science behind this—although I admit that what you’re accomplishing here is very cool—it’s whether or not this is safe. Now, you did mention earlier that there are no health risks with the serum, right?”

“The serum crosses the blood-brain barrier and is designed to intercept the data being delivered through the neurons during REM, but not interfere with the neurons themselves. Simply observe and transmit. Kind of like turning on your radio and listening to what’s being played. You do no damage to the broadcasting station, or the radio waves, you simply detect the transmitted signal.

You may feel an initial wave of nausea and lightheadedness, but that will pass. I used this exact serum on myself to record the images I showed you earlier, and from my own personal experiences, the unpleasantness is minor and short indeed. The liquid exits the body through the blood system, gets filtered through the liver and kidneys, and disposed of with the rest of the body’s waste.”

Ben looked at the liquid in the little vial. He shook his head. “Let’s get on with it then.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Wulfric said. “Don’t be nervous. Besides myself, we’ve tested the serum extensively on mice, and none of them have had any ill side-effects.” He removed the small cap from the top of the vial and extracted a syringe from a sterilized wrapper—which reminded Ben of peeling the skin off of a banana—uncapped the needle, and slid the needle into the thin plastic membrane on the top of the vial.

Dr. Egan readied himself before a computer monitor on the desk.

Dr. Wulfric began. “Eight thirty-five P.M.—”

“Hold on Peter.” Dr. Egan was typing fervently. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Eight thirty-five P.M., Nano batch number eleven. Subject: Benjamin Walker, age thirty-eight, weight one hundred and seventy-four pounds, height five feet nine inches.” He pulled the syringe from the bottle and told Ben to put his arm on the desk.

“Just to warn you,” Ben said, “I’m a bit squeamish with needles.” He felt the blood drain from his face.

“Would you prefer to lie down? You look a bit pale.”

“No, just …” He clenched his teeth, “I’ll look away. I’m fine.”

In Ben’s past work, Dr. Wright made sure to avoid needles whenever possible.

“I promise to be quick,” the doctor said. “If you feel woozy, let me know.” Ben shut his eyes tight. “Three milliliters of Nano, batch eleven.”

Dr. Wulfric tightened an elastic tourniquet around Ben’s arm, tying it above the elbow. Ben could feel his pulse beating against the elastic band where it squeezed the vein. He smelled the pungent smell of rubbing alcohol, followed by the cold wetness of a cotton swab on his skin. The needle slid effortlessly into his vein. Dr. Wulfric’s thumb pressed the plunger and removed the syringe. It wasn’t painful in the least, but the sensation of his skin being penetrated made Ben’s stomach drop. He felt the cool liquid enter his vein and spread throughout his arm, down to the tips of his fingers.

“Are you okay?” Dr. Wulfric asked.

Ben opened his eyes. There was already a cotton ball on the wound and the doctor was removing a Band-Aid from a package.

“Yes, yup, I’m fine.” He took a deep breath. “God, I hate needles.”

Dr. Wulfric laughed. “To tell you the truth, I’m not very fond of them myself.”

The several hours following were devoted to memorization and problem solving exercises. Similar to basic IQ tests Ben had done in the past:

—
Look at two nearly identical pictures and tell me if there are any differences between them.

—Look at this assortment of random shapes and tell me how to arrange them to fit into this one larger shape.

—Look at these lines of various symbols and pick from the list which new line of symbols would follow.

All the while, Dr. Egan typed away on the computer and Dr. Wulfric scribbled notes on a pad, keeping track of time with a stopwatch. The tests were laborious and boring, but Ben paid attention to them all. By the time he was finished, his head ached with exhaustion, and he yearned for a stiff drink.

At some point in the evening, Dr. Egan ordered a pizza, and they cleared a section of the table to take a short break. Ben’s mind felt numb, but after a few slices of pizza, his thoughts began to unwind.

“Nothing too stressful, right?” Dr. Wulfric asked.

“No,” Ben said, finishing the last bite of crust. “So far so good.”

Dr. Wulfric glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Let’s wrap things up.”

They cleared away the mess and moved back to the desk. Dr. Wulfric pushed aside the stack of cue cards they had been using and grunted audibly as he leaned over to open the bottom drawer on the desk. He pulled out two framed paintings, both about twelve inches by nine.

One painting Ben immediately recognized; it was a photo print of the
Mona Lisa
. The glossy paper glared under the harsh fluorescent lights. Ben did not recognize the second painting. The scene was that of an old wooden ship sailing on a turbulent sea, painted by hand—not a print like the
Mona Lisa
. When Ben looked closely, he could see the peaks and crests of paint from each individual brush stroke.

“I want you to examine these paintings one at a time. I want you to study them from afar and then look at them up close.”

He looked at the
Mona Lisa
first. Dr. Wulfric held it across the desk and told Ben to absorb the painting as a whole and not focus on any one individual detail. They did this for a while, and then Dr. Wulfric placed the painting on the desk right before Ben. He told Ben to study it up close, from left to right in sections, like reading a book. Ben examined the pigment under her eyes, along her nose, and on her forehead, the swirls of color in the background that were perhaps trees, mountains, pathways and water. It was difficult since the painting was printed on a glossy sheet of paper, and the crests of paint that should be jagged were flat.

Dr. Wulfric then switched to the painting of the ship in the sea and pointed to the strokes of paint that swirled and crested to form the bubbling water where it crashed along the wooden side of the vessel. He then moved to the white and grey storm clouds in the sky. Ben was instructed to scan the painting in sections, from left to right, observe the various brown shades of the hull and the billowing sails that were stretched to their maximum expansion against the raging winds.

From up close, the swirling crests of paint made no sense, just one shade of color leading to the other. It was the same when he studied Emily’s cabin in the woods. The painting was confusing when he stared at one small section—maybe because he wasn’t an artist and didn’t understand how colors worked—but when he stepped back and looked at the composition as a whole, the piece took shape, and the form and subject came to life.

Humans
, Ben thought,
with the ability to produce and master art, use their minds in such ways that I will never truly comprehend.

Ben studied every corner of the ship, up close, and far away. Finally, Dr. Wulfric put the painting down. Ben blinked his eyes back into focus. He was tired, not just from all the mental exercises, but because it was getting legitimately late.

“I want you to remember these paintings to the best of your ability when you go to sleep tonight. Try to get yourself into a lucid state of dreaming and picture each of these paintings as if you’re observing them hanging on an art gallery wall. Look at them from afar, and then bring your eyes in close. Just like we did here. Examine each crest of paint, each line, each shade and crack.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Then that will be all for tonight.”

Dr. Egan hit a few more keys on the computer keyboard then stopped. He leaned back in his chair with his arms stretched high, yawning.

“I’ll show you upstairs. Charles, if you don’t mind shutting things down?”

Dr. Egan nodded, removing his glasses to massage the tender area on the bridge of his nose.

Ben followed Dr. Wulfric to the small door on the far side of the room, beside the larger double door. It led to a small landing at the base of a stairway. At the top of the stairs the doctor flicked on a light switch to reveal a large and comfortable room. A small open kitchen took up the left side, with a fridge, sink, dishwasher, and a stove.

The opposite side of the room was more of a living space, with two couches facing a large flat-screen television. Books and magazines lay neatly arranged on a coffee table, and a small bookshelf beside the couch was fully stocked with an assortment of books. Two circular dining tables with chairs occupied the middle of the room.

“This is our break room,” Dr. Wulfric said. “If you wake up before us, please make yourself at home. There’s coffee in the cabinet, eggs in the fridge, and cereal in the pantry. Help yourself.”

Behind the break room was a long hallway illuminated with the same wall sconces as in the lab and entry room below. They passed several doors on either side before arriving at the far end.