From my novel "Experiments" (a medical mystery) drama, sex, violence, romance, humor.
What follows is the prologue, two excerpts, one review from an Amazon reader, Table of Contents, and Contact information.
Prologue
Shea McTory felt guilty for
photographing this cruel scene, but the world needed to know. No, the truth was, Shea McTory needed to
further his hoped-for journalism career.
And he had just learned something about himself that he would rather
have not found out. He knew he had
always been, basically, a loser, but he had always tried to not be an asshole
too. But that’s what was going through
his mind. He was an asshole.
The subjects of the cruel scene, the two boys, stood beside each
other. They were skin and bone. I’m an asshole.
The sight of them, the smells in the room, the pure ugliness, all were
making his insides crawl. His skin was
crawling. He could barely look at the
boys. No way could he touch them. No way. I’m an asshole. And Natalie hadn’t even said, specifically,
what was happening, but he knew that she knew, and Shea didn’t even want
to know.
****
The acronym, MEAL, is mentioned in the following chapter. It means Metabolism & Excretion Analysis Laboratory (what a name, eh?) Ballard, the adolescent-minded ex-sailor also appears. Ballard is immature to say the least, but later, Shea--as Shea himself grows in maturity--sort of takes Ballard under his wing. In order to volunteer Shea has to give up freedom, sex, his favorite foods, alcohol, etc....but he wasn't experiencing too many good things in his life lately, anyway, so what the heck? Oh yes, and he had to give up smoking, but usually his cigarettes were found in filthy butt kits or street gutters. Occasionally he was able to buy a fresh pack, and that's what he was doing when he approached the door of the research facility: Smoking his last cigarette.
Think of that: In order to volunteer for this live-in program he had to give up everything he had come to appreciate in life. Cigarettes were not the hardest but he did have one incident with a cigarette where he could have gotten kicked out. So here is that chapter. He's 2 months into a 6-month study (and 2 months cold turkey without a cigarette.)
Chapter 8
Lord Cigarette
The
It wasn’t that he had to work too hard because he
did not work. Other than cooperating for the experiments he did nothing. That
had been his main reason for volunteering, plus free food and shelter. The fact
he would have oodles of free time. Time which he had planned to use not only
for recreation and reading but new-career research, of which he had yet done
nothing. Now, of course, he had stumbled onto the possibility of selling
pictures of MEAL experiments. But time enough later. Right now he wanted rest
and relaxation. Period.
The roof would be the place to escape. Far as he
knew nobody but himself was aware of the secret escape hatch. Isabel had shown
it to him during a fanatical moment when he wasn't sure he could stay if people
didn't stop interrupting his free time. Dear Isabel. A great old lady.
Only a moment it took to slip on cutoffs and
sandals, and grab sunglasses, towel, and The Valley Of Horses. Then down the
hall, through the exercise room, a No Admittance door, and onto a small
landing.
Attached to the wall, a ladder began about three
feet from the floor and poked into darkness. He smiled. At last. Privacy. He
hadn't been up there for awhile. He threw the towel over his shoulder, shoved
the book between his stomach and cutoffs, hung the glasses from a belt loop, grasped
the third rung, pulled his feet to the first rung, then climbed about a dozen
more feet.
Eyes barely accustomed to dimness he found the
latch. Undone. Had he forgotten to close it last time? Damn. Isabel could get
in trouble. Well, he wouldn't forget again. He pushed the wooden hatch open,
climbed onto the gravel and blacktop surface within a small rooftop building,
and carefully closed the hatch.
Afternoon sun glared through the small access door.
Had he forgotten to close that too? Or was somebody already up there? Shit!
That thought infuriated him. Nothing to do but find out.
The sun beat hot on the roof, and bright. He stood
a second against the wall of the small building to again accustom his eyes. He
saw nobody. He finally peeked around both corners. Nothing. Nothing but the
three-feet-high surrounding brick walls. University west and south. Residential
east. Cottonwood Nook
Park
That and now mountain ash, and a few others from
Otter Creek. A thought flashed of his new appreciation of Elbertine. Maybe they
could develop an uncomplicated platonic relationship. The idea of having just a
close female friend pleased him. But now for some relaxing hot sun and a little
peace and privacy.
One last look in all directions. Then a walk around
the little building. Nobody. Nothing but the blue sky and hot sun. A breeze
rattled the cottonwood leaves, a sound that had become one of his favorites.
His attention went to a roof ventilator, a small, square wooden affair which he
always leaned against. He pulled his towel from his shoulder. Quiet and cozy as
a sunlit clearing in the forest.
Vigilance at ease he walked toward it. About ten
feet away he heard a scraping of gravel against roofing blacktop, then from the
opposite side of his sanctuary rolled a body nude except for cutoffs. Ballard!
Anger and impatience raged! How dare that blocky, immature bully of an
ex-sailor intrude upon him again, and again, and again?
"Shea!" Ballard's face broke into the
sincerest and friendliest smile he had ever seen on the boy, "Man, I
didn't think anybody else knew about this hideout."
"Neither did I."
And his face must have betrayed his true feelings,
for Ballard's smile faded, "You don't like me very much, do you?"
How true might have been those words weeks, even
several days, earlier. Now he wasn't so sure. Lately the boy had demonstrated
some fairly positive aspects, some, though he could not put his finger on
exactly what right that moment, "Not true, Ballard."
"Then you do like me?" Ballard's
face brightened.
Does it have to be black or white?
"That's not true either."
"Then you don't like me." Ballard
turned away, drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, head down,
"I don't care. I like you though."
Right. Make everything just as difficult and
complicated as possible, "It's not that I don't like you,
Ballard." What next? The ground ahead lay treacherous. One wrong step
could bury him, "But we aren't completely friends." What next?
"We're acquaintances. And there's a hell of a big difference." What
next? "But acquaintances can grow into becoming friends." He hoped
that had gone out right.
"I don't understand." Ballard looked up, his
eyes pleading for understanding, "I've had either friends or enemies, and
plenty of them."
"Acquaintances are between friends and
enemies. A man has lots of acquaintances, a few good friends, and, hopefully,
not too many enemies."
"Where does Galloway fit
in? I don't think he likes me too much either."
"Just because Galloway might
not like you doesn't mean he hates you." Shea's patience grew thin. Why
couldn't he have just found this place deserted like always? "Galloway is
an acquaintance too!" Cool down. He suddenly wanted a cigarette. Always
before, whenever he felt the least bit antagonized, or uneasy, or any reason at
all, the good old unchangeable buddy cigarette! had been there. Or obtainable.
Some pretty short ones sometimes though. For a few seconds nicotine desire
rampaged through every vein and muscle, producing a familiar floaty feeling,
like he could spiral right into the sky.
"You mean Galloway and I
could become friends?"
"That's right. In time." The floaty
feeling threatened to send him right over the edge, "But you can't force
people to like you, you can't act like a jerk!" Totally
unnecessary. Shea felt like a jerk himself, and may have ruined his, until
then, not too bad a lecture.
"You're right." Shea felt his eyes widen.
Had he actually gotten through to the boy? "I know sometimes I do get kind
of excited, but that's all it is. I don't mean to hurt people, or make'em mad
at me."
"That's good, Ballard." Shea shook out
his towel, spread it on the gravel, then sat down next to Ballard but around
the corner, facing another direction, "Now you're thinking about it.
That's cool, man."
He pulled the book out of his cutoffs, the
sunglasses from the belt loop and put them on. Instantly the world around him
muted, became closer in, suggesting more privacy then actually existed.
"Thing is, Ballard, just think sometimes before you say or do something.
Think about whether what's on your mind is going to be compatible with someone
else."
No sound from Ballard. It seemed the lecture had
surely worked. But something about Ballard began to trouble him again. Family.
Galloway, Ives, Luther, all had spoken of friends, and, more important, solid
family, that essential group of people who would hope for you, fight for you,
never give up on you. But not Ballard. The boy appeared to live just in the
present, and had no past. Nothing to draw strength from.
But a girlfriend existed. Ballard had said she
would visit the upcoming weekend. He hoped she was a good one. But Ballard was not
his problem. He just was not! Shea opened his book, found his place and
began reading.
Ayla was now riding in full form.
****
A few minutes passed. Shea lost himself in the
book, just how he liked it. The trees, hills, valleys, and in the tall,
beautiful Ayla. Possible peace with Ballard made his future at MEAL seem even
more promising.
"Thanks, Shea." Ballard stood, pulled his
towel with him, "Think I'll go take a shower." He started away.
Shea stared after him. He felt kind of dazed, and
pleased, until Ballard stopped, turned around, and spoke, "Did'ja hear
about the new volunteers coming?"
No, he had not, and in the last few minutes had
dared to think he might now actually get the peace and quiet he so desired,
"New volunteers?"
"Yep. Heard they're comin' Monday morning for
a shorter nutrition study. Four of'em. And I hear they're assholes too."
Shea's hopeful new outlook devastated, he was too
flabbergasted to answer and just stared at Ballard. How could MEAL do
that to him? How could they? He wanted a cigarette. Bad. Worse
than ever. Nothing in the world was so dependable as Cigarette!
And suddenly he saw one. In his peripheral vision.
Just a long thin thing of purest white at the bottom of the east brick wall
under the overhang. He tore his eyes away, forced himself to look just at
Ballard, forced himself to think the white thing was not there, was a figment
of his imagination. He knew cigarettes would make a difference in the study,
for Churchill had said right after his first underwater weighing, "Smoker,
huh?" Or was it after his first physical work capacity?
Did not make a damn. Churchill had known and would
know again. The important thing: Shea would know.
"Well, see you later, Shea." Ballard
again started away, "Thanks again for your help."
"Sure, don't mention it." Sure. Swell!
But who helped him? Who lent the understanding ear to him? Who cared? He again
looked at that white thing, and then heard the hatch close. Ballard was gone.
Nobody would know. That floaty feeling jabbed his head, causing an instant
headache. But he stared at it, thinking of how he would feel if he lit up. And
he had matches. He had hidden one book. Just in case.
The floaty feeling engulfed him. Dizziness tore his
temples. He pushed himself up, mashing his little finger on sharp gravel,
"Fuck!" lost his balance and mashed it worse,“Fuck!” then
grabbed the towel and threw himself to his feet. The dizzy spell persisted. His
head whirled. He hung onto the ventilation port, subconsciously wishing the
nicotine desire would pass, but consciously wanting it more right then than
anything in the world.
He grabbed his book and pushed away from the port,
staggered once, then made it to the hatch, forced himself to lift it quietly.
He hung the sunglasses on the belt loop, then slipped onto the ladder, closed
and locked the hatch quietly. He moved with the stealth of a hunter now, the
quarry his old friend Cigarette! He reached the bottom, squatted,
grasped the third rung, from the bottom, dropped the three feet and landed
silently. He opened the door.
Nobody there.
Through the exercise room he sped, feet flying
calmly but deliberately, down the hall. His room. He turned the knob, entered
quickly, closed the door quickly and quietly, tossed the book and towel to land
on his bed. No stopping or thinking. No anything! He jerked open the fold-down
desk, pulled a tiny drawer completely out—completely out! It hit the
floor with a crash, spraying paper clips, coins, a tiny shiny flag, other
personal odds and ends.
For one second he stared at the small disaster.
Then he leaned and gaped into the cubbyhole.
The matches lay flat against the back wall of the
drawer space. With no more hesitation he grabbed a pen and dug them out,
crammed them into his pocket, made a wide step over the disaster area, flew to
the door. He edged it open. Nobody in the hall. Out the door, feet flying
again. A door opening ahead. The janitor's room.
He willed his feet to fly faster. He would get past
that person silently. He would not cause even a stir of air. White smock.
Nurse. He held his breath, stretched his legs, go, Go, GO! GO!
The nurse stepped backward into the hall while
closing the door. Isabel! The woman's gray hair perched on her head in new
permanent curls. It looked nice. He should compliment her. She would be hurt,
terribly hurt, if she knew what he planned. So he didn't think about it,
nothing to think about. He was going to smoke! Her face was still turned away.
He could get by. Go. Go! She turned.
"Shea," her face brightened, "Where
are you going in such a hurry?" Then her smile faded as he passed without
even slowing, the matches burning right into his leg.
"Got to get some sun, Isabel. Talk to you
later." Yeah, right. If he got caught there wouldn't be any later. Around
the corner he sprinted, his mind racing ahead of him. Through the exercise
room. Through the No Admittance door, onto the landing. He grabbed the ladder,
hoisted himself, climbed. The hatch. He pushed. It would not budge. He pushed
harder, and harder, and harder! The nicotine desire was now gone. Now it was
solely in his head that he would smoke! He would reclaim his friendship
with Lord Cigarette!
He leaned his back and shoulder into the hatch,
straining, groaning, about to cry out. Finally, finally he saw the latch in place
and remembered securing it. Stupid! With a muffled cry he threw it free and
popped the hatch. He no longer cared if he got caught. He left it open, flew to
the brick wall where he had seen that white thing.
And there it lay. Tight against the wall. Sheltered
from the elements for who knew how long? He did not care. Probably left there
by some long past volunteer just for Shea to find.
An unused, unfiltered, Camel. Lord of all
Cigarettes!
His breath came in an anguished gasp. He put his
sunglasses back on, then knelt and picked the cigarette up, ran it past his
nose. Ah, the delicious aroma of even dry, very dry, tobacco. His heart
pounded, slow-beating loudly now in anticipation. Sweat beaded on his head, all
over his body. The high, floaty feeling returned in a near-orgasm of delight.
He would explode if he didn't light up. He placed it between his lips, just to
the right of center, and let it hang, coolly.
He would smoke. He was going to SMOKE!
The matches. He stood, calm now, cool now, yet felt
his head throbbing. He placed his hand in his pocket, touched the book of
matches, ever so slightly moist from his splurge of emotion and haste. He drew
them out, held the book in his hand. He stared hard at the demanding
advertisement.
Smoke’em!
His head throbbed impatiently.
He opened the book and ripped out a match. And
hesitated. Pain slashed his stomach. That pain would go away as soon as he
inhaled that first rich drag, as soon as he smoked! He moaned. Barely a
sound. He struck the match. It flamed with a roar and a burst of sulphurous
smoke, then burned brightly, brilliantly, beautifully, down to his fingers. He
dropped it.
Enough time had passed.
The cigarette fell from his lips. He settled onto
the hot gravel and blacktop. He scissored his legs and let his hands and arms
fall forward to lie on them, "Fuck." He couldn't smoke. He couldn't
have anything he wanted. Everybody else could have everything but he couldn't
have anything, nothing but everybody else's bullshit!
He lifted his hands and rested his face, and felt a
couple tears. He snuffed his nose, and thought nothing, and stayed thus for a
long time. Until the sun's heat passed into shadow.
His back began to cool. Reality. He lifted his
head. The cigarette lay before him, unharmed. Calmly he picked it up and
shredded it. Tobacco dripped from between his fingers. The aroma still reached
him, then was gone. And now, in order to smoke, he would have to quit the
research. He would have to admit failure again. That life had beat him.
Again.
But his anger and self-pity were spent. He grabbed
his crossed knees, rocked once, and hoisted himself to his feet. He didn't feel
exactly proud of his rejection of the cigarette because he had not really
rejected it. The battle won did not seem like a real victory. Just one more
skirmish in a never-ending war of self-doubt. But even just skirmishes he had
always before lost, had always given in to them and taken the easy road. The no
commitment to job, to goal, to person, to anything road.
But this time he truly had not taken that easy
road.
He looked for the matches, grabbed them and sent
them sailing over the brick wall, then started for the hatch. Change into
regular clothes, spiff up a little, and he should be just in time for the
evening meal.
****
What follows is Scene 2 from Chapter 15 "Date With Natalie" (Catherine is the Head Nurse and Ross is another volunteer, the psychopath mentioned earlier.)
Ten-O-five and Natalie was
nowhere. Shea had camped by the bulletin
board since nine-forty-five. His name
was down for the library for ten o'clock .
Where was she?
Catherine came through the office
door to his left.
"Catherine, where's
Natalie?"
She looked at him through her
glasses. She looked him over good, as if
seeing whether he were dressed appropriately to take out her daughter, which
Natalie was not. "Don't worry,
Shea. She'll be here." She tipped her head back, smiled, somewhat,
"If this library trip is such an emergency, maybe someone else should take
you."
"No!" His heart thumped, "No, I'll wait."
"I thought so." Catherine moved on. Sometimes she reminded him of a high-falutin'
Englishwoman.
Five minutes passed. The sounds of a pool game had been coming
through the open walkway. Ross and
Willy, and Willy was losing. Two more
minutes passed. The game ended with a
loud discourse from Ross, who then appeared in the doorway, made eye contact
with Shea, then walked over, "Headin' out, huh?"
"Yes." Shea glanced away and wished he could ignore
Ross, but decided not to.
"How come you're going in the
morning, when the rest of us have to wait for afternoon, and the regular
chaperones?"
A legitimate question. But 'None of your business' seemed a
good answer. Shea faced him again. A sneer emanated from the cold and dark
eyes. More than plain taunting and
ridicule, the man seemed exactly as Ives had described him: Psychopath. "If something is important a trip out in
the morning is allowed." And what
could be more important than him being alone with Natalie?
"So what's so important?"
"None of your business."
Ross's face became a mask of anger
as he stared at Shea, trying to frighten by mere presence. Shea did feel a slight discomfort but not
fright, for he still hoped Ross would eventually settle down and accept what
was.
With a jerk Ross turned away,
walked past all the rooms to the end of the hall and stopped by the elevator,
as if waiting for someone. Any minute
the elevator door would open and Natalie would appear.
The door opened. Natalie appeared. Ross blocked her.
Shea froze, cursing in silence as
he watched, wanting to intervene in whatever was happening and throw Ross down
the elevator shaft. Natalie smiled, and
appeared to say something, then tried to go around Ross, but he again blocked
her. Shea stiffened, took a step.
"Don't interfere."
He spun. Catherine.
"I know this is difficult for
you, Shea, but Natalie has been trained for this line of work. She will handle it."
Shea took a deep breath, then put
his back to the wall by the bulletin board, facing away from whatever was
happening but still saw: Natalie blocked by Ross, and Ross had discovered his
weak spot.
Then he asked the question,
"How could this, person, have gotten past the M-M-P-I, Catherine?"
"I don't know. Sometimes it happens. In the past I've recommended prior interviews
in person, but it would mean more expense."
He glanced at her, "You mean
you know how he is?"
"I have eyes, Shea, and I have
ears."
"What's going to happen?"
"Do you mean can we get rid of
him?"
"Yes."
"Until he does something in my
presence, or until somebody, anybody, formally presents me with a valid
complaint, I'm afraid nothing."
"What about what's
happening?"
"I don't know what's
happening, and it's not in my presence."
"What if Natalie
complains?"
"She isn't being hurt, or
threatened, that I can see, Shea. And you wouldn't want her to be a baby, would
you?"
"No, I guess not." But at the moment he wasn't so sure. Anything
to get her away from Ross.
Another moment passed. Then the two came strolling down the hall,
laughing and smiling. Shea seethed with
jealousy, an emotion he had not felt for longer than he remembered. From what he could see she even appeared to like
the guy. He considered canceling the
library trip. He suddenly felt like just
hiding in his room in his rage.
The two reached him. His face stiff with attempting to feign
indifference Shea could not look directly at them. They were only a blur anyway.
"Well, Ross, I have things to
attend to," Natalie said, "Will you excuse me?"
"Sure, you bet." Nice as pie—manipulative—Shea
remembered Ives's descriptive word, and hated Ross immediately and intensely,
but still he had no real legitimate reason to.
"Nice to meet you, Ross."
Natalie waved as Ross turned his back.
The guy didn't even acknowledge Natalie's 'goodbye,' just headed
for the recreation area.
She’s been fooled. She thinks he’s a nice guy. She LIKES him! His insides tightened to knots. He wanted to run after Ross and strangle the
life out of him. He could not go
anywhere with Natalie. He didn't even
want to talk to her right then. He
wanted to disappear off the face of the earth!
Natalie turned, touched his arm,
"Shea."
He jerked toward her. He knew his eyes were wide, probably
wild-looking. He continued seeing Natalie only as blur—cool down, COOL DOWN! He’s manipulating her.
"Sorry I'm late," she
said. His head was buzzing. "When I called I should have spoke
directly to you. I'm sorry."
"That's OK." What was she sorry for? For talking to Ross? For being manipulated by him? She sure didn't look sorry.
"Are you ready to go? Shea, are you all right?"
He finally saw her clearly,
"I'm fine."
"You look kind of pale."
"I'm OK though." The buzzing had slowed, but he felt kind of
light-headed, and glanced at Catherine still standing there. And of course Ross would not have done
anything stupid directly in Catherine's presence, "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's get out of here."
A review from an Amazon reader:
5.0 out of 5 stars kindle book
Experiments, December 28, 2011
By caron99 - SeeA all my reviews Amazon Verified Purchase
This review is from: Experiments
(Kindle Edition)
this was a great book to read I
sooo enjoyed it, my husband kept stealing mykindle to read it too.
Table of Contents
1 Wakeup
2 Suspicion3 Breakfast
4 The Mall
5 The Night
6 Underwater in Symphony
7 The Walk Home
8 Lord Cigarette
9 Delilah
10 False Alarm
11 Otter Creek
12 Natalie
13 The New Volunteers
14 Psychopath Among us
15 Date With Natalie
16 Patrick Durant
17 Electroencephalogram
18 The Straw is Broken
19 Assault
20 Danger: Radioactive Meal
21 The Article
22 The Student Nurses
23 At Last, Purpose
24 Constipated
25 The Gift
26 The Ring
27 The Tempting
28 Morning Must Come
29 Victims
30 Disclosure
31 Farewell, new Friends
This novel "Experiments" is available both in paperback ($16.00) and digital ($0.99) at Amazon. With Kindle Prime Membership you can borrow for free. Tomorrow, Saturday, 8-5
CONTACT
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