“How will you analyze the drug’s physiological effects?” Stanton asked.
“It will be a multilevel approach,” Edward said. “Remember, most compounds with a psychedelic effect function by imitating one of the brain’s neurotransmitters. LSD, for example, is related to serotonin. Our studies will start with single-cell neurons, then move on to synaptosomes, which are ground-up, centrifuged live brain preparations, and finally involve intact neural cell systems like the ganglions of lower animals.”
“No live animals?” Stanton asked.
“Eventually,” Edward said. “Mice and rats most likely. Also perhaps some monkeys. But that’s down the line. We’ve got to look at the molecular level as well. We’ll have to characterize binding sites and message transduction into the cell.”
“This sounds like a multiyear project,” Stanton said.
“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Edward said. He smiled at Eleanor. Eleanor nodded in agreement. “It’s damn exciting, though. It could be a chance of a lifetime.”
“Well, keep me informed,” Stanton said. He got to his feet. He took a few tentative steps to test his balance. “I have to say, I do feel great.”
Stanton got as far as the door to the lab when he turned around and returned. Edward and Eleanor had already begun work. “Remember,” he said. “You promised to read that damn prospectus, and I’m going to hold you to it no matter how busy you are.”
“I’ll read it,” Edward said. “I just didn’t say when.”
Stanton made his hand into a pistol and put it to his head and pretended to shoot.
“Kim, you have a call on line one,” the ward clerk called out.
“Take a message,” Kim shouted back. She was at the bedside of a particularly sick patient, helping the nurse assigned to the case.
“Go take your call,” the nurse said. “Thanks to you, things are under control here.”
“Are you sure?” Kim asked.
The nurse nodded.
Kim scooted across the center of the surgical intensive-care unit, dodging a traffic jam of beds. Patients had been coming and going all day. She picked up the phone, expecting either the chemistry lab or the blood bank. She had calls in to both places.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time?” a voice asked.
“Who is this?” Kim demanded.
“George Harris, your Salem contractor. I’m returning your call.”
“I’m sorry,” Kim said. She’d forgotten she’d placed the call several hours earlier. “I didn’t recognize your voice.”
“I apologize for taking so long to get back,” George said. “I’ve been out at the site. What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to know when the trench will be filled in,” Kim said. The question had occurred to her the day before and had produced some anxiety. Her concern was what she’d do if the trench was filled in prior to Elizabeth’s head being returned to her coffin.
“Probably tomorrow morning,” George said.
“So soon?” Kim exclaimed.
“They’re laying the utilities as we speak,” George said. “Is there a problem?”
“No,” Kim said quickly. “I just wanted to know. How’s the work going?”
“No problems,” George said.
After cutting the conversation short and hanging up, Kim called Edward immediately. Her anxiety mounted as the connection went through.
Getting Edward on the phone was no easy task. At first the secretary refused even to try to locate him, saying she’d take a message and Edward would call back. Kim insisted and finally prevailed.
“I’m glad you called,” Edward said the moment he came on the line. “I’ve got more good news. We’ve not only separated the alkaloids, but we’ve already determined which one is psychoactive.”
“I’m happy for you,” Kim said. “But there is a problem. We have to get Elizabeth’s head back to Salem.”
“We can take it up on the weekend,” Edward said.
“That will be too late,” Kim said. “I just spoke with the contractor. He told me the trench is to be filled in the morning.”
“Oh, jeez,” Edward exclaimed. “Things are moving here at breakneck speed. I hate to take the time off. Can’t they wait and fill the trench after the weekend?”
“I didn’t ask,” Kim said. “And I don’t want to. I’d have to have a reason, and the only reason would involve the coffin. The contractor is in touch with my father, and I don’t want him to have any notion that the grave has been violated.”
“Damn it all,” Edward said.
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“You promised you’d have that thing back ASAP,” Kim said finally.
“It’s just the timing,” Edward said. Then, after a slight, pause, he added: “Why don’t you take it up yourself?”
“I don’t know if I could,” Kim said. “I didn’t even want to look at it, much less handle it.”
“You don’t have to handle it,” Edward said. “All you have to do is take the end of the coffin off and stick the box inside. You don’t even have to open the box.”
“Edward, you promised,” Kim said.
“Please!” Edward said. “I’ll make it up to you somehow. It’s just that I am so busy at the moment. We’ve started to analyze the structure.”
“All right,” Kim said. When someone close to her asked her to do something, it was hard for her to say no. It wasn’t that she minded the drive to Salem. She knew she should check the progress at the construction site as often as possible. Maybe slipping the box into the coffin wouldn’t be that bad.
“How am I going to get the box?” she asked.
“I’ll make it easy for you,” Edward said. “I’ll send it over to you by messenger so you’ll have it before you finish work. How’s that?”
“I’d appreciate it,” Kim said.
“Call me here at the lab when you get back,” Edward said. “I’ll be here at least until midnight, probably longer.”
Kim went back to work, but she was preoccupied. The anxiety she’d felt when she’d heard that the trench was to be filled in so soon had not abated. Knowing herself, she guessed it would remain until she’d returned the head to the coffin.
As Kim scurried back and forth between the beds caring for her patients, she felt irritated that she’d allowed Edward to take the head in the first place. The more she thought about her putting it back, the less she liked it. Although the idea of leaving it in the cardboard box had seemed reasonable when she’d been on the phone, she’d come to realize her sense of propriety wouldn’t allow it. She felt obligated to return the grave to a semblance of what it had been before it had been disturbed. That meant dispensing with the box and handling the head, and she was not looking forward to that in the slightest.
The demands of Kim’s job eventually pushed her concerns about Elizabeth into the back of her mind. There were patients to be taken care of, and the hours flew by. Later, as she was concentrating on a reluctant intravenous line, the ward clerk tapped her on the shoulder.
“You’ve got a package,” he said. He pointed toward a sheepish messenger standing next to the central desk. “You’ve got to sign for it.”
Kim looked over at the messenger. He was intimidated by the SICU’s environment. A clipboard was clasped to his chest. At his elbow stood a computer paper box tied with a string. In an instant, Kim comprehended what was in the box and her heart fluttered.
“The front desk tried to get him to take it to the mail room,” the clerk said. “But the messenger insisted his instructions were to deliver it to you in person.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Kim said nervously. She started toward the desk with the clerk following at her heels. To her horror a bad situation suddenly got worse. Kinnard stood up from behind the desk where he had been writing in a chart and was looking at the receipt. She’d not seen him since their confrontation at the compound.
“What do we have here?” Kinnard said.