In the lab, previous uncertainty about the future, lack of funding and the constant need for charitable help from other groups had been a useful smokescreen to explain away his apparent slowness in declaring results. It had been accepted as it had for the others in the group because it was to be expected in their impoverished circumstances. In his case, the truth was different. He had been very successful in getting help from other labs because of his previous popularity and he had been secretly taking data home to analyse, something that kept him working into the small hours nearly every night. Lucy had accepted his explanation at first — that he had to keep ahead of others in the field; there were no prizes for second place — but even she had begun to have her doubts about what he was really up to.
Barrowman had spent the previous late-night session going through the results of the repeated tests on Lawler’s samples yet again. Having established there had been no mix-up it now seemed clear after repeated checking that Lawler really could change his biochemical signature to emulate those recorded in a whole range of mental conditions. If the sample he’d just taken showed that he could also display the make-up of a normal person... this really would be something special...
Barrowman’s excitement was short lived and suddenly eclipsed by a flood of uncertainty. If Lawler really could adopt the genetic state of a normal person, why hadn’t he done just that? Why had he become what he had? Why the hell didn’t he just go through life as a decent human being, making friends, falling in love, laughing, crying? Why would anyone choose to throw switches that made them a monster completely devoid of compassion, taking orgasmic pleasure in the fear he could induce in others, revelling in their agony?
Barrowman forced himself back into the present. ‘Well, Mr Lawler,’ he said, ‘You know about me; I know about you. I think I’d like to take a blood sample now and call it a day.’
‘But we’ve only just begun!’ Lawler protested. ‘I want to hear more about Lucy. What does she do? Is she a scientist too? Maybe you spend your evenings unravelling the secrets of the genetic code? Four little letters... ATCG, the basis of all living things. Amazing really, the rest of us can’t even make a proper word out of them!’ Lawler laughed like the TV presenter buttering up his scientific guest.
Lawler’s knowledge of the chemical bases which comprise the spine of DNA registered with Barrowman even as he chose to put an end to any more conversation and call in the attendant so he could take a blood sample. ‘Sorry,’ he said to Lawler. ‘There’s a seminar at the university tonight I want to go to. It’s being given by an old friend of mine from Edinburgh University.’
‘Old pals from uni, eh?... nice.’
‘I haven’t seen him for ages. It’ll be good to catch up,’ said Barrowman, keen to keep the small talk going. He was anxious there should be no delay in taking the blood sample. He needed it to reflect Lawler’s nice guy state of mind, not the angry individual he sensed he might become.
When the attendant came in Barrowman was surprised to see that it wasn’t the one on duty when he arrived. ‘Where’s staff nurse Donovan?’ he asked.
‘He didn’t think you’d be finished for a while yet,’ the man replied. ‘He nipped up to the kitchen for a coffee. I’m Staff Clements... Alan.’
‘I need to take a blood sample from Mr Lawler, Alan.’
‘Okay dokay.’
Barrowman turned away to get what he needed from his briefcase, a sterile twenty ml syringe and appropriate needle, two sterile plastic containers for the blood — one containing an anticoagulant, another without so that the blood would separate into serum and a clot — and an alcohol impregnated swab to sterilise the site on Lawler’s arm. If required he’d use one of the leather securing straps on the chair as a temporary tourniquet.
Lawler’s lower right arm had been released from its binding and his sleeve rolled up to expose the inner aspect of his elbow. Clements was holding his arm steady on the chair arm. Owen cleaned the area where he could see a suitable prominent vein and murmured, ‘Don’t think we need a tourniquet, this looks fine.’ He slipped the needle into the vein and slowly withdrew fifteen millilitres. ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Mr Lawler.’
Barrowman turned away and ejected the blood, half each into the two containers. When he turned around he was instantly aware of Lawler giving him the stare. It was something that reminded him of a raptor surveying what it held in its talons — seeing everything but feeling nothing. It was something he did when he was upset or felt he hadn’t been accorded the respect he thought he deserved. It wasn’t hard to work out that he obviously felt he was the one to decide when an interview was over.
Barrowman was just about to say something conciliatory when Lawler swung his arm round hard into Clements’ face as he moved in to restore his binding. The blow knocked the nurse off balance and sent him sliding across the floor holding his jaw. Barrowman made the mistake of looking to Clements rather than Lawler and paid the price. Lawler’s free right hand shot out and his fingers fastened on either side of his windpipe. He felt himself being pulled down towards Lawler’s face while Clements struggled ineffectually to get up.
‘Fear... I can smell it off you, doctor,’ Lawler whispered. ‘The smell of fear... soon to be absolute... bloody... terror...’ His fingers tightened on Barrowman’s neck. ‘Let me tell you, doctor, you’re a loser... you just don’t see the big picture... You play by their rules... the ones designed by the few to keep the rest in order... when it could all be so different... You’ve saddled yourself with Loocee... you’ve got a squalling brat on the way... that is the fucking highway to nowhere. You’ve been playing the game wrong, doctor... Don’t you understand? Take what you want from life; don’t bargain with it. Destroy anything and everything that gets in your way... set out to win... don’t set out to... comply.’
Barrowman was seeing stars. He had almost used up all his strength in an attempt to prise Lawler’s fingers apart but they were locked in a grip that was stifling his ability to breathe. His brain was telling him he must let go: he should go for Lawler’s eyes with his thumbs. But his overwhelming fear that the instant he let go of Lawler’s hands, his windpipe would be ripped out was proving stronger. He was losing consciousness. He barely heard the ‘What the fuck!’ exclamation coming from Nathan Donovan returning from his coffee break.
Eight
‘Clements! You useless son of a... What d’you think you’re doing?’ Donovan slammed his fist against the alarm button on the wall, filling the air with deafening whoops and rushed over to help Barrowman. He freed him from Lawler’s grip using sheer brute strength before slamming Lawler’s arm back down on the chair arm and securing him tightly. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked Barrowman, getting a weak nod in reply before turning on Clements to continue his tirade.
‘Sorry Nate, I thought these two got on,’ mumbled Clements, still sitting on the floor nursing his jaw. ‘I wasn’t expecting it. Bastard took me by surprise, took a swing at me and grabbed the doc by the throat.’
Donovan raised his voice to be heard above the whoop of the siren and sound of running feet. ‘Nothing ever takes you by surprise in this place, Clements Have you got that? You expect anything and everything at all times.’
Clements nodded.
‘Get out of my sight. This isn’t over.’
Barrowman sat massaging his throat and feeling disorientated.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Donovan asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to look into his eyes.