“Indeed, that would be the proper way to conduct a fear study,” Forenzi admitted. “But all I can offer you is my word that I haven’t hired any actors to try to scare you people.”
“What exactly are we supposed to do to get our million bucks?” Moni asked, her mouth full of baked potato.
“It is simple. After dinner, my associate Dr. Madison will take a small sample of your blood and conduct a brief physical to ascertain your general health. Then, tomorrow, another sample of your blood shall be taken.” Forenzi winked. “Should you survive, of course. Which is why I’ve had all of you sign waivers.”
“You’ve conducted this experiment before?” Tom, the cop, asked.
“Not quite in this way. But we have had guests before.”
“And what happened to them?” Tom continued.
The doctor laughed. “Naturally, they all died of fright.”
There were a few nervous titters around the table, but the cop didn’t join them.
“Allow me a self-indulgent moment to explain my research, and why each of you are so important.” Forenzi pushed back his chair and stood up, spreading his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re all here today as self-aware, sentient beings. Perhaps some of you believe in the afterlife, spirits, souls, God and the devil. Perhaps some of you find all of it, to use one of Mr. Wellington’s words, poppycock.”
Mal hadn’t heard the writer use that word yet, but he could imagine it easily enough.
“But what makes us believe what we believe? Our differences really are tiny compared to our similarities. We’re all made of the same stuff. We’re all 99.9% identical, genetically. Am I correct, Dr. Belgium?”
“Yes yes yes, you are so far.”
“Doctor, if you wouldn’t mind, can you provide the group with your learned definition of life?”
“Life? Well, all living things, in order to to to be considered alive, have to meet certain criteria. These criteria vary, depending on the scientist. But I’d define life as a structure that can reproduce, respire, create energy for itself, and respond to environmental changes. Also, life can cease.”
“By that definition, fire is alive,” Forenzi said.
“Fire is a chemical process known as combustion.”
“But isn’t life also a chemical process?”
“Well, yes.” Belgium nodded several times. “It certainly certainly certainly is.”
“We are all made of chemicals.” Forenzi swept his hands across the table, grandiosely indicating all seated there. “Chemical reactions allow us to metabolize food and oxygen, and excrete waste. They are responsible for cell division. Aging. The very thoughts we have in our heads. Emotions. Dr. Belgium, can you elucidate the chemistry of emotion?”
“Well, in response to a stimulus, or in some cases due to a problem with the limbic system, our body releases neurotransmitters and hormones, which dictate how we feel feel feel about certain things. Watch a sad movie, we cry. When we meet someone we like, we bond. These are chemicals we manufacture ourselves, which we’ve evolved to help us adapt to various situations.”
“A mother’s instant affection for her child when it is born isn’t due to love,” Forenzi said, focusing on Sara. “At least, not love alone. It is because, during childbirth, the mother’s body floods with oxytocin. Not only does that jump start lactation, but it also forces the incredibly strong emotion of maternal love. Which brings us to fear.”
Forenzi spread out his palms, like a preacher orating to his congregation.
“My friends, I have isolated the neurotransmitter that activates the fear response. Which means, very soon, I’ll discover a way to control fear.”
Mal, who’d been greedily devouring the steak his wife had cut for him, suddenly gave Dr. Forenzi 100% of his attention.
“You can cure fear?” he said.
“I’m very close, Mr. Deiter. Fear begins in the amygdala, which is located in the medial temporal lobes of the brain. When you are frightened, it releases hormones and neurotransmitters that stimulate the fear response. You are aware of the symptoms. Paranoia. Increased heartbeat. Dry mouth. Sweating. Shortness of breath. Lightheadedness. The feeling of hopelessness. Because many of you survived some horrific events, your brain chemistry has physically become altered. Which is why you continue to be afraid all of the time. Your mind still believes it is in danger, and it keeps pumping chemicals into your body. “
“So you’re going to test our blood for these these these chemicals,” Dr. Belgium said, “then scare us, and test our blood again. And then am I to assume you’ll then try to block the fear somehow?”
“All in good time, Doctor. All in good time.”
“So why are Mr. Wellington and I here?” Pang asked.
“Every good experiment needs controls,” Forenzi said. “Your skepticism will provide a baseline metusamine level.”
“Metusamine?” Belgium said. “Metus is latin for fear. So metusamine—”
“Metusamine is the neurotransmitter I isolated that is responsible for the fear response. Correct, Dr. Belgium. And I’m synthesizing the transporter protein—”
“Which will terminate effects of of of metusamine!” Belgium yelled, obviously excited. “How close are you to synthesis?”
“I’ve been able to induce fearlessness in a primate, a Panamanian night monkey.”
“I’d be honored and excited to go over your data.”
“In time, Doctor.”
“And will we be able to try this for ourselves?” Mal asked. A fear-free life was a gift almost too valuable to fathom. To be able to sleep well again, to live without the constant paranoia. A drug like that would be a miracle.
“Very soon. And your presence here, Mr. Dieter, will help speed the process.”
Deb reached over, touched Mal on the arm. He looked at his wife and saw she was teary eyed. He realized he was as well.
“So let us finish our meals,” Dr. Forenzi said, raising his wine glass, “and then begin the process of scaring the hell out of you fine people.”
Everyone toasted. Everyone seemed excited, except for the cop, whose face remained neutral. Mal said to his wife, “Maybe you were right, honey. Maybe this trip was the answer to our prayers.”
“I love you, Mal.”
“I love you, too.”
They shared a quick kiss, and Mal went back to his steak. The cop, Tom, looked over at him, and his calm expression was replaced by something else.
Concern.
Did Tom know something the rest of them didn’t?
Mal’s relief evaporated, and the uneasiness returned.
After dinner, he’d confront the Detective, pick his brain.
Maybe this really was as it seemed, a million bucks and a cure.
But maybe, just maybe, Forenzi was playing them all.
Like fattening up the turkeys before Thanksgiving dinner.
Frank
Dr. Frank Belgium walked up to the second floor with Sara and marveled at the curve balls life threw.
A few days ago he’d been hating his job, and his life. He’d been lonely, depressed, and living in constant fear.
Now he was next to a wonderful woman and actually daring to think about the future for the first time.
Belgium wasn’t prone to daydreaming. Others would consider him a fatalist, but to Belgium that meant a realist who truly knew how bad things were. But there, in Butler House, Belgium indulged in a mini-fantasy where he and Sara and Jack had a house somewhere. They were playing a game of Monopoly, which he used to love as a kid. He saw himself land on Boardwalk with a hotel and start laughing, and his new family laughed along with him, and there was the scent of baked apples coming from the pie cooling on the windowsill. He and Sara took Forenzi’s metusamine pills, and neither were afraid anymore. Life wasn’t something you endured. It was something you appreciated.
A ridiculous notion, of course. But the idea of it pleased him, and he clutched it to his being like a life line.
“Here’s your room.”
Belgium snapped out of his reverie and saw one of the men in suits had opened a door for him.