Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness - James Gerard (novel books to read txt) 📗

Five

Charles strolled down the tunnel leading to the bowels of the Solutions Center with an envelope swinging at his side in unison with the gait of his descent.  As he moved towards a light ahead, his attention focused on a string of beacons lining the pat.  He used the lights to carefully avoid the coils of thick wire and domed assemblies of a high-resolution lighting system the electricians had laid on bare floor.  He thought it peculiar that such a breach of security would be tolerated—then again, he thought, strange was the norm in this subterranean fortress.

 

All of a sudden a murmur of familiar growls began to echo between fortified walls.  They alerted Charles to the sight of silhouettes positioned within the frame of an arch.  He figured the sentries below only detected clicks of heels and the form of a figure.  If not, the zooming eyes above would have certainly made the distinction as to whether he was friend or foe.

 

Without warning, beams from a red laser stung his eyes as he approached the sentries.  The envelope quickly swung up to his face to shield the act of apparent anxiety.  “Please,” said Charles, “lighten up guys.”

 

The envelope dipped just enough to reveal the absence of beams that had targeted him for possible elimination, and then dropped back to his side as he stepped into the room.

 

Though it had only been twenty minutes or so since he had made his way through the checkpoint, he noticed a distinct change within the hole.  The grayish hue of walls that covered a hollowed shape scratched smooth from solid rock was now dripping condensed droplets from its cool faces.

 

“It is just me,” said Charles with a smile.

 

The sentries sneered and still stood silent with pistols raised.

 

Charles ignored their alerted posture while his nose crinkled in reaction to a whiff of the musty odor circulating in the steamy hole.  “What’s that smell?”

 

“The dehumidifier is in a state of cardiac arrest again,” a sentry answered.

 

Charles sensed the sentry’s annoyance.  He figured he too would be irritated if confined six hours at a time in this sauna just to defend this think tank against those who dared entered.

 

He appreciated the extreme measures at the center.  The tightened security only increased his hatred for those who desired to reap the benefits from the perverted schemes its inhabitants tried desperately to devise.

 

Charles directed his attention back to the young man and woman and listened to the flow of air whistling from their noses.  He interpreted the sounds as desperate attempts to release tension that gripped the muscles and the unforgiving heat trapped within stained and soaked uniforms.

 

Hoping to ease any suspicious thoughts that he was indeed the same man they had seen just twenty minutes ago, Charles flashed his identification badge dangling from fingertips before the eyes of the sentries.

 

Charles smiled.  “Could you please put the pistols away?  They may go off in the heat of the moment.”

 

Apparently lacking composure, they shoved them back to holsters hanging from hips.

 

“It was a joke guys.”  No sense of humor at all from these automans, he thought.

 

“The envelope sir.”

 

“It has already been examined.”

 

“Sir.”

 

The sentry took custody of the envelope and dropped it into a tray.

 

“Place your right hand on the scanner sir.”

 

“No problem.”  Charles watched the glow of the translucent surface smother his palm and fingertips—providing a useless umpteenth opinion, he thought.

 

“Remove all items from and off your person sir and place them on the tray.”

 

Charles smiled.  He popped the clasp of the stainless steel watch free from the wrist then tossed it into the tray.  “That is all I have.”

 

“Sir, through the fluoroscope towards the canine.”

 

Charles grinned as a shower of light penetrated his body but revealed only the bones hidden under flesh.  The smile turned to a smirk, however, as he dragged his feet toward snarls.

 

The sentry opened her hand and released the leash to its full extent.  “Seek,” she commanded.

 

“What fun,” said Charles as the canine pounced toward him and sniffed his person.  Tje beast tjem growled and snapped at his leg.

 

The sentry yanked the canine away.  “Good girl,” she said with rewarding pats.

 

“She must be picking up the scent of the cat I came in contact with up in the couriers’ room.”

 

She raised the pistol from its holster.  The red dot of the laser sighting was sitting between his widened eyes.

 

“Is this necessary?” asked Charles.

 

“Sir.”

 

Charles turned, slapped palms on a sweaty wall, then widened his stance.  He reasoned the frisk was unnecessary having just been groped at the primary checkpoint above, yet that fact was obviously no concern to them.

 

He felt the sentry’s hands grope about the flimsy attire of a green, cotton jumpsuit and the recesses about the body.  The hands reached upwards to closely inspect the cavities of mouth and nostrils and ears and ended with a run through the curly brown hair.

 

“Are you satisfied?”

 

All Charles could do was smile as they ignored the question as they peered over separate copies of the center’s delivery manifest for the day.  Their eyes then scanned his body.  They appeared to analyze for posture jittering about, eyes diverting from direct contact, or facial tics and tremors indicating underhand intentions.

 

“Your destination and purpose sir?”

 

“I am headed to the basement to see Doctor Johnson and one of his subjects.”

 

One of the sentries scanned the sign-out log, and then announced, “Doctor Johnson is not within the center at this time.”

 

“May I ask where he is?”

 

“No.”

 

“May I ask when he is due to return?”

 

The sentry scanned the log again then picked up a receiver perched amidst a puddle covered desk.  “This is secondary checkpoint…yeah.  According to my log, Doctor Johnson was scheduled to arrive back at the center ten minutes ago.”

 

While Charles eavesdropped on the sentry’s words, all he could do was smile.  He wondered if they knew just how idiotic this nonsense appeared.  After all, he thought, once the assigned personnel entered the bowels, they were allowed to scurry freely about its stairwells and hallways and rooms.

 

“Yes, Doctor Johnson, do you have an appointment with Charles Stevens?...Well, he says that he has a meeting with you and one of your subjects…yes,” he scanned a list held on a clipboard, “but my directory does not show that citizen to be at this center…I understand.”

 

“What is the problem now?” asked Charles politely.

 

The sentry glanced at him, and then looked to his partner restraining the growling canine close to her side.  “Take the receiver while I get out the other directory,” he said.

 

A ring holding keys clattered as the sentry yanked them out of a pocket, and then slipped one into the keyhole of a lower drawer.  He fumbled about a mess of papers for a directory.  “Here,” he said, tossed the folder to his partner.

 

“Doctor Johnson…the name of the subject...Timothy O’Neal,” she announced.

 

With a nod her partner acknowledged.

 

“Describe Mister Stevens…yes…yes…yes…yes…yeah…that’s enough,” she said while jotting the features on a slip of paper.  She handed it and the receiver back to her partner.

 

“Dr. Johnson, please repeat his physical features.”  He responded by penciling checks next to the noted scribbles, then showed it to his partner.

 

She nodded an acknowledgement.

 

Come on, thought Charles.

 

“Yes…I understand Dr. Johnson.”  He slammed the receiver down.  “Do you know where his office is sir?”

 

“Yes.”  Charles retrieved the watch from the tray.  He clasped it back to his wrist and said, “It has been a pleasure as usual.”

 

“Johnson says he will meet you there in twenty minutes."

 

Charles smiled as he gently removed the envelope from the sentry’s grip, then strolled to the basement door.

 

As the metallic sounds of the heels of his shoes clicked with each step and echoed in the descending chamber, the eyes of sensors blinked at his presence.  Charles hoped the meeting would be the last of the loose ends he needed to tie up before submitting his proposal to the solutions’ representative.  He knew that unless every minute detail of the plan was accounted for, the proposal would be deemed weak and improbable—like so many of the dirty deeds that were disapproved in the three years the center had been in operation.

 

“This is it,” he whispered as he stood before a door.  It creaked as it opened.  Charles stepped into the basement’s hallway.

 

As the clicks from his heels tapped the naked floor leading to Dr. Johnson’s office, Charles smiled in response to a flow of cool air drying droplets of sweat from his face and began to cool his heated body.  Along the way his hand brushed the wall’s dry plastic skin to feel the coldness of its face.  He stared at the gray walls unadorned by colorful paintings, posters, or anything for the dimness of overhead lights to reveal.

 

“Charles, this way,” a voice called.

 

He turned around then strolled back down the hallway.  The face ahead came into focus.  It was a young man, Dr. Johnson’s assistant.  Charles remembered their chat prior to meeting Johnson the first time.  He found him to be more than willing to cooperate by confirming information concerning Timothy—information already known.

 

“Doctor,” said Charles as he stepped up to him.  “How are you doing today?”

 

“Just fine thanks.”  The young doctor turned his back to Charles and led him into a lab.  “Sit down.  He’ll be here shortly.”

 

“Timothy?”

 

“Dr. Johnson.”

 

The young doctor marched to a corner of the room.  He sat down before the glow of a monitor.

 

Though Charles was somewhat annoyed with the assistant’s abrupt change of behavior, he opted to spend his energy to examine the appearance of the room.  The computer terminal where the doctor sat glowed in one corner.  A desk dented with age, stacked with files and its drawers stuffed with sheets of paper sat in another.  The other two corners were occupied by long tables cluttered with coffee stained sheets of paper and black mugs tilting on their sides.

 

He looked to the wall and whispered, “Like the hallway.”

 

“What was that?” asked the young doctor.

 

“Oh, the walls…gray and bleak.  It has the feel of an interrogation room.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Charles looked at a panel of black switches and notched dials wedged between the two tables.  The dials sat underneath small screens.  “So this is the monitoring system you told me about?”

 

“Yeah,” the young doctor answered without turning.  “Do you know how to use it?”

 

“I think so.  It looks to be an earlier version of the system Senator Sorensen employed to record all meetings convened in his office.”

 

Charles glanced at the doctor’s back, his attentive fingers busy typing data onto the monitor filling up fast with words and numbers.  He then swung his attention back to the system.  Reddish flakes cracked as he lowered himself onto the metallic seat of a rickety chair.

 

Slowly, he reached a finger to the face of the panel then flipped a switch.  The screens flashed and filled with tones of gray, black, and white images.  He watched one person eating something in a closet spaced cubicle while another reading what looked like a magazine below the beams of a lamp.  He snuck one more glance at the doctor still busy with the task of hands.

 

“Ahhh,” he whispered as he turned his attention again to the screens.  There was Timothy.  Perched in an armchair within a cubicle, he was motionless before a glow of changing lights.

 

He thought Timothy appeared to be mesmerized by scenes flashing before him while seemingly listening to voices speaking to him.  However, Charles could not sense what Timothy was feeling through his shadowed facial expressions and the contoured ridges on the face that formed from the haze of the rapidly changing glow.

 

“Charles,” a voice suddenly called.

 

His limbs twitched.  The focus swung around and witnessed Dr. Johnson stroking a cat cradled in his arms.  Charles smiled as he looked at the pale, oval shaped skin surrounded by red.  “Good morning.  You did not use any sunscreen?”

 

“Forgot.”

 

The cat suddenly hissed, struggled in Dr. Johnson’s hold.  “It’s okay boy.  You’re safe in here,” he said as he stroked the cat.

 

“What is it for?” asked Charles.

 

“The screens?”

 

“No, the cat?”

 

“Just part of my experiments.”

 

“What kind of part?”

 

“I need to see if my subjects can sense the presence of animals.”  He stroked the cat, “You’re a