The Revelations by Erik Hoel (e ink ebook reader txt) 📕

leaving people were drunk but not like, drunk drunk. Were we? How did we all go blackout?”

“Perfect blackouts,” Carmen says, “for at least five people. What are the chances of that?”

“Wait. So all four of us, plus Leon?”

Carmen is nodding. “That’s right. But apparently not Mike.”

“But we all drank the same drink. Like most of it was shared,” Jessica says.

“Does anyone remember what Mike drank that night?” Kierk asks.

Everyone pauses.

“Because I don’t,” he says.

The other three shake their heads. Jessica says—“But I’m pretty sure we were all drinking the same thing.”

“Okay. Well let’s assume that’s true for a moment,” Carmen says, excitedly digging around in her purse and pulling out a slip of paper. “So I went and found out what type of alcohol we had, what those drinks were. It’s something called kallu. It’s a palm wine: wine made from sap.”

“You went there?”

“I went there. I talked to them and this stuff, it’s just wine. It’s a little bit less alcoholic, actually.”

“That’s impossible,” Alex says. Everyone is silent for a moment.

“Rohypnol,” Carmen says, and then immediately looks around at every-one’s reactions. Jessica gasps. Alex, after a moment of reflection, rolls his eyes. Kierk is inexpressive, thinking.

Alex says—“But . . . But what would the motive be? That’s the thing. There’s no motive.”

Everyone looks over at Jessica, who’s shaking her head—“I’m fine, guys, I’m totally fine! Besides that hangover the next day.”

Kierk gestures a swift cut, stopping the quick back-and-forth. “Look, it could have been a known drug like Rohypnol. But it also could have been anything that does a short-term block of protein synthesis. Like Beta PMZ. Which stops the formation of new memories. Shuts down the strengthening of synapses so there’s no more plasticity. You could go into any of the wet-lab freezers of the CNS and rustle up a whole host of cocktails. Stuff that’s only used in research to block the memory formation of rats and monkeys. Stuff that wouldn’t show up on a tox screen. Any one of the people who were out that night could mix that up easily. Dilute it in some water, put it in an eyedropper.”

Carmen is nodding excitedly—“And that could account for the killer hangover we all experienced. Who knows what a short-term protein synthesis block feels like the next day? I’d guess it would feel like the worst hangover of all time.”

“Maybe we all have cancer now,” Kierk says. Everyone chuckles uncomfortably except him. He continues—“Let me tell you what I’m having trouble with . . . exactly what Alex said. Without motive there’s no reason.”

“Well there’s SAAR,” Carmen says. “There’s implicitly a motive. It’s happened before. Here, with Melissa, whose lab Atif was in. And in other universities too. It’s plausible. I’m not saying it’s true. It’s a hypothesis.”

“But you think they’re connected to the memory thing?” Jessica says. “That’s just so elaborate.”

“Maybe not. We don’t really know how the brain stores memories,” Alex says. “We don’t know how variable that is. There’s been somnambulist cases of people driving without having memory of it, or even murdering someone, and obviously alcohol drinkers get blackouts or brownouts in which people can also drive, hold entire conversations, or have sex with someone. I mean god, I know I have!”

“How can this be natural. It’s so strange!” Carmen protests.

“But not strange enough,” replies Alex, “to overturn the null hypothesis. That this was all an accident.”

Carmen, gesturing her doubt with her hands, continues—“What if this was something else gone awry? Like maybe Atif’s death was indeed an accident. And the reason a smart top-tier young neuroscientist fell onto the subway tracks was because he was drugged, and originally there was a different target.”

“Are you saying it was one of the Crick Scholars? One of us?”

“No!” Carmen says. Then—“I’m not saying it. Okay. I’m just listing hypotheses.”

“Fine. Just don’t go accusing people of things,” Jessica says.

“I’m not! There’s just a lot that’s odd. Like something happened to us. Has anyone . . .” she says, “experienced any . . . continued effects?”

The table is silent.

“I’ll go,” Jessica says. “Because I didn’t connect any of this until now. Um, the day before last I was walking around the city and it all . . . Sorry, I don’t know how to say this. All the buildings were teeth. It creeps me out to even say it. I’ve been trying not to think about it. It was like a dream. But I was . . . I was awake.”

There is further silence. Jessica lays her hand on her chest. “I keep losing stuff. I don’t know. It didn’t used to happen. And it’s umm, pretty weird. Like I couldn’t find the milk. And then it turned out I had put it away in the cupboard. I don’t know, it could just be a coincidence.”

Kierk pauses. “I heard something. At my door. Twice. But once was before Atif’s death. And this morning I woke up in the tub.”

Alex, eyebrows raised, shaking his head—“I’m fine.” But then he cocks his head to think, frowning. “Well . . . There was this one thing. I was at work. This was like, two days ago. I sat down in the morning and then it was the afternoon. But it all happened really quickly. Time passed like it was a blink. I thought maybe I was just really busy but now . . .”

“Has anyone felt like they were being followed?” All eyes turn toward Carmen, who asked the question. Then, slowly, Kierk nods. So does Carmen. Alex makes a considering face, like he’s internally debating, before making a gesture of unsure confirmation. Jessica puts a hand over her mouth, eyes fearful, almost crying. She nods. All stare at one another wordlessly.

“Hey, Jess!” All of them jump as a coat is thrown over the table and Jessica is wrapped up in an embrace. Two girls, one white, one black, come in a flurry to the table, shattering the spell.

“I didn’t know you were inviting friends,” Carmen says, then makes a