Solutions: The Dilemma of Hopelessness by James Gerard (great novels of all time .txt) 📕

“Yes, he is right there…well, he was there.”

Dr. Johnson laughed.  “Don’t worry, that’s normal behavior for him.  It seems Timothy has a unique ability to sense when he’s being observed.  He will leave the room within two seconds over ninety-eight percent of the time; ninety percent when sleeping.

“ESP?” asked Charles, already knowing it was not.

“No, not really.  It’s more like tuning into meta-communication from others.”

“But through the eyes of the camera?”

“I know, it sounds unlikely, but somehow he’s able to pick up the signals of body language of those who watch him.”

“Could the sound of the cameras account for the behavior?”

“No….”

The cat hissed.  It suddenly wriggled its way free from Dr. Johnson’s hold.   It leapt onto Charles’ leg then jumped off and scurried under one of the paper cluttered tables.

Charles reacted with a vault from the chair.  He resisted the urge to kick it for its startling jump to freedom.  “What is wrong with it?”

“He’s just a bit skittish.”   Dr. Johnson dropped to his knees.  “Here kitty kitty.”

Right, thought Charles.  It is more likely that it knows you intend to torture it.

“As I was about to say, the technicians have eliminated any and all noise from the cameras.”  He crawled to the table.  “Come on kitty kitty.”

“Then is it similar to ESP?" asked Charles as he flopped back onto the chair.  He bent over to catch a glimpse of the cat’s location.  “It must be picking up the scent of the dog.”

“Well, he can’t read the thoughts we think, only feels the vibrations.”

“Could the behavior simply be coincidence?” asked Charles.

Dr. Johnson laughed. “Hell, we must have experimented four, five thousand times for the ability, and when the camera goes on, he moves to another cubicle usually within two seconds.”

Charles turned.  Eyes squinted at the screens.  “Fascinating.”  He then turned back around.  Amused at the sight of the doctor’s limbs scrawled about the floor, he chuckled.

“I think so,” said Dr. Johnson.

“So, Timothy is a participant in a solution plan you’re assembling?”

Dr. Johnson reached for the cat, but quickly withdrew the reach as it hissed.  He rose to his feet then flipped off the system.  He marched to the desk.

“He was, but now I feel he is incapable of what I desire him to do.  He’s become a citizen who feels the world, doesn’t think it.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that though he has the ability to avoid detection, he no longer has the ambition to…well, to escape from the eyes.”

A drawer screeched open.  Dr. Johnson fumbled about its contents.  Charles looked at what appeared to be a smirk on his face and believed the expression disguised more than disappointment over Timothy’s lack of so-called lack of ambition.

Charles asked, “You once made a living in the field of forensic….”

“Psychiatry, yes,” Dr. Johnson abruptly answered.  He pulled a few rubber bands from the drawer and looped them together.  He then carefully taped a crumpled piece of paper to one end of the stringed rubber.

“And you were an expert in the study of pathological….?

“Serial killers,” Dr. Johnson again answered abruptly then dropped back to his knees.

“Is he a killer?”

“I consider him one.”  He jiggled the papered prey just beyond the reach of the cat.  “Come on kitty.”

Charles watched the paws swat at the wiggling prey.  “Is he a killer or not?”

“Maybe.”

The cat quietly stepped out from beneath the table.  The predator slowly and quietly stalked the papered prey.

“Then he is not a serial killer?”

“You mean the cat?”

“Timothy?” responded Charles.

“I didn’t say that,” said Dr. Johnson as he reeled the jiggling ball of prey towards him.  The cat followed it with an instinctive eye of a hunter.     

“I have painstakingly researched all official records concerning Timothy, and I did not find any such incidents that even resembled such a crime.”

“So?”

“So, he is definitely not a killer?” asked Charles.  Maybe you are the one that should have his head kicked.

“Of course not.  I wouldn’t let you have him if he were.  I’d continue to use him myself.  But why do you care?”

“Being aware of your background I assumed I missed something in my research.”

“Whatever your research told you, it was correct.  The only difference now is that he’s passive.”

“That is how you would describe his current mental state?” asked Charles.

“Yes, I suppose,” answered Dr. Johnson as he reeled the cat in closer.

“What do you mean by suppose?”

“I mean he has cooperated with the questionnaires I have given him and doesn’t cause us any problems.  But for some reason he refuses to take the personality pills.”

“If he is not taking the pills, then how can he be passive?”

“Because we’ve mixed the medication in with his food.”

“Then you know he flushes the pills down the toilet?” asked Charles.

“Of course.”

“But you haven’t turned in him.  Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

Knowing the doctor’s background, Charles was well aware of his reasons, but that was an issue unrelated to his needs.  “So, all he receives are synaptic inhibitors?”

“Among others.”

“And your assistant says that you do not talk with him?”

“Why should I?”

“Well, isn’t it required that his anti-social….”

“Please don’t even say it,” he blurted out.  Dr. Johnson snatched the cat and nestled it in his arms.  “It’s okay.  I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as the cat struggled to escape the hold.

“But....”

“Charles, there is no need to talk with him because my special blend of inhibitors work too well—Timothy can’t remember anything about certain events.  He has required no coaxing.”

“Still….”

“Look,” shouted Dr. Johnson, “Timothy has his nightmares, and the impending collision of the asteroid is our nightmare, but you don’t see either one of us begging for the memory to be wiped out.  In fact, I bet you live with a number of nightmares Charles.”

“I do not have….”

“You appear to be emotionally well-adjusted.”

“Well….”

“You’ve worked in politics which more and more has been scrutinized.  And you certainly wouldn’t be here if you weren’t a trusted and respected citizen.  But you haven’t needed any medications or personality support.”

“Yes, but….”

“Granted, like all of us, I’m sure you have a dysfunctional memory or two that haunts you.  But like any normal citizen of society you have kept it to yourself; in your mind.  You have required neither medication nor personality support.”

Charles was not in the mood for this—some doctor acting in pride, showing off his superiority concerning the human condition.  It was enough he hated the Solutions Center.  He viewed the so-called professionals that scurried freely about the center as nothing more than scum infected rats surviving off worm infested minds of those that made the center possible.   Nevertheless, he figured he would stroke the doctor’s ego by playing along.  “I do not believe that I have any such wounds.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“On a farm on the outskirts of Boston…an only child.”

“And your parents?”

“Well, my father was stubborn and proud, too much so to seek outside assistance, so my mother helped him in the fields.”

“Did you help?”

“Yes, but my education was paramount to him.”  Charles rose, paced the floor.  “I loved the farm work, being out in the fields, and getting lost in the work.”

“But you’re not a farmer.”

“No.”  He shook his head.  “One day my father came to me—I had just turned ten.  He told me of his and my mother’s past.  At first I couldn’t understand, but shortly thereafter, I came to hate it.  For I had a purpose in this world, and he was going to make sure I fulfilled it.”

“What’s wrong Charles?” asked Dr. Johnson.

The cat hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“Look at yourself.”

Charles felt the throbbing in clenched fists, the envelope’s edge crushed in the grip, and felt a flush of red burning his face.  His chest rose and rose, then slowly sunk as he blew out the tension within.

Fists opened.  The breathing slowed.  “Oh, I did not want to involve myself with politics,” he said.  “Next thing I knew after high school I was attending Harvard.”  A smile suddenly formed over clenching teeth.  “Ah.  Point well taken.  But that cannot be called a disabling memory event?”

“No,” answered Dr. Johnson as he stroked the cat.  “By the way, is that your interest in Timothy, his past that is?”

“First,” said Charles, “would you expand on his personality state.”

Dr. Johnson shrugged his shoulders.  “We’ve only observed him for seconds at a time before he disappears from view.  Other than catching glimpses of him in normal activities, I really couldn’t say.”

“So you have been running isolation experiments and are not interested in his daily behavior?”

Dr. Johnson walked to the system, flipped on the switch.  “Watch.”  Timothy scurried from the view.  “Along with the questionnaires I have him fill out, that’s the extent of my experiments.  My focus has been on that ability and how to use it.”  He flipped the system off.

Charles sat back down.  His fingers slid across the crinkled edge of the envelope.  Of course it was, he thought.  That is why he has spent the last three years avoiding the submission of whatever solution he thought would speed up the fear.

“Understood,” Charles responded.  “Now, I know as part of your solution plan you have kept Timothy isolated for the three years he has been here.”

“True.”

“And you have conceded that he is not much use to you now?”

“Look, if you want him he’s yours.  As I said, he is not capable of my solution plan.”

“Fine, I understand that, but I require a straightforward answer to this question before you transfer him to me: Do you think Timothy could survive a ten year journey in space?”

“I take it that is part of your solution?”

“Yes.  How about it?”

“Hmm, I suppose so…alone?”

“Yes.”

“Then definitely.  But why Timothy?”

“I am talking about ten years of isolation.”

Dr. Johnson smiled.  “He has lasted the longest, that’s for sure.”

“Then you will transfer him to me?”

“I see no problem with that.”  He turned to his assistant, “Bring Timothy up here.  Tell him that there is someone who has a proposal he may be interested in.”

“No problem.”

“If it is all right with you,” said Charles, “I prefer meeting him in private.  In your office.”

Dr. Johnson paused as if in deep thought, then broke his silence, “Sure, but I think it’d be a good idea if I accompanied you.  Though Timothy has become docile, he may become unsettled from being dragged from the closed environment.”

“But I prefer to see him alone,” said Charles.  “I believe I understand him.  I will know what to say to make him feel comfortable.”

“I don’t understand?  What’s the big deal if I tag along?” asked Dr. Johnson.

Of course he wanted to include himself, thought Charles.  But he figured his newfound concern over Timothy to be that of self-interest.  He believed the doctor only sought to have his name placed upon the copy of the plan to make it appear as if he were in on the solution from the very beginning.  And besides, Charles knew he had bugged the lab, not the office.

“I just prefer to see him alone,” said Charles.

“Doctor,” he shouted.

“Yeah,” a voice shouted back.

“Take him to my office.”

“To your office.  Will do.”

“He’s all yours Charles.”

“Thank you.”

As Charles strolled away from the lab, his thoughts turned to Timothy.

“Hey,” he heard Dr. Johnson shout out, “when are you going to tell me about your solution?”

Charles stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and shouted, “I assume you will find out at the next solution meeting.”

“What’s the secret?”

“I guess I would feel embarrassed if the solution is rejected.”

“Join the club.”

“I have no intentions on doing that,” Charles shouted.

“Whatever.”

The assistant brushed Charles as he stepped past him from behind.  “He’s waiting.”

“Thanks.”

Charles once again clicked his heels along the stark hallway towards the office.  Though his opinion of the inhabitants within was less than favorable, he did not feel that way towards everyone.  There were citizens at the center he thought fondly of, especially the newly arrived ones.  He viewed their offers to assist the desire of his solution as nothing more than acts of childlike enthusiasm; however, he had no choice but to reject their cries to help.

The experienced ones like Dr. Johnson could not be