Chapter 2: Playing with Fire (Part VIII)
1996 Words
I went back to the clinic and looked for Ronald. There I found him on his office, trying to read a book on his free time. What really pissed me off was that this buffoon took all of my food and shoved it down his throat!
“You piece of dog shite… Who told you to f*****g eat my fruits?!” I lunged at him trying to get the slices of fruits on the platter he is holding.
He did his uttermost best to parry my hands amidst having something in his mouth. Ronald gulped the remaining debris and spoke, “If I haven’t done that, all of this would be wasted! You should at least be happy about it.”
Fair point, although I was planning to pick up everything later. “No sane person would be happy about that. Anywho, I came here to ask a few questions.”
“Is this official police business? I presume you are off duty Mr. Simons.”
“Drop the honorifics… You’re going to answer my questions anyway,” I replied with uttermost confidence.
He was taken aback by my answer, “What makes you think I would comply?”
I stared at him while pulling a basket of fruits away from his table.
“I won’t fall for that you know.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m taking this. So sad, Eleanor’s manager booked a nearby restaurant. Wouldn’t want to miss that.”
His body shuddered at the idea of food. Just by looking at the number of meals this guy consumes, he probably never leaves the clinic on time. He is ironically hygienic amidst his gluttonous behavior.
Ronald looked at me with curiosity, “what food are we talking about?” I finally caught the bastard’s interest.
Of course this is a blatant lie, though I’m certain that there is an Asian styled restaurant south west of the police station.
I placed the basket down and replied, “Indian and Mediterranean. The sauces were deemed to be worthy of one’s palette too.”
His gestures shifted to those of a child wanting candy as he placed his plate down and looked out his windows before going back to the conversation.
“I will probably consider your request just this once.” He paused, picking up a folder on one of his desk drawers.
He smirked and continued, “I’ll provide you as much as I know, so better make it count Jonathan.”
I immediately threw the folded prescription paper on his table. He opened the paper and scanned the contents. Upon realizing what was written, he stood up from his seat and checked the hallways outside his office, leaning from left to right, before closing the door.
He told me to come closer and asked in a soft voice, “Where did you find this?”
Since it is important, he has the right to know at least some parts of the story, “It’s a prescription for Eleanor. The reason why I asked you is because you seem to know more about these drugs more than the average doctor.”
“You for one, are indeed correct with that. But this one is a special case.”
My interest is piqued, “How exactly?”
“Do you still remember the pills I gave you this morning?”
“You mean the pain killers?”
“Indeed… It just so happens that Nagant is also the one who made those. I believe you’ve experienced the effects first hand.”
That was a surprise. So the man is a genius worthy of being at the top of his game. Up to this very moment, there are no obvious side effects from the drug. Amidst being a prototype, this is too good to be true.
“Can you tell me what the prescription was?”
He sighed then spoke, “This in itself is entirely new to me, but I’m certain that it is a m*******a or Cannabis based pill that alleviates anxiety.”
“Cigarettes would’ve been a better choice if it’s Marijuana.”
“I would agree to that if we haven’t experimented recently.” Ronald stood up from his chair and opened a file cabinet just on his right side. There are photos and other items present inside a thick clustered folder.
He continued talking, “we discovered several ways to improve the leaves’ potency by extracting oils and producing pills out of it. This was under the jurisdiction and monitoring of Nagant himself, leading the project to a success. Even though there are several aspects about the project that were rather questionable, since the output was established, all of those were shoved aside.”
“Basically these drugs are half-baked?”
“No, no it isn’t. It works just as intended but what concerns me is its potential. Similar to how a kitchen knife can sometimes be a weapon of some sort.”
“You are assuming side effects?”
“No, I’m afraid of the patient’s susceptibility to suggestions.” This statement of his hit me hard.
“How does this so-called suggestion work exactly? I don’t think it is synonymous to hypnotism though.”
He ushered the folder forward, as I sat down on this clunky visitor’s chair that he has in front of his desk. Opening the contents, I can see two sets of paper clipped files with various signatures bound on the front pages. The first file revolves around experimentation; from procedures, results, and etc. The second file is about Native American, and Turkish studies, particularly in rituals and recreational activities.
Cannabis is one of the key components of this research along with its properties. From top to bottom, numerous indigenous methods to utilize the plant have been noted and arranged well in a single file. The language they used is a tad bit of jargon but still within my capacity. While Europe has similar ones, the historical discrepancies are too many to mention.
For example, the smoke pipe that the Turkish folks use, revolves around the process of vaporizing. The potency of such is extremely high compared to the usual European way of lighting cigarettes. By utilizing such a principle, they were able to maximize the medicinal effects of the drugs substantially.
Slowly, the information is starting to make sense to me. “Are there instances wherein you guys tested the drug yourselves? How are did you even get the opportunity to participate in this?”
Ronald clicked his tongue, closing the folder before shoving it back into his cabinets. “We were drafted according to our field interests, and records in our respective Alma matters. Since it was intriguing, a lot of us decided to partake in such madness. Plus, Nagant is a prominent figure in medicine, who wouldn’t want to work with him?”
“Did you or did you not test the drugs?” He didn’t answer my question. More or less, he seems to be dodging it.
“We did… But I do not wish to talk about it in detail right now. What I could tell you is that it feels like an out-of-this-world experience, a separation of the mind from reality.”
“That’s how severe it is?”
“That’s how dangerous it is Jonathan… My colleagues were captivated with the results but if you gave that drug to a doctor with no control over himself, it could mean more harm than good to the patients.”
His words are straightforward and solid. I didn’t catch any hints of decisiveness nor subtle changes of expression. If this is indeed the truth of the matter, that doctor might as well be one of the deadliest in all London as we speak. Ronald’s output is more than sufficient to set my eyes straight to meet this doctor face to face.
I picked up the paper and placed it inside my pockets. I turned around, opened the door, and spoke before leaving, “Contact Cecil for the meal. I believe you have her number dialed down this morning so her card should be nearby.”
I saw surprise embedded deep on his face as I walked through the quiet hallways of the clinic. I immediately fetched a cab bound to my apartment. It didn’t take too long before I laid down on the couch, thinking if I should prepare my luggage in case this gets rough. I suddenly remembered the letter that Lucio gave me as I was rummaging through my pants. I locked my apartment doors and sat down in front of the porch, trying to analyze its contents.
Lucio’s words on his letter were discreet and bland. It’s as if he had written this letter before and decided to give it to someone else random. However, there is a small card attached along with the letter. It’s Nagant’s calling card with an address type written at the back. Compared to his standard business cards, this one pertains to one of his personal facilities offshore.
“Alcatraz Island?” I muttered to myself as my eyes glistened with this new information.
I hurriedly rushed to the phone and gave Cecil a call. I’ve given her the product of my research along with the message laid out by Eleanor’s father. As far as I could tell, this may be one of the best leads that we have. However, the problem now is how?
It wasn’t too long before Cecil and I met once again. This time, our destination was at port in Whales, to rent a boat that can directly sail us to Alcatraz. She used whatever connection that she has while mitigating the damages from Eleanor’s disappearance. Her steadfast and cunning attitude is truly befitting of a manager. As she walks on the pier boards, her face is marked with distress, yet her elegant behavior is still evident as each step is performed with confidence.
She looked at me straight in the eyes and spoke, “tell me this is something worth it John…”
I replied, “I received this information from her father… This should be legitimate right?”
Cecil asked me to hand over the card. She examined the penmanship of the letter and the authenticity of the card. Her eyes wrinkled by seeing address written at the back. Placing it near her nose, she sniffed at it mildly, and nodded due to the strong smell of the perfume engraved.
She handed it back, “this letter is indeed genuine. If I’m not mistaken, this perfume is brand by Hermes, specifically for men. I’ve been in Eleanor’s house before and this is the first time I’ve encountered such a strong scent.”
“Are you saying that this letter was handed down personally?”
“Yes… which is why we have to meet the doctor. Men don’t have different sets of perfume or musk compared to women, so I’m certain that I’ll notice traces of it when we see him.”
Since we were already in that type of discussion, I had to ask, “Have you met Nagant before?”
“Only heard him through word of mouth. He is an excellent doctor in his craft and because of his advancements with Eleanor, the world of showbizness has been tipped sideways.”
So he is indeed famous.
(To Be Continued)
- Writer
