Memory Makers

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

I splashed some water on my face in the bathroom to help wake up. I had nearly a half hour to get to Memory Makers for my group orientation. I finished dressing and packed my journals that Dr. Murray would review. I felt a quiver in my stomach. My nerves were acting up. It wasn’t only in response to last night’s dream. I had yet to meet my fellow trial participants. I had no idea what to expect. I pictured elderly men and women who were fighting dementia and Alzheimer’s. None of them would have much in common with me.

Getting behind the wheel of the car, a red Ford Taurus, that Memory Makers rented for me, I drove ten minutes to their office. Entering the building, I stepped on to gray faded carpeting that clashed with beige walls decorated with framed posters of the brain and diagrams explaining the mysteries of memory.

Jane, the receptionist, sat at the front desk. She waved away the Memory Maker’s photo ID that I flashed at her. “Good morning, Ms. Phelps,” she smiled as she buzzed me through the glass doors. I knew I should’ve spent a few minutes chatting with her, but my manners had fleeted in the face of my fears of the impending introductions.

The first door on my left was open. Dr. Murray sat behind his desk. “Good morning, Lauren,” he greeted me. “You’re right on time. Please come in.”

I entered the room that featured the same muted colors. He beckoned me to take the chair next to his desk. Looking at me through glasses that needed polishing, he said, “How are you today? How was your night? Any flashbacks?”

I stiffened. I found it hard to meet his gaze. “I think I had a dream, but it was from my childhood.”

“May I see?” He placed his hands on the desk, palms up. I noticed they were smooth, the hands of a scientist not a laborer.

I took the night journal and passed it to him. He flipped to the first page of the book, his eyes darting across the words. Then he closed it and slid it back across the desk toward me.

“Interesting. You recalled a bit more.”

“Not enough, but I’m confused. Did I have a dream or a flashback?” I asked meeting his gaze. I didn’t tell him that the dream was just one of many I normally had so probably didn’t have anything to do with my injection.

He smiled. “When you have a flashback, you’ll recognize it, Lauren. However, it’s possible this is an indication they will start soon. In most cases, you’ll be awake, but sometimes you could be sleeping or in a semi-conscious state. A flashback may start with dizziness or disorientation. But as Nurse Hanover and I mentioned previously, your initial flashbacks will likely involve recent events rather than those further back in your past. You must have patience, Lauren. This will take time. The full effect of our serum doesn’t take affect until you’ve had all three injections. Even then there’s a waiting period. That’s why you and the others are here for three months. Speaking of the others,” he waved a hand, “You’ll be meeting them shortly. I’d like to prepare you.”

I took the journal and put it back in my bag.

“There are a few, let’s not call them “rules,” but guidelines.” He smiled that flat smile of his that barely lifted his lips. “Number one, we only use first names. That’s for confidentiality. Number two,” he counted off on his fingers, “We don’t ask personal questions. It’s okay to be friendly to the other participants. You’ll be eating together and watching shows in the media room, but to avoid any mixed memories, you’re not to discuss your particular issues.”

“Is that all?” I intended my voice to hold sarcasm.

“There’s one last thing. You’re not to see any of the participants outside of this office.”

I laughed. “What do you think? I’ll run off with one of the old men and take him back to my apartment?”

He didn’t find my comment funny. “What makes you think all of the participants are old, Lauren? But, no, you’re not to let any of the others know where you are currently staying. Your contact with them is only on this premises. I’ll ask you one last time before I introduce you. Are the guidelines I set clear?”

I had an urge to knock off the smirk on his face, but I just nodded.

“Very well, then. Let’s go.” He rose from his seat and waved his hand to indicate I should walk ahead of him.

Five people of various ages were gathered around a long table. I was surprised to see that a few of them weren’t old.

Dr. Murray followed me into the room. “Good morning, folks,” he greeted everyone. “I have a new member with us. Her name is Lauren. She’s just had her first injection. Please welcome her and introduce yourselves. We’ll start with Brian.” He nodded toward the dark-haired mustached man who sat by the empty sixth chair that I supposed I was meant to occupy.

“Please have a seat, Lauren. I don’t mind standing.”

I hesitated, feeling all the eyes in the room on me.

“Go ahead. They don’t bite.” He laughed at his weak attempt at humor.

I sat next to Brian. I noticed he had hazel eyes and a pleasant smile. I judged him to be in his early thirties.

“Hi, Lauren. As Dr. Murray said, my name is Brian. I’ve been here for two weeks and also have had one injection so far. The reason I’m participating is because they needed a test subject who had no history of Alzheimer’s or any type of dementia in his family.”

That was interesting. “Nice to meet you, Brian,” I said, wondering if I was supposed to explain my reason for being part of the Memory Maker’s trial.

Dr. Murray intervened before I could add anything. “Thanks, Brian. Let’s go around the table. Maureen, you’re next.”

I still felt uncomfortable in this room of strangers, but the petite black woman with the short, straight hair styled in a pageboy also had a welcoming smile. “Hello, Lauren. I hope we can be friends. I’m probably around your mother’s age. I’m 55. I asked to be part of this study because I’m aware of the statistics of blacks being twice as likely as whites to get Alzheimer’s and that women are likelier by two-thirds to come down with the disease than men. That puts me in a high-risk category. Although I’m not that old, my mother had early-onset Alzheimer’s at my age, and my dad passed away from the disease last year.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dr. Murray spoke again. “Thank you for sharing that, Maureen. Let’s move on to Virginia.”

Virginia, sitting next to Maureen, was more like a candidate I expected in the program. She appeared to be in her early seventies with a full head of white hair and blue eyes that appeared vacant.

“Virginia, this is Lauren. Can you tell her a little about yourself?” he said in a voice that sounded like he was talking to a child. It seemed strange coming out of a man who always spoke so professionally.

“Is she in my class?” Virginia asked looking confused.

“She’s in the trial,” Dr. Murray said. Glancing at me, he added in a low voice, “Virginia thinks she’s in school. Her family admitted her. She was in a nursing home previously.”

“Hello, Virginia. It’s nice to meet you.”

The vacant eyes met mine. “Who’s Virginia? Are you Virginia?”

Dr. Murray shook his head. “Let’s move on to Bill.” He looked toward the man who appeared to be about the same age as Virginia. He was bald with glasses riding his nose.

“Hello, Lauren. I’m Bill. I was recently diagnosed with dementia. So far, I have pretty good recall, but I’m starting to forget little things, a few short-term memories. I also just had my first injection. I haven’t noticed any effects yet.”

“You know this treatment takes time,” the doctor assured him. “How about you, Jake? Can you tell Lauren something about yourself?”

The man next to Bill was younger, mid-fifties, around Maureen’s age. He had thinning gray hair and a nose that looked as if it had been broken in his youth. “Lauren,” he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish you luck in the program. I’m here because I used to be a drug addict. They affected my memory. I have problems remembering my past. Long-term recall, they term it.”

“Drugs can work that way,” Dr. Murray explained. “Normal memory loss is usually short term. That’s the type we typically see in dementia and Alzheimer’s patients. It can vary in those whose memory is affected by drug use. Jake has been clean for ten years, but the effects of the narcotics have taken a toll on him.”

I nodded. “Thanks for sharing, Jake. I wish you luck, too.”

“Well, then,” Dr. Murray said pasting that phony smile on his face that was intended to make me feel at ease, “Let’s go to the dining room and begin the morning activities. We have coffee, tea, and juice and are starting our first book club read of A Tale of Two Cities, the Classic by Charles Dickens.”

I waited until all the members of the group had left the room before following them down the hall. Although I’d been meeting with the doctor in his private office for the past week, I hadn’t yet seen any of the other rooms in the Memory Maker suite. The room into which he led us was as sterile as the rest of the place. It featured a tall, white refrigerator in the corner. There was a counter on top of which sat a coffee maker, microwave, coffee mugs, packets of sweeteners, tea bags, stirrers, napkins, and a plate of sugar cookies.

“This is morning break,” he said looking at me. “Help yourself to the cookies and coffee or tea. If you’d like juice, there’s some in the refrigerator. The cookies are from the bakery. Nurse Hanover picked them up this morning. Breakfast was served here earlier, and lunch will be brought later. Dinner is in the small café. That meal is provided by a caterer who’s commissioned by Memory Makers. It’s served promptly at six.” He gestured to the table in the center of the room that had five place settings with a copy of Charles Dickens’ classic at each one. Unlike the conference room table, it was round. “Get something to eat, have a seat, and then do some reading. Don’t forget to record everything in your day journal but remember the rules. No sharing any details with the others. I have some work to do. Nurse Hanover will be in at 11 a.m.” He glanced at the clock with the large numerals that hung on the wall across from the table. “She’ll clean up and then take everyone to the gym for a few minutes before lunch.”

Before I could say anything, he left the room. Maureen came over to me. She was holding a plate with two cookies. “Here,” she passed it to me. “They’re pretty good. The snacks are the best food here. Makes up for the company.” She looked toward the group gathered around the coffee area. In a whisper she added, “I don’t mean them. I’m talking about Murray and Hanover. They’re a weird pair. They don’t tell us anything personal about themselves. It’s like they’re robots.”

“I’ve noticed,” I said. “Does anyone else work here? Besides the receptionist who seems friendly, those are the only two I’ve met so far.”

“There are a few other helpers. The caterer comes by with the food at five-thirty. Hanover has a granddaughter who is the lab assistant, but you don’t see her much. She usually works after hours in the lab. Murray also has an assistant, Dr. Grayson. He admits new people sometimes, but they’re for the second trial. We’re the first group – the guinea pigs.” She placed the cookies on the table. “Have a seat. I’ll join you after I get coffee. Would you like any?”

“I can get my own, thanks.” I joined her at the coffee machine hoping I might be making a friend. I noticed the others were quiet. Most had gotten their food and drinks and settled down to read the books. I assumed conversation was kept at a minimum due to group members fearing they might break one of the rules by saying too much about themselves. Maureen seemed not to worry about it. I was glad of that.

When we were seated next to one another, Brian, who was sitting in the chair next to mine, looked up from his reading and said, “Be careful, Lauren. They have eyes on us.”

I looked around. “Are you talking about a camera?”

He nodded. “They don’t want us to socialize. We’re clinical trial subjects, and we can’t be affected by one another.”

“Then why do they have us eat together?”

“To keep us in a controlled environment. Everyone eats the same thing, reads the same thing, but not everyone recalls the same thing.”

I digested this along with my cookie. “It’s strange. What if someone drops out?”

“If they do, they won’t remember being here.”

“What do you mean?”

Maureen touched her lips and looked over at us. “Shhh, talk quieter. They’ll hear you.”

Brian edged his seat closer. I felt his warm breath on my neck as he said, “They will wipe the memories of anyone who leaves. I heard them say that when I went down the hall once. They can’t risk the trial being jeopardized.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will.” He lowered his eyes to “A Tale of Two Cities.”

I wanted to ask more questions, but Maureen whispered in my other ear, “I’ll try to fill you in, but not now. Just read and jot in your book. That’s what they want. Remember the reason why your doing this. Keep that as your motivation.”

I thought of Patty and opened the book.