TEMPORARY INSANITY
by Dara Sloan
Part 2: (Tell me why) I don't like Mondays
See For disclaimer.
Friday, 10:45 amSimms stared malevolently at the deduction form in front of him, as if he could somehow sear incorrect numbers onto the page by looking at it hard enough. It was impossible. It was just... goddamn... IMPOSSIBLE. He'd never seen such immaculate tax records. Arcane had to be getting away with murder somewhere.
Simms flipped through Arcane's bank records, which he'd had subpoenaed the day before yesterday, just on general principle. Simms had lost count of the number of times he'd looked those records over in the last fifteen hours. Every time, he expected some figure to leap out at him and shout 'Look at me! I'm an illegal tax shelter!' but nothing did. Growling softly to himself, Simms poured himself another quadruple expresso and opened the tax code book to page 1. Somewhere, there had to be one clause, one little nitpicky phrase, one incontestable word that would hang Arcane out to dry. And when he found it...Friday, 2:30 pm
"No, you bloody idiot! I said INCREASE the ionic conversion ratio!" The sub-etheric resonator unit emitted a high-pitched whine and started to fizz. Arcane ducked behind the console as Graham dove for the emergency shut-off switch. The unit's whining and crackling were replaced by a calm sigh as it cooled down.
When he was sure he wasn't about to be melted, Arcane stood up, straightened his jacket, and gave the nameless technician at the control board an 'I'll deal with you later' glare.
"How's the machine?" he asked, turning to Graham.
Graham opened the resonator's front panel. He had to use the end of his lab coat to keep from burning his hand. Waving away the smoke, he flashed his penlight around the inside. "Burned a lot of oil, but it doesn't look like there's any permanent damage. If we let it cool off and re-lube it, it should be okay."
"And as for you," Arcane snarled, grabbing the technician by the hair, "Just for your information, when I say 'increase the ionic conversion ratio'," He twisted the man's head around to face the ICR knob, "I mean TURN THE BLOODY DIAL TO THE RIGHT!" He released the hapless tech's hair and stepped back. "Of course, that's largely academic now, because if you're still here by the time I count to five, you're going on the next truck to Mozambique. One... two..."
The technician bolted out of his seat, sending his chair clattering over onto the floor, and was down the hall and far away before Arcane got to three.
"Bloody moronic twit. Competent help is so hard to find. What do you suppose the chances are of getting Stella to come back from her vacation early?"
"Not too good, sir," said Graham, setting the tech's chair upright. "I doubt she took her celphone whitewater rafting."
"Hmmm..." Arcane looked thoughtful for a moment. "I wonder what Ms. Bolin's doing right now?"
"I don't know, sir." It took Graham a minute to realize that Arcane wasn't just randomly changing the subject. -Oh, no.- "I really don't think that's a good idea, Doctor. She doesn't even have any scientific background."
"Nonsense, Graham. If she can figure out the difference between 'increase' and 'decrease', she's already rungs above the rest of these simpletons on the evolutionary ladder." Arcane started to get that look again. "Not to mention a lot easier on the eyes."
"It's not the eyes I'm worried about," Graham muttered.
"What was that, Graham?"
"Uh, I just meant the resonator unit, sir. Are you sure we should be taking chances with untrained help?"
"Don't worry, Graham." Arcane patted Graham's shoulder cheerily. "She's not going to replace you in my affections. Now be a good chap and call her, would you?"
Graham was suddenly having a lot of trouble making his lungs function. As soon as he'd gotten his composure back, he fished out his cellular. "What's her extension down there?"
"What am I, the bloody switchboard? Never mind, I'll go over and get her myself."
-I might as well take an early lunch, then.- "Why don't you let me do that, sir? We need to check the calibrations on the SER, and since you know the adjustments from memory..."
"Very well, Graham. Suit yourself." Arcane waved him on his way and turned to the control panel. "Just make it snappy."
-As if I want to stand around exchanging makeup tips with the bitch-queen of numbers.- "Like the winged feet of Mercury, sir."
"Good," said Arcane distractedly. Graham shuffled out, his feet dragging in spite of himself. The longer he took to get to Kris's office, the better his chances of thinking of a way out of this... Maybe she'd turn down the offer. Yeah, why should she want to spend all day mucking around in a laboratory when she could be sitting in her cushy little office reading Jackie Collins novels and buffing her nails? An image of a smarmily-grinning Arcane flashed through his brain. -Because there's something else she'd rather buff,- he thought miserably, and knocked on her door. It swished open to reveal Kris sitting innocently at her computer, not a nail-varnish bottle in sight.
"Oh, good morning, Graham," she said, pleasantly. "I'm just reorganizing Dr. Arcane's expense forms."
"Oh, well, if you're in the middle of a big project, far be it from me to interrupt..." He started to back out the door.
"It can wait a minute. What's up?"
Hopefully, nothing.- "Well, this is just a request, not an order, I mean, if you're uncomfortable, feel free to say no..."
She quirked an eyebrow interestedly. "What?"
"We're a little short-handed in the lab, and we need another person to work the control panel. I realize it's not in your job description, and I'll be honest, there is a certain amount of risk involved. I'll understand completely if you're not interested."
She grinned. "Count me in." She hit some keys on her laptop and stood up. "I could use a little excitement in my life."
"I'm sure you won't be disappointed." He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but it was a losing battle.
"I'm counting on it." What her words didn't say, the gleam in her eye did.
-Don't rise to it,- Graham told himself, then couldn't help thinking -Leave that to...- He slammed the lid on that line of thought very quickly, and waved toward the door.
"Well then, shall we?""Ms. Bolin! So glad you could join us. You're looking quite lovely this morning."
"Thank you, Anton. So are you. And please, call me Kris."
"Very well, Kris." Arcane and Kris seemed to be having a smarmy-grin contest. So far, Arcane was winning. "So glad you could help us out," he continued.
"It's a nice change of scenery," she said. She didn't actually wink suggestively, but she might as well have.
"Sir, I suggest we get started," Graham interjected. -Before I lapse into a diabetic coma from all this sappiness.-
"Indeed. Kris, we just need you to sit here," he indicated the chair in front of the control panel, "watch these readouts, and turn the dials when I say so. It's quite simple, really. Think you can handle it?" It was a rhetorical question.
This time she did wink. "I can handle anything you can give me, Doctor."
*Thud*
*Thud*
Arcane turned around. "Graham, what the devil are you doing? Quit fooling around and get to your post."
Graham stopped banging his head against the wall and shuffled over to the subject monitor. "All set, sir."
"Good. Kris, start the warm-up sequence. It's the one labelled 'initialize'." Kris flipped the switch. The resonator whirred into life. "Now," Arcane continued, "when the primary display goes entirely green, increase the output modulation by twenty-five percent. How are those vital signs, Graham?"
"Everything's normal, sir."
"Excellent." Kris twisted the modulation knob, and the machine's humming got higher. "Good, Kris. What's the induction rate?"
"32.6."
"Keep increasing the modulation until it hits forty, then switch over to positronic and increase the ionic conversion ratio by seventeen percent. Everything still hunky-dory, Graham?"
"Yes, sir."
Kris turned the dials and flipped the switches. A soft purple light filled the resonation chamber. "Keep increasing the ratio... steadily..." Arcane stepped closer to the chamber, and peered intently inside. He knew he wouldn't actually be able to see it with the naked eye, but just knowing it was there would be enough for now. "Graham?"
"Brain activity falling, sir."
"And the electromagnetic emissions?"
"Nothing yet - wait, just then. Slight activity... yes. EEG dropping and EME increasing, sir."
"Yes!" Arcane's grin was ecstatic. "Look at it, Graham. Parapsychological history in the making. They'll do a 'Nova' episode about this someday..."
"Brainwave activity zero, sir. EME steady at 24.86."
"Very good. Kris, hold it for five more seconds, then start dropping the conversion ratio. When the transduction's down to sixty percent, switch back to neuronic and decrease the modulation until all of the gauges are in the normal range." Arcane stared through the glass, almost imagining he could see the subject's astral self floating in the blue murk inside the chamber. The SER's whirring shifted pitch, and Graham announced, "EME falling, brain activity increasing... EEG normal for a comatose state, sir."
"Wonderful, Graham." Arcane's eyes glimmered with an unholy light. "Now that we know there aren't any... adverse... effects, let's see if we can't find a *willing* subject. Go get another technician. Preferably one who hasn't been here long enough to become disgruntled. If no one volunteers, offer a bonus vacation day."
"Uh, maybe you should do this, sir. You're much more persuasive-"
"No, no, Graham. We're dealing with hitherto unexplored powers of the human mind. I don't want the subject to be hostile. I want him happy, complacent, trusting. Can you manage that, Graham?"
"Yes, Doctor." Graham slunk out, resisting the urge to give Kris the evil eye on the way past.
"So how am I doing?" Kris grinned, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms behind her head.
"Splendidly," Arcane smiled, turning on the charm full-blast. "If I'd known how good you are in the laboratory, I'd never have left you languishing in that office all this time."
She licked her lips. It was a gesture that, in more puritanical days, would have gotten her arrested. "Anton, you have no idea how good I can be in the laboratory." She stood up, and took a step closer to him. "Or anyplace else, for that matter."
He closed the space between them, getting close enough to put his arms around her, but keeping his hands in his pockets. "That sounds almost like a challenge... or an invitation."
"Back in college, I used to work part-time at a research lab. I had the biggest crush on my boss. I always used to wonder what it would be like to just tear each other's clothes off and have wild, uninhibited sex on the lab floor."
"Laboratory floors are fine to start with," Arcane said, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him, "but they get uncomfortable after a while." He tilted her head back and kissed her.
She wrapped her arms around him, running her hands over his back and tracing the contours of his butt through his tight jeans. When his mouth left hers to nibble on her earlobe, she said, "I don't think we'll have a while. Graham's going to be back any minute."
"If you don't want to let him watch, we'd better head upstairs," Arcane whispered, nuzzling her neck deliciously. "Or at least into the elevator," he grinned impishly, kissing her throat and moving south.
Kris tightened her grip on his buns. "Then again, they say sex is the most thrilling when you risk being caught at any moment."
"Well, the occasional thrill does keep life interesting," Arcane smiled, before pressing his lips to hers again and steering her back against the console. They were reaching for each others' buttons and zippers when the door swished open.
Jesus Christ- thought Graham, -I can't leave him alone for two seconds.-
"Damn," Arcane whispered in Kris's ear, "I was hoping for a bit more of a thrill than that."
"Maybe we should just let him watch."
"Tempting thought. But we have work to do." He stepped back and they straightened out their clothing. "Well?" he asked, turning to glower at Graham.
"No takers, sir."
"You were only gone five bloody minutes!"
"I, uh, made an announcement over the PA system."
"I didn't hear it."
"The speaker in here must be switched off," Graham said, the picture of innocence.
"Oh, very well then. Go down to the local community college-" he said 'community college' the way most people say 'plague pit', "-and see if you can't entice some of the student body. Twenty dollars and a box of donuts ought to do the trick."
"Right now, sir? Classes are probably just about over for the week." "Whenever, Graham," Arcane said, clearly exasperated. "Just have someone in that chamber by Monday morning. Preferably someone sentient."
"Yes, sir." He could think of at least one person he'd like to use as a human guinea pig.
"Good. Now then, what say we knock off early, and head into the city for a romantic evening of dinner and dancing?"
"Okay," said Graham, his face lighting up.
"Not you!"
-D'oh!- Graham felt his face light up again, this time red.
"I'd love to," Kris grinned, shooting a knowing look at Graham.
"Ummm..." -When all else fails, invoke the Z-13 project.- "Actually, sir, the engineers setting up the relay coils for the Z-13 project wanted you to check over the schematics one more time. They seem to be having some trouble getting the conductivity right."
"Kris, I'm seeing a promotion for you in the near future," Arcane grumbled, almost under his breath. "Sorry, darling, duty calls. But I trust you'll be back with us again first thing Monday morning?"
"Oh, of course. I'm not about to quit just when things are getting interesting." She walked toward the door, turned around, and smiled. "Have fun, you two."
Monday, 9:05 am
"I-I'm sorry, sir," the desk-jockey stammered, turning a sweaty shade of pink, "the Archives Room is off limits to the public. I can't let you in without authorization from -"
"Do you know who I am?" Simms cut the clerk off in mid-whine. He didn't shout, but his voice nonetheless thundered.
The clerk blinked and swallowed, wishing he'd never quit his job at Kentucky Fried Chicken. "Um, unless you're a member of the City Council, the Historical Society or the Circuit Court, I can't let you in there."
Simms leaned over the desk, causing the young man to step backward in alarm.
"I represent the most loathed and feared organization on this planet. Other government agencies can kill you, but only the Internal Revenue Service can make you want to die. Are you going to open that door, or am I going to go back to the office and start checking your W-2's?"
"I could get in a lot of trouble for this," the clerk protested, pulling a ring of well-worn keys out of his top desk drawer and slinking over to the Archives door.
"Just grit your teeth and think of your credit rating," Simms growled, barging past the hapless city employee as soon as the door was unlocked.
"Those documents are extremely fragile!" the young man called after him. "Be very caref--" Simms turned around and glared at him, and the clerk suddenly decided things would be a lot peachier if he went back to his desk and let his boss deal with this maniac.
Simms ignored the door slamming shut behind him, and headed for the Legal section. With a renewed fervour, he pulled the first of the yellowed, musty parchments off the "Taxes & Tariffs" shelf. "Ordinance Governing Collection of Taxes, Levies and Tariffs for Terrebonne Parish, January 14, 1795," read the delicate, flowing script across the top. A sinister chuckling filled the room. There had been some very odd laws on the books in bygone centuries. Some of which had never been taken off...
Monday, 9 am
"Hello, babies, did you miss me?" Stella patted Rat-boy on his whiskery nose. "Were you good boys and girls for Dr. Arcane while I was gone?" She reached into her tote-bag for a packet of Moon Rocks. "Whoops! No, no, dearie, those aren't for you." She gently pried her sequin sunglasses out of Crowe's bony claws.
"Stella!"
She looked over her shoulder and saw Graham hurrying out of the elevator, looking like his week had just gotten a whole lot better. Stella set down her bag and met him halfway, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Graham. Did you guys manage without me for a week?"
"More or less. You wouldn't believe what happened last week."
"You can tell me all about it while we feed the mutants," she said, taking Graham's hand and dragging him over to the mutants' corral.
"Uh, I don't know about--"
"Oh, don't be silly, Graham. They don't bite." She considered for a moment. "Well, most of them don't. If you feed them, they'll like you."
-If only it were that easy with everyone.- "Well..." He grudgingly let her pour a handful of jellybean-like candies into his outstretched palm. Warily he held one of them out to the least hostile-looking mutant. The creature hesitantly reached out and took it, wolfing it down before anything bad could happen.
"There," said Stella as the mutant broke into a drooling grin, "that wasn't so bad, was it?" Graham watched with fascination as she handed out the rest of the packet to the creatures in front of her, and petted their malformed heads.
"So, what made you decide to come back early?" Graham asked, eyeing the mutants as they took the remaining candies from his hand. -Just what we need, failed genetic experiments on a sugar high,- he thought, but good-naturedly.
"Our rafting instructor fractured his hip rock-climbing, and all the other sessions were booked, so I rented a convertible and drove around sightseeing for a few days, but then I ran into some really nasty men in New Mexico, and figured it might be a good idea to get out of that time-zone. I can always use the vacation time later. And besides, I missed seeing all your smiling faces." She picked up her totebag and rummaged inside it. "I brought you a souvenir," she grinned, holding out a cardboard-and-plastic package.
Graham took it. 'DO-IT-YOURSELF ALIEN AUTOPSY' proclaimed the bold lettering across the top. 'Glows in the dark!' yellow print in a red starburst said excitedly. Inside the plastic dome was a green plastic alien on a silver keyring.
"It glows in the dark," said Stella.
"I see," said Graham, tearing open the package.
"You'll never lose your keys at night," she added helpfully.
"It's nifty," Graham smiled. "Thanks." He held the plastic alien up and squeezed it experimentally. It was stretchy.
"So what did I miss?" Stella asked, looking around the lab.
Graham's expression soured. "We had a visit from the IRS."
Stella's eyes widened. "Gosh! So are we all under investigation, or what?"
"No, we got an accountant to save the day." For delivering good news, he didn't look especially happy.
"Oh, good! Did you get him to stay on? We did need a new one."
"Her," Graham said darkly. "Yeah, Dr. Arcane talked her into staying." The lab door swished open. -Speak of the she-devil.- "Stella, meet Kris Bolin, our new accountant. Kris, this is Stella, our other assistant." He tried to keep the malicious gleam out of his eyes, but suspected he wasn't doing too well. "Now that she's back, we won't be needing you in here anymore." He didn't miss the dark look that flickered across her face for a second. "Unless, of course, you'd like to be the test subject for the resonation chamber."
Kris's face was calm and smiling again. "I'll pass. Nice meeting you, Stella. Tell Dr. Arcane I hope we can work together again sometime soon." Graham didn't like the way her eyes twinkled when she said "soon".
"Nice meeting you too," Stella smiled. "I'm glad you could help out."
"Oh, the pleasure was all mine," Kris grinned.
-Not quite,- thought Graham. "Well, if you'll excuse us, we have a lot of catching up to do."
"Call me if you need me," Kris said over her shoulder as she walked out.
"Oh, don't worry," Graham muttered.
"She seems like a nice enough girl," Stella said, after Kris had gone.
"Wait until you get to know her a little better."
"Graham, you're so cute when you're jealous," Stella grinned, patting him on his cheek. Anyone else, he would have wanted to smack. Since it was Stella, he just rolled his eyes and tried to keep from turning pink.
"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "We got the first human trials done on the SER. But we still need data on a conscious subject, who should be here..." he glanced down at his watch, "any minute."
The elevator doors slid open. "Oh, hello, Stella. Gave up on riding the waves, did you?"
"Sort of," Stella laughed, fumbling in her totebag again. "Here, I brought you a souvenir." She handed Arcane a shotglass. He held it up to the light to look at the desert landscape-with-Corvette painted on the side. "It plays 'Get Your Kicks on Route 66' when you turn it upside down," she added.
Arcane, apparently content to take her word for it, set the shotglass down on the lab table. "Thank you, Stella, it'll make a lovely addition to my collection of American kitsch. Now then, shall we get to work?" He looked around the lab. "Is Miss Bolin going to be joining us this morning?"
"Uh, no, sir. She had a big project she was working on. Something about your expense reports."
"Damn. She was such a pleasant addition to the atmosphere around here."
"Yes, well..."
"Graham, where are those test subjects you were supposed to find?"
"Uh, he should be here any moment."
"We've only got one?"
"Well, sir, we do have something of a reputation among the locals."
"Oh, very well, then. Stella, initialize the startup sequence. Let's not keep our guinea pig waiting, assuming he even shows up."
Just then the doors swished open, and in shambled a scraggly young man in a Grateful Dead tie-dye. "Yo dude, am I in the right place?" he asked, looking at Graham.
"Yes, my cannabis-toking friend, you most certainly are," said Arcane, steering the newcomer toward the resonation chamber. "Graham, I want a word with you," he intoned through clenched teeth as he passed his assistant.
"Whoa," said the kid, staring around the inside of the chamber with wide, red-rimmed eyes, "is this, like, one of those things Michael Jackson sleeps in?"
"Didn't my assistant explain any of this to you?" Arcane shot Graham a peeved glare.
"Uh, maybe," said the hippie. "It's all kind of a blur. What was that, Saturday?"
"Oh, never mind. Just lie down on that," Arcane pointed to the padded couch in the center of the room, "and prepare to have an out-of-body experience. I'm sure you're used to it." He started to walk out.
"Uh, should I strap myself in?" The young man held up one of the restraints.
"If it makes you feel more comfortable," Arcane said dismissively, and slammed the chamber door closed. "Graham, where on earth did you find that..." he searched for a suitable term "...creature?"
"He was washing my windshield at the gas station, sir." And having a bit of trouble with it, but he didn't think Arcane really needed to hear that right now. "Apparently he's on an exchange program from the Art Institute of Philadelphia."
"Splendid," said Arcane. "When we're done here, well have to introduce him to that Kipp brat. The two of them can smoke a bong and reminisce about cheesesteaks. Everything all set, Stella?"
"Yes, Doctor."
"How are those initial readings, Graham?"
"Umm... give me a minute, sir." Graham felt Arcane's stare singeing the hairs off the back of his neck as he checked the connections on the monitors. "Either the EEG's malfunctioning, or the subject is in a coma."
"Graham, I see you're already hard at work on a full day's worth of incompetence. Let me see that." Ignoring the sullen look on his assistant's face, Arcane crowded Graham out of the way and scowled at the readouts. "Bloody hell, I haven't seen brainwaves that low since that lobotomy experiment last month," he muttered, tapping on the dial.
"Dr. Arcane?" said Stella, "While you guys are working on that, I'm going to run and get a cup of coffee."
"Yes, yes, whatever. Graham, get in the chamber. I need to get a control reading."
Stella grabbed her Miskatonic University coffee mug and headed down the hall to the break room. "Oh, hello again, Kris," she smiled, upon seeing Kris Bolin standing by the coffee maker.
"Hi, Stella," Kris grinned cheerily. "Roasted almond," she said, holding up the coffee pot. "Want any, or do you like yours straight-up?"
"Sounds great," said Stella.
"And if you're really in the mood for a decadent coffee experience, we've even got chocolate," Kris said, shaking a carton of International Delights Swiss Chocolate creamer.
"Breakfast of champions," Stella giggled, pouring herself a cup, with a generous helping of chocolate creamer. "Wow, this is really good coffee," she said after her first sip.
"Thanks," said Kris, closing the door on the microwave. "Hey, could you keep an eye on this for a second? I need to check on a file I'm downloading, but I don't want my cheese croissant to get overdone."
"Sure," Stella said, "It'll save me a trip back for another cup."
"Great. I'll be right back." Kris hit the 'start' button and hurried out of the room.
Stella was adding another dash of chocolate to her coffee when she heard the fizzing noises coming from the microwave. -Uh oh, that croissant must be more delicate than she thought.- Stella stepped over toward the microwave, as the fizzing turned into crackling. She was reaching for the 'stop' button when she saw the flashes of blue light inside the oven. -Oh shit- she thought, throwing her free arm over her eyes, as the world exploded in white. There was a thud, then a crash of porcelain shattering, and then the room was silent, save for the sounds of melting metal and burning plastic.
"Graham, this is hopeless. This person, and I use the term loosely, barely has the brain activity of an anaesthetized Chihuahua. If the experiment worked at all, it wouldn't even yield usable data."
"Well, sir, maybe if we recalibrated the resonation rate..."
"What the hell for? So we can waste even more time? Get this refugee from Lollapalooza out of here and find a usable subject. And where the bloody hell is Stella? Having Juan Valdez himself personally brew her a cup?"
-Somebody got up on the wrong side of an empty bed this morning,- thought Graham. As he was opening the door to the resonation chamber, he heard Arcane's cel-phone ring.
"Yes?... WHAT?!... Bloody hell, not again!" A beep, and a snap of the flip-phone being closed. "Graham, forget about Jerry Junior and grab the defibrillators. There's been some sort of explosion in the break room." Arcane dashed out the door, and a second later was nearly run over by Graham.
"I don't know what happened," Kris said as Arcane and Graham charged into the break room and found Stella lying on the floor in front of the remains of the microwave. "I left for a second and then, bang." Graham looked up from checking Stella's pulse and there was a murderous fire in his eyes. "Resuscitation now, hostility later, Graham!" barked Arcane. "Charge up the damn paddles!" He rolled Stella onto her back, knelt beside her chest and started CPR.
"Kris! Get over here and check for a pulse!" Kris quit ogling Arcane's denim-clad ass and crouched beside Stella's head, feeling for the jugular vein and grimacing as she got Stella's blood on her fingers. "Dammit, woman, breathe," he muttered, "I didn't survive an IRS audit just to be shut down by bloody OSHA."
Graham got it together long enough to find a wall socket and plug in the defib unit. He stared at the voltmeter, willing the needle to move, goddammit, feeling like he could have watched 'Batman and Robin' six times before the warm-up whine finally shut off. "Ready, Doctor," he yelled, squirting the sealant gel onto the paddles and rubbing them together.
Arcane yanked Stella's sundress open and slid back, motioning Kris away from Stella's body. "Clear. Go!" Graham pressed the paddles to Stella's chest and squeezed the triggers. Her body jerked with the current. Graham reapplied the gel and rubbed the paddles together again as Arcane felt for a pulse. "Nothing," he shook his head. "Again!" Graham zapped her. She jumped. Arcane checked her pulse. "Dammit! Again!" Graham gave her another shock. Nothing. Arcane reached for the paddles. "Give me those and go get a syringe of adrenaline," he said in a tone few people would disobey, least of all Graham. His assistant handed him the defibrillators and bolted for the lab, breaking land speed records. "God damn it, where's that bugger Holland when you need him?" Arcane charged up the paddles and gave Stella another jolt. "Kris! Anything?"
Kris leaned forward and felt for the jugular. "No."
-Dammit, Graham, hurry up with that shot. This is getting personal.- Arcane was gelling the paddles for another zap when he heard footsteps pounding down the hall, and Graham came running back in.
"Here," he panted, handing the syringe to Arcane. Arcane switched the defib unit off and held the needle up. It gleamed wickedly as he cleared the air bubbles. Graham and Kris watched, transfixed, as Arcane pressed the point against Stella's skin.
"Do you know the difference between me and God?" Arcane asked, mostly to himself as he slipped the six-inch needle between her ribs. "God doesn't think he's Anton Arcane." He pushed the needle in up to its plastic hilt. "His loss." Arcane shoved the plunger down. A flood of adrenaline gushed into Stella's heart. Her eyes snapped open and she shook with a violent spasm, trying to cough and scream at the same time.
Graham was at her side instantly, holding her tightly until her shaking subsided. When she'd calmed down, Arcane quickly grabbed the syringe and yanked the needle out of her ribcage before she could see it and go hysterical again. She gasped and went into another coughing fit.
"What happened?" she finally managed to croak.
"The microwave exploded. Dr. Arcane saved your life," Graham said, reverently, wrapping his lab coat around her. "Just take it easy, Stella. Don't try to talk. Just work on breathing." He reached up onto the countertop and grabbed a paper towel, blotting some of the blood off her forehead.
Arcane moved Graham's hand and took a closer look. Remarkably, she wasn't cut up too badly. Some Betadine and Neosporin, and in a week you wouldn't even be able to tell. There were a couple of bad ones on her scalp, but if he stitched them up, her hair would cover them. "It's a good job she wasn't standing closer to it, or we would have had more to worry about than just jump-starting her heart."
"Here's your problem," Kris said, digging in the microwave-carcass with a pair of plastic salad tongs. She pulled out a twisted, charred curl of something barely recognizable as metal. Only the four splayed tines on one end gave a clue to its former function. "Somebody must have left it in there by accident."
"Bloody hell! What kind of boneheaded ignoramus leaves a bloody fork in a microwave?" Arcane shook his head in disgust.
"One wonders." Graham was looking at Kris with a dark, glowering suspicion.
"Save it, Graham," Arcane said. "One employee near-death experience is quite enough for this morning, thank you. Let's just get Stella here cleaned up, shall we?"
"...and I remember getting on the plane in Carlsbad, but after that is just a big blank," said Stella, as Arcane bandaged her arm.
"Trauma-induced amnesia," he said, taping the gauze firmly in place. "Should clear itself up in a day or two."
"Maybe she should take a couple days off," said Graham, who'd been hovering attentively around the table, helping Arcane patch up Stella's contusions.
"Yes," Arcane agreed. "A few days of bed rest and 'Divorce Court' reruns, and you'll be back splicing genes with the best of them." He shined a penlight into her eyes, checking her pupillary response. "I think we can safely say you're going to survive. Try and stand up."
Stella swung her legs off the table and pushed herself to her feet. She was a little wobbly, until she tried to walk. Then she looked ready to collapse.
Graham grabbed her arm, steadying her. "I think I'd better drive you home."
Arcane tossed Graham his keychain. "Take my Porsche. Easier to climb in and out of than the Explorer."
"Thanks, Doctor. Um, I might stay and make sure Stella's settled in all right... if it's okay with you."
"Yes, yes, Graham," Arcane waved him on his way, "Go on, make her some chicken soup, read her a bedtime story. It's not like we were having a productive day around here, anyway." He packed up the bandages and sprayed the table with disinfectant as Graham and Stella made their way out of the lab.
"Damn, that was intense." Arcane looked up and saw Kris Bolin standing in the doorway, grinning at him.
"Welcome to Arcane Industries," he smiled, dropping the tweezers and needles into the sterilization cabinet. "If a week goes by and nothing blows up or melts down, we get dreadfully bored." He closed the cabinet and switched the UV light on. "So, fancy a late breakfast?"
She winked. "Only if it's room service."
"I admire a woman who doesn't let disaster quench her libido," Arcane said with a sly grin as he took her in his arms. "How did that fork get into the microwave?" he murmured, nibbling on her earlobe. "I have no idea," she said, running one hand through his hair, and the other down his back. "Didn't you ever watch 'Hill Street Blues'? You're supposed to frisk me before you question me."
"Mmmm... that can be arranged..." He slipped his hands up under her blouse as his mouth met hers in a hungry kiss.
"What's that?" Kris asked, distracted by a tapping noise.
Arcane glanced over at the SER chamber. "Oh, nothing. Just ignore it. Now where were we?"
"Hey!" came a plaintive, muffled yell from inside the chamber, "Is anybody out there? Come on, man, I drank half a pitcher of Hawaiian Punch before I came here!"
Kris giggled. "I think you'd better let him out of there."
"The sacrifices I make for my research," Arcane said, letting Kris go and unlatching the chamber door. The young hippie stumbled out. "All right, you can leave now," Arcane told him. "We won't be needing your services after all."
"Okay, dude, whatever. Ummm... do I still get paid?"
"There," grimaced Arcane, pulling out his wallet and slapping a ten-dollar bill into the young man's sweaty palm. The kid pocketed the money as Arcane wiped his hand off on his jeans. "Run along, now."
"Okay, later, dude." He shambled toward the door. "Hey," he said, turning around, "didn't you used to play bass for Poison?"
"Oh, sod off!"
"Right, man. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me." He slouched out of the lab.
"There are times when I really worry about the future of the human gene pool," Arcane remarked.
"This looks cozy," Kris said, peering into the resonation chamber.
"I had it specially built," Arcane said, following her into the chamber. "It's like a combination sensory deprivation tank and isolation booth, only engineered to facilitate astral projection."
"I know a few other experiments we could do in here," Kris grinned, lying back on the couch.
"I like the way you think," Arcane said, leaning over to kiss her. "You know," he continued, stretching out beside her, "Wilhelm Reich theorized that cosmic energy is released at the moment of orgasm." He ran his hand up her thigh as she undid the buttons on his shirt. "In fact, many occultists believe a powerful orgasm is a direct link to the astral plane."
"Well then," said Kris, reaching for his belt-buckle, "let's raise our consciousness."
"Save it for visiting day at the Federal Pen, snookums." The voice of doom reverberated off the chamber walls.
Kris and Arcane looked up sharply, and any cosmic energy that had been building up evaporated as they saw Special Agent Sebastian Simms standing in the doorway, glaring at them with a mixture of undisguised contempt and malicious glee. "Do you bloody well mind?" Arcane snarled.
Simms ignored him, advancing toward the couch. "Anton Arcane, by the authority of the Unites States Internal Revenue Service, on behalf of the Terrebonne Parish Tax Collector, I am placing you under arrest for violation of Article 8a, Section 15 of the Terrebonne Parish Tax Collection Ordinance." Simms snapped open a pair of handcuffs, and smiled for the first time in his career. "Stand up and turn around."
Arcane looked at that smile, and was reminded of a Mako shark about to tear into some succulent young skin-diver. "Don't get too excited, Agent Simms," he said, over his shoulder, "I've been shackled by more attractive people than you." He winced as Simms yanked his arm back and snapped the cuffs closed on his wrists, more tightly than necessary.
"Careful, Arcane," Simms growled. "That almost sounded like resisting arrest." He shoved Arcane toward the door.
"Oh, by all means," Arcane said, "I'm sure you're just dying to beat me into submission."
"Later," Simms rumbled ominously, grabbing Arcane's elbow and propelling him through the doorway. "Let's go," he said to Sheriff Andrews, who was pacing around the lab.
"Sheriff Andrews?! You traitorous little son of a whoremonger! What the bloody hell am I paying you for?"
"Sorry, Doc," Andrews said, fidgeting with the brim of his hat, "A man's gotta choose his loyalties carefully. Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, now."
Arcane's eyes shot white-hot daggers at the sheriff. "When I get out of this, you'll spend the rest of your sorry life ducking tabloid photographers and looking for a well-paying job in a sideshow, you weasel!"
"Zip it, Arcane," said Simms. "It's still not too late for the rubber hose."
Arcane wondered if Simms was kidding, realized people like Simms were never kidding, and shut up, slinking along sullenly as they led him out of the building to Andrews' waiting squad car. There was a sizeable crowd of jumpsuited employees standing around gawking outside the front door, and a bunch of unfamiliar men in business suits who couldn't be anything other than IRS employees. "What are you all staring at?" he yelled, furiously. "Get back to work!"
"Your employees have been relieved of duty," said Simms. "We're seizing this entire complex in lieu of back taxes."
"What bloody back taxes? Our records were impeccable!" Arcane protested, as Andrews hustled him into the back seat of the squad car. Simms leaned through the window, his face contorted in a smirk. "The Smug Bastard Tax of 1803. Five thousand, six hundred and forty-two dollars and eighty-four cents, adjusted for inflation, multiplied by five years, comes to a total of nine hundred thousand, two hundred and thirty-three dollars and nineteen cents. We'll be liquidating your assets next week."
"SMUG BLOODY BASTARD TAX?!" Arcane was on the verge of an apoplectic fit. "This is beyond absurd! I'm going to sue your entire bureau for wrongful bloody prosecution!"
"Tell it to the judge," Simms twinkled, straightening up and watching Arcane seethe with rage as Andrews drove off toward the gate. Still chuckling, he disarmed the alarm on his Montero and pulled out to follow them to the jailhouse.
God damn, he loved Mondays.