“Do you want to talk to any of them?”
“Not at all.” Pat returned his gaze to his computer and began responding to emails.
Theresa knew this was the end of the conversation so she left in a huff. Pat heard the screaming at the very edge of his mind. It hadn’t superseded other exterior noises, but it sounded like it was trying to overtake him. He wasn’t sure why this continued to haunt him. The chip did nothing to solve this and it had arguably been the worst side effect of his schizophrenia to date.
Nothing provided him with the relief that he so desperately needed.
***
To his despair, going out to dinner like he usually did was not an option. The press had been hounding him whenever he was in public spaces and it had become too much for his senses. As he drove home, he glanced at the sad bag of Chinese takeout in his front passenger seat.
“You will have to do for now.” He said to the bag as he turned into his driveway.
He didn’t see any media vans which was a big relief. Once parked, he walked up into the house to drop off his dinner and then proceeded back outside to the mailbox. Usually, all of the mail he received at his personal address was spam mail and bills. He scanned through the stack and realized there was nothing interesting.
“Pat Sherwood?” Breathed a voice ahead of him.
His ducked head whipped up and he could see the white outline of teeth and shining, eager eyes. As Pat’s eyes adjusted to the dim streetlight-lit yard, he saw it was a tan-skinned young man with a tablet and stylus in hand. Possibly another reporter.
“Excuse me.” Pat muttered and tried to shoulder his way around the man.
He was stopped, however, by a surprisingly strong grip. Pat could hear his heartbeat in his ears and feel the beat in his throat. If he had to, he would punch this guy out.
“This could be my big break. Nobody else has gotten a statement from you but if I did, my whole world would open up. Please?”
“No.” Pat said simply and continued to try to shove past him. When he pushed past the reporter’s grasp, he stumbled towards his front patio. In a rush, he righted himself and began his way up the couple of steps leading to the doorway, but as his right leg raised to climb the first step, the young reporter grabbed Pat’s left ankle. With no time to catch himself, Pat’s head slammed down hard onto the concrete patio and everything went black.
CHAPTER SIX
CLIVE HAD ALWAYS prided himself in being an optimist. He was able to smile and socialize with others even when his life was falling apart. That’s why he was able to get up from the formal couch in his living room where he had slept the night before and manufacture excitement about the day ahead. He knew that he would be able to tune out his wife’s angry face from his mind while he presented to the board at Kimber University.
As expected, he and his wife did not cross paths as he went about his morning routine. He did not seek her out because he knew it would just start the fighting again and he couldn’t handle that.
An hour later, he was driving up to the university and parked on the top floor of the parking garage. The city of Kimber took every opportunity to brag about their university’s 40,012 students, moving planetarium, and expansive selection of medical majors. If he nailed this presentation, the university’s support could be invaluable for getting more young doctors to take up residencies at Healing Touch Hospital and possibly become the next generation of doctors and nurses to champion treatment for mental health.
In a tan, textured two-piece suit and brown shoes, Clive strutted to the Administrative Building. His presentation was all on a flash drive in his pocket and his phone in the other. A nearby fountain splashed and a gaggle of college girls giggled just ahead of him. One of them had particularly tan legs that seemed to go on forever and Clive glanced back at her as she passed.
His wife’s words wafted over him. “How did I become second best?” With great effort, he tore his eyes away from the beautiful girl and pushed the front door open into the breezeway of the building. The cold outside air mixed with the warm indoor air in the space. As he pushed open the next set of doors he was inside the heated space. Students were walking all over and several sitting on chairs studying or sitting on surfaces not intended to be seats. There was a welcome desk in the center of the room and everything in the space was colored either tan or white. Hanging from the vaulted ceiling were blue glass baubles in an asymmetrical curtain design which created blue polka dots of light on every surface.
“May I help you?” Asked the woman behind the welcome desk.
Clive realized he had been stopped in the middle of the floor just staring while confused students brushed past him.
“Oh, yes. I’m looking for conference room B.” He said hurriedly as he walked to stand level with the desk.
She gave him quick and concise directions and he thanked her. There was a set of stairs to the right of the desk that led to a balcony overlooking the lobby. On this level, there were several rooms which must have been the conference rooms. When he had located the room with a “B” label next to the doorway, he entered the space.
There was already a handful of impressive-looking people sitting in comfortable black armchairs in front of a large oval cherry wood table. Each space at the table had a computer monitor that could be popped up, and in the front of the room was a large screen for presenting.
“Dr. Evers!” Dr. Preston Winston made his way around the table to greet Clive as soon as he saw him.
Preston’s smile was gentle and his eyes a calming olive green. He almost looked as though he didn’t have any eyelashes or eyebrows, however, which was unsettling for some people. Finally, his styled graham cracker brown hair was the only indicator of his status due to how perfect it was. His clothes on the other hand were simple but well put together.
“Dr. Winston.” Clive flashed his crooked smile and the pair bumped elbows in greeting. “I’m so glad to finally be here. This is a gorgeous campus.”
“Thank you. You are too kind. I can’t praise our community here enough. I simply enjoy getting to use my privilege to enable others to succeed.” Preston said modestly.
Clive nodded but was unsure how to respond. Dr. Winston had always been very giving but Clive found himself intimidated by the fact that this man seemed to truly give of himself to help others in a way that Clive was not sure he did himself.
“Will you be using the screen?” Preston asked, ignoring the awkward silence.
“Yes, please!”
Preston proceeded to help Clive set up for his presentation. As the pair hovered over the computer, more professors and university board members filtered into the room and began to chatter. The noise steadily became louder until it was just a continual humming noise.
“Thank you, Theybies and Gentlethems,” Preston interjected, cutting through the noise perfectly. “I hope you all are ready for a treat. We have the extreme honor of hearing from one of the most renowned surgeons in Kimber as well as the leading expert on microchips used to manage mental illness in partnership with Sherwood Servers…Dr. Clive Evers.”
Everybody applauded politely and Clive looked out into the diverse group. The representation in the room covered nearly every race, religion, gender, sexuality, and ability. Clive beamed with pride knowing that this is what society had been trying to achieve for over a century and he was honored to be able to bring his technology to such a group. They were the future.
“You all are very kind.” Dr. Evers said. “I am so honored to be here.” The last word stuck in his throat as he remembered the hard work on the road to his success. “It’s been a long time getting here, but I am so excited to be rolling out this treatment to all those who suffer from mental illness.” He rubbed the back of his neck to ease some of the tension in his muscles and continued. “The numbers of those struggling with anxiety and depression are growing by the day and the treatments available to us right now are not always effective.”
All eyes were on him as he crossed the front of the room to address everyone and also point to things on the main screen. Now and then people referred to their own screens, but otherwise, they were hanging on his every word. This was Dr. Clive Evers in his element and he loved it. He was proud of who he was and what he had accomplished.
“You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I worked two jobs while you went to school full-time.” The harsh words from his wife Mayre intruded into his brain and he paused momentarily to get his bearings.
“Does anyone have any questions so far?” He said finally, unsure which direction to take his presentation in next.
“Will we simply be promoting the chip on campus or will we be able to actually research its effectiveness and gather data from it?” Asked an unnamed student sitting midway down the right side of the table.
