“Clearly that’s what this is for,” Nina said, cranking the knob on the heater and releasing a dusty hot electric train smell.
“I wish we’d opted for hot coffee instead of cola for the mixer,” Bell said, setting down the small cooler at Walter’s feet.
“Absolutely,” Walter agreed, opening the cooler and taking out a bottle. “But we want to keep as many variables consistent as possible.”
Bell took a bottle for himself, and then pulled out the tiny vial of their special blend. He dosed both of their beverages with the exact same amount as the previous experiments, then placed the vial and syringe on top of the cooler.
“Okay, boys,” Nina said, pulling her gun and a stopwatch from her purse. “Where do you want me to be?”
“I think it would be best if we lay down here, on this rug beneath the skylight,” Walter said, taking a swig of his medicated cola. “We can place the biofeedback machine in the center and Nina, you wait there by the piano.”
“We don’t know exactly where the gate will open,” Bell said. “But I can’t imagine it would be more than a few feet away.”
“What if I can’t see it?” Nina asked. “What if only altered minds are able to perceive the gateway?”
“Well, we have no prior data to assess,” Walter said, casting a meaningful glance in their direction. “So we won’t know until we try. That’s why we have to experiment like this, in a controlled area, so that when it comes time to confront the killer, we’ll be ready to put him back where he belongs.”
“But for now,” Bell said. “We’ll do our best to articulate what we’re seeing. That way, even if you don’t see it, you’ll know exactly when it opens and where it’s located in relation to us.”
Walter and Bell clinked their bottles together and drained their dosed colas, then went to work setting up the small, battery-operated biofeedback rig they’d modified to sync their alpha waves during the trip.
When everything was set, they lay down on the faded carpet and waited.
Walter concentrated on the soothing hum of the wireless machine, working on staying as calm and open-minded as possible, then focusing on the rhythm of Bell’s breath and trying to slow his own to match.
* * *
He was just starting to experience the first hints of hallucinogenic onset, simple geometric shapes hunching along the edges of perception like bulky, glowing inch worms, when the band showed up.
“Hey, Nina!” Roscoe said, a big inebriated smile on his usually dour face. “Great to see you, babe.” He paused, a comical look of surprise supplanting the grin. “Is that a gun?”
Nina plunged her gun hand into the suede purse.
“Um... no.” She took her now empty right hand from the purse, and ran it over her hair. “What are you guys doing here? I thought you usually rehearsed on Thursdays.”
“You know how it is,” Chick said, the sticker-covered guitar case in one hand. “Some times you just get bit by the inspiration bug.”
Two other men whom Walter hadn’t met yet came in behind Chick, both with guitar cases of their own. He didn’t need to be introduced to the other two members of Violet Sedan Chair. He instantly recognized Alex Chambers and Oregon Dave Ormond from the photo on their album cover, and his tripping mind painted their skin with the appropriate psychedelic colors and organic paisley shapes.
From an experimental standpoint, this was a disaster, but he couldn’t suppress his childlike excitement over the appearance of the whole band. He wanted to jump up and greet them, but he was surprised to find that his body had melded with the weave of the dusty rug beneath him, making it impossible to get up.
He watched Chick hug Nina, lifting her off her feet and spinning her in a circle. Her shimmering red hair and green suede heels left spiral trails in the air, distracting him until Roscoe found the vial of their special acid blend on top of the cooler, and held it up for the rest of the band to see.
“Check this, man,” he said. “This looks like some pharmaceutical grade shit right here.”
“You put that down,” Nina said, lunging at him.
Roscoe tossed the vial to Chick, like big kids playing keep away from a smaller child in a schoolyard.
“Look at these two,” Iggy, the drummer said, gesturing to Walter and Bell splayed out on the carpet. “They’re tripping balls!”
“Far out,” Roscoe said. “We need to knock off a piece of that action.”
Chick grabbed the syringe and started to fill it from the vial while the other laughing musicians kept Nina back.
“Chick, don’t...” she began, but it was too late. He squirted the dose directly into his mouth.
Nina threw up her hands, disgusted, as Chick passed the vial to Roscoe.
“Don’t be so uptight, Nina,” Roscoe said, dosing himself. “You need to loosen up. Live a little. Share the wealth.” He went from person to person, dosing the rest of the band like a mama bird feeding her chicks.
“Okay, look,” Nina said. “We’re conducting a scientific experiment here.”
“My kinda science,” Alex said, opening his mouth wide to receive the chemical sacrament.
“Just shut up and listen,” she snapped.
The band members settled down, like unruly kids brought to heel by a feared teacher.
“Since you’ve already helped yourselves,” she continued. “The least you can do is help us in return. Right?”
“Help you how?” Iggy asked.
“The experiment,” she said, “is in telepathy and shared experience. My two colleges are attempting to sync minds using a combination of the hallucinogenic compound you just ingested, and enhanced biofeedback technology.”
“Far out, man,” Dave said. “What do you need from us?”
“Why don’t you guys lie down in the circle here,” she suggested. “And see if any of you are able connect your minds with them. The image that I want you to picture in your minds is a gateway, like a portal in the air. Okay?”
Brilliant, Walter thought from within the depths of his trip.
She’s brilliant, Bell’s mind echoed inside Walter’s head. Brilliant and ruthless.
If the musicians were on the trip with them, linked in and working in synch, would it not naturally strengthen and enhance the gate? It might even allow the gate to stay stable, and open even longer. And while Walter had never even considered involving anyone else in their experiment, due to the risks involved, Nina didn’t bat an eye. She just saw an opportunity to take advantage of an unexpected situation, and took it.
Walter could feel Bell’s mind reaching out to her again, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. A flame like her red hair, falling coquettishly around her face like shimmering waves of liquid autumn.
Walter shook his head, feeling himself drawn to Nina, as well. But they needed her on the outside, now more than ever. They needed to stay focused, and so did she. Especially with this sudden and unexpected influx of unknown individuals.
Belly, he said, or thought, or just imagined that he thought. Focus! He reached out to Bell with his mind, calling him back into the loop of their own intimate connection. Reluctantly, Bell allowed his attention to be turned away from Nina and back to the task at hand.
The band members settled into a rough ring around the biofeedback machine, heads toward the center. At first they were snickering and goofing around, but as the acid started to kick in, they all settled down and grew quiet.
Roscoe’s mind opened itself to Walter first, revealing an intricate, endless Fibonacci spiral, like a transparent nautilus, each tiny chamber haunted by a treasured fragment of music. Then Chick and Alex joined the psychic orchestra, light and dark twins blown like autumn leaves on the wind of Roscoe’s music. Then Dave, a quiet, soulful presence defined by simple pleasures like sunshine and a girl’s laughter and pancakes and memories of a childhood dog. Then Iggy, his strong, comforting thoughts as regular and steady as his drum beats, creating order out of the tripping chaos.