‘Good. Dare I ask how things are going with our suicidal subjects?’
Dorothy had turned to a red-haired girl who had been tasked with investigating more extreme subjects — those receiving treatment for clinical depression.
‘I’m working on my tenth patient,’ replied Linda McLeod, Dorothy’s youngest researcher, a girl who had recently gained her PhD from Newcastle University. ‘Mary Lennox has tried three times to take her own life without being able to tell anyone why. She’s proving quite harrowing to be with.’
‘Understandable,’ said Dorothy.
‘I’m finding it hard to think of her objectively as a subject in a scientific study. I mean she’s first and foremost a person, a human being, and my instinct is to want to help her, but I can’t because I don’t know how. She always seems to be beyond my reach as if there’s some kind of invisible barrier between us and she’s... floating away.’
‘Nothing to be ashamed of,’ said Dorothy abruptly, ‘but ultimately the best way to help Mary and people like her is going to be through the successful application of science. We’re not social workers. Others can provide shoulders to cry on and the short-term fixes of pills and potions, but at the end of the day and sooner or later, we’re the ones who are going to come up with long term solutions. Understanding the scientific basis for anything is the key to controlling it. We should all remember that.’
‘Yes, Dorothy,’ said a rather sheepish Linda.
‘Tell me if it gets too much for you.’
Dorothy turned to the others and said, ‘We must all keep our focus.’ She paused until she got the nods she was looking for. ‘I’ve been discussing our new financial situation with the university and our DNA sequencing requirements are to be given top priority in a soon-to-be-expanded facility. We will also be re-equipping with the latest biochemical analysis equipment and advertising for new technical staff will begin next week. We should be in a position to start generating serious amounts of data within a month.’
‘Thinking ahead, I’d also like our studies to expand to include people who have apparently experienced miracle cures. You know the sort of thing; they’ve been suffering from cancer and their tumour miraculously disappears. Good for selling newspapers, but maybe, just maybe — and for whatever reason — the right switches were thrown at the right time.’
Dorothy held up a couple of empty wine bottles to lament the fact that they were empty. ‘Maybe we should get started,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’d like the post docs and post-grads to stay behind.’
The technicians, lab assistants and undergrads left the room wearing smiles and chattering about a future that looked much more positive.
Six
The door closed, leaving Dorothy alone with her senior staff. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘what do we really think about the schoolgirls’ rashes?’
‘On the surface, a classic example of mass hysteria,’ said Jane Lincoln. ‘The literature is full of such reports.’
‘What about below the surface?’
‘We seem to have quite a bit of information this time,’ said John Spiegelman. ‘The fact that the girl who was lying displayed a nettle rash while the others — our mass hysteria girls — the interesting ones — had the real deal, an insect bite rash. That is pretty cool.’
‘No spider, but clear evidence of its bite on all these girls. Now that really is spooky,’ said Linda McLeod.
‘Cool and spooky are not quite what I’m looking for,’ said Dorothy acidly. ‘How do we explain it?’
‘Something happened to make all these girls display evidence of an insect bite without them having been bitten.’
‘Is stating the obvious,’ said Dorothy. ‘What happened?’
‘I’d guess at a switch being thrown,’ said Linda.
Dorothy rubbed her forehead lightly. ‘Well, yes. I think that’s why we’re all here,’ she said, betraying a hint of irritation that just stopped short of open sarcasm. ‘But why? What made it happen? What happened to throw the switch?’
‘Fear,’ said Owen Barrowman.
‘Go on,’ said Dorothy quietly as all eyes turned towards Owen.
‘They were young girls, frightened of spiders, terrified in fact, so much so that the report of a giant one in their presence and evidence of what it had done to one of their friends triggered off a response in their own bodies to something that actually hadn’t happened.’
‘Wow,’ said Spiegelman. ‘You’re suggesting that if you manage to convince someone that something bad has happened to them, their body will respond as if it really had?’
There was a short silence before doubt surfaced and Jane Lincoln said, ‘No, there’s something missing. There has to be, otherwise...’
‘You’re right,’ acknowledged Spiegelman. ‘Otherwise this sort of thing would happen all the time and it doesn’t... but state of mind must play a part.’
‘Agreed,’ said Dorothy. ‘And in this case, I think Owen was right. The strong emotional factor was fear. Fear was the key.’
Dorothy looked to Owen who had paled visibly. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
Barrowman appeared not to have heard, causing the others to become concerned. Jane Lincoln touched his arm and his gaze returned from the middle distance.
‘Sorry, yes,’ he stammered. ‘I’m fine.’
Dorothy looked doubtful but let it go at that. ‘Well, I think we’ve all been given food for thought. The girls’ anxious state allowed some factor to take control of their bodies and make them react in the way... it thought appropriate.’
All traces of humour surrounding mass hysteria disappeared in an instant as people found themselves focussing on the word ‘it’.
‘Well,’ said Dorothy resting both elbows on the table, ‘Let’s all have a think and meet again, say on Friday? In the meantime, Owen, could you stay behind?’
Dorothy waited until the door had closed after the departing post docs before saying, ‘I didn’t ask you to report on your work because Mr Anthony Medici from Scarman, Medici and Weiss, the lawyers acting for our benefactors is going to be joining us. I’d like you to brief us privately.’
‘He’s the go-between?’
‘Yes, and before you ask what you say to a lawyer, he’ll be bringing a scientific adviser with him.’
Owen nodded but said nothing. Dorothy knew that anger still simmered inside him, a source of some irritation to her. ‘It’s always a good idea not to bite the hand that feeds you,’ she said.
‘Fine, let me know when I’m to perform,’ said Barrowman getting up.
‘You’ve changed, Owen, and it’s not just the funding business. I don’t know what the problem is, but sort it out.’
Barrowman returned to his lab, swore out loud and slapped his notebook down on his desk. He was sick to the back teeth of people questioning his mood or telling him he’d changed. If it wasn’t Lucy it was Dorothy. Most of all he was sick of constant distractions. He was on the verge of an important discovery and he needed peace and quiet and time to think. He hadn’t had time to go through the biochemical results he’d asked the lab to repeat so he’d have to do that at home tonight, but that meant more moaning from Lucy.
The phone rang and he snatched it from its cradle, growling, ‘Barrowman.’
‘Owen? It’s Steven Dunbar. Bad time?’
‘’Oh, Steven, sorry about that... having a bit of a bad day. Look, I’m sorry about bending your ear last night... I guess I went on a bit.’
‘Not at all. Actually, I’m ringing to suggest we might meet up and have a proper conversation and I’ve got a bit of news for you... about Moorlock Hall.’