Prologue
The meeting took place behind the locked doors of Hotel Quincy's Presidential suite; the aura of mystery was unmistakable, sworn secrecy being the request of Doctor Karl Grossman, chief research biochemist for Lindale Pharmaceutical.
The men Grossman had assembled were tops in their fields: experts in endocrinology and neuropathology, research medics who had flown here from all parts of the country, who daily pioneered for new techniques, who were now hearing of the boldest pharmaceutical miracle of all: the discovery of Hypothalmic-322.
Dr. Grossman, founder of Hypothalmic-332, had now completed his discourse to the group, having excitedly described the drug's spectacular effect on the prefrontal lobes of the brain; in short, heralding the drug's profound ability to alter personality structure; literally, as it were, to create a new being!
"Dr. Grossman...." Doctor Andrew Bordell, an independent analytical chemist, stood to address the group. His hard cold stare befit the cynic, a man who dealt in quantities not theory; whose day-by-day existence was defined with exactitudes, who, un-like the others, had little tolerance for the unknown, the incredible. "Dr. Grossman ... gentlemen...." He removed his glasses and rubbed at the dark pockets at the corners of his eyes. "...none here is a more enthusiastic proponent of progress than I. All of us know this." He paused. "And you know that. I would defend any scientific program of even limited worth. But this...." Disdain and anger crept into his words. "...this drug, gentlemen, is sheer madness!"
"With Hypothalmic-322, Dr. Grossman has exceeded not only himself, but the wildest stretches of man's imagination. He dares to create a Frankenstein type of drug that alters one's personality, that plays God with the mysteries of the metabolic processes. Aren't we now trespassing to the unknown?" He paused, glancing to each of the scientists, speculating their reaction. Then he said: "Gentlemen, this drug is a creation of the damned! Its use is unthinkable!"
A hush fell over the gathering. Faces were drawn. Borden's opinions were not to be lightly excused, and his angered soliloquy raised serious doubts to the drug's merits.
But Grossman was prepared for a fight; skepticism had been a forerunner to the sulfa drugs, penicillin even antibiotics. And now, cherubic and smiling, unruffled by Bordell's scorching attack, Grossman faced his colleagues and he said: "I think I've just been called some kind of a nut."
A titter of laughter broke from the group. Good humor was restored and with this single remark, Grossman had combed new respect from the men; perhaps renewed their faith in his drug.
"It's true," he began, "that we are dealing with the fantastic, the unknown. I won't dispute that. But...." His chubby face beamed with smile." ... the benefits that are to be reaped are without comparison. Human failures, and I say this with the risk of seeming sensational, will be vanquished forever."
"Dr. Grossman...." One of the scientists came to his feet. "Can this drug be classified as a tranquilizer?"
"Not in the least," Grossman answered. "But Hypothalmic-322 takes over where other so-called "happy' drugs leave off. It reshuffles glandular ratios and unlocks a whole new personality."
"Could you expand on that, Dr. Grossman?"
"Be glad to." He cleared his throat. "A case in point, gentlemen: A patient now being treated with this drug...." He fanned a sheath of papers on the table in front of him. "The patient's name is Rita and for obvious reasons, I'll omit the last name.
"The subject is 25-years-old, quite attractive . . He ventured a mischievous smile "...and single. Now...." He set the report down and looked down the long oaken table to his colleagues. "...when the subject was referred to me, she was suffering from a severe personality regression. Totally introverted, afraid of men, afraid of life.
"Her relationships with people were confined to those who visited the small dress shop she owned, and I might add that that business was as much a failure as her own life.
"Now, under synthetic narcosis, the patient revealed three earlier sex experiences, all of them contributing toward her present condition, her general antipathy toward sex."
Dr. Bordell, flushed with anger, said: "So the good Dr. Grossman developed Spanish fly and the patient lived happily ever after."
Unperturbed, but willing to acknowledge Bordell's sardonic interruption, Grossman said, "We are not dealing with an aphrodisiac, gentlemen. In fact, if it were a sex drug, and had the recuperative effects that Dr. Bordell suggests, I might take a little of it myself."
Laughter again prevailed. Grossman smiled; Bordell assumed a brooding silence.
"Hypothalmic-322 does not stimulate ... it unlocks. It converts an introvert to an extrovert, a frown to a smile, pessimism to optimism. And our patient? Rita now has guts, gentlemen. Guts and the will to succeed. And along those lines, she is selling her present business and opening up a greatly enlarged new one. Her outer attitude has changed, she has assumed a healthy normal outlook on sex...."
"Do you speak from personal knowledge, Dr. Grossman?"
There was more laughter.
"Laboratory know-how," he quipped.
"I'd like to know a little more about the patient's sexual trauma, Dr. Grossman." The question had been raised by Dr. Irving of the Orson Foundation.
"The patient was caught in a masturbatory act with another young girl when she was only nine." He read the report. "She was severely disciplined by her mother, whipped for one week and forbidden to further associate with her playmate.
"At the age of 15, she was coming home from the library one night and attacked by a group of street hoodlums. She was dragged into an alley, brutally raped by each of them in turn, and her mother...." He shook his head sadly. "Her mother insisted that her daughter must have led them on, which is a sad commentary on some of today's parentage.
"Then, at the age of 19 and after she graduated from high school, the subject went to work for a local law firm, and I think it's best that we not mention its name." He smiled at his colleagues. "Her employer," Grossman continued, "and not the most honorable man in the world, was soon taking advantage of our young and innocent subject, forcing her to commit untold perversions upon him and threatening her with the loss of her job if she didn't consent.
"A wiser better adjusted girl would have immediately resigned her job and reported the incident to the authorities, but earlier experiences, not happy ones, thwarted such efforts.
Eventually, her employer became aware of the talk that was spreading through the office and afraid of possible repercussions ... yes, he fired her.
And so that there would be no trouble over her dismissal, he advanced her a loan to open the dress shop I spoke of. But, even though she repaid this loan, and though the shop provided a meager existence, this is only the beginning of the tragedy.
The patient fell into a state of prolonged depression, her business suffered, and she was bordering a complete mental collapse."
"Would you blame her sexual trauma on this, Dr. Grossman?"
"I certainly would. Sex represented trouble and trouble represented personal failure. Small defeats were large defeats and she was resigned to total nothingness."
"And what now, Dr. Grossman."
"The results are spectacular," he said. "She is bursting with enthusiasm. She's afraid of nothing."
Once again, Dr. Andrew Bordell stood to address the group. His anger seemed subdued, but there was no fading of his surly concern:
"Lest we crown ourselves with success before it is earned, gentlemen, has any of you had the foresight to consider the possible side effects of this drug?"
Silence and blank expressions confronted Bordell. He went on:
"Each of our modern-day miracle drugs has had their undesirable side reactions. Some we've been able to cope with and some we haven't. And now we have Hypothalmic-322 ... we have a woman walking the streets here in Temple City who has been materially changed by the wonders of chemistry, and we say: "Bravo, bravo, bravo!" His eyes narrowed. His face was grim. "How can we know, though," he lamented, "that there won't be just such a side reaction? Can we say, for instance, that in unlocking these deep hidden inner urges, we haven't also unlocked evil?"
"Aren't you being a bit dramatic, Dr. Bordell?"
"Dramatic? Or is it realistic?" He paused. He faced Dr. Grossman. "A question, Dr. Grossman: As promising as the patient's prognosis now appears, can you certify that in curing her, we might not have unleashed a sexual monster deep inside her? Can you?"
Dr. Grossman lost his smile. He was faced with the gravest of his doubts. "I can certify nothing," he said solemnly. "We'll just have to wait and see, but...."
"There are no "buts," Dr. Grossman. We are toying with a human being, and this is not medicine ... it is witchcraft!"