Anamnesis: A Novel (18 page)

“You didn’t matter. You were just some
name, some guy. I spent years trying to find Laurel. Once I realized it was
pointless, I threw myself into my job. Hid that fucked up, surreal part of my
life and pretended it never happened. Then I started having blackouts of my
own. They were just like Laurel described, down to the metallic aftertaste when
she woke up. I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

“And then what?”

“Then I started looking for William Grigg
and Ethan Knight. I thought maybe you and Laurel had escaped and were with each
other. Or maybe you knew something. Then I found your blog. How you described
your blackouts, your name. I knew you were the one Laurel talked about.” She
groaned. “I read on your blog about your connection with the drug world. I
talked to so many people on the street looking for you. I thought I was going
to get mugged and killed before I made any progress. That’s how I found your
apartment. Someone from under the overpass told me.”

Everything clicked; how Olivia magically
found me, how she had my missing person report. All this time she knew who I
was. She’d been leading me along. Fuck I was easy.

“Okay. I believe you. I would’ve liked it
if you told me all this right when you met me.”

“I was going to, but our first meetings
didn’t give me the best impression of you. You barely believed me when I told
you I was having blackouts. Would you honestly have believed everything I just
told you?”

“I have no idea,” I answered truthfully.
“Now I know. Thanks, I guess, for helping me figure out who I was. For filling
in some of my blank spots. We’ll get through this.”

Like me, avoidance was Olivia’s best
defense mechanism. When things were so bad that the effort required to fix them
seemed impossible, just ignoring the problem all together seemed like the best
answer. She couldn’t find her sister, so she buried everything to do with her.
She couldn’t imagine telling me the truth, so she hid it from me. Unfortunately
for Olivia, she couldn’t avoid what I was about to tell her. And while I should
have been stunned at the news, I was focused on the best lead we’d found since
the start.

I thought of the best way to phrase it,
but there was no way to break it gently. “Your dad put Laurel into the Whiteout
trial.”

She nodded. Barely a tilt of her chin. “It
seems like the perfect place to get rid of someone you don’t want around.
Laurel said Dad didn’t take her there himself, but she knew he was behind it.”

“He knows about Whiteout, Olivia. Somehow
he knew about this and had enough power or connections to get your sister in
it.”

It was futile to ask if she’d talk to her
dad because I knew the answer already. Her father’s secret had been tucked away
for too many years to get a straight answer from him even if she tried. And she
wouldn’t try. Even though I never met him, I couldn’t picture her having a big
confrontation with him. If he was as dangerous as she said, their conversation
might end up turning violent.

But I had to ask for my own sanity. “Is
there any way you could talk to h—”

“No. And don’t push it,” she snapped. “I
can’t.”

“Fine. We won’t,” I conceded.

“I’ve tried looking into him, just so you
know. I’ve followed him after work, tried to hack his bank accounts. By hacking
I mean password guessing. None of that is as easy as it looks on TV.”

“I never thought it was.”

Olivia sat still. She hadn’t shed a tear
or lost control yet, but I saw her chest heaving up and down with her weighty
breaths. She was thinking now. Her brow was furrowed slightly and she clenched
her jaw. She seemed to tune back into reality and reached out for her phone
resting on the stack of folders from the other room.

“Something isn’t right with all of this. I
think we’ve been trying to find the wrong answers.”

“Wrong answers?” I had to stand. My knees
were cramped from sitting too long. “We’re trying to find out who’s been making
and distributing Whiteout. How is that wrong?”

“It isn’t. I mean, we’re missing
something. How did my dad get involved in this? For what purpose were these
death certificates made? And since we know at least yours is fake, how did that
happen?” She rolled her shoulders and stood. “I say we take everything we can
carry to the car, then go straight to Fearnley’s. His studio is open for
viewers until 7:00pm. We have a few hours. We should go in, see what he has to
say and go from there.”

The plan was fast and loose, but I didn’t
mind. I felt like the hazy picture we’d been forming was almost clear. The
faster we moved, the faster we’d finish this.

Rupert Fearnley
had his last name cast in the ten foot tall metal doors to his studio. The
doors took an irritating amount of effort to open, and I wondered if there was
some kind of artsy intent to it. I’d never been in an art gallery before, but
that seemed like something an artist would do. Make you feel an emotion you
weren’t anticipating.

The first thing I noticed were metal
sculptures of humanoid figures scattered throughout a single giant room. The
floor was a pale wood that looked washed until it was almost white. Wall
dividers hung on thick metal cords from the ceiling. Directional lights focused
only on the sculptures, casting most of the space between in darkness. It
echoed loudly as we walked. There wasn’t a single person visible in the studio.

“What’s our story?” I whispered as we
browsed. I kept an eye out for Fearnley.

“I’m still thinking about it,” Olivia said.
“I’ll come up with something. Don’t worry.”

Shit. The smooth talker didn’t have her
story yet. We spent an hour dragging boxes of files into her car at D.P. They
weren’t particularly heavy, but the cardboard was weak and we could only manage
one or two boxes at a time. Then she spent thirty minutes fixing her hair and
touching up her face, both messed up from the hard labor. Maybe if she spent
less time doing that she could’ve devoted more energy into how we were going to
get info out of Fearnley.

“I see you’ve found Juniper.”

I jumped at the sound of a male’s voice
behind me. The man was at least 6’5” and wore an outfit complete with a sweater
vest and bow tie. His receded hairline almost reached the round of baldness at
the crown of his head.

“Oh,” he murmured. His face went slack as
I faced him. That flash of confusion disappeared as quickly as it came. He
smiled pleasantly at us and reached his hand out to me first. His eyes were
locked onto mine and eventually I gave up the unsolicited staring contest and
glanced at the ground as I shook his hand.

He didn’t look at the scars on my hands once.
He shook Olivia’s hand then placed his hands behind his back.

“I’ll admit it, I’m the artist,” he said.
“Rupert Fearnley at your service.”

There was something about him I didn’t
like. Or maybe my ego was bruised since he managed to sneak up on us like a cat
and made me feel like a scorned kid.

“I’m Katie Knight and this is my friend
Oliver Smith.”

“Great to meet you. Normally I have an art
major volunteer roaming the space,” he said. He looked around the giant room
like he’d never seen it before. His eyes came back to me and stayed there even
as he spoke to Olivia. “But they’re having finals right now, I believe. So it’s
just me. Are you interested in purchasing, or just out on the town? Studio
hopping is such a stimulating date.”

Sure it is. I looked at Olivia.
Now
what?

“Actually, I’m a student myself. I was
hoping to talk to you about your work.” Olivia put on her million dollar smile.
The picture of innocence. “If you have a moment?”

She’d been carefully ambiguous on what she
was studying or what she knew about his work. Let him fill in the blanks. It
was the technique I used on her when she first came to my apartment. Her words must
have resonated with him because he clapped his hands together and grinned.

“Fantastic. I was just about to take my
late tea. I’ll lock up the front door and we’ll go upstairs. The downstairs is
my studio, upstairs is my living space.”

“Very classic design,” Olivia said. “What
a wonderful thing to have your art so close!”

I wanted to puke. The contrived
pleasantries were killing me.

Fearnley excused himself and went to the
heavy doors. Once he was out of earshot I leaned down to Olivia’s ear. “I hope you
know what you’re doing.”

“I do,” she whispered. “Just…I don’t know,
follow my lead. That’s what they say, right?”

We stepped apart and looked at his
sculptures. My mind wanted to be too many places at once. I kept thinking about
Laurel and Sarah. Then Fearnley. And whether it was a waste of time or not, how
to convince Olivia we should interrogate her dad.

Once Fearnley was back he led us to a door
at the opposite end of the studio that opened to a spiral staircase. Fuck me, I
was done with stairs for the day. The week, actually.

The staircase lead to a long hallway that
appeared to span the length of the studio downstairs. There were doors on both
sides, as well as windows on both ends that showed the walls of the surrounding
buildings. Not much of a view.

He led us down the hallway to a room with
vaulted ceilings. Everything felt rich. Dark wood floors, plush red rugs,
swirling vintage wallpaper. There was a small couch and two big easy chairs
that made me realize how tired and stiff I was. I wanted to sink into one and
not move for days.

“Please, take a seat. I’ll fix us a tray.
Do you have any dietary restrictions?”

“No, but thank you for asking,” Olivia
said. “We’re both fine.”

“Great, I’ll be back shortly.” With that
he stalked off in his quiet way out of the study.

This guy was too much. Late tea? Art
studio? From his mannerisms to how he spoke and what he wore, he was quite the
character. It was hard to believe he could’ve been involved with Whiteout. Yet
something still nagged at me. When things looked too perfect, it was because
they weren’t. This was a great, carefully put together facade, but one that
could have rot and secrets behind it.

“Do you have a story yet?” I asked Olivia.

“Yes, kind of. It should be good enough to
get us somewhere.” She paused. “But, Ethan, us being here might’ve been a bad
move. If Fearnley is still involved with Whiteout, he’s most definitely going
to be suspicious of us. He might tell someone we’re digging around. We could be
putting ourselves in a lot of danger.”

“Shit, you’re right.” Everything we’d done
so far had been discreet. Investigating my past, going to D.P. Brian wouldn’t
tell anyone we were there. We were never this close to the source. And that was
exactly why we had to keep going. “Things are going to get hot soon. We have to
be ready for it.”

Ready for what? What was Olivia’s goal? It
was a conversation we needed to have.

If one of her goals was to find me and
fulfill her sister’s last wish, she’d succeeded. The issue of her getting
drugged was something entirely separate that still had an ambiguous outcome.
What was she going to do once she knew the truth? My fate was already decided
for me when I decided to help Trisha. I couldn’t stay in Seattle anymore. The Melnikov
family was tricky. They’d let you think you got away with something, then swoop
in and gut you like a fish when you least expected it. I wasn’t going to live
with that.

I could’ve left when we finished at the
D.P. building. I knew my real name. I knew I was in the Whiteout trials,
confirming what I suspected all these years. What kept me with her was a need
to fill in the remaining blanks. I’d been tortured and given a fake identity.
Who did that? Why would they do that instead of kill me? At one point the
Whiteout clinical trials were legitimate. Where did it go wrong?

The sound of glass clattering drew my
attention. Fearnley came in with a silver platter complete with a delicate tea
pot, cups, and cookies. It was the upper crust version of what Lenora Coles
brought to me. I liked her setup better. It had coffee and the cookies didn’t
look like piles of dirt patties.

He set the platter down on a coffee table
in front of us, then settled onto the edge of one of the big chairs. He took
his time pouring, asking if we wanted cream or sugar, then handing us each a
cup. The guy was all about theatrics.

“The wafers are vegan. Coconut oil, chia
seeds, organic fair trade cacao nibs, and agave with a base of almond meal.
Help yourself.”

No thanks.
I wasn’t picky,
but part of me felt like I’d be contaminated with pretentiousness by even a
bite of the cookies.

Olivia smiled then sipped her tea. “Thank
you, we will. Is this chamomile ginger? What a unique flavor combination.”

“I grow and dry the combination myself in
the summer. I’ve got a greenhouse on the roof.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “I
admit, I do have some unusual hobbies. Now that I’ve gotten the pleasantries
out of the way, what can I help you with, Miss Knight?”

I went ahead and let Olivia take the lead.
I wouldn’t say I was the brawn of the operation, but Olivia’s charm and
speaking skills would always trump mine. Instead of talking, I sipped on my
tea, wishing it was coffee, and checked out the hundreds of hardback books
Fearnley had lined up on his bookshelves. Most of them looked like self-help
books on stress, coping with guilt, recovering from loss. I’d read most of them
myself. Scores of them were on medicine and ethics. I wanted to draw a
conclusion from that, but there were novels, too. Cookbooks, art history,
sculpture. He had a bit of everything.

“We wanted to talk to you about your time
at Draper-Paulinsky Pharmaceutical Industries,” Olivia said. She didn’t give a
reason yet. I had a feeling she was testing the waters.

Still, I was impressed she cut to the
chase so quickly. I lowered my cup to the table and gave my full attention to
the conversation.

Fearnley’s smile faltered at the edges and
his eyes narrowed. His shoulder tensed and lifted towards his ears. “Here I was
excited you were interested in my sculptures. D.P.? I haven’t thought of them
in so long. That was a different part of my life. Why are you inquiring?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disappoint.
I’m actually studying to be a drug engineer. I’m sorry if you were confused.”
The lie sounded smooth and natural, and pegging the remark at the end helped.
Unlike Fearnley, Olivia kept her attitude up perfectly. “I’ve had a dream of
creating something to help soldiers with PTSD. Of course, I wanted to see if
there was a precedence for something like that. After months of research I came
across a bit about the Whiteout clinical studies and your name.”

Fucking hell, it was paper thin. Drug
engineer? If Fearnley asked her any occupational questions we were screwed. And
she left herself open for more questions. That didn’t really give Fearnley an
answer as to why we were here. The more questions people asked, the more likely
they were to find the lie. Fortunately for us, he filled in the blank himself.

“And you were wondering why we ended it? I
figured all of this would be on the internet somewhere. What a huge amount of
trouble you must’ve gone through tracking me down.”

I wondered if he was accusing us in some underhanded
way. There was something off about the way he was reacting, like he saw right
through us but was playing along for the hell of it. I couldn’t pinpoint
exactly why I thought that. I had a static sensation along my skin. A sense of
unease.

“Exactly. Could you give me some
background on your time there? I’d just like to get a feel for all of it if
that’s okay with you.” Olivia took a sip of her tea and made that tiny
hmph!
noise she so often did when she strongly liked or disliked something.

Fearnley studied his teacup. Glanced at
me, then back towards Olivia. My palms were sweating and I was very aware of my
heartbeat.

“I’m guessing you know about Jonathan
Draper, then. I was his assistant at D.P. He had a brilliant staff of drug
engineers on his team. Our first year of Whiteout testing showed promise. It
wasn’t magic, but when people took it they tended not to remember what they’d
been doing. But while they were on it they were high functioning; not what
you’d see with Rohypnol or something of that sort. At some point the company
was under scrutiny by the FDA, which was the start of the downturn.”

“Why was that?” Olivia asked.

“Our IRB,” he paused and look at me
pointedly, “Our Institutional Review Board, questioned the ethics of Whiteout
testing.”

I scowled. “The ethics weren’t questioned
until
after
the testing began?”

“No. I’ll admit, Draper wasn’t the most
adoring of the laws of informed consent. I don’t believe we broke any laws, not
directly, but the way in which we presented the drug might have been a bit in
our favor for gaining approval from the FDA to move forward with human
studies.” Fearnley freshened everyone’s tea as he spoke. “Whether you end up
working for a big or small pharmaceutical company, be aware that they’re made
up of people who will do anything they have to in order to get what they want.”

He was playing mind games with us. I was
sure of it. Olivia sent me a reprimanding glare before returning her focus to Fearnley.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Rupert. Do you remember anyone who was on the IRB for
Whiteout?”

He paused and thought. “We had at least
six boards while I was at D.P., one for each of our drugs. We had the minimum
requirement of board members for Whiteout. I remember because I’m the one who
originally sent requests out. We had a physician named Jeff Whittingstall, a
community coordinator named Wanda Christoph. There was an attorney. I don’t
remember his first name, but I know his last was Holloway. Eventually a Dr.
Kidd replaced Whittingstall. There was a professor from the chemistry
department at UW. And of course, Donald Stettler. His concerns focused on
environmental repercussions.”