Double Take (4 page)

Russo set Dyer into the backseat of their rental and closed the door, then joined Henry and Torrez, who was standing with Burden a few feet away. The SFPD men had their arms folded across their chests.

Burden spoke first. “The captain told me that Dyer killed Ms. Dettlinger. He said you’d explain the rest.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s best that we just leave it at that, okay?” Russo turned, but Burden spoke up.

“No, not okay. This is my case, and if I'm gonna have an unsolved on my record—or worse, if I’m gonna let a murderer go free—I deserve an explanation.”

Torrez’s face was hard. “Tell him, Carmine. Or I will.”

Russo shared a cold stare with his friend.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Torrez said. “You asked me to stick my neck out as a personal favor, and I did that. Once. I can’t have a murderer running around loose in my city—”

Russo held up a hand. “Now wait just a fuckin’ minute, Harmon—”

“I’d like to know what the hell’s going on,” Burden said. “For chrissake, we had another guy in custody for this.”

“That was going to be taken care of,” Torrez said through clenched teeth. “Wasn’t it, Carmine?”

Russo rubbed his eyes with a thick hand. He looked around, made sure no one was in earshot. But the lot was empty and the wind was so fierce that any speech would be carried away and harmlessly dispersed over the city below. He glanced at the doctor, and then turned back to Burden. “Dr. Henry here is engaged in a top secret military project.” He nodded at Henry to continue, who gave Russo a look of reticence.

Finally, apparently realizing that he had little choice, Henry said, “I’m not at liberty to disclose the more sensitive aspects of the project, and I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but given the circumstances...” Henry glanced at Russo, and then continued. “We’ve been prepping trials on a drug, Propanalol-d, to treat post-traumatic stress disorder. I work for a special branch of the military. DARPA, ever hear of it?”

“They develop cutting edge technologies for the Army,” Burden said.

Henry frowned. “That makes ’em sound like some high tech Silicon Valley startup. Truth is, they’ve been around for over 50 years. They’re responsible for research and development of the kinds of innovations that’ve kept the US military ahead of its enemies. Ballistic missile defense, GPS, the Internet, robotic systems, thought-controlled prosthetic arms—and dozens of other things you’ve never heard about.”

“And this post-traumatic stress drug is one of those ‘innovations’?”

“Detective Dyer is the first human to use it in an uncontrolled setting.” Henry cleared his throat. “This was not a sanctioned experiment. Lieutenant Russo’s an old friend, and when he told me about what had happened with Ben—Detective Dyer—I knew I had something that could make a difference in the young man’s life. I knew him when he was a little kid.”

“I don’t understand how this drug could help,” Burden said. “What’s done is done. Nothing’s gonna change the facts or bring his fiancé back.”

Henry turned slightly against a brisk gust of wind, appeared to debate whether or not to proceed, but then said, “When we remember a trauma, our brainstem releases noradrenaline, which tells the amygdala to strengthen that memory, ‘burning’ it in, making it more traumatic. This new PTSD drug, Propanolol-d, blocks this.”

“Try that again,” Burden said, “without the ten dollar words.”

“That
was
the dumbed down version.” Henry gathered his thoughts, and then started over. “Memories are created by chemicals in the brain. If we alter those chemicals, we can alter those memories. Bury them beyond the mind’s reach.” He held out his hands as if it couldn’t be simpler than that. “Bottom line is that post-traumatic stress disorder is a debilitating condition for millions of Americans, and this drug has shown significant promise.”

“What you’re saying is that Detective Dyer was given some experimental drug that wiped his memory, so he doesn’t remember killing his girlfriend.”

“Close enough,” Russo said. “Thing is, this kid’s important to me. Raised him like a son, you hear? We keep this to ourselves. I don’t want him serving no time, losing his career.”

“Losing his career?” Burden asked. “He’s a murderer, for chrissake. And he still carries a gun—”

“I put blanks in the magazine, he wasn’t gonna hurt no one,” Russo said.

Burden laughed sarcastically. “All due respect. He didn’t
shoot
Amy Dettlinger.”

Russo balled his hand into a fist. “It was an accident. He found out she’d been having an affair behind his back. He went looking for her, to find out why, just to talk to her, and things got outta hand. He pushed her, game over. It happens.”

“It happens?” Torrez stepped forward and spoke near Russo’s ear. “Jesus, Carmine, this ain’t ’Nam.”

“I know it ain’t ’Nam, Harmon. I’m not trying to diminish Amy’s death. Thing is, Ben Dyer’s not a killer. He did a fuckin’ stupid thing, something he’d never done before. He pushed her. If the range ain’t there in that exact spot, she’s here to talk about it. You saw the crime scene, the forensics report.”

“Friendship aside,” Torrez said, “that’s the only reason I agreed to this.”

Burden shook his head. “Twenty years in the department, thought I’d seen it all.” He turned and walked back toward his car.

Henry threw a concerned look at Russo, and then headed off after the detective.

“The Department of Defense is very concerned about this…episode,” Russo said. “Dr. Henry has to prepare a report. We need this to be a clean solution here. Can’t be anything that could threaten the drug trials, its future as a legitimate therapy.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you gave your guy an experimental drug and left him alone.”

Russo examined his friend’s face. “Fair enough. It’s on me, I get that. But let’s not lose sight of the good this drug can do. You and I, we’ve seen what PTSD does to people. We’ve lived it. Now that doesn’t have to happen no more. But—you blow the lid off this thing, if the media finds out about it—it’s gonna die a fast death. Don’t let that happen. Lots of American servicemen could use something like this to help them lead a productive life.”

“So now it’s my fault.”

“Not sayin’ that, Harmon. I just— I gotta know. Burden gonna cause trouble?”

Torrez turned to look over his shoulder. Burden was talking with Henry outside the Ford Taurus. “I’ll sit down with him, explain what’s at stake. He's a good inspector. Committed, honest. This whole thing runs against everything he’s about. But, he owes me. Big. I think he’ll be okay.” He swung his gaze back to Russo and stuck out an index finger. “But if Dyer shows up here again, Burden won’t keep quiet, and I’ll be fucked big time. And so will you. The Department of Defense—which, as you know, isn’t on my list of favorite government agencies—will be out for blood. And all the promise this drug might have will be flushed down the goddamn toilet.”

With that, Torrez turned and followed Burden’s footsteps back to their car.

THE PULSE OF LIGHTNING STROBED against the far wall outside Dr. Henry’s surgical suite. Four days had passed since the last time Carmine Russo stood here, electrical storm raging outside. Although the circumstances were nearly identical, he hoped to God the results would be different.

It was the feeling of Henry and several neuroscientist colleagues on his DARPA research team that another round of drug therapy would have no adverse effects—even with the increased dosage he had prepared. But since Dyer was the first human trial, it was hard to know how his brain chemistry would respond.

The door to the treatment room swung open. Henry stepped out and joined Russo near the window. “Same thing, cancerous tumor on the foot. I put some fresh sutures in. He won’t have any reason to question it.”

“I’m gonna take some sick time, put him up at my house. Babysit him. And I’m gonna tell him Amy was killed in a car accident. May be more painful, but at least he won’t go searching for her again. He’s too fuckin’ persistent.”

Henry grunted. “It’s what makes him such a good detective.”

They stood there a long moment, watching bolts of lightning dart across the sky. Russo sighed long and deeply. “Wish we could completely wipe Amy Dettlinger from his memory.”

“That’s a bit beyond this drug’s capabilities. For now. But maybe someday, Carmine.” He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Maybe someday.”

A few years ago, I read an article about a new drug being developed by the military that aimed to suppress traumatic memories in returning soldiers from Iraq and Afghanistan who suffered from PTSD. It showed great promise and trials were planned. The concept behind
Double Take
came to me immediately, and although it represented a little different type of story for me—it has a Twilight Zone/Outer Limits feel with an O. Henry twist—I found the idea intriguing.

Surprisingly, the concept of giving someone the ability to forget traumatic incidents can actually be traced back to Shakespeare's Macbeth:

“Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd,

Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,

Raze out the written troubles of the brain,

And with some sweet oblivious antidote

Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff

Which weighs upon the heart?”

It's hard to believe that four centuries ago Shakespeare mused about a pill (“Some sweet oblivious antidote”) that can “Cleanse...that perilous stuff/Which weighs upon the heart.” It was prescient and almost Jules Vernian in nature.

That said, Propranolol is a real drug that, presently, has shown the ability to wipe away painful memories in certain PTSD patients. However, this research is still ongoing, and the hope is that we'll eventually have much greater success in helping these people deal with their traumatic pasts. As is the case with many therapies designed to alter the mind, Propranolol is not without ethical debates, particularly among biomedical ethicists. Some scientists theorize that we are the sum of all our memories, and that these memories, good and bad, define our sense of self: we learn from our traumatic pasts, just as we are moved and shaped by strongly positive experiences. Depriving us of the memories of these traumas prevents us from growing as individuals.

Still, the mind is a powerful and poorly understood thing. Traumatic memories can act as a form of perpetual and internal torture, and if Propranolol can safely blunt such effects for those hopelessly imprisoned, it could be a powerful and necessary treatment for soldiers, and ordinary citizens, thus afflicted.

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