The Aurora Conspiracies- Volume One Page 3

  Holding her satchel to her chest, she made a run for it, her hips swinging at full tilt until she was out of sight and heading for Neurosciences. Heart racing and calf muscles twinging, she sat on the front entrance steps, out of puff and clutching her ribs. The sweet pain of lactic acid build-up receded from the cramping muscles. Mary took the little Dalai Lama book out once more and contemplated the first few pages. I bet he has had an Out of Body Experience. I suppose he would call it religious enlightenment. I don’t feel enlightened and it could still be the result of a tumour, slowly destroying my sanity. Perhaps I should go to Dan’s bookshop and read up about it, or maybe not. He might think I am stalking him. I’ll look it up on Parth’s iPad later.

  Delving into her bag for a tissue and a handful of Tictacs, she wiped her brow and neck and dragged her long, dark curls back into a ponytail. Holding her bunched locks with one hand, she rifled through the smaller pockets of the satchel for a hair band. A woman tapped her shoulder as she descended the steps, slender and elegant in her grey silk suit and killer heels. Mary looked up at her, dropping her hair and crunching the sweets in preparation for her greeting.

  “Hello, Mary. You look a little distraught. Are you well?” The accent was mild, but conspicuous, natural but undiluted. This was a woman proud of her St. Petersburg roots.

  “Yelena, Hi. I’m fine, thanks. Are you? Well, I mean?”

  “I am very well, thank you. Why are you sitting on the steps?”

  “Waiting for your meeting with Parth to finish.” She squinted at her friend, angling the little book over her forehead to shield her from the sun.

  “Oh. He told you about that, did he? Yes, we had to discuss a new piece of equipment he ordered recently.” Only the languid sweep of her eyelids across her impassive gaze, signified her as a living, breathing human being. Her mastery over emotion was second to none.

  Mary locked her expression. She half expected the lie, but hoped for a different response. It saddened her that both her husband and friend could fabricate the truth so easily. She couldn’t look up at Yelena’s sculpted face, those almond eyes would detect Mary’s disappointment. Yelena continued, “I will be wearing a sage green full length gown for the ball. I trust you will be in your usual black?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Black.” Mary began packing the mints and book back into her bag.

  “You are… out of sorts today?” Yelena stepped sideways, blocking the glare of the sun and casting Mary in shadow.

  “No, no, everything is fine. Well, no, everything is not fine, to tell the truth.” She fastened and re-fastened the buckles on her satchel.

  “You would like for us to talk about your problem?” Yelena tilted her head, listening intently.

  Oh, you moron, Mary. Filter your feelings before you open your big mouth. Quick, think of something to say other than, why are you and my husband texting about being docile?

  “Your husband is very cross with me. I think he’s going to issue me with another formal reprimand. One more, and I swear he’ll give me the boot.” Mary tried to look suitably troubled.

  “The boot?”

  “Sorry. Sack me. He is holding me responsible for some damaged electrical equipment. Yelena, I really like my job, I don’t want to lose it.” It shocked her just how much she meant it.

  “I will speak with Cyril, leave him to me. No one will be losing their job. I suggest you get up from steps and dry your eyes. Grandmother would say sitting on cold concrete give you haemorrhoids.” Yelena sashayed down the remaining stairs, her rich auburn bob flaring at her ears with each step.

  Chapter Three

  Parth hung from the handgrip of the glass door. “Mary, come on love, I’ll take you through.” The reception desk was Yosef’s domain, a burly chap who always wore a genuine smile.

  “Hello again, Mrs Arora. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. We have you booked in for tomorrow evening.” He scrolled through the calendar on his screen, then activated the scanning peripherals.

  “I know, I know. He’s making me have more tests.” She stuck a thumb out towards Parth. Yosef grinned at her. He liked to see Mary teasing his boss.

  “I’ll sign you in, if you could just swipe you ID badge across the scanner for me, please.” Yosef tapped away at some commands on his computer and a small printer spat out her access card. It had Zone One & Two in big red letters beneath her photograph and a bar code to the side. He clipped a lanyard to the card and handed it to Mary.

  “Cheers, Yosef.” Parth said, then swiped his own ID through the access point, opened the door and allowed Mary to pass through under his outstretched arm.

  They passed quickly through Zone One – conference rooms and education suites, a lecture hall and a couple of ground floor student labs. Zone Two, was where the medical equipment and examination rooms were.

  “We need to take some blood samples, honey. Do you want me to do it or the nurse?” Parth hurried her along, grasping her arm and dictating their speed. Mary scurried to keep up.

  “Please, can you do it? You know how much I hate needles.” She leaned in and whispered “Plus, I don’t think Nurse Ratchet over there likes me very much.”

  The nurse pretended not to hear, placed the tray of sealed sterilised tubes and syringes down on a table and left the examination room. Parth was out of practice. He hadn’t drawn blood since his medical school days, but he refused to let his nerves show.

  Mary exposed her arm and helped him to adjust the strapping on the tourniquet. “Look away now, honey. Sharp scratch.” Parth having found a vein first time, secured the needle in place with surgical tape, clicked a labelled glass phial into the open syringe and released the strapping on her arm. Blood flowed rapidly into the tube. Unclipping and securing the lid, he removed the needle and pressed a ball of cotton wool to the injection site. “All done. It’s like riding a bike.” He recorded the date, initialled the label on the phial and then gave Mary the paperwork to sign for the scan. She began reading it as they shuffled down the corridor to the waiting room next to the MRI suite.

  The radiology nurse glanced at the wall clock and then back at Mary, who sat scraping the toes of her canvas shoes against the floor tiles beneath her plastic chair.

  “Won’t be long, Mrs Arora, we’re running a bit late. If you could start taking off jewellery, watches and anything metallic, and I’ll come and collect you in a few minutes.” She pitched Mary a one-smile-fits-all, generic expression and disappeared behind the heavy swing door.

  “I think you are over reacting, Parth. I don’t think I even need this scan. I’ve always had migraines. If it was anything sinister, I’d be dead by now. My dad had them, bless him, and old Grampy still gets them, occasionally, although that might be his fondness for Ruby Port. Don’t let me forget to send his card. Let’s get him one of those lovely hampers this year. I swear he neglects himself.”

  Parth opened his mouth to reply, stealing himself in case her anxious prattle continued unabated, then when it failed to materialise he ventured a tentative, “Yes, dear,” and patted her knee.

  “Why is your department always so hot? It’s positively tropical. Reminds me of our trip to the Amazon, do you remember?” She toyed with a stubborn curl of hair that refused to stay tucked behind her ear.

  “Yes, dear.”

  The nurse reappeared. “We’re ready for you now, Mrs Arora.”

  “Right, yes. Thank you. Parth, will you take my handbag with you into the computer suite?” Mary bundled her leather satchel into her husband’s arms and followed the nurse into the MRI unit.

  “If you could just go behind the screen, Mrs Arora, and put this gown on. No need to remove your trousers, it’s only your head we’re interested in,” another stiff smile.

  Mary complied, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself before unbuttoning her blouse. “What about my bra?”

  “Does it have an underwire?” The nurse stood at the edge of the screen, keeping her sight fixed on her clipboard.

  “Y
es, it does.”

  “Then you had better take that off too. We don’t want it slipping up and throttling you, do we?” The nurse trotted out her standardised quip, followed by a forced chuckle, which prompted a polite, “No, quite” from her patient.

  “Just to confirm your answers to our questionnaire on the release form then, Mrs Arora, you have no pacemaker, metal implants, stents or shunts, loose oral bridgework and no metal fragments in your eyes?”

  “Yes. I mean No.” The nurse peered over her spectacles waiting for a definitive answer. “I mean, yes, that’s correct. I have none of those things.”

  “And you have removed all objects from visible and um, less than visible piercings?”

  Mary frowned. The nurse pointed to her own, ample bosoms and repeated herself, “less visible piercings?”

  “Oh God no. There are no less visible piercings.” She shook her head with vigour.

  “And you have read the pamphlet about the procedure?” The nurse followed the list of questions down the board with her biro.

  “Yes, twice.” Mary stood in her hospital gown with her arms limp by her sides, swallowing back the resurgence of unprocessed tea in her gullet. The dark circles from her restless night accentuated her high cheekbones. A little orphaned waif.

  “Good. Hop up onto the platform for me, please.”

  Mary looked over her shoulder at the machine behind her. It loomed large, like a gigantic mechanical monstrosity hiding its menace beneath a veneer of beige enamel. Its circular face dominated by a tubular mouth and a long, tongue-like bed, protruding rudely. I am voluntarily feeding myself to this computerised leviathan. She half expected to see saliva trickling down the edges of the platform as she sat, gingerly at first, then swung her legs up and settled centrally on the hygienic paper sheet covering the narrow bed.

  “If you could place the back of your head onto this block, Mrs Arora…that’s right, then this cage clips across your face, like so.”

  What the hell? Now I’m placing my head between its molars. Are they sacrificing me to their Gods, Watson and Crick? Her stomach cried mournfully, twisting and writhing in sympathy for her motionless limbs.

  “Did we forget breakfast this morning, Mrs Arora? Not to worry, it’ll all be over in an hour or so.”

  “An hour?”

  “Yes. Now then, when I adjust the mirror in your halo, you tell me when you can see Dr Arora, sorry, your husband, in the booth at the rear of the room. That’s right, give him a little wave. Now you must not move a muscle or we will have to start all over again. The panic button is next to your index finger – here.” Manually manoeuvring Mary’s hand, the nurse helped her to locate the smooth, cold button standing proud from a plastic shape. Instinct told her it would be bright red if she could see it.

  “But like I said” the nurse continued, “if you move or press it, we would have to start all over again. It’ll be very noisy, so these headphones will play some music and the doctor can talk to you through them, from the booth.” It was a time-worn speech, delivered day in, day out in a monotone drawl, the pace dictated by the proximity to lunchtime. “In you pop then.” Pressing a combination of switches on the control panel, Mary moved in jerky thrusts into the yawning maw of the beast.

  A throbbing blood rush coursed behind her ears. Her breath oscillated in her chest. The bitter tang of bile passed her tonsils. She tamed the secretion with a controlled swathe of spittle. The last quota of moisture her mouth could supply. Focus on Parth in that little window – he’s smiling, everything is fine. I can do this. She told herself, willing her body to cooperate with her demands. Her entire physique was now cocooned in a cylinder, inches from her face.

  “Just raising the platform now, Mrs Arora.” Her voice was indistinct.

  Is she mocking me? Surely there can be no room to…I was wrong. If she raises me another centimetre, this torture contraption around my face will shatter. Her pulse hammered through her spine, making her breaths shallow and ragged.

  “I’m feeling dizzy, Parth. I don’t like this.”

  He clicked the intercom and his tinny voice seeped from the crackling headphones, “A touch of claustrophobia, darling. Give it a minute and you’ll acclimatise. I’ll put Mahler’s 5th on, you like that.”

  Soothing viola strings washed over her mind like an anaesthetic for her soul. She closed her eyes. I can do this. I can do this. Stay still. I can…do this.

  “Just cranking the machine up now, Mary.”

  “You mean it isn’t even switched on yet?” She tensed her leg and stomach muscles, stilling the tremor that threatened to engulf her.

  A deep, all-encompassing hum, emanated from the electronic creature and Mary could feel an odd pulling sensation in all directions at once.

  “First scan is a relatively quick one, sagittal plane through the cranium, that’s head to toe direction, honey. Hold still.”

  A loud clunking superseded the humming noise as heavy magnets moved into position and locked into place. I can do this, keep still. Don’t embarrass Parth in front of his colleague. Slow, deep breaths.

  It began. Mahler faded into the background as the pendulum of judder-clunk, judder-clunk found its noisy rhythm around her. The pulling sensation grew. Her temples shrank into her skull and a sharp pain branched in a spider’s web of parallel pathways throughout her brain.

  “Parth, I think I’m going to throw up.” She swallowed hard, trying not to move her face.

  The intercom connection clicked on. “Bear with it, darling. You’ll be okay.”

  “I’m serious, Parth. It hurts. Can you stop it, please?”

  “You have probably wound yourself up to the start of a migraine. Stay still, the first one is almost over.”

  It was Beethoven now, his piano concerto number twenty-one, interrupted by her echoing husband. “Next one takes a little longer, Mary, axial plane.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. She could see him in her cage mirror, chatting and laughing with the nurse. More whirring and thumping as the magnets repositioned, and then a deafening buzz that Beethoven could not compete with. As soon as the machine started, a searing pain shot across her head, gnawing at her brain before volleying back again. She squinted into the gloom. Is the cylinder tightening around me? Is this the final digestive constriction as the creature devours me? Now I know how Captain Ahab felt. She was close to passing out, then she remembered the panic button. She pressed down hard. A lamp started to blink in the booth and an alarm sounded. Parth clicked the intercom, “Almost there, Mary. You’re doing very well.”

  “Get me out! It hurts. It hurts a lot!” She panted, the noise of the machine drowning out her thumping heartbeats.

  “It’s electromagnetism, silly. It’s painless. You’re over halfway through.” Mary could see him in the halo mirror. He was still smiling at the nurse.

  “GET ME OUT, NOW!” There was a low rumbling sound. The platform shook beneath her, as the magnets fell from their choreographed positions and clanged together in submission to gravity’s pull at the base of the machine. An over powering smell of molten plastic caught in her throat, as the electronic panel cooked the circuit board inside. A wisp of smoke curled like tendrils towards the ceiling. The magnetic behemoth was finally dead. Her pain subsided but the panic remained. In the confined space, she grappled with the cage that still imprisoned her head, trying frantically to locate the securing clip, but only succeeding in dislodging the mirror. The lack of visibility, unnerved her all the more. She dug her heels into the thin platform cushion and tried to drag herself free but her knees grazed the top of the cylinder. Her feet slipped on the paper sheet. She heard the booth door open.

  “What did you do? Have you any idea how much this machine cost?” Parth ran around to the control panel. A brown, foul stinking slurry dripped from the switches onto the floor. The nurse freed Mary from the jaws of the carcass.

  “I’m just fine, thanks for asking.” She sat on the edge of the platform tugging at her gown.

 
“Oh yes, sorry. Are you alright?" He strode back towards her, scooping her up in his arms.

  Mary allowed him to embrace her, pat her back ineffectually and murmur his usual kind words. Her arms hung loose by her sides. She could sense his gaze fixating on the control panel of the machine and his heart quicken in his chest.

  “We got one decent scan done before it, um… come, have a look.” Parth ushered his wife into the booth. The nurse followed, until Mary threw her a venomous glare that induced an involuntary shudder. Blinking rapidly, the nurse said; “I’ll just um…” and then she left via the heavy swing door.

  They sat in front of the triple spread monitors. Parth wittered on for a while, pointing at various segments of the brain sections on the screen. “Remarkable. Look, darling. See how the pineal gland in this mid sagittal section is enlarged?”

  “No.”

  “This bit here…” Parth pointed with a pen nib to a small pea-like structure in the very centre of the picture. “It’s quite large relative to your brain size. We also spotted from this image,” His biro wagged at the next screen, “that strangely, like Albert Einstein, you have a similar truncated Sylvian Fissure.” He offered her a goofy grin, turning his face to watch hers.

  “Meaning what exactly?” Mary kept her focus on the screen, determined not to cave in to his antics.