Chapter 1: Part 7, Free Association
A burning cramp started to develop in his diaphragm as the concentration of lactic acid started to build up. The effects of oxygen deprivation were taking their toll on more than one level of his physiology. While his muscles were feeling constricted by the limits of motion his mind roamed boundlessly in the realm of free association.
Out of a formless void a cloud started to take shape. It was a dark storm cloud that transitioned from deep black at the center to slate gray approaching the outside. A cold silver shine on the outer edge gave it a distinct form as if lit from behind by a cold moon. The glinting silver lining had a metallic property that approached the gleaming edge of sharp blade. Unlike the serrated edge of a common kitchen knife this blade had the calculated curve that dissected the cloud with the surgical precision of a scalpel. A long deep incision trailed the mirrored edge as a crimson path traced its way smoothly from the sternum to the carotid artery.
A barely perceptible breath passed over chapped lips as an inaudible curse was muttered breaking his stream of consciousness. Years of studying pranayama forced him to slow his breathing to an imperceptible activity in an attempt to regain his composure. A circular motion of air passed oxygen into his pulmonary system and out in one seamingly seemless motion.
Regrouping his thoughts he decided to continue with the disconcerting image of the cadaver. As he focused on the still nature of the corpse, the immobility of the body reminded him of his current yogic position. The western name of this position was called "The Rock" due to the rigid posture that forced the individual into a painful contortion for hours. All this was endured to hopefully achieve enlightened moments where clarity of thought reigns. The cold gray granite that sits in so many New England yards held more visible life then what moved over his exterior. He was the living embodiment of stone, more emotion had been observed in the face of New Hampshire's Old Man of the Mountain. The stormy gray stone gave way to the ashen hue of deep morbid lividity.
Eric's stone facade crumbled as the image of the body came crashing back into his mind, just as the face of the Old Man of the Mountain fell one clouded morning in the summer of 2003. His mind kept returning to that thought like some perverse game of "Six ways to Kevin Bacon". Eric stretched out his long sinewy legs as the perimeter of his Cambridge condo swam back into view. The whole day had been a waste as far as he was concerned and this was just the icing on the cake. He had spent the whole day in a self-imposed confinement within his 1200 sq. ft. flat.
Ever since his days at MIT he would rather be in a lecture, doing lab work, doing something, anything rather than being stuck in a place where he couldn't network. If there was any one skill set learned at school that he could say was the most valuable it would have to be the ability to network. It was this skill that allowed him to get into the doctoral program at MIT. While there he had continued to grow his web of colleagues and associates. His quick wit and brilliant observations in cellular degradation brought on by sepsis had caught the attention of Manouj Sinharma the director of collaborative research.
Manouj had been courting a rising biotech firm out in California that was interested in some research being done at their sister school. Manouj had sent Eric out to meet with Hans Delholme the CEO of the firm. This initial meeting along with some of Eric's networking had eventually laid the groundwork for the formation of Vion. Hans had respected Eric's abilities and extended a research position at the new company to him. Eric had known that the position was coming, in a way you could say that the position was Eric's idea. Through subtle hints and numerous consultations during the merger Eric had planted the seed in Hans' mind. After almost a year of coaxing Eric had gotten that seed to take root. In the fall of 2000 Eric moved from academia into the private sector, into a position he created. Things had been falling into place just the way he wanted, except for this.
The phone rang bringing him back to full consciousness. Picking up the receiver he answered in a slow deliberate fashion so as to give the impression of being awoken. "Hello... Yes... Could you give me anymore information?" He tried his best to sound confused "Sure... I'll be right there. Give me a half hour to freshen up." He hung the phone up and stood there assessing his situation. Even though they didn't tell him, he knew why they had called. There had been a break-in at the lab. What puzzled him though, was why they had waited so long to call.
His thoughts cleared as he turned the steaming shower to ice cold, a ritual he did at the end of every shower. He stepped out and wrapped a warm towel around him. Pulling on a deep blue cardigan he noticed how it brought out the blue in his hazel eyes. He slide into casual brown corduroy pants that he felt went well with the sweater. They can wait he thought as he made an espresso. Sipping the hot coffee helped him to regain more of his usual composure as the bitter tasting drink warmed him. He threw on a navy pea coat and felt for his ID badge, keys and cell. As he exited his complex his cell phone started to ring. He looked down and saw that it was Jen... She must be a nervous wreck he thought. He did't answer...
posted by Wesker at 1:22 PM
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