Prologue

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May 1972   Los Angeles, California

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Loser.

   Bruce Hanover glanced at the word scribbled on crumpled paper taped to his dresser mirror. Cringing, he gulped the last of his cola and then slammed the covers of his neurology book. Throughout his life, books had been his safety net. As a child, they were his only friends. Even now, as a med student, the memory of childhood insults still hurt. Playground barbs cut deeper than a switchblade and left permanent scars. With his research project soon due, tonight was the game changer.

​

   Notepapers were scattered across the worn carpeting of his cramped studio apartment. Bruce pulled on a pair of semi-clean socks he found beneath his wrinkled sheets and wandered into the living room. Stretching his arm under the couch, he grabbed his sneakers. Through the cracked window, his gaze settled on the dark clouds cascading with rain. He closed his eyes, letting the rhythm of the rain soothe his soul. His friend Henry Robinson would arrive any minute.

​

   A clap of thunder startled him. What’s taking Henry so long? He’d wait a while longer. The neurology room his lab group had reserved for the night was only a block away. Last week they drew straws to choose the guinea pig for their test responses of different stimuli. Bruce’s heart grew heavy at the memory of Henry’s pale face when he picked the shortest straw. They played the game fairly. Someone had to lose.

​

   Bruce glimpsed at his watch and dialed Henry’s number on the wall phone, gripping the handset. “You should’ve been here by now. Where are you?”

​

   “Sorry, man. I needed to finish my shift. I got some overtime,” Henry said.

​

   Bruce tried to keep his blood pressure from spiraling. “You can’t keep working these long hours. I’ll head out and stall the others. Hurry.”

​

   He raced across the street in the downpour and headed toward the entrance of the Health Sciences building. How much longer could Henry continue working multiple jobs? Never had Bruce met a man more driven. His own life might be complicated, but Henry’s life was as hard as putting socks on a rooster. The guy was always the last to leave the lab, the last to leave the library, and the last to go to bed.

​

   Bruce shook his wet hair as he squeaked through the hallway. He crept toward one of his lab partners, A.C. Toole, making out with a girl behind the stairwell. “Howdy, y’all.”

​

   The couple jumped and untangled their arms.

​

   “This storm is a frog strangler. I wish I had a Stetson to keep me dry.” Bruce smirked as A.C.’s girlfriend lowered her face and straightened her blouse. “Millie, it’s good to see you again.” He turned to A.C. “Aren’t we meeting upstairs?”

​

   “I was on my way, but I bumped into Millie.” A.C. winked at the girl.

​

   Bruce help back a laugh. “I didn’t realize theater majors took classes in the Health Science building.”

​

   A natural beauty, her face turned a vivid scarlet. “Sometimes I run into A.C. when I cut through the building…to avoid the rain.” Her brown eyes sparkled when she spoke.

​

   “My mistake. Can’t have you getting caught in the rain.”

​

   “Oh, Bruce. I just love your Texas accent.” She blew A.C. a kiss and turned back to Bruce. “I hear your group has a secret weapon to make your project stand out.”

​

   He shot a glance at A.C. and frowned. A.C. knew better than to leak the information. “I reckon you could say that. We should finish this evening.”

​

   Millie picked up her canvas backpack and pressed her chest against A.C. “Will I see you tonight?”

​

   A.C. handed her the umbrella. “I’ll let you know. It will be late. After the experiment we have to write the final presentation.”

​

   Bruce swallowed his laughter as Millie pursed her lips. “I’ll wait up to hear from you.” She lifted her head, leaned in closer, and kissed A.C. “Call me after you finish.”

​

   A.C. kept his stare glued to her hips as she swayed down the hallway.

​

   Bruce whacked A.C.’s shoulder. “Are you crazy? Of all times to get involved with a girl, you choose now—at the end of the semester. Don’t let her ruin your goals. Even your dad and grandfather waited until after med school to get involved with a girl.”

​

   A.C. picked up his notebook from the bottom stair. “There’s nothing written that says I can’t hold a career and still enjoy a love life. I think Millie’s the one.

​

   There’s no reasoning with a man in love. He wouldn’t fall into that trap. “Don’t do anything stupid. Come on. We should go. Charles will go ballistic if we’re late.” They took the stairs, two at a time. “Please tell me you didn’t tell her about the plant.”

​

   “Chill out. I didn’t tell her anything.”

​

   “Good. Because we worked too hard this year to risk ruining everything. Tonight’s more important than you know.” My family will finally realize I’m not a loser.

​

   On the fourth floor, Bruce pulled open the lab door and entered.

​

   His colleague Charles poured a milky solute into the Erlenmeyer flask. “It’s about time.”

​

   Bruce glanced at the wall clock. Twenty minutes late. Dang. “Sorry, Chuck.”

​

   Charles gave a scornful glare. “I told you not to call me that name. Where’s Henry? He was supposed to prepare the analyzer. Doesn’t anyone care about this assignment?” He glowered at them before turning his head again to the flask. “I should’ve done this whole project myself.”

​

   “Quit your bellyaching.” Bruce turned to A.C. and muttered, “Charles is all hat and no cattle.”

​

   “What the hell does that mean?”

​

   He grinned at A.C.’s reply. These East Coast folks didn’t know anything. “He’s a big talker. You know—full of himself.”

​

    “You and your Texas sayings.” A.C. shook his head and uncovered the bulky machine on the counter.

​

   “I’ll help set up the analyzer, Chuck.” Ignoring Chuck’s glare, Bruce unpacked the wire probes from a box. “I’m tired of his condescending attitude,” he whispered to A.C. as the two connected wires to the machine.

​

   A.C. mumbled, “Don’t let him get to you. He knows this project is our ticket to any neuroscience doctorate program in the country.”

 

   As Charles swirled the pale solution in the glass vessel, Bruce stifled a smirk. With his tangled hair and perpetual frown, Charles looked the part of a quintessential mad scientist.

​

   “I cultivated two more shrubs in my apartment,” Charles said. “We’ll have enough aparistine to extract.”

​

   Bruce turned his head to A.C. “I wish we didn’t need him. He’s been obsessed with this project since the professor assigned it.”

 

   A.C. connected the last wire. “Yes, but we’re lucky to be working with him. The other groups are going to shit when they learn we tested a drug as one of the stimuli.”

​

   “The rest of the class is only testing motor function,” Charles said loudly, as if to let them know he’d heard their whispers. “Wait until everyone finds out we’re correlating dopamine drug activity to areas of mood and behavior. This project is ingenious, and we’ll have the edge. All thanks to me.”

​

   “You’re full of yourself,” Bruce said. “We all pitched in.”

​

   Charles scoffed. “Who extracted aparistine from the shrub?”

​

   Straightening, Bruce glared at Charles. “You did. But Henry and A.C. developed the analyzer, and I studied theories on dopamine pathways.”

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   “And where is Henry?” Charles turned around the room. “It’s obvious he isn’t serious about this project.”

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   Bruce massaged his chest. “He should be here any minute. You know he works. Is your part ready?”

​

   Charles arched his brow. “The drug will be finished soon.” He set the flask on the wire gauze above the Bunsen burner. “Relax or you’ll have another panic attack.”

​

   “Relax? How can I relax?” Bruce clamped his fists in a tight ball. What he wouldn’t do to give A.C. a knuckle sandwich. Charles had some nerve. The man’s wealth didn’t entitle him to berate others.

​

   One. Two. Three… Calm down. The entire group was under stress.

​

   Despite their different backgrounds, Bruce got along with Henry and A.C. ; the three often visited Henry’s family in southern California during long weekends. Charles, however, was a rogue searching for his next craft. Tension plagued the room with him around.

​

   “There’s a lot riding on this project.” Bruce’s response held a note of impatience. “I can’t wait to see if we can demonstrate that drugs carry a direct dopamine pathway in the brain.”

​

   “Don’t forget the impact on the pharmaceutical arena,” Charles said. “I was the one who refined the aparistine from my plant into a powder.”

​

   Bruce stared with an open mouth. “We’re not simply isolating compounds, you idiot. We’re mapping out dopamine’s pathways in the brain.”

​

   He waved his hand at Bruce’s objection. “Same idea.”

​

   With hands fisted, Bruce stepped toward Charles.

​

   Henry sprinted into the lab. “Sorry I’m late.”

​

   Charles gave a sour expression. “Henry Robinson. Glad you decided to join us.”

​

   Henry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped rain or sweat from his forehead. “Had a party of twelve. Wanted to wait for the tip.” He slipped off his jacket and hung it on the wall hook. “Did you prepare the drug?”

​

   “Almost done.” Charles turned off the gas valve and snickered. “In a few minutes, you’ll give it a shot…or a sniff.”

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   Bruce folded his arms. “This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes.”

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   Using metal forceps, Charles picked up the hot vessel with the test precipitate. He inverted the flask, and with a gentle flick of the wrist, tapped the powder on the filter paper.

​

   Bruce peered at the drug. “It’s translucent.”

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   Charles nodded. “The chemical crystallizes during the extraction process. It’s almost colorless.”

​

   Henry strode over to Charles and Bruce. “Is the analyzer prepared?”

​

   A.C. tore the printout from the machine. “Calibration’s finished.”

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   Henry took a deep breath. “I guess we’re ready.”

​

   A chilled fear twisted around Bruce’s heart. “Wait! Maybe we should rethink this.”

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   “Bull shit! Are you crazy?” Charles said, his eyes widening.

​

   Bruce studied Henry. Yesterday, he had no problem hiding his concern.

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   Henry coughed. “The project’s due tomorrow. We can’t waste time. Attach the electrodes. Let’s get this over with.”

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   Bruce’s heart pounded against his chest. “We have enough data charting motor signals. Maybe we don’t need to do behavior studies with a drug.”

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   Charles glared.

​

   “Dammit. We’re not skipping this part.” Charles raised his arms in the air. “Do you want us to be like the other mediocre class projects? We’ve worked on this for months. It’s too late to chicken out now. There’s a race to map dopamine activity in the brain. We’ll be ahead of the others if we can locate areas of activity and prove multiple pathways. This shit we discover tonight will open prospects of studying future receptor sites.”

​

   Heat flooded his face. “Fine. Go on with it.”

​

   “Henry, sit here.” A.C. pointed to a chair. “We’re documenting any sensations you experience so be specific when you speak. We’ll compare them to the analyzer’s recordings.”

​

   Bruce helped A.C. place the wire electrodes around Henry’s head.

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   Henry’s face turned crimson. “I’m not responsible if I say anything that makes me sound like a jackass.”

​

   Bruce smiled. Fat chance. Henry was the most mild-mannered guy in the group.

​​

   A.C. ran a background reading and nodded. Charles picked up the paper and handed Henry the powder.

​​

   “Here goes.” Henry drew in a long breath. His hands trembled as he raised the drug to his nostrils. He pressed the right side of his nose, and with a quick sniff, the powder disappeared.

​​

   Bruce held his breath. Could the others hear his heart pounding over the humming ventilation system? He waited.

​​

   Henry breathed through his nose. In. Out. In. Out.

​​

   “Dammit!” Charles said. “Speak! How do you feel?”

​​

   Henry lifted his head and smiled. “Euphoric. God, what a feeling!”

​​

   Bruce watched Henry’s blissful expression. Were the others envious of Henry’s dreamlike countenance, too?

​​

   Henry opened his arms wide, as if to hug the world. “I’m having a mind out-of-body experience. So surreal.”

​​

   A.C. turned to the chart recordings on the analyzer.

​​

   Henry placed his hands on the side of the chair and began to stand, but his body swayed, and he lost his balance. “Ooh.” He stretched his hand to lean on Bruce, and fell back into the seat. “I’m feeling a little lightheaded, though.”

​​

   “Don’t pass out.” Bruce turned to A.C. “His pupils are dilated. Check his pulse. I’ll take his blood pressure.” He grabbed the cuff from the first-aid bag and wrapped it around Henry’s arm.

​​

   Henry yanked off the cuff and threw it. Then he ripped off the electrodes and clamped both hands to his skull. “My head. It’s going to explode!”

​​

   Charles pulled Henry’s arm, keeping him on the chair, but Henry resisted. “Get your damn hands off me!”

​​

   Bruce’s heart raced. Henry never cursed. Why hadn’t they anticipated something worse happening than a minor hallucination?

“Look at his eyes!” A.C. pointed.

​​

   Bruce screamed. One of the pupils covered the entire iris. Henry’s sclerae, the whites of his eyes, were bright red.

​​

   Henry’s mouth contorted. “Dammit. Help me! Make it stop!” He clenched his teeth as pain seemed to hold him hostage. Without warning, he leapt from the chair and clutched Bruce’s arm.

​​

   Chaos ruled the room as Bruce froze, helpless.

​​

   Henry’s eyes swelled, begging for respite. Blood dripped from his nose. He vomited, spewing blood over Bruce’s shirt. He emitted a high-pitched scream, stumbled, and then fell backwards onto the floor.

​​

   A chilled stillness permeated the room. Bile and blood covered Henry’s lifeless body. His bulging eyes stared at the ceiling. The scene looked like it came from a horror movie.

​​

   A wave of metallic odor stirred Bruce from his stupor. He quickly shifted on top of Henry and began CPR. “Call an ambulance!”

A.C. placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bruce, he’s gone.”

​​

   “We don’t know that. Don’t stand there. Help me!”

​​

   “Look at him. He’s dead,” A.C. said in an unsteady voice. “His insides exploded or something. He’s not coming back.”

​​

   Bruce stopped and tried hard to control his shaking. “Twenty minutes ago we were talking about conquering the medical field. Now look at us! This is bullshit!”

​​

   Charles glanced around the room. “There’s no time to discuss this. We need to clean up this mess.”

​​

   “Clean up? We have a dead man on the floor!”

​​

   “We’ll say Henry suffered a massive stroke.” Charles leaned down next to Henry. “We have to make sure this is what the paramedics think. A.C., help me with his body. Bruce, start cleaning the lab. Throw all the glassware in the biohazard bag. Dump the drug down the drain.”

​​

   Coldness coursed through Bruce, and his skin tingled. “Are you shitting me? You expect us to cover this up?”

​​

   Charles clenched his teeth. “Don’t question me, dammit! This was some kind of freak accident. I’m not letting this ruin my career.”

​

   He stood and charged at Charles, shoving him. “You bastard! This was your fault. Why did we have to test your damn drug? You and your stupid ideas!”

​​

   “We had no way in hell of knowing this would happen.” Charles pressed his thumb and index fingers together in a hand gesture. “I’ll tell you one thing. I am this close to getting my medical degree, and I’ll be damned if my career ends because of this. Your career is on the line, too.” He peered at A.C. and shifted his eyes again to Bruce. “All our asses are on the line.”

​​

   Bruce blinked. When would this nightmare end? “But—”

​​

   “Shit happens.” Charles’s voice wavered. “Henry understood the risks. He made his decision. Now we make ours. Once we graduate, we’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.”

​​

   A painful silence ensued. Charles ranted like he had gone off the deep end.

​​

   What choice was there? Move on or lose everything? Bruce’s chest tightened. I’m not a loser.

​​

   A.C. grabbed cleaning materials from the shelf and handed Bruce a bottle of disinfectant and a biohazard bag. “Here. Charles is right. We need to clean up. We’ll call for an ambulance and tell the operator we found Henry lying on the floor. We need to keep to the same story. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

​

   Bruce stifled a gasp. Blinking back tears, he took the supplies from A.C.

​

 

Part 2

Noisy partygoers congregated on the streets when Bruce hiked to the theater in Westwood Village. He didn’t want anything to do with their gaiety. How could he be in the mood to party after the day he spent with professors from the School of Medicine and the dean of Student Affairs discussing Henry’s death? By the time the police finished grilling him, he was lucky to feel a sledgehammer hit his head. Nothing could take away the fact that his best friend was gone.

Guilt plagued his every movement. After a sleepless night, a heavy mass pushed down on his stomach, condemning him. Would the shroud of doom lift? Why didn’t he insist they tell the truth? Only cowards buried themselves in lies. At the police station, he almost caved when Henry’s parents arrived. Devastated was a mild portrayal. And his brother—shattered. Bruce inhaled, desperate to erase the memory. I can’t rewind the past, but I will find a way to make this up to Henry.

He approached the building and turned. No one followed him. He knocked on the side door.

Once inside, Charles closed the door behind him. “Were you followed?”

“No. I took the long way here.”

A.C. led them down a long corridor to a room filled with bar stools and costumes. “We can use this dressing room.” He turned on the strip lights bordering the makeup mirrors. “Millie told me classes aren’t using the stage tonight since finals are next week. How did the questioning go?”

Bruce collapsed in a director’s chair strewn with costumes. “Grueling. So many questions. The head detective pounded me again and again about Henry’s family. His work. Studies. Friends…you name it.”

A.C. sat on a stool next to the mirrored wall. “They were hard on me, too. They kept asking if Henry ever used drugs.”

“They asked me the same thing.” Charles stepped next to the corner window.

Bruce tossed a curly black wig wedged under his elbow and shook his head. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Dang! He was just here. Now he’s dead.”

“I’m so sick I can’t think about anything else,” A.C. said. “I hate lying to Millie. She knows there’s more going on than I’m telling her.”

“We’re going to miss him,” Charles said. For once, he sounded sincere.

“What if the police ask more questions about last night,” A.C. asked.

“Keep with the story. If we do, they won’t find out the truth,” Charles said with a look of satisfaction.

“How can you be so sure?” Bruce asked.

“I told you no one can trace the drug. It decomposes quickly, and it’s so rare no one knows it exists.” Charles separated two slats from the window blind and peeked out. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Bruce clenched his teeth as fury simmered inside him, and he shot up from his chair. “You bastard! You said this drug was safe. What the hell did you do to it?”

Blood rushed to Charles’s face, and he faced Bruce. “You can’t blame Henry’s death on me. I tried the plant. The side effects are mild.”

“Mild?” Bruce tightened his fists. “How do you explain what happened to Henry?”

Charles stepped back. “Hell if I know.”

“If the drug didn’t kill him then why did he die?” Bruce searched their faces. “This project was an awful idea. My God, what were we thinking?”

“Maybe the amperometer short circuited.” Charles raked a hand through his hair. “His brain could’ve fried.”

Bruce huffed. “You’re an idiot.”

Charles’s cheeks turned a bright crimson. “My father and I tried the plant when we stayed in the Amazon. It’s harmless.”

“How do you know the aborigines weren’t pulling something over you?”

“Because we saw them use the shrub. One of the tribal Indians showed us how to prepare the plant into a paste for insect bites.”

“So now you’re saying it’s a topical analgesic?”

“No. Yes…there are many uses.” Charles wandered across the room and settled next to A.C.’s stool. “Once, a crocodile bit a native’s leg. The wound was grisly. At a healing ceremony, the shaman crushed a piece of bark and made it into a broth for the man to drink. During the poor guy’s recovery, he never complained about pain.”

Bruce frowned. “You never mentioned medicinal properties before now. You said you stole a plant that people used to get stoned.”

“It’s true. The aborigines chewed on the leaves throughout the day. During a dancing ritual, a tribal Indian offered me a leaf. I only experienced mild hallucinations.”

“So why did Henry die?” Bruce asked.

“I don’t know.” Charles scratched his head. “I’ll need to do more testing.”

Bruce paced around the room, kicking a medieval costume on the floor. “What do you think the police will decide?”

Charles smirked. “Not foul play. They think Henry either used drugs or had an underlying medical problem. The coroner will do the autopsy, but the drug tests they ran last night were negative. I hinted there could be another reason for his death.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “What did you say to them?”

“I told the police he was stressed with trying to raise money to send home and help his family. I suggested he suffered a stroke.”

“Asshole.” Bruce shook his head in disgust.

“What? Henry worked all the time. It’s no secret.”

Charles would sell his mother to North Vietnam to evade deployment. “Now his parents will feel more guilt. I ran into them when I left the station. They’re in shock. Especially his younger brother. Xavier idolized him.” Bruce paused. “I could barely look at them. His father still can’t walk well enough to go back to the orange groves. His mother’s cancer treatments make her sick. They didn’t need this.”

“I’m sure they’re upset.” Charles cocked an eyebrow. “There’s no more money coming in.”

“You bastard.” Bruce swung at him.

A.C. leaped off his stool and held Bruce back. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

A lump clogged in Bruce’s throat. “Why are you always bellyaching about Henry’s family?”

Charles straightened his polo shirt. “Look, I liked Henry, but fate plotted against him before he took his first breath. His priorities were messed up. He was too involved with his family’s problems. He stayed late to make up classwork, and he worked odd jobs all the time. He never would’ve completed his residency.”

“Henry wanted a better life for his family. He helped them make ends meet.” Bruce lowered his head. “I don’t know what they’ll do now.”

“I can help.” A.C. shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “I’ll use part of my trust fund and send money each month. Anonymously. It will help cover their bills.”

Bruce nodded. It was the right thing to do. “Henry would’ve appreciated it. I’ll get a job and help, too. Charles, you in?”

“I’ll pass.”

A.C. scowled. “You’re a jerk.”

 Charles shrugged and glanced at his watch. “Are we done? We can’t stay here all night. The cleaning crew will be here soon.”

“I think it’s safe to say you’re finished with aparistine,” A.C. said.

Charles kicked a stool, knocking it over on the floor. “There’s no way I’m giving up my plants.”

Bruce allowed a small smile at Charles little tantrum. “A.C.’s right. Your research is too risky.”

A.C. sighed. “I only wish we could do more.”

Bruce lifted the stool and set it upright. “After we graduate, I say we dedicate something in his name. To show our remorse. Henry would’ve liked the gesture.”

Charles’s ears turned red. “We don’t owe him anything.”

Bruce glared. “If you don’t, I’ll go to the police station and tell them what happened.”

“That’s blackmail.”

He smirked. “You can call it whatever you want.”

A.C. nodded. “I’m in.”

Bruce waited for Charles to reply, gleaning satisfaction from the cocky man’s savage snarl.

Finally, Charles folded his arms. “Okay.”

“Do you swear to God you’ll follow through with this?” How could he believe the man? The snake would find a way to slither out of a bed of superglue.

“Yes, but it might take me twenty years.”

Bruce stepped toward the door. “Take as long as you want. Just do something to atone for Henry’s death.”