The Silent Truth

© Jake Wickenhofer

Midnight shift. Again. He must have asked them a thousand times for day shifts. He had trouble sleeping during the day, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on him. Nicholas Strogen walked wearily through the sliding glass entrance to the ‘B' Layer.

The receptionist left at ten each night, and the lobby was now quiet. The light behind the counter still shone over the green and blue floor tiles. An ID scanner rested on the far wall next to a white door with a small, glass window. He perused his jacket pockets for his badge, and ran it under the red beam of light. An electronic voice welcomed him.

Past the white door was a long, narrow hallway with a guard's desk. Mark, the night guard, always left after the last of the personnel. Except for researchers. They were often scheduled for odd shifts.

Behind the desk was a large Plexiglas window which gave full scope of layer B's lab. Tables, sinks, and all sorts of equipment sat around a station in the center where twelve computers were located. There were two steel doors on the far wall of the lab. He pushed the down arrow and entered the large service elevator. Music gently played as he was lowered.

He threw on his coat and signed in. Sean Tristol and Dave White were still signed into adjacent computers.

“I swear they'd forget their heads if they weren't attached,” he whispered.

The itinerary for the evening called for several liquid compounds out of the chemicals room. He attempted to remember his password. After entering an assortment of digits on the keypad, he waited for the lock to open. The lighted display flashed. It read: “Code 43 – Chemical Spill . Access Denied .”

Chemical spills were routine; all he had to do was locate maintenance. If the severity of the spill was minimal, service would turn on fans and wait for any harmful toxins in the air to dissipate.

“Service crew, this is Dr. Strogen in the B-Layer. We had a chemical spill, can you send someone down to look at it?” he asked over the radio.

“Dr. Tristol reported the incident earlier. Nothing major. We just haven't gotten around to turning on the fans.” A voice replied. Must be somebody new.

“We'll kick on the fans for you,”

After several minutes had passed, the light on the pass code display stopped flashing. He re-entered his password and the lock clicked. The fans must have done it. He pushed the door forward by the handle and began searching the shelves for the right chemicals.

Nitroethane , Hydriodic Acid , Ergonovine.

He stepped into the next aisle and found Dr. White slumped against the wall. A black liquid dripped from his lip.

“My God. What happened to him?” he whispered to himself.

The air in his lungs began to burn. He struggled for air as he dashed for the door. He slammed it shut and rested against it. He coughed and gasped for breath.

“It'll be a shame when they find out,” a voice said. “Won't it?”

“I wonder what they'll say when they hear about the tragedy that took the lives of Doctors Dave White and Nicholas Strogen.” He continued.

Nicholas raised the scope of his vision to see Sean Tristol standing before him.

Nicholas coughed up a thick black liquid and spit it onto the ground next to him. Black.

“And Doctor Tristol couldn't save them,” Sean said. A wicked grin splashed across his face. “Though lord knows he tried.”

The last thing Doctor Nicholas Strogen heard was the sound of Sean Tristol screaming into the radio for help. Only he knew the truth, and it had now been silenced.