Is That A Chip in Your Brain?

I figured I would share another glimpse into how my mind works. During my last quarter, prior to completing my BS degree, I elected to take an Intro to Writing Fiction course (darn Liberal Arts…who knew psychologists had to be so well rounded?), which scared the living daylights out of me, as I do not consider myself to be creative nor did I make it a habit of reading fiction. For pleasure reading, I would opt for books written by psychologists or neuroscientist…yes, for fun.

In this course, we had to read short stories, analyze what the author was trying to convey, and then eventually write one of our own. I have never been one to read a sentence, “The sky was blue,” and read a whole lot into it, other than just that…The. Sky. Was. Blue. I blame my analytical mind, which had led me to a near panic attack (see previous blog post regarding how fun those can be to experience) whilst in a paint-your-own-pottery place. I completely froze, rows of blank pottery seemingly mocking me.

But, I digress. The story below is what came to fruition when we were given a task of writing a short fiction story on any topic we wanted. What did I choose? The thing I am most intrigued with and am constantly in pursuit of studying in some way. I had been mulling over this idea for years, so I was glad that I was finally able to put it into writing and share it with others. Oh yeah, we had to do peer review as well…that was interesting. Anyways, without further ado…

Secrets Within

            The snowflakes, with their pure white appearance, fell steadily on the streets of Baltimore.  The contrast against the darkness of a nearly moonless night made their brightness even more pronounced.  The windshield wipers were of no use against the quickly accumulating snow, which was at times became blinding with the headlights of oncoming vehicles.  The newly fallen snow had given the city the allure of pristine conditions, of which Eleanor knew better than to believe.

            As the Chief Medical Examiner for Baltimore, Eleanor was privy to the dark side of human nature; what the “civilized” are capable of doing to one another.  The reports on the evening news, with their light montage of music accompanying the events of the day, do not come close to the reality found in the cooler of the medical examiner’s building.  The six story mammoth structure that houses the medical examiner’s office also contains the 134^th police precinct as well as a small court house.  Keeping with tradition, the medical examiner’s office and morgue is relegated to the basement.  She found it ironic that the same place you can report a crime, you can also apply for a marriage license and may be your temporary resting place enroute to the cemetery.

            Years ago, Eleanor considered not accepting the position with the City of Baltimore based on the fact that the building was located on Roosevelt Street.  She even joked about the coincidence of the names when she interviewed for the position while still completing her internship with the coroner’s office.  As she pulled into the parking spot identified with a bright green placard which indicated “Reserved for Medical Examiner,” Eleanor smiled and the hesitation that she had felt all those years ago were distant memories, faded and nearly invisible.  As Eleanor readied herself to get out of her car, a 2011 deep blue Volkswagen Touareg, one of the few luxuries she treated herself to, she gathered up her shoulder-length brown hair into a pony tail, a few new grays popping up near her temples.  Besides, it was 3:00 A.M. and only the dead were waiting her arrival, and it’s not like they would complain or notice.

            The warmth she had enjoyed provided by her heated seats was quickly replaced by the frigid wind that was whipping up the snow into a hurricane-like frenzy.  One would think that the city of Baltimore would invest in a parking structure, at least for their employees, since it was known for its harsh winters.  The snow crunched under Eleanor’s snow boots, which completed her early morning ensemble.  If one would have told her years ago that she would leave the house on a regular basis in black snow boots, jeans, and her unruly curls, haphazardly contained by a pony tail, without a stitch of makeup, she would not have believed it.  But this was her life and there was little she would change.

            The basement entrance to the medical examiner’s wing, marked with a red neon “Authorized Personnel Only” sign, served as a beacon in the flurry of snowflakes.  One swipe of her security badge and she was inside, welcomed by the warmth.  The dim lighting and empty corridors with their walls painted a muted green were reminiscent of a horror movie, yet they provided a sense of comfort to Eleanor.  The entire basement was void of people; at least those with a heartbeat anyway.  The quietness and stillness always helped to clear away the mental cobwebs that just prove to be a hindrance to the task at hand. 

            The Body Collection Point Recovery Team had been busy these past couple of hours, as the queue contained six new case numbers.  In the stainless steel cooler, the first body of the day awaited.  A youthful looking, clean shaven young Caucasian male, who still looked full of life and vigor, except for the multitude of bullet wounds to his chest; another young life cut down way too soon.  There is no question as to the cause of death, but the information that can be gleaned from a body can speak volumes.  This is the reason Eleanor became a medical examiner, while most of her classmates chose more lucrative and alluring careers, such as oncology or pediatric specialties. 

            Fresh scrubs donned, the treasure hunt process begins; seeking out the secrets that lay silently before Eleanor.  There doesn’t appear to be anything too remarkable about the body, but as in life, there is more than meets the eye.  Pulling out the skill saw and lowering the clear facial mask, the internal examination began.  While some may prefer to start with the familiar Y-incision, which consists of using a scalpel to cut lines from each clavicle to the chest where they meet and continue together to the pelvic bone, her starting point was usually the brain.  The brain is the hub of all that happens inside the body, and that is where the secrets are stored.

            The sound of the skill saw filled the tiled autopsy suite, its high-pitched squeal bounced off the ceramic enclosure.  Upon making the C-incision and peeling back the scalp to expose the grey gelatinous mass that is the brain, there doesn’t appear to be any significant abnormalities; no lesions, no evidence of blunt force trauma, and no swelling.  Eleanor switched out the skill saw for a scalpel and starts to separate the sections of the brain.  Like peeling the leaves of an artichoke, the brain is an intricate pattern of overlaying and interlacing components, each with their own special purpose.

            As the twisting matter was separated, Eleanor noticed something that doesn’t belong, something completely foreign not just to the brain, but to the body as a whole.  There appeared to be a small mass, about the size of a thumb nail, which was connected to both the optic nerves and auditory nerves, like a spider’s web with an unusual looking prey caught in the spindles.  Alarmed at this finding, Eleanor glanced at the clock on the wall which now displayed 7:35 A.M., and pressed the intercom button located on the wall behind her, which connected her to Craig, the assistant medical examiner. 

            “Craig, its Eleanor, can you come here for a minute?” She said, masking the twinge of urgency in her voice.  “I have something I would like you to take a look at.”

            “Sure, be right there.”

            Within less than a minute, her assistant Craig was in the autopsy suite.  He was quite tall and thin, gangly really, with the pallor that would make the snow outside look tan.  They started working together about two years ago.  He reminded Eleanor of herself when she started all those years ago, eager and ready to dig right in.

            “Do you see this small black mass, here in the brain?”  Eleanor indicated the unknown object with the once shiny but now blood splattered scalpel.  “Have you ever seen anything like it?”

            “Hmmmm, I don’t seem to recall seeing anything like that in the past.  Can I see that scalpel?”

            Eleanor watched as Craig used the scalpel to gently separate the small unknown black mass from the surrounding brain tissue.  As the object was freed from the intertwining nerves and tissue, its shape became more identifiable.

            “Is that what I think it is?” whispered Eleanor.

            “That all depends on what you think it is.  It appears to be a combination of plastic and metal.  I will know more when we clean it off.”

            They cleaned the foreign object with the care and gentleness one would use when bathing a newborn baby.  Holding the small object between the tines of gleaming forceps, Eleanor shifted her gaze from Craig to the body of the young man from which this object was removed, back to the small piece newly cleaned in front of her. 

            “This looks like a universal serial bus drive Craig.  But what would it be doing in this young man’s brain, connected to his optic and auditory nerves?  It doesn’t make any sense.  We have found numerous foreign objects in the bodies here, from drug mules with balloons of heroin burst inside their intestines, to over $10 in pennies in the stomach of that old woman last year.  Finding something foreign embedded in the brain, complete with neural attachment, well, that’s a first for me.”

            “Well, if it is a USB drive, we could try to see if there is something on it.”

            “If that is the plan, we need to document the whole process.  Can you set up the video and audio over here?”

            “Consider it done.”

            “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Craig.  There could be a logical explanation that we haven’t realized yet.”

            As Craig set up the video recorder and angled the ceiling mounted microphone, Eleanor brought the laptop over to the center staging table in the autopsy suite.  She could feel her pulse quicken while beads of sweat collected on her forehead and upper lip.  Her hands had started to quiver in anticipation of the potential discovery.  She powered up the laptop, directly in line with the video recorder, as Craig brought the USB drive-type device over to the table.

            “Ready, Eleanor?” Craig said, holding the device in the palm of his hand.

            “Are we rolling?”

            “Locked and loaded.”

            “Ok, let’s do this.”

            Craig handed the device over to Eleanor, who inserted it into the port on the laptop.  Audible gasps bounced off the ceramic walls of the autopsy suite as the computer registered the USB drive.  A file was located on the drive titled, “Subject 173264: Meyers, Jacob.”  Eleanor navigated the laptop’s mouse to open the file.  A video file with a date stamp of the day before was the only thing located in the main file.

            “Well, that is certainly odd.  Why would the only thing on this USB drive be date stamped yesterday?  There doesn’t appear to be any file backup, modification or creation dates either.”  Eleanor said.

            “I don’t think that odd even begins to describe the present situation.”

            They both stood speechless as the video played on the laptop screen.  The picture seemed to be in a first-person point of view, as they go about their daily business, casually taking in their surroundings.  It is early evening, the snow level not nearly as high as it is presently.  The sound of the snow and ice crunching underfoot was captured on the video recording, adding an all too realistic touch to the picture on the screen.  The back and forth movement on the screen as the subject walked down the sidewalk began to make Eleanor a little queasy.  Suddenly, a white, mid-size, late model car filled the view of the screen, the sound of tires squealing echoed in the autopsy suite.  The sound of a multitude of gunshots emanating from the speakers of the laptop caused both Eleanor and Craig to jump.  Rooftops and the horizon of the winter sky fill the screen, as the sound of gurgling and sputtering filled the room.  The video turned blurry, as if Vaseline had been smeared on the lens of a camera, everything in soft focus.

            Eleanor and Craig turned to each other, both in disbelief of what they just witnessed before them, mouths agape.  Suddenly, the doors to the medical examiner’s suite bust open, jarring Eleanor and Craig from their transfixed amazement.  Several men in black SWAT-type uniforms, weapons drawn forced their way into the enclosure. 

            “Show me your hands!” bellowed a voice from the intruders.

            “Mmmay I help you?” Eleanor’s voice quivered.

            “Hands!  Now!”

            “Sure, anything.  Can someone tell me what is going on here?  Who are you?”

            “That is none of your concern lady.  We know you found the chip.  Hand it over and we will forget any of this happened.”

            “I am not handing over anything to someone who just barged into MY office.  I don’t know who you are, but that is not how I run things.”

            “Lady, I will not repeat myself again.  It would be in your best interest to hand it over right this second.”

            “And what if I don’t?”

            With that quick question, Eleanor and Craig quickly found out the answer.  Before they could call out for assistance, the intruders let loose a hail of gunfire, the sound deafening in the small tiled enclosure.  Eleanor and Craig collapsed to the concrete floor, their vision turned blurry, just as they had seen on the laptop display.