With every second that passed Martin’s anxiety continued to increase. The moment he saw the brains, he wanted to find McCarthy’s and leave. He pushed open the door and began quickly scanning the labels. A strong animal smell assaulted his nose and in the darkness to the left he caught a glimpse of cages. But the jars held his interest; each was labeled with a name, a unit number and a date. Guessing that the date was the death of the patient, Philips walked quickly down the long row of jars. Since the only light was that which came through the glass panel .in the door, he had to lean closer to the jars with each step. McCarthy’s was at the very far end of the room near an exit door.
Reaching up to grasp the specimen, Philips was devastated by a bloodcurdling scream that reverberated around the small room. It was immediately followed by a crash of metal against metal. Philips’ legs buckled as he spun around to defend himself, his shoulder hitting the wall. Another scream shattered the air, but an attack did not materialize. Instead Martin found himself staring into the face of a caged monkey. The animal was in an absolute rage. His eyes were burning black coals. His lips were drawn back exposing his teeth, two of which had broken when he had tried to bite through the steel bars of his prison. From the top of the monkey’s head protruded a group of electrodes like multicolored spaghetti.
Philips realized he was looking at one of the animals Mannerheim and his boys had turned into a screaming monster. It was well known in the Med Center that Mannerheim’s latest interest was finding the exact location in the brain associated with rage reaction. The fact that other researchers felt that there was not one single center had not deterred Mannerheim at all.
As Philips’ eyes adjusted to the dim light, he could see many cages. Each contained a monkey with all varieties of head mutilation. Some had the entire back of their skulls replaced by Plexiglas hemispheres through which passed hundreds of embedded electrodes. A few were docile as if they had been lobotomized.
Philips pushed himself back to a standing position. Keeping an eye on the raging animal who continued to scream and noisily shake his cage, Philips lifted the jar containing McCarthy’s partially dissected brain. Behind it was a group of slides bound by a rubber band. Philips took those as well. He started to leave when he heard the outer door of the lab open and close, followed by muffled noises.
Martin panicked. Balancing the jar, the slides, and the ring of keys, he opened the back door of the animal room. In front of him the fire stairs plunged down in an endless series of retreating angles. Philips paused at the top stair and realized that fleeing was not the answer. Catching the door before it clicked shut, he returned to the lab.
“Doc Philips,” said a startled security man. His name was Peter Chobanian. He was on the Med Center’s intermural basketball team and had had several late-night conversations with Philips. “What are you doing up here?”
“Needed a snack,” said Martin with a straight face. He held up the specimen jar.
“Ahh,” said Chobanian, looking away. “Before I worked here I thought only psychiatrists were nuts!”
“Seriously,” said Philips, walking ahead on rubbery legs. “I’m going to X-ray this specimen. I was supposed to pick it up today but didn’t…” He nodded to the other security man whom he didn’t know.
“You oughtta let us know when you’re coming up here,” said Chobanian. “Some of the microscopes have been walking outta this building and we’re trying to tighten up.”
Philips got one of the evening radiology technicians to come over to Neuroradiology between ER trauma cases to offer an opinion. Philips had tried unsuccessfully to take an X ray of McCarthy’s partially dissected brain, which he had put on a paper plate. No matter what Philips did, the X rays were bad. On all the films it was difficult to make out the internal structure. He’d tried reducing the kilovoltage, but it didn’t help. The technician took one look at the brain and turned green. After he left, Martin finally decided what the problem was. Even though the brain had been in formaldehyde, the internal structure must have decomposed enough to blur any radiological definition. Plopping the brain back into its jar, Philips took it and the pack of slides up to Pathology.