Detachment

All the lights came up in the small room, flooding it with a brilliance of white walls and fluorescence. Along one wall was a bed with a man in it—who, moments before, had been asleep. Extending from the bed were various wires and cords—most of which were attached to the man; all of which ran across the floor, underneath a door on the opposite wall. On this same wall was a huge, rectangular window, and through its glass one could see the even smaller Observation Room, packed with expensive machines and computers, pin-point lights, and the Observer’s Station. At the station, graduate student, Zachary Levitz, was removing his hand from a dial on the console. He quickly rose from his seat, opened the door, and rushed to the bed—nearly stumbling over the wires as he did so.1

“Constant,” Zach called loudly. “Constant, are you all right?”2

The man in the bed was now sitting up, looking surprised. Chest heaving, lungs struggling to regulate, he attempted to brush his damp, white hair from his face.3

“One sec, Professor. Let me get some of these strings off you.” He carefully raised the professor’s arm and began removing suctions and wires. “You okay, Constant? What was it like?”4

Still breathing heavy, Constantine Brinklerman’s face relaxed a bit as he reoriented to his surroundings. Taking in the bright room, he closed his eyes again and inhaled a couple more times before responding.5

“It was…more bizarre and beautiful than the first trial—” he took a deep breath, “—as I had more realizations this time.”6

“Does it really work the way you thought? Does that turquoise pill prove your theory?”7

Constant, his arm coming free, wiped his brow—and then did his best to rub his temples with forefinger and thumb. Eyes still closed, he said, “Zach, would you please turn down the lights? I obtained a wonderfully wretched pain in my head while I was out. Don’t mind all these attachments, I can get the rest.”8

“Oh, sorry, Prof. You woke up so abruptly that I just brought them up full and ran out here. Nearly took a dive over those strings while my vision readjusted.” He hurried back to the Observation Room and twisted the dial to the left, until Professor Brinklerman was held in a cool glow; then he reached for something under the station and returned, holding a bottle of water in each hand.9

“That’s better,” said Constant, who now had the covers pulled off and was rapidly—yet prudently—popping wires from his scalp, chest, and leg hair. “Like my living room lamp at midnight.”10

“Except it’s well after three in the morning, at the moment,” Zach responded.11

Constant thought about this. “That means I slept for about five hours.” He paused. “Did I ever enter R.E.M.?”12

“No. Not once.”13

“Strange, but not entirely surprising. Let us note that fact—as a potential danger. If we find this to be a consistent pattern, people should never take the drug as a sleep aid. It wouldn’t be the same rejuvenating sleep they’re used to. They’d simply be…not conscious.” He pulled away the last suction—taking some ankle hair with it—and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.14

His breath finally at a normal pace, he accepted the water from Zach and, sitting there in his undershirt and boxers, uncapped the bottle and began to sip. The conversation ceased momentarily, and the sounds of gulping throats and draining liquid filled the air as both men drank.15

In an effort to fix his bed-head, Constant swept his hand through his hair a few times, returning it to what his students and colleagues deemed as his “mildly-wild-do.” He wasn’t yet fifty, but most people mistook Constant for being much older—partially because of his disposition as an educated person, but chiefly because of his rather premature white hair. He had had light brown hair up through the age of thirty-nine; by forty-one, there wasn’t a brown strand left on his head. What's more, he was six-foot-two and still very lean and strong—and, therefore, was thoroughly amused every time he met someone who complimented him on being such an agile “old” man.16

Although, at this particular moment, he was far from a laugh or even a smile, for the effort to restore his hairdo and down his water was also an effort to calm his anxiety. This last trial was an overwhelming experience; far beyond anything he had expected. But, aside from his healthy body, Constant has always had a sound and healthy mind, and was cool-headed enough to know that, while he rattled on the inside, his exterior left young Zach no indication of his racked nerves.17

“What does it mean, Prof? Have we hit on something big?”18

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Levitz. It means we need to make our phone calls and arrange to let everyone else know just how big it is.” He set down his water bottle. “Anyway, it’s later than late, and I don’t want your school work hindered too much by all of this.”19

“Only two months and I graduate.”20

“And until then I’ll be a nag. After then, to hell with you.” They both snickered. “But before you go, Zach, would you mind grabbing that bin of samples? Should be next to the water bottles.”21

“Sure.” Zach left again, then reentered with a green plastic bucket, filled with individually wrapped turquoise capsules. He handed it to Constant, who picked up a pill in one hand and turned it over and over.22

“You know what, Constant? It’s amazing to think how—what you experienced—wasn’t a dream.”23

“Definitely amazing,” said Constant. Then, after a long moment, “And definitely not a dream.”24


* * *25


Morning doves and city traffic were stretching out and practicing their sounds by the time Constant pulled into his garage. He came inside through the back hallway and passed through the kitchen. It wasn’t yet sunrise; the clock on the microwave told him it was quarter-to-five. He stopped by a vase in the dining room, picked one of the several daisies that had been anchored there with water the day before, then made his way upstairs to bed.26

She was asleep, looking peaceful, when he came into their room. The pre-dawn light coming through the window made her blonde hair shine and her silky face look the softest of skins, like a gentle fairy dozing somewhere out of time. Constant stared at Sarah Brinklerman, his wife, for several moments before quietly resting the daisy on her bedside table, and—careful not to wake her—kissed her on the forehead.27

Moving around to his own half of the bed, Constant began undressing and settling in. As he pulled the covers up, he turned on his side and gazed at a picture frame on his bedside table.28

Sarah had given it to him years ago. The photo was of them lying in a hammock together, when they had first set the thing up in their backyard. His mother had snapped the photos, and this was one of the few where they weren’t sprawled out on the grass, laughing, with the hammock swinging free above them. In this one, they had managed to balance long enough to express the success on their smiling faces and intertwine the fingers of their dirt-stained hands.29

The bottom of the frame had one of those standard inscriptions: Soulmates. Constant read the word over and over and gave a tired smile. They’ve always been in love, and that love has always grown. Their last argument had been seven years prior, over what color to paint the new house. He had wanted a burgundy; she had wanted a light green. They had painted it white until they could decide. Now, it was still white, and they were both happy about it.30

He stared and stared, reluctant to shut his eyes, exhausted though he was. It wasn’t until the sunlight poked through the window and made him squint that he finally turned towards Sarah and tried to sleep. And as the city awoke outside, Constant was quickly consumed by dreams—some pleasant, some difficult.31


* * *32


Rows of occupied chairs lined the ballroom, all facing a raised platform at the end of the room. Between chairs and platform, a gaggle of microphones, dictaphones, pens and pads shifted across the space, each toting a human being behind it. On the platform was a row of half a dozen men behind a podium, trying to look cool and not too excited. Constantine Brinklerman was standing at the podium, just beginning to speak.33

“Ladies and gentleman of the media and the general public, I’d like to thank you all for coming and being apart of this very significant occasion. My name is Constantine Brinklerman. I am a professor of Philosophy—and sometimes Physics—at Winsley University, here in town. Some months ago, I was asked to assist with a project called Reali-Try—a recent addition to the science community. With members all around the globe, Reali-Try’s mission is to construct and test an abundance of new, provocative experiments, then determine how—or if—the data reshapes our understanding of reality. I was called to work on an experiment pertaining to a new drug. I’m, uh…” Constant stopped to clear his throat. “I’m happy to say that the most extraordinary discovery has been made.”34

The crowd began to buzz—mostly the media, where an emergence of cameras began to float among the other interviewing tools. Constant continued.35

“Since the public knows very little of what this breakthrough is all about, this conference will be two-fold. First, I’ll give a brief description of our findings and try to answer a few questions along the way. Then, these fine men behind me will give a presentation that’ll go more in-depth as to the nature of the experiment, what the results actually mean, and why some aspects of—not just science—but knowledge might be changed forever.”36

The buzzing grew, sharply—then quickly subsided.37

“A couple years ago, a new drug was developed that, at first, was thought to have hallucinogenic properties. Although, it was soon realized that the usual chemical reactions in the brain which define hallucinations were not present. And yet, individuals were still affected when they consumed the drug, describing in several cases episodes of lost time and seeing their surroundings in unique patterns. Then, about six months ago, an old colleague of mine—now on the Board of Directors for Reali-Try—asked if I would investigate the issue with my own testing. I accepted and, almost immediately, made my first discoveries.”38

Constant passed his hand through his white mane. The crowd waited.39

“As it turns out, the drug—currently named Cog-Noz—is not an hallucinogenic at all. I found that Cog-Noz, depending on the dosage, allows people the strange ability to observe spatial-reality from the fourth, fifth, and sixth dimensions.40

The buzzing erupted into a bold chatter and excited voices melted in the air.41

“But—” Constant proceeded. The crowd softened. “—this isn’t all. Yes, what I’ve described seems fascinating, and it is—and part of the reason these men are here is to show, through formulas and theories, why what I describe is possible—but the true discovery was made only a few weeks ago.42

“In a state of curiosity, we increased the dosage to a new maximum, unsure if this would have any effect at all. With my student assistant nearby, and crossing those fingers of serendipity, I consumed a record amount of pills and waited. I went unconscious, and what I saw while I was out is…hard to explain.43

“First, I wish to clarify that when I use the words ‘saw’ and ‘see’ I do not refer to experiences witnessed through my eyes, but, rather, something else. Not a feeling. At the moment I can only call it a thought-sensation. Keep in mind, we are dealing with a realm of perception never embarked upon before, and don’t yet have a way to define senses beyond those five we’ve always known. In fact, almost none of those senses apply in our descriptions of these dimensions.44

“So, when I took the Cog-Noz and passed out, I saw the most remarkable thing. I saw…energy. Bundles of energy hooked up to other bundles of energy to form a huge group. Like marbles tightly packed against each other in a jar. Except this grouping of them was—massive. Hard to count—as if the stars in the sky were knitted together in one enormous hive. Now, why is this so interesting? After the second trial, we were fairly certain that my extreme dosage had given me access to the seventh dimension of spatial-reality. Since then, these six men and others have all repeatedly undergone the same experiment. With all the data gathered from these trials, we have reason to believe that we have proved the existence of a collective unconscious.”45

A flash exploded, making Constant blink. Then another flash. Then another. And another. And with each was hurled a question, as the crowd upgraded its chatter to a low roar.46

“What were the different dosages?”47

“If you weren’t using your eyes, how could you see anything?”48

A grey dictaphone shot out a few feet from Constant. “What’s the significance of a collective unconscious existing?”49

“Well,” Constant began, “it would explain a lot about the way our species shares knowledge. You see, we suspect—with strong evidence supporting the idea—that each individual bundle is directly related to an individual human being. If this is true, it would explain why societies have a sense of right and wrong. It would explain all things that seem commonsensical. It would prove the idea of collective memory. We would understand why advancements in technology and science seem to occur simultaneously on different parts of the globe. It might even answer many of our questions about dreaming. Everything that is innate about our species could stem back to this. I can’t express how monumental this is.”50

“How would these bundles and people be directly related?”51

“When dealing with dimensions we deal also with projections. For example, think about the shadow you cast while walking down the sidewalk on a sunny day. You are three-dimensional. You contain a surplus of information in your three-dimensionality; thoughts, physical features, and so on. But the shadow on the concrete is only a projection of you, on a two-dimensional plane. The shadow doesn’t contain nearly the same amount of information about you, though it comes from you. The higher you go with dimensions, the more detail there is to be gained. Therefore, my colleagues and I believe that our forms as human beings are mere projections of those bundles.”52

A metallic pen waved back and forth. “Professor, would you say these bundles are our souls?”53

Constant gave a light chuckle. “One could say that, but we’d have to redefine what a soul is. Classically, a soul is a non-physical entity that interacts with our physical form. These bundles still exist in a spatial capacity, making them very much physical. Although, to be noted, there appear to be more bundles than there are recorded people on the planet. With more research, we may find a connection between those deceased of this world and, potentially, their bundles of energy that are still there in the seventh dimension. Everyone, picture yourself flying over a city of skyscrapers. Passing over the roof of one building, you look down in time to see it collapse upon itself and fall to the ground. The remains went somewhere. It is not unreasonable to assume that part of us returns somewhere after death—not if we have other dimensions to fall back on.”54

At this, people gasped and laughed and became ecstatic with wonder and excitement. More flashes. More questions.55

“Are you saying this is a soul pill?”56

“Did you recognize any dead relatives in the energy bundles?”57

“Professor, were your experiments physically demanding for a man of your age?”58

Raising his arms to indicate the entire ballroom, Constant yelled over the crowd. “Everyone, please. Please! There’s still one more point I wish to address before the presentation.” The volume dropped enough so he only had to speak loudly. “While we truly feel our discovery to be accurate, that there is a collective unconscious to be spoken of, that much of the human condition will be altered by a single pill, it does leave us with a new mystery.” He sighed a subtle sadness, and a grim expression crossed his face as he said, “While almost everyone seems to be hooked up to this hive of shared ideas and ineffable commonality, there are some individuals out there…who are not.”59

Silence. No flashes—no buzz. Every face in the crowd was motionless—still wearing wonder, but the excitement gone. A moment passed where no one could speak.60

Constant shifted uneasily on his feet, absently wiping the sweat from his hands onto the podium. He scanned slowly over all the people, avoiding any genuine eye contact. He had known this last bit would be upsetting, and somehow frightening, but there was no point in holding it off—they’d eventually pick up on it through the presentation.61

Finally, a voice.62

“How do we know if we’re part of everybody else or not?”63

The words came from an elderly woman in the second row of chairs, sitting behind her walker.64

Not looking directly at her but, instead, at her walker, Constant replied, “We don’t yet have an established method to determine such information. We may not for a long time. But we imagine that each bundle will probably have its own form of a fingerprint. And timelines—looking at when you were born—will probably play a role in spotting such a fingerprint.”65

Again, no one spoke. Constant pressed on. “Thank you, all, for your attention. I now hand you over to these gentlemen seated behind me.”66

With those words, he sighed once more, and walked away from the podium.67


* * *68


He lay in bed, with dreams distant and worries loud. Sarah lay asleep beside him.69

It doesn’t make sense, he thought.70

A frigid-white moon cast its hauntings through the window, falling upon him with a nocturnal glow. He looked at the picture frame.71

I understand people. I’m not an idiot. I get it. I get them! So why…?

He rolled onto his stomach, sticking his nose uncomfortably into the pillow. He looked at his wife.72

Reaching with one hand, he took his index and middle fingers and lightly twirled a shiny curl.73

I understand her.74

His eyes started to sting. Something deep within his heart—or was it in his brain?—began to collapse and crumble.75

It’s been troubling him for weeks—since the second trial—growing worse with time.76

Rolling onto his back once more, he stared up at the ceiling.77

Why am I not hooked up to it? Why am I not hooked up?