Doctor Gregory Daniels - Antitheist

Doctor Gregory Daniels - Antitheist

Kurtis Michael Spletter

The crisp spring air teases me with foreign songs. For the first time since the naivety of childhood, I feel free. Despite prolonged labor and determination I have been a footnote in another’s story, but at last I have become my destiny’s protagonist.

My colleague, Doctor Gregory Daniels, has cornered a market that mankind has craved since death’s first kiss. Although the trademarks for his formula have well outlived their intellectual property protection, no competition has germinated. I imagine this is in part due to the kind of legal protection Daniels can afford but I mostly attribute his success to his genius. Researchers become destitute wasting their lives in pursuing his formula. Doctor Daniels has played a lucky hand and established the Clinic for Longevity- a team I am privileged to be a part of.

Oh, the pay! How could I worry about expenses again? Because of monopoly and timeless demand, the clientele consists exclusively of business tycoons and world leaders who fear to leave behind their legacy.

However, my greatest pleasure is my fiancé. She has loved me through the desolate and the serene alike. The thought of our marriage brings me an ecstasy far greater than the fruits of my labor. I hope she can be patient with me through these laborious months in the clinic.

During a treatment, an unexpected knock preceded two silver-haired figures apologizing for the intrusion. Startled, I sputtered “Doctor Daniels, Doctor Osbourne- what is the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter, Doctor Scott, though I would ask you to join me in my office. Doctor Osbourne will pick up where you are here.” With such an abruption, how could anything not be wrong? What mistake could I have made?

We navigated through a series of clean, white hallways speckled with doors and meaningless pictures. To my surprise, upon arriving at his office Doctor Daniels pulled out a dusty bottle of a molasses-black liquid. “My apologies, Doctor Scott. I know it is not customary to drink on the premises, however I have been dreaming of this moment for over fifty years.” I tried to put the pieces together as he poured two glasses. “Rum, Doctor Scott. Over a century old. Cheers.”

With his glass, the old man gracefully collapsed into his large maroon chair, kicked his feet up onto his grandiose mahogany desk and began glancing at his silvery hair and hardened complexion. “Swallow up your anxiety, Doctor Scott, and have a drink.” As I did, the sweet, smooth burn wept into my belly, relieving my arms and legs of their duties.

“I have observed your work and your attention to detail, Doctor Scott. That is why I called you here.” Startled by something reflected in his glass, he turned to stare at me with stern, blue eyes, “There is an old friend I wish for you to meet. Time has been unkind to him, give him patience.” Still facing me, his eyes crept to the side of the room where amongst the hardwood wall a secret door slid open to reveal a vessel containing an iridescent yellow gelatin with what might have been a human brain.

“I must confide in you that my true age is one hundred and eight years. I tell you this in secret but in well-deserved context: the brain was extracted after a tragic accident almost seventy years ago. You will give it the miracle of communication, however you find fit. The vessel has preserved it for decades so I may find a suitable specialist to tend to him. It’s your turn, Henry.”

I began the next day. Doctor Daniels provided no details beyond the existence of an association with this sordid organ. Its state was scarred and obscured with shapes like bite marks and claws. The brain was not dead though it seemed to be in a less-than-comatose state. I had no idea the contents of this preservative but I had no time to investigate. Daniels explicitly stated the urgency of my miracle task.

After thorough examination of the brain’s state of decay and its sustained scars, I started fantasizing the outcome of my work. Determination and curiosity overcame me, I couldn’t live without the answer. I slaved away for weeks without leaving the lab Daniels had built for me, but exhaustion never overwhelmed me. Determination was my nutrition and the small successes were my rest.

I suppose I had become gaunt and pale by the time I saw the first signs of reception. I would notice small signals intermittently from the contraption of circuitry, sensors, and gauges which would unlock the secrets I most desired. But malnourishment and the dredge of prolonged labor caught up to me. I lost track of my days awake which obscured determining how long I had slept. Were I to guess, my slumber lasted between two and five days.

I woke to a state of utter fatigue. My bones were leaden despite their prevalence, and I would have preferred a plaguelike illness to the pain I felt over my whole body. Then I remembered my wife-to-be, who was more precious to me than anything, and it distracted me from obtaining the requirements of life.

During my wake or my slumber I do not know when calamity was conceived. I poured through a message from her, saying she could not reach me and that she could not live like this. She would no longer be mine since I could not adhere to the support and affection she lived for. No pain surpassed me more, not the ache of my belly or the weight of my limbs. The subjects of her message were all things we argued over before, but I was too near-sighted to be the other half. My thoughts whirred about like a torrent and I could not find the air I needed. She at last stated that she would move far away to ensure that I could not find her.

The pain of a stabbing knife holds the factor of shock, but the withdrawal, the permanent state of flesh, ultimately produces the greatest and longest-lasting anguish. Certainty of this void did not subdue the chaotic wandering of my thoughts. I was no stranger to depression or the answers which it demonically provokes, but I never seriously considered these provocations until this moment. The dread lord was near and I could not withhold a welcoming wish. I set in stone that I cannot afford the life I love and that I must therefore submit to the demands of the infernal jailer.

A sudden and hellish shriek dissipated my detainment. It was not the presence of a spirit. Choking on both despair and delightful disbelief, I stared at the miracle I so desired. The clockwork contraption of my own fabrication established that I can procure the impossible.

Through its interface, the brain expressed total distress beyond comprehension. The brain itself jittered without any means of doing so. It occurred to me that the brain experienced torment without its final rest. Had this person perceived a continuous and personal hellscape for decades?

At last the translation components produced comprehensible speech: “Release me! Monster, release me! Please, God! Help me!” I consulted the readings of the contraption. Were he to have a body, every part of him would experience unimaginable pain as if he were being ripped apart and disemboweled. Frozen in an undying moment, he could not distinguish memory from reality. The contraption produced unanticipated noise. I hadn’t developed a feature to accomplish this, but I believe what I heard was the ambiance of his final moments. I heard guttural and unintelligible language, splashing, and the howl of moonlit winds. He continued, seeming to attempt reasoning with his assailants, “abominable hulk! I bring you life, I bring you all life, and with death you repay me! I owe no debt but you collect anyway!” Stunned by fear and awe, I broke out of my trance and elected to interfere. I dialed in the speech receptors and tuned them to a frequency the brain could receive. Who would have the experience to know what to say in this situation? My lips conjured: “Brain, you are not dead! You are not dying! You are safe in a lab, sustained in your current form.”

All of a sudden, the background noise of my unintended features subsided. The old brain was processing, causing a dreamlike attribution to his recent experiences. The receptor devices indicated the continuation of intense pain, yet he seemed to be recovering consciousness and reaching realization.

“Saving angel,” the contraption uttered with broken distortion, “I am broken into pieces and you are too late to save my body. Grant my soul rest as I now know hell is real. I am tired beyond all human comprehension.” Confused, I obliged, “I wish to speak with you further, old brain. I grant you rest, but not eternal.” The system indicated that the old brain experienced a deep, lulling breath. Without words, he expressed relief.

The following day, Daniels checked in on me. At the time I hadn’t questioned why neither he nor any other human had checked on me. I did question why there was no expression of surprise or pity from Daniels concerning his friend, that old brain. He instructed me to continue my efforts and to provide comfort to the brain.

“For what purpose?” I had to ask, “That old brain, your old friend, has been experiencing perpetual torment. Why continue? Why not grant him rest?” Doctor Daniels looked around his shoulder and demonstrated a restrained sense of relief: “the old brain unlocked secrets in its human days. The brain belonged to my colleague, the most brilliant man I ever knew. He devised a serum which could bring back life to a corpse.” I should have felt disbelief but in truth I was still recovering from the pilgrimage through the unbelievable. I could fully accept that this was possible after what I had seen. I did, however, inquire, “so why do you want to look for a remedy to death? This clinic is built on standards of health which accomplishes human longevity unlike anything before. Of all people, are you afraid of death?” He rose to look out the big window of his office. His eyes dashing in thought for a moment, he gathered an answer: “Henry, my fear is not of the summonings of death. Fear of the inevitable is foolish, a trait of naivety. No, my friend. My fear is that mortal man should be forever imprisoned in a system created purely out of the egotistical nature of supernatural entities.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

He turned toward me slightly to invite me to the window with him.

“Are you a religious man, Henry?”

“If you are asking what religion I follow, I consider myself atheist. I could accept that there is some greater governing entity if there were evidence, but I don’t foresee that. It just makes sense that the universe is random, and my place is to be a bigger help than a hindrance to human life.”

“Do you attribute your nobility to a conscience?”

“I suppose.”

“And what would you suppose of me?”

“Well,” looking into a blank space I considered for a moment, “if I had to guess, I would say our beliefs are fairly similar.”

He could hardly hide a proud half-grin. “It seems my talent for hiding my nature is still intact. It’s time I show you my hand.” Gregory took a moment to compose his thoughts, though what came forth seemed almost rehearsed. “I have disclosed to you my age and experiences, all of which are far from the perception of the general public. They see me as the dashing, healthy, eighty-year-old bachelor. I have revealed to you in confidence my true age and you kept this secret. You understand this is for good reasons. If the public knew my true age, they might see me as something inhuman. In truth, I fabricated this age you understand me to be, because I wished to stretch the limits of your understanding and test your trustworthiness. The results are surely favorable.

“Henry, I am over four hundred years old. I was born into the age of discovery… more appropriately the age of hatred. God-fearing men killing God-fearing men. Men of different religions committing crimes against their own religion. Men who claim to worship gods of different names, killing, raping, and plundering those whom they disagree with. Men who worshipped the same god did the same against each other. Why wouldn’t they? They did what they were told within a global system to keep mankind in check.” He left a pause for me to process and continued, “like so many others, you see religion as the construct of man- that human bones are made of domination, their blood of xenophobia, and their DNA of manipulation. But in this biochemical renaissance, the human composition is fully disclosed and somewhat understood. Our bones, blood, and genetic structure… all the elements of a creature… are nothing more than that. We are creatures among creatures. But we are great, each of us born with power unrivaled by nature’s other children. But the nature of the supernatural is, too, mysterious. Man is an open book, but God is a buried treasure. There exists a general consensus that religions are all mutually exclusive, that the gods of one doctrine dismisses the existence of all others. When you get to be my age, you see that there is absolute evidence of mighty outsiders: gods, demons, angels, spirits, abominations, and unnamable entities; you begin to see that we are mighty too.

“Look at the stories of gods and men: the tower of Babel, the stories of the Nephilim and the flood. Look at the original human design before Zeus split us in two. All these stories are ancient, and they all hold one theme: we are powerful… powerful enough to invoke fear into the mighty unseeables. So, to respond to your supposition, my belief is far from atheistic. Without doubt, there are powerful entities beyond the scope of our understanding, but they hold no power greater than us. The events of our world played out such that we lost a battle of incredible spiritual warfare. We were divided, trampled, spit upon, and made to believe we were less than the gods, simply resulting from the fear we struck into the hearts of countless cosmic creatures. Had our species not been so young and naïve, we may have very well overwhelmed the puppet masters of our universe.

“My life’s work is not to generate currency for the sake of survival nor for indulgence. My purpose is not to enhance mankind beyond its abilities. No- all that I have worked for is to fulfill us to our original form and rebuke the gods for their abhorrent system of manipulation. I have designed an implant which responds to lethality with a dose of undeath- several in fact, just to be safe. I hope you can rest well, knowing that my grand plan is not to sit amongst these aristocrats, but to bring this cure to the entirety of humankind.”

I knew he must have perceived the despair I had experienced amidst the torrent of curiosity when with a sympathetic tone he consoled me, “I heard about your loss. I can’t express to you in full magnitude the sorrow I empathize for you. I will be your support whenever and for as long as you need me.”

I spent the following months nurturing the old brain, repairing his damaged tissue, and giving him company. It was an especially productive September. Truthfully, the more I became acquainted with the brain the more I saw him as a friend. Perhaps this was in part due to the desperation stemming from my loneliness, but he still made a good friend. He wondered all about the world and the historical events which unfolded after his original demise. Our discussions included the world wars, technological advancements, and current affairs. He asked for books and a means to read, so I fashioned optical receptors and provided him with his desired texts. Progress toward the serum of undeath was his repayment for these blessings. We had to start with small steps, which included learning how to converse through the integrated communication system. With time he would recall the reanimation formula and the processes to produce it. No obstacle was too overwhelming for my friend, given his access to essentially limitless knowledge. His one fault was that he could not remember his own name.

He demonstrated to me great empathy regarding the loss of my one true love and the misfortunes of my upbringing. The social nurturing was mutual. The further he progressed in unlocking again the lost formula, I in turn felt a greater bond of brotherhood with this person. Upon the success of finding the formula, we tested it on several lab rodents. So I navigated to the beautiful wooden office to report our findings. Once ecstatic to demonstrate the formula, I instead found myself disappointed by Daniels’ response.

“Henry, my dear friend, you could not possibly fathom the deeds which its diabolical hands have done. The terrible fate he experienced in and after death was well deserved and I wish to provide him no further leverage- not even the satisfaction of his name.”

“We got what we wanted. He proved useful and continues to provide us with answers to questions we never even considered.”

“That is the danger, I’m afraid. Questions we ought not answer. Had this creature a body to act upon his indulgences, we would have demons to vanquish in a world where god already hates us. Instead, he uses what he has, which is a mind of sadistic enthusiasm and a means to prey upon the vulnerable. This was an inevitable risk, and it cannot evolve.”

“He is at minimum an asset and at most a man. I know that evil lies in the hearts of men, but what could he have possibly done that pushes the ethical boundaries more than we have? What more could he do in a glass prison?”

“That abomination I once considered my friend, when the spark of curiosity mingled within our hearts and bore the fruit of all human capability between us and us alone. Though the years have gone by so quickly and our amiable time together seemed to live no longer than a breath, I may have considered him my best friend. How young he was. How naïve he was of my true age. Yet he saw me as no other man had, and he saw no other man the same way. His brotherly love for me was contested by his deepest indulgences and darkest passion, to open the celestial gates and commit piracy along the river Styx. When he would monologue to me his desires, his bright blue eyes illuminated fantasies through round spectacles. This stirred a gnawing in my belly born of jealousy and repulsion, yet his lyricism subdued these feelings. He would lock eyes with me as if our souls were staring into each other as one spirit, and his plans blossomed within my mind without a spoken word. We could achieve great and uncontested feats, and we would get away with it. That is, no construct of man could implode our labors except for that which only we ourselves had conceived. The mind of the man you’ve recovered has performed at the same time miracles and sins unwritten. Aye, there exist tales of resurrection. The most holy himself had brought back breath into Lazarus. Could it be that the mighty celestials themselves could not believe that we were capable of feats so mighty as their own? How could they condemn what they considered impossible? Some would take life to ne’er themselves perish. Others would sacrifice their own to see their beloved once more. We belonged to neither population. No sacrifice was necessary to resurrect corpses of strangers. Our first successes brought monstrous creatures and devastation to the towns in which we served as recognized practitioners. You see, Henry, my friend had a villainous heart. Absolutely some of our experiments were performed on strangers who ought not to be missed, but our other victims were truly people that we knew, cruel and annoying. He performed upon the bond of vengeance and curiosity, and he could no longer suppress the gnawing in my gut.”

He pulled a vial of powder from his coat and stared at the old brain as though it looked back upon him through round spectacles: “I desire to deny your rest like you did the dead, but you are too great a threat to let live. So I will ensure some justice in your final moments.” He opened the vessel and poured in the powder. The granules gracefully fell like autumn leaves. Upon contact with the brain, the cognizant contraption sparked and flared, emitting the cries of hellfire. I froze in terror as the brain tremored and appeared itself to cry out in agony. After the organ had absolutely dissolved, Daniels scrolled through our notes and inappropriately complimented, “incredible work. We will start immediately on my implant.”

The snow-crowned mountains complimented the stone golem I had become. Doctor Daniels personally took me on vacation in an attempt to regenerate my psychological constitution. We set aside a full week to sail his own boat and do nothing but soak in the serene absence of everyday life. I had forgotten the ocean’s aromatic mist. Our third wordless sunset was interrupted when Daniels left to retrieve a surprise. I couldn’t guess what it was, and I would have never possibly anticipated it. A bound and writhing body accompanied him to the deck. It was she who left me with my shortcomings. I could not begin to process horror as the breaking point was inbound.

“She denied you the opportunity for redemption,” He trembled as he threw her down like a towel onto the deck, “so I provided.” He pulled out a handgun and intended to hand it to me. I stared, absent of a nameable sensation, at the bruised and bound body whom I recognized in a happier season. Her swollen face cried in freezing fear as she looked into my eyes. I felt years pass before me, until he shot her, and I watched as she bled to death. My sensations were no longer my own in the crescendo of dissociation. Eagerly, Daniels instructed me to watch as the body surfaced out of oblivion to again breathe our air.

“It works!” Hysteria hounded his prudence “It works!” The man with the gun shrieked and giggled with relief and pride. The following moments are not memories I own though I myself experience them. In fanatical dance the man dropped his gun and the ancient automaton within me took it. In a blur, the man suddenly bled and howled. I fired eight times into his shoulder and, with a strength I never knew, I hurled his living body into the salty abyss. His wound denied him buoyancy. I couldn’t watch. The adrenaline waned and my limbs trembled harshly as I ran to my neglected love. I held her, observing her body dying over and over, weaving in and out of tormenting consciousness. The involuntary implant forced dose after dose of undeath, but she could not overcome her wound and at last she became unbound.

I laid paralyzed watching sunset after sunset until I was found by the coast guard. To defend myself in a court was not near the forefront of my thoughts. All I could do is imagine the crushing weight of the ocean on the living body and wonder how much of the serum he equipped.