Base Experiments

Base Experiments

He liked to balance eggs on top of his eyelids, resting them against the bridge of his nose as he tilted his head back. The sensation calmed him, distracted him from the near-constant screaming. If he coddled them first, they sat quiet. Made all the difference.

As for the screaming, he’d tried sedatives, threats, even polite requests. The bitch just would not stop. He’d become impressed with her tenacity in the face of the cold, the dark, the damp brick walls. Underneath the headaches, he’d become impressed. He’d started a more aggressive aspirin regimen the last twelve hours. He needed to sleep soon, and wondered how she’d lasted over three days already without food or sleep. As for water, he supposed she could be lapping at the basement walls and chuckled, picturing the attempts.

He wasn’t worried the neighbors would hear. He’d installed thicker insulation himself a few years ago, planning for this experiment, soundproofing the ceiling and floor, too. The neighbors thought he’d developed an interest in playing electric guitar after he’d let them see him bringing home guitar cases and amps. Fucking sheep. He thought about giving them collars with tin bells for Christmas this year. They wouldn’t get the joke. Cretins.

If she lasted four days, he’d have to develop a plan for work. He could take a long weekend, but more than that and people would notice. In thirteen years, he hadn’t canceled one appointment. Concerned pet owners relied on him to care for their precious Mr Winkerson the Thirds, and Mongo the Killer Beagles. Ever the faithful veterinarian, he’d been planting extraneous items in their beloved pets’ abdomens for years. Paper clips, magnets, the occasional spork (after a Taco Bell lunch, of course). Once, he’d managed to leave a small stapler inside a Persian for two weeks before it died of sepsis. He’d explained with grave eyes about the inherent dangers of surgery, holding the owner’s hands, offering to help with her precious vermin’s funeral arrangements. Little did she know, that filthy creature fed several of this other patients. He’d collated innumerable bits of empirical evidence that week.

But, back to the screaming. He’d progressed, naturally. Lower mammals reacted to pain, certainly, but not with the ability to offer much specific feedback. So he’d found a subject of a higher order. He’d named her Consuela, in deference to her homeland, had purchased her from her parents for seventy-five American dollars. They handed her over with eager hands, thinking she was leaving for a few years of study in California, and would be sending home her monthly allowance. Sheep were much easier to herd than he’d thought.

He’d brought her home, setting the stage with the story about his cousin visiting for a few days then traveling to Eastern Europe for her summer studies. Too easy. After her first meal, drugged from a healthy dose of lorazepam, she’d swayed to the bathroom to ‘refresquese’, then slumped beside the toilet with a limp, meaty thud. He’d dragged her to the basement, stripped her bare, and cuffed her to the metal bed frame. She had enough chain to reach the far corner, which was a mercy, he figured. Even animals deserved the dignity of a bed separate from their own shit and vomit. Sheep he wasn’t sure about, but was starting off with a generous premise. He could always work back from there.

Soon after awakening, Consuela began to scream. Wordless animal eruptions, powerful in their desperation, their hope. Three days had passed, and her voice had left her, then returned with no obvious explanation. Digital feedback determined she’d gained access to no food or water, so he’d determine the source of her resurgent energy through careful re-examination of the footage. As soon as he found more aspirin. Fucking sheep.

He should have considered severing her vocal cords after establishing her ability to communicate in writing. Something to think about for next time. He shrugged, picked up his pistol and a box of shells, and started toward the basement.

A good scientist remains objective, accepts his failed experiments as opportunities to improve methodology in the future.