Part 2: Effects
Larry looked up at the knock on his office door. He saw a young woman standing in the doorway and recognized his student, Laura Beck. He hadn't seen her in any of his classes in weeks. Not that her absence surprised him. Laura had been Katie Shelley's best friend.
"Come in, Laura," Larry said. He took in his student's appearance. Her face was pale and dry. Her clothes—made up of sweat pants and a large sweater—hung on her limp frame. He thought about Laura a few weeks ago sitting next to Katie in Advanced Physics. He knew they studied together. Their homework contained nearly identical answers. If their test scores hadn't been different, Larry may have suspected cheating. Then Katie began to surpass Laura. Still, Laura supported her friend. He remembered them both jumping up and down in excitement when Katie got the offer from NASA. The girls had a friendship that other students envied.
Shortly after, Katie had passed away. Larry felt a surge of sympathy for both of his students.
"Sorry I've been missing class so much, Professor Fleinhardt," Laura said in a quiet voice.
Giving the girl a sympathetic smile, Larry said, "Not to worry. I understand the circumstances. I simply asked you to see me today so that we discuss how to help you finish the semester. Please, sit down."
Laura sat in the chair across from Larry desk and stared at her shoes.
Larry cleared his throat before speaking. "I understand the school has an absence policy that limits the number of sessions a student can miss before an incomplete is placed on his or her record. However, I believe your circumstances overrule such policies."
"Thank you, Professor, but I might as well take the incomplete. I don't plan on returning to class." Laura's eyes never left her shoes as she spoke.
"I understand that losing Katie was difficult, but you can't throw away your future due to your grief. The best thing you can do is continue your studies."
Laura shook her head. "I'm not dropping out because I miss Katie. I'm dropping out because…"
Larry stayed silent, curiously waiting for his student to finish. "Because?" he prodded.
Laura finally looked up. "I'm scared of ending up like Katie. I'm scared of what I will do if the pressure becomes too much."
Remembering the newspaper article and the explanation that Katie died of a drug overdose, Larry again felt a wave of sympathy for his student.
"Laura, thousands of students study at this university and despite the pressure, the odds of graduating are very high. Hearing a story like Katie's is quite rare. As long as you are vigilant in your studies, I see no threat of you succumbing to dangerous substances."
"I would have said the same thing about Katie. That's the thing about Focus. It only takes trying it once before you can't function without it."
"Focus?"
"That's the name of the drug that killed her."
"Oh dear." Larry's hand fell automatically to his cheek. He inspected his student with new understanding. "Are other students using…Focus?"
Laura shrugged. "Probably. It's hard to know how many take it. I'm not even sure where they get it. Katie wouldn't tell me. I think most students get it from some guy. I don't know if he's a student or not."
Larry listened to Laura and wondered what he should do. How much did the school administrators know about CalSci's drug problem? One student lost already and more potentially in danger.
"Laura, would you accompany me to the administration offices? I would like you to tell the dean what you told me."
Without warning, Laura stood up and moved toward the door. "No. No, please. I don't want to get in trouble." Her face had gone even more pale and her eyes were large brown circles on the white skin.
Larry tried to reason with her. "You won't be in any trouble, Laura. But I'm worried that mores students could end up like Katie unless the school intervenes."
Laura was still backing up, shaking her head. "Please, I can't. I'm sorry."
With that, Laura disappeared into the hallway.
Larry stared after her, watching the students stroll back and forth passed his open door. She did not reappear. Disappointed, Larry placed his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands. His brow wrinkled with worry as he debated what he should do.
- O -
Nearly a week later, Don visited CalSci. Part of the visit was to update Charlie on the case. He wanted to know if Charlie could pull any new leads out of the latest data the team had collected. They still hadn't caught the killer and the pressure was starting to interfere with the investigation. Politicians, press, and victims all wanted the killer brought to justice. They were losing patience and Don's team was starting to take the brunt of their frustrations.
Don also visited Charlie at the request of his father. Alan had called Don the day before to complain that Charlie had been acting strange. He was spending too much time in the garage or at school. His eating and sleeping habits had dropped to an unhealthy level. Alan hadn't said it, but Don picked up on the similarities to P vs. NP.
Don made up his mind before he arrived at CalSci. If Charlie looked as unhealthy as Alan described, he wouldn't give Charlie the case files.
The school was quiet for a Friday afternoon. Don assumed most students had decided to skip class and start their weekends early. It's what he would have done when he was in college.
Charlie's office door was open, but Charlie wasn't inside. Don walked in and looked around the room.
The young professor had always ignored certain aspects or life—cleanliness and organization—in pursuit of his work. Don was used to the mess Charlie left behind. That was why Don did a double take when he saw the neatly stacked papers on the desk. Was Don in the right office?
Moving in for a closer look, Don saw that not only were the papers in order, but everything on the desk was organized and aligned at an OCD level. The pencils were sharpened to exact lengths and sat side-by-side. Staplers, paperclips, and other office supplies were arranged to fit in a Tetris-like pattern. Not a spec of dirt or dust could be found anywhere on the desk surface.
Don turned around to inspect the chalkboards. They were covered in the usual equations, but the chalk trays were clean, and the chalk was untouched as if Charlie had just opened a new box.
Was Don in the right office?
"Larry, don't worry about it. I've got it."
Don looked up at Charlie's voice from the hallway. Seconds later the curly-haired genius appeared, his mentor by his side. They both paused in the doorway, seeing Don.
"Hey, Charlie. Larry," Don said. He was somewhat thrown off by his brother's appearance. Charlie was thin and his eyes were rimmed in red. His arms were full of books and Don hurried forward to take some of them before they crushed his brother.
"I've got it, Don," Charlie said, pushing passed the FBI agent and dropping the books into his rolling chair. He immediately began organizing them on his bookshelf. "You guys wouldn't know where to put them anyway."
Don exchanged a glance with Larry who shrugged.
"Everything okay, Charlie?" Don asked.
Charlie heaved an exasperated sigh. "I'm fine, Don." He suddenly straightened up, and turned away from the shelf, a book still clutched in his hands. "What are you doing here? Do you have an update on the case?"
"That depends," Don said. "You seem a little overworked."
Don heard the smallest gasp from Larry as if the professor was bracing himself. A moment later, Don understood why.
"I AM NOT OVERWORKED!" Charlie yelled, slamming the book down on his desk and making Don jump and reach for his holster. Charlie continued ranting without noticing Don's reflex reaction. "Why does everyone keep saying that? I've met all my deadlines. My math has been flawless. Why does everyone assume I'm overworked?"
Charlie was breathing hard after the outburst and Don waited for him to calm down before speaking.
"I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't mean to imply you were doing anything wrong. I was just concerned. Dad said you haven't been home very much and he's worried you aren't eating."
"That's just dad," Charlie said, turning back to the bookshelf.
"You doing some cleaning?" Don asked. He listened for another intake of breath from Larry, but the silence let Don know the question was safe.
"The mess was distracting. I get more done when I'm not distracted."
"I can't argue with that," Don said.
Charlie placed the final book and turned back to Don. With nothing to do, Charlie's hands fidgeted. He couldn't seem to stand still.
"Do you want my help with the case?" Charlie asked.
Not wanting trigger another tirade about being overworked, Don held up the folder from the FBI. "This is everything new. We have two new…locations for you to factor in. You think you can figure out the pattern?"
Charlie snatched the folder and opened it, scanning the data.
"That's it?" he asked.
"I'm sorry it isn't much, buddy." In reality, Don wasn't sorry at all. The two new locations were crime scenes for two more murders. This time it was an elderly couple about to move into a care facility and an uncle babysitting his niece. Both scenes had been disturbing. Don really wanted to catch the guy before he could kill again. "You think it will be enough?" Don asked his brother.
"I'll get you what I can. You'd better go. I need to focus."
Don opened his mouth to say goodbye, but Charlie was already engrossed in the files. He doubted his brother would even hear him. He turned to leave and found himself face-to-face with Larry. The expression on Larry's face made the hairs on Don's neck stand up. Together they moved into the hallway. Don heard the office door slam behind them. Charlie never closed his office door.
"Does he seem okay to you?" Don asked, knowing what Larry's answer would be.
"His behavior is concerning. Especially his language."
"Language?"
"He talked about eliminating distractions. He said he wanted to focus."
Don shrugged. "I've been there."
Larry stared at the closed office door, absently rubbing his chin.
"Don, at the FBI, have you ever heard of a drug called Focus?"
"I haven't, but my team doesn't cover very many drug cases. That's usually the DEA. Why?"
"One of my students overdosed a couple of weeks ago."
"I'm sorry," Don said, wondering what this had to do with Charlie's eccentric behavior.
"When speaking with another student about Katie's death, she told me about a drug called Focus. It has apparently become a choice study agent for many students at CalSci."
Don stayed quiet and let the professor explain.
"I don't know very much about this particular drug, but its name implies it is some sort of mental distraction eliminator. My student confessed that it was highly addictive." Larry finally pried his eyes away from the door to look at Don. "Could you find out more?"
Don realized what Larry was telling him. Had Charlie somehow started relying on drugs to help him study? The idea was absurd. Charlie was not the type of person to turn to outside substances in order to enhance his thinking. Charlie was a genius already. He didn't need extra help.
But then Don thought of Charlie's strange behavior. The OCD organization, pushing people away, getting upset over accusations of being overworked, it all seemed out of character.
"Are you sure I have a reason to make inquiries?" Don asked cryptically.
Larry's eyes returned to the closed door. "I'm beginning to believe we have a very good reason."
- O -
Complications in the case kept Don busy until Friday when he was finally able to call his contact at the DEA. Don took a deep breath before dialing the number, preparing himself for the conversation—and not just because he was about to discuss his brother's possible drug habit.
He heard two rings then a greeting.
"This is Martin."
"Aubrey?"
"Speaking."
"It's Don Eppes."
There was a brief pause then. "What can I do for you, Don?"
That was politer than Don had expected. It was certainly politer than he deserved.
"I need a favor."
Another pause. "What is it?"
"Have you ever heard of a drug called Focus?"
Don could hear the relief in Aubrey's voice when she answered. He wasn't asking about past romances. His question was current, relevant.
"It's a newer drug, but it's making a big impact, especially on college campuses," Aubrey said. "We've already had reports of several deaths from overdoses. They say it's highly addictive and has a hell of an effect."
"What exactly does this drug do?"
"Lives up to its name. Take a pill and you can focus your entire being on a single task. Without any distractions, the user can accomplish just about anything. Take this one kid that overdosed over at UCLA. Her teachers said she went from average student to top of her class. All sorts of companies were offering her jobs and internships. The credit for her Cinderella story goes to Focus. I'd give it to my agents if it weren't so addictive. Side-effects are a pain."
"What sort of side-effects are we talking about?"
"Apart from the addiction? While the drug is in the system, the mind must focus on a single task. College kids use it to complete homework assignments. But once the assignment is done, they have to use up the rest of the drug. I've had reports of kids destroying dorm rooms and other property. Of course, that's when the drug is in the system. Coming down from the drug is even worse. Memory loss, inability to concentrate, fidgeting, nervous energy, and it only gets worse from there."
Don pictured Charlie's strange behavior from earlier that week. It seemed to fit Aubrey's description. "And what's the withdrawal process like?"
Aubrey sighed. "I'll let you know when we get a report of a successful withdrawal."
"What do you mean?"
"We can't get anyone to function without the drug. Once Focus is in the system, the user can't get by without it. We've got doctors working with a handful of users, none of them can get through a day without taking Focus."
Don cursed under his breath.
"Don?"
"Yeah?"
"Why is the FBI interested in Focus?"
"The FBI isn't. I am."
"Okay. Why are you interested in Focus?"
Don wondered if his ex-girlfriend was really the right person to discuss his suspicions. If he could think of her as a DEA agent and not a past lover, maybe she could help.
"Do you remember my brother Charlie?"
"The math genius?"
"That's the one."
"I remember," Aubrey said.
"I think he might have started using Focus."
There was another pause, then Aubrey said, "Tell me about his behavior."
"He's not sleeping or eating, but he sometimes gets that way when he's overworked."
"Has he seemed stressed?"
"No," Don said, surprised that he hadn't realized this before. "He's a professor at CalSci. Normally when he's this close to finals, he's a wreck. But he seems to be thriving. I asked for him to consult on a case for the FBI and he's brought back results faster than ever before."
"What made you suspect he's taking Focus?"
"One of his coworkers brought his behavior to my attention. A girl at the college died of a drug overdose. Knowing the drugs were present on campus, the professor asked me what I knew about Focus. That's why I called you."
"Okay, Don, listen to me very carefully. Has your brother experienced any unconsciousness while working? He'd be so invested in his work that he won't acknowledge anything else. He won't speak or even look at anything else going on in the room."
Don thought about P vs NP. But even then, Charlie would at least acknowledge his presence. "No," Don said.
"If that happens, it means he's definitely addicted to Focus. You must get him to a doctor right away. Do you understand?"
Don could hear the serious tone in her voice. For the first time, it struck him just how much danger Charlie was in.
"I understand," he said quietly.
