Arriving at Alexander’s house, he asked me to tell him about my day, and I did. From the fact that I didn’t hear Aaron, to the fact that I heard emotions more than I did before, I recounted my day in as precise detail as I could be bothered to tell. As he said, extra data never hurt anyone.
“Interesting, this about hearing emotions. We’ll do another one tonight, then you’re free until Monday, to see if anything changes after four days of not using the drug,” he said.
“What do you think is causing it?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t have any measurement instruments, so I can’t make qualified judgement, but this is the first time we’ve ever seen something real, if not measurable, pertaining to thought. Why my colleagues aren’t all over this, I’ll never know.”
“I see,” I said. “Anything else before you put me back under?”
“Yes,” he said, “remember this now, because your memory will be impaired after being out. Be social over the weekend, if it’s possible. Talk to people, get out, and try seeing just how far you can push this emotion-hearing. If it’s possible, maybe with a high enough dose we could finally measure thought.”
“How would you tell them you got the idea?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said, his excitement quickly winding down. “We’ll have to see.”
Laura, having been remarkably silent during my visit, was ready to help me again, and just as before, I was on their kitchen table, in my underwear, giving them the signal to go.
Back in the void, I again heard nothing but silence. He wasn’t there, and even when I tried thinking of him, any sentences he would say didn’t feel external, but like just figments of my own imagination. I couldn’t will him into existence, and that was probably a good thing. It just increased the chances that he was real.
Not long after I’d found myself in the void again, I again heard the guitar. But this time, instead of starting from simple plucking, it immediately started as fully-formed music, and it sounded beautiful. My conscious mind again lost any form of concentration, and just immersed itself in the concert that, apparently, its own subconscious partner was creating.
At that point, the weight of the revelation sank into my head, and the chord progression changed to a minor key to reflect it. Alexander was right. Science needed to know about this. Myself, and possibly Aaron were the first two humans to have a direct interface between the conscious and the unconscious, the last part of the human brain to lack research and understanding.
I was no expert, but I realised what it meant. If this link was to be researched, described and replicated, the understanding of the human brain would be complete. Decades of research lay ahead, and I was Patient Zero. They needed to know. Everyone needed to know.
The hours ticked by, and the guitar concert never seemed to end, always variations on a theme, but each more beautiful than the last. I was now sure that my internal clock was off while under the drug, but it didn’t matter. I wanted it to be as slow as possible. I didn’t want this concert ever to end, but sadly, it did.
Waking up in the Alexanders’ kitchen again, I shook my head to indicate the lack of Aaron, and he just gave me a blank stare, walling himself in, away from my gaze, away from my sixth sense.
“Monday, 11am. Be here,” he said, and left to his bedroom, leaving me to talk to Laura and show myself out.
“What’s wrong with him?” I said.
“He’s occupied. You don’t see it, but his mind is constantly on overdrive, thinking about the implications of anything and everything,” she said. “I have trouble getting him to sleep sometimes.”
“Ha, yeah,” I said. “I can see it.”
“Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with me sometimes,” she said. “Off you go. Get some rest.” I didn’t have the strength left to argue, so I left without saying much else.
Having autopiloted through the evening, I crashed into bed for the remainder of my nap and woke up hours before the December sunrise to tackle my Friday. It wasn’t the easiest of mornings, having not got quality hours of sleep in the previous two nights, but I felt rested enough, and work came as a secondary thing to me. It was easy enough to do it without much thought to it, and I found myself very much distracted by the hours-long guitar concert my own subconscious mind had treated me to the night before.
Was I really capable of creating such music? I had to find out. After excusing myself out of work early, with the boss noticing I wasn’t looking like the healthiest of people, I took a detour to a music shop on the way home, and picked up a simple guitar and instruction book. After all, the search for Aaron was now out of my hands. I needed a new hobby.
I spent the entire afternoon looking at the book, trying to play along to the words and sheet music in there. I was surprised how much it hurt to press the strings down, but I persevered nonetheless. I would fish out the beautiful music yet, and I knew I could, because if my subconscious mind could create it on complete autopilot, I could bring it out, and make the subconscious talk to the conscious.
The co-workers did insist on me going for a drink with them, as it was the last Friday before we’d all start our Christmas holidays. It was a strange experience to socialise with them for the first time in a while. Knowing what was on my shoulders changed how I thought about everything, and I spent most of the evening distracted, intently listening to their thoughts.
In all of them, I found sheer joy and relief. They didn’t know what I was going through, and I preferred to keep it that way. After all, all I was doing was engaging in some illicit medical procedures, with two trained doctors in their sixties helping me do the craziest, most illegal thing in my life. Nothing major.
