CHAPTER ONE: PATIENT ZERO

To  the minds of the  twenty-seven extremely high clearance bureaucrats and scientist involved in the “Tonic” project, Dillon Fairfax was the ideal subject for testing.  The first eight months of monitoring the young man’s online buying, viewing and social habits had confirmed that the recruiters were on the right track. Then followed ten months of full-on, full-time surveillance during which Dillon’s every word and deed no matter how trivial or how intensely private was documented and commented upon. This cemented Dillon’’s name to  the top of the initially extensive list of  “volunteers.”

What made Dillon perfect and sealed his fate was a combination of  his attitudes, interests and physical attributes.  His long term girlfriend, one Julie Mann, aerobics instructor and cat lover,  liked to call Dillon the “king of placebos.”  Fairfax had two shelves in his kitchen cupboard, above the large metallic sink and the dirty microwave-safe dishes and plastic cutlery, full of homeopathic treatments, enhancers, stimulants and vitamins.  His bathroom counter had a variety of creams, lotions and washes that were not for sale at Walgreens or Walmart.  Dillon was a “special order” kind of guy, and he enthusiastically opened every brown UPS package and patriotic FedEx envelope that was handed him or that he retrieved from the shelter of the back porch (where the regular delivery folks were used to leaving packages when Dillon wasn’t at home). He greeted each new delivery with certainty that the pills or potions it contained would help him to live a better, more satisfied life.

In spite of Dillon’s general laid-backness in areas such as house-keeping and car maintenance, Dillon had an excellent work ethic and could be counted on to be where he was expected on time and appropriately dressed.  What made Dillon attractive to the  powers that be, however was the fact that Dillon was  meticulous about his supplements.  He followed the directions on every package insert or  label and gave every treatment at least a full cycle (usually about a month) before relegating it to the back of the shelf to be tried again at some nebulous future date when whatever it was that kept the magic from happening during this first dosing might have righted itself.

Another point in Dillon’s favor was his his lack of wariness concerning his privacy.  In a way that went much farther than Julie’s “why fight it? They know everything anyway” attitude, Dillon actually believed that there was no threat to his privacy.  Why would anyone want to monitor someone like him?  Dillon believed that his mundane existence and lack of political involvement was all the protection he needed from the prying eyes of Big Brother.

Without fear of consequence, Dillon  jumped right on board with every scientific or technological advance he read about or that one of his favorite sports celebrities or burned out rock musicians testified about on television or youtube or twitter..  While Julie waited to let the public find the bugs and problems with new products, Dillon dove all the way in without even pretending to test the water.  If it was new, and he could afford it, Dillon bought it.  He was one of the first to get the iPhone and everything that came after.  All of his devices were set to the lowest privacy setting.  He willingly allowed every app to access his photos, address book and his location. He was a fervent consumer of twitter and youtube and absolutely loved Facebook because it allowed him to feel connected to a large network of  people without having to make time for anyone and without having  to invite anyone into his home.    It never occured to Dillon that he was inviting virtually everyone into his home.

Dillon opened emails with enticing subject lines even from strangers.  Yet, to Julie’s amazement, Dillon had never had his identity stolen, and all of his computer software seemed to be running bug free.  Dillon like most of the general population, made very little attempt to understand the science behind the devices he used or the supplements he ingested.  He was unconcerned by phrases like “proprietary blend,”  “secret ingredient,” and “side effects may include.”

He was trusting, and except for the rare abdominal discomforts, transient rashes, and occasional mood-swings, trust had so far cost Dillon very little.

Dillon fit several other requirements of the Tonic project.  His age was right.  Dillon was thirty-seven years old which made him old enough to show some physical signs of aging.  Plus he was right in the middle of the physical fitness bell-curve for his age group.  He was reasonably but not overly active.  He spent quite a bit of time behind the wheel of his work vehicle, but he was in and out of the car at least 30 times each shift.  He had a membership at a local health club, which he took advantage of two or three times a week, usually hitting the stair machine or treadmill for thirty minutes and following with random weight lifting concentrated mostly on upper-body work.

If it wasn’t for his steady diet of candy bars, take-out and beer, Dillon would have been much too fit for the study, but as it was,  Dillon was in good, but not great shape.  He was average for a man his age.

As a courier for a local medical laboratory, Dillon was in a position to casually influence hundreds of people.  He was open and out-going with a personality that invited conversation and sharing of confidences.  He was one of the those people to whom bartenders and grocery store clerks shared intimate details of their personal lives as they handed him drinks and receipts.

Dillon was an only child with no living parents, and although he had a huge network of acquaintances, admirers, and clients, he had very few close friends.  He lived with Julie Mann, his girlfriend of seven years, but, like Julie, wasn’t in contact with any extended family.  This lack of social responsibility meant that if necessary, Dillon’s extraction would be easy to handle and anything unforeseen would be manageable.

Dillon’s decision to order that first bottle of “Tonic Island tonic” was inevitable.  The packaging, labeling and website were all designed just for him. The advertisement came as a pop-up that interrupted Dillon while he was reading an article about the drug overdose and death of an 80’s hair band celebrity. Dillon didn’t even notice that the full page that took over his computer didn’t even offer him a way to exit out without choosing to “learn more.”

Dillon innocently clicked on the link and his first bottle of tonic was being charged to his Capitol One card, less than 3 minutes later.

Tonic Island Tonic was reported to be an all-natural completely safe supplement with absolutely no side effects.  It was going to make him more muscular.  He would enjoy increased stamina and need less sleep.  It was all going to be good.

Leaving on a Jet plane with audience participation.

Lights

Keep Holding On

Chapter 1 is on it’s way.  I got a little bit side tracked with some traveling and regular day job stuff.  What you will be getting here is a novel in progress, and it will be rough.  I’ve decided not to give myself actual deadlines, but posting my progress here does make me a tiny bit accountable.  I don’t want to force the process, but I’ll keep at it.

Frankie

Tonic Island Tonic

By

Frankie Valinda Ghee

 *These statements have not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.

This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease.

Prologue

Jessica wasn’t doing very well. She was currently in the living room of her Downtown Spokane apartment sprawled on the floor right next to her classy leather portfolio. Her glassy eyes focused alternately on the spilled contents of her expensive glass topped end table, a puddle of wine colored vomit, and her cell phone.

She was no more able to reach out and dial for help than she was able to scream, dance the polka or breathe. This was it.

In one day, Jessica went from feeling a little under the weather at the office, to pretty sick in the car on the way home, to this moment of full-blown hard core terror. This was it.

It was funny too, because she was smack dab in the middle of the best year of her life.   She was taking aerobics classes and lifting weights. She was eating better and feeling more energetic. All told, she had lost 37 pounds since January, only 6 months ago.

She’d made some new friends and was no longer spending “no plans….just a quiet evening at home” night every night. She was actually out there, in the game, having fun.

Jessica had her new friend Julie to thank for a lot of this best year ever stuff. No doubt about it.

Jessica Perkins was a financial planner with McNeal and Crosby, and her 10:30am appointment on December 30^th of last year was Julie Mann. Julie was a 38 year old fitness instructor/waitress/wannabe poet who had recently come into quite a tidy sum of money with the passing of her last remaining sibling. She wanted some advice about how best to deal with the inheritance in a low risk fashion that would let her spread her wings a bit without risking a comfortable retirement.

Julie arrived at the door to Jessica’s office at 10:30 on the nose, and Jessica was immediately struck by her relaxed nature and obvious confidence. Jessica was used to setting an almost overly professional tone with new clients in order to put them at ease. She wanted them to know that she took her responsibilities seriously and was not the reckless type who would squander the life savings of little old ladies on high risk ventures.

This Julie Mann though, was a different story. Instead of Jessica making Julie feel safe, Julie’s very nature set Jessica at ease and calmed her in a way that was completely refreshing, and before she knew what had happened, the two women were sharing stories and laughing like old friends from way-back.

Soon Jessica was spending free time at the gym where Julie taught classes. She’d met Julie’s boyfriend and most of her family. Now, the two acquaintances really were friends, good friends.

One of the things Jessica liked most about Julie was the way that she carried herself. She wasn’t ugly by any stretch nor was she quite pretty. She was a black woman who looked about 10 years younger than her 38 years. She had skin too light to be purely African and too dark to be considered anything but black. She had smallish almost oriental looking dark brown eyes and a head of thick black curly hair sporting a few random, wiry grays.   Her lips were awkwardly pink and almost too full for her small face, but somehow it all almost worked together, almost.  There was nothing about this woman that said beautiful, but she carried herself…not as if she thought she was beautiful, but as if she truly never gave the question a thought. Julie was striking, because she was, for lack of a better word, joyful.

Jessica’s weight shifted downward onto the red and tan Oriental rug for which she’d spent way too much at a charity auction last March.

Her upper body pitched over so that her head hit the ornate brass leg of the overturned end table with a “pud.”

Funny that it didn’t hurt. It didn’t feel like anything. As a matter of fact, Jessica couldn’t really feel anything at all right now, just a lot of fear and frustration.

She couldn’t make her body do what her brain was telling it to do. She so desperately wanted to reach out and pick up that god damned phone. It was there, right next to her strangely twisted and surprisingly not throbbing, foot.

“Maybe this has something to do with that tonic,” she thought, “But I haven’t taken any for almost two weeks now. “

Julie’s boyfriend Dillon, had turned Julie onto it, and both of them had seen results right away: improved energy for workouts, better sleep patterns and less stress, so when Julie sent  Jessica the link, she of course, had to check it out.

Jessica wasn’t one to buy into the whole homeopathic snake oil business, but she couldn’t deny that everything Julie said about the tonic seemed to be true, and when she finally bit the bullet and ordered herself that first bottle she preached to everyone that asked her about how miraculous it was.

Jessica had taken a capful each day religiously (with a healthy breakfast) for over four months, and she was certain now that it had been a major factor in her journey back to almost pre-thirties health.

But Jessica had stopped taking the tonic. It was pretty pricey stuff. By the time she’d paid sales tax and shipping and handling for the one large bottle of tonic, her debit account had been reduced by a cool forty-nine dollars. It was definitely worth it, and she planned to make paying for the tonic a priority.

Jessica had placed her most recent order on a Wednesday when she saw that her current bottle was at the halfway point. But by Thursday of the next week, she’d forgotten all about it. She’d continued taking the tonic she had, but when that ran out, some twelve days after placing the order and the new bottle hadn’t arrived, Jessica called the number on the website. It rang and rang, but there was no answer, no voice message, nothing.

Then it got crazy at work, and she met someone at who actually wanted to date her. Things like fifty dollar bottles of tonic didn’t seem as important as everything else. She let it go.

She hadn’t thought about Tonic Island tonic again until this very moment, and the thought was quick to pass.

Now, Jessica Perkins was thinking the last three thoughts she would ever think in this life.

“How long have I been lying here?”

“How long before someone notices I’m in here like this?”

“How long has it been since I last…breathed.”

Tonic Island Tonic

A Novel in the making by Frankie Ghee

I’ve decided that the whole concept of trying to find a publisher, even an audience or my works of long fiction has made me less motivated to write every day.  So I am going to offer this novel in the making to my twitter and wordpress followers.  I will share chapters and thoughts with you as they come to me.

When it’s all done, I’ll go from there, but this is just for the love of creepy, creepy fiction.

Enjoy.

Follow me and look for #TonicIslandTonic

Hello Music Lovers and Friends

I’m really looking forward to a nice, relaxing couple of hours of singing and socializing. Please let me know if you heard about my performance here or on twitter.

Frankie Ghee

Live at Riverwalk Coffee House Spokane

Friday, April 10, 2015

11:00am-1:00pm

see you soon!

Sagebrush and Snow

Sagebrush and snow
Sagebrush and snow
Merging traffic onto sand
Salt and snow
75 mph
All the way through Nevada
Slow traffic
Stay right
Interstate 80
And on to Reno
Sunlight on snow caps
Dirty windshields
Flying pebbles
Sage brush and snow
From Twin Falls
To Reno

Singing with Intent

Some songs we sing to sooth, but with others we use our voices to stir emotions of despair and grief.  While many melodies go straight for the joy others seek to empower or strengthen resolve.  Songs can be educational, confusing, hilarious and maddeningly catchy.  Songs we hate at first listen can worm their way into our hearts and become favorites.

If I was given the opportunity to choose one super power, I would choose the power to stop listeners with a song. The target of my singing would have to stop and hear the song and feel it’s purpose, and in those moments of music, my captive listener would experience the song with my intent.  They might feel giddy, irrational love or become paralyzed with hopelessness and heartache.  I could plunge my audience into a state of panic or outrage and then lift them into a state of bliss and inner peace.

I would never again sing a song whose only intent was to show off my instrument, my highs and lows or the length of my breath.  I would not distract with choreography or complicated personas.  I would only sing with intention….and I would never win a contest.

Today was such a spontaneously beautiful day that I had to go out and sing.  It got me to thinking about Spring and Summer.

Imagine how cool it would be to host a short concert right in the middle of your next outdoor (or indoor) event.  Just as things start to get routine, after everyone has eaten, the acoustic music starts.  It’s not too loud to hinder conversations, but for an hour or so, you don’t have to worry about trying to engage your guest.  Just kick back and let them listen and talk about the music and hopefully sing along.

My prices are super reasonable and my music works for most combinations of audiences.

Frankie

I PERCEIVE THE FOG IN SPOKANE

The Fog clinging to my city today is like a curtain
It feels gray and heavy
When I think of it as gray and heavy
It feels like a damp, cold blanket
The mist on my face might be the tears of a disappointed god
This fog is mournful and dank

The fog clinging to my city today is like a curtain
It shimmers of sliver and feels light
When I think of it as silver and shimmering
Like the soft lighting used to make show biz faces
Seem less harsh
To make the sharp angles in painting more like the stuff of dreams

This fog is cool and cottony
Refreshing like ocean spray
It brushes my cheek with the gentle fingers of the Devine

Perception is everything