Clincal Trials
The low hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Garth and Jahnny stepped into the clean, sterile lobby of the Massachatta Research Institute. The contrast between the polished floors and the rough streets they’d walked that morning was jarring. Everything inside gleamed unnaturally, from the oversized potted plants to the receptionist’s desk, which looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie. Garth walked with the confidence of someone who had convinced himself he belonged, his arm draped protectively over Jahnny’s shoulder.
Jahnny glanced around nervously, his small frame almost swallowed up by his oversized hoodie. The sight of people in lab coats and surgical masks made his stomach churn. He tightened his grip on his dad’s hand, though Garth’s grip on him was firm and unrelenting.
“Afternoon,” Garth said smoothly as they approached the desk. His voice had that too-friendly tone he used when he wanted something. “We’re here for the clinical trials. Name’s Garth Harper, and this here’s my boy.”
The receptionist, a young woman with a professional smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, glanced down at Jahnny. “For the pediatric trials?”
“That’s the one,” Garth said, nodding. “My boy’s eager to help out, ain’t ya, buddy?”
Jahnny didn’t respond. He kept his head down, studying the polished floor as if the speckles in the tile would offer some kind of escape route.
The receptionist’s eyes narrowed slightly. “We typically require participants to be at least ten years old.”
“He’s ten,” Garth said quickly. “Just turned last month. Can’t you tell? Big for his age.”
Jahnny’s heart skipped. He wasn’t anywhere near ten, and anyone with half a brain could see that. But the receptionist didn’t argue. She sighed and began typing into her computer.
“Alright,” she said, her tone clipped. “I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork to confirm his eligibility.”
“Of course, of course,” Garth said, grinning. He nudged Jahnny toward one of the chairs. “Sit tight, champ. Let your old man handle this.”
Jahnny sat down, his legs swinging over the edge of the chair as he watched his father. Garth leaned casually against the counter, answering the woman’s questions with practiced ease. Every answer was a lie—Jahnny’s age, his medical history, even the part where Garth claimed he was a single father struggling to make ends meet. Garth painted himself as a picture of noble sacrifice, doing whatever it took to provide for his boy.
The receptionist handed Garth a clipboard with several pages of fine print. Garth skimmed them quickly, barely reading the words before scribbling his signature at the bottom of each page. He handed the clipboard back with a flourish, flashing his toothy grin.
“All set?” he asked.
The receptionist hesitated. “Just a moment. I’ll have a nurse escort you to the testing area.”
As she made a call, Garth turned to Jahnny, his grin softening into something almost fatherly. “See, kid? Easy. We’ll be in and out, and I’ll take you for some ice cream after.”
Jahnny nodded, though his unease didn’t fade. He didn’t like lying, even if his dad acted like it was no big deal. But he didn’t want to disappoint him either. Garth was the only one who ever treated him like he mattered, like he was special.
A tall man in scrubs appeared a few minutes later, his face unreadable behind a surgical mask. “Follow me,” he said, gesturing for them to come.
Garth led the way, keeping his hand firmly on Jahnny’s shoulder as they followed the nurse down a long, sterile hallway. The further they went, the colder the air seemed to get. Jahnny glanced at the doors they passed, each one marked with a room number and a warning sign about biohazards or restricted access. He thought he heard faint voices behind some of them, or the occasional beep of a machine, but the hall itself was eerily quiet.
They stopped at a door marked “Room 4.” The nurse opened it and stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter. Inside was a small exam room, no larger than a walk-in closet. A single exam table sat in the middle, flanked by a rolling stool and a counter cluttered with medical supplies. Jahnny’s eyes were drawn to the vials and syringes neatly arranged on a metal tray. He swallowed hard.
“Take a seat,” the nurse said, his tone flat.
Jahnny hesitated, but Garth gave him a little push. “Go on, kiddo. It’s just like the doctor’s office.”
Reluctantly, Jahnny climbed onto the exam table. The paper crinkled loudly under him as he shifted uncomfortably. The nurse wheeled over a stool and began taking Jahnny’s vitals. He checked his pulse, blood pressure, and temperature with quick efficiency, scribbling notes on a clipboard as he worked.
“Everything looks fine,” the nurse said finally. He handed Jahnny a small plastic cup filled with colorful pills. “You’ll need to take one of these every morning and evening. They’re part of the trial.”
Garth snatched the cup before Jahnny could take it. “What are these, exactly?” he asked, inspecting the pills like he was some kind of expert.
“Experimental supplements,” the nurse replied. “They’re designed to enhance cognitive function in children. Perfectly safe.”
Garth nodded, clearly satisfied with the vague explanation. He handed the cup to Jahnny, who took it hesitantly. The nurse gave him a bottle of water, and Garth leaned in close. “C’mon, champ. Down the hatch.”
Jahnny popped one of the pills into his mouth, wincing as its bitter taste spread across his tongue. He gulped down the water quickly, trying to wash away the flavor.
The nurse set the clipboard aside and picked up a syringe. “We’ll also need to administer a small injection. It’s part of the protocol.”
Jahnny froze. “A shot?”
“It’s nothing, buddy,” Garth said, ruffling his hair. “Just a little pinch.”
Jahnny’s hands gripped the edge of the table as the nurse swabbed his arm with alcohol. The sharp prick of the needle made him flinch, but he didn’t cry out. Garth beamed at him like he’d just won a medal.
“See? Tough as nails,” Garth said. “That’s my boy.”
The nurse pressed a cotton ball to Jahnny’s arm and taped it in place. He handed Garth an envelope, its edges bulging slightly. “Your compensation for today’s visit. We’ll see you next week for the follow-up.”
Garth tucked the envelope into his jacket with a satisfied grin. “Thanks, doc. You’ve been a real help.”
The nurse didn’t respond. He was already sanitizing the equipment as Garth and Jahnny left the room. Jahnny’s arm throbbed where the needle had been, and his mouth still tasted faintly of the pills. He walked silently beside his father, the unease in his chest growing heavier with each step.
Back in the lobby, Garth couldn’t resist a peek into the envelope. The sight of crisp bills made his grin stretch wider. “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?” he said, clapping Jahnny on the back. “Let’s grab some grub and head home.”
Jahnny nodded, but his mind lingered on the pills and the shot. He didn’t know what they were really for, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. But he didn’t say anything. He never did.
The bell above the door jingled as Garth pushed it open, ushering Jahnny into the small, greasy diner. The place smelled like fried bacon and syrup, the air thick with the mingled scents of coffee and overcooked hash browns. Red vinyl booths lined the walls, their cushions patched in places with duct tape. A row of stools faced the counter, where a lone cook flipped pancakes with a cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Pick a spot, kiddo,” Garth said, gesturing to the mostly empty diner. He rubbed his hands together, his mood buoyed by the envelope of cash tucked into his jacket pocket.
Jahnny chose a booth near the window, sliding into the seat and pressing his face to the cold glass. Outside, the city was a blur of cracked pavement and grimy storefronts. A woman in a tattered coat shuffled past, dragging a shopping cart filled with cans and plastic bags. Jahnny turned away, his stomach growling loudly.
Garth slid into the booth across from him, slapping the laminated menu onto the table. “Alright, champ, get whatever you want. Today’s a treat.”
Jahnny perked up, grabbing the menu eagerly. His usual meals consisted of whatever leftovers were at home—or nothing at all. The thought of ordering something fresh and hot made his mouth water. He scanned the options, his eyes darting between pancakes and burgers, torn between breakfast and lunch.
When the waitress came over, her hair teased high and her lipstick faded around the edges, Garth flashed her his toothy grin. “Two coffees to start, darlin’. And let the boy order first.”
Jahnny hesitated, then pointed to a picture of a stack of chocolate chip pancakes smothered in whipped cream. “Can I have this?”
“You got it, sugar,” the waitress said, jotting it down. “And for you?”
Garth didn’t even glance at the menu. “Cheeseburger, extra bacon. Fries on the side.”
The waitress scribbled their order and sauntered off. Garth leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. Jahnny sat quietly, his eyes wandering around the diner. A couple of truckers sat at the counter, laughing loudly over their coffee. A man in a frayed suit hunched over a newspaper, stirring his tea with mechanical precision.
“Thanks, Dad,” Jahnny said, looking back at Garth. “For letting me skip school today. This was kinda fun.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my boy,” Garth replied. “Gotta show you the ropes, right? One day you’ll understand what it means to do whatever it takes to get by.”
Jahnny nodded, unsure of what to say. He didn’t really understand, but he liked the attention his dad was giving him. For once, he wasn’t yelling or calling anyone names. It felt… normal. Almost nice.
The waitress returned with their coffee, placing two mugs on the table. Jahnny reached for the sugar packets, dumping three into his dad’s cup before Garth could even protest.
“Sweet tooth, huh?” Garth chuckled, taking a sip. He winced but didn’t complain. “You’re lucky you’re a good kid.”
Jahnny grinned, feeling a warm swell of pride. He didn’t get called “good” very often.
Their food arrived not long after, the plates steaming and fragrant. Jahnny dug in immediately, cutting into his pancakes and watching the chocolate chips melt into the syrupy pool on his plate. Each bite was rich and sugary, the kind of meal he could only dream about at home.
Garth tore into his burger, barely pausing to chew. He was already halfway through when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen, and his cheerful expression darkened. He muttered something under his breath, shoving the phone back into his jacket.
Jahnny paused mid-bite, syrup dripping from his fork. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” Garth said sharply. He pushed his plate aside, suddenly disinterested in his food. “Just… business.”
Jahnny nodded, trying not to let the shift in mood dampen his appetite. He finished his pancakes quietly, sneaking glances at his dad. Garth was staring out the window now, his jaw clenched, tapping his fingers on the table in an uneven rhythm.
When Jahnny finally set his fork down, his plate licked clean, Garth snapped back to attention. He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Alright, buddy. You all set?”
“Yeah.” Jahnny wiped his hands on a napkin. “That was really good. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Garth said, waving the waitress over for the check. He paid in cash, leaving extra for a tip before standing up and stretching. “C’mon, let’s head out.”
As they walked back into the cold air of Blenc’s streets, Jahnny looked up at his dad, the warmth of the meal still sitting in his stomach. For a brief moment, he felt like maybe things weren’t so bad. Maybe his dad wasn’t so bad.
But Garth was already ahead of him, lighting a cigarette and muttering under his breath as he checked his phone again. Jahnny jogged to catch up, the sound of his father’s words drowned out by the city’s noise. The moment, fleeting as it was, had passed.