The Oddest Solution.
Chapter five — The trial.
Picking up her phone, Marguerite noticed she had a message on her NHS app. It was from Graham—Dr Clemence; she had to stop thinking of him as a friend… Apparently, her medication would arrive in the next couple of days. She was advised to read the documentation carefully; dosage: one tablet at bedtime: avoid consuming alcohol for at least two hours prior to use. Fuller information on side effects will be supplied.
Marguerite smiled; soon she’d be feeling better. Possibly she was too partial to a drink; during treatment she would go teetotal. Already she was planning for recovery; that was progress! She tried to send a quick message to Katie but was interrupted by the doorbell. To her surprise, a motorbike courier stood on the doorstep.
“Package for Mrs Dubois! I need a signature, please, lady!”
“Are you sure it’s for me? I’m not expecting a package?”
“Paperwork says overnight delivery of medicine. Sound right to you?”
“Oh, yes, it would be. I was just expecting it by post, silly me!”
Marguerite carried the box into the kitchen and cut the tie on the parcel. Sure enough, it was from the Mayfield Clinic. She was impressed with the service—these guys looked after their patients!
Twenty miles away, Clifford’s phone pinged. On checking, it confirmed the delivery to the target. The professor had hidden the medicine used in the trial under the of patent protection. The 100mg tablets were solely for the use of hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD), so those getting the active dose could expect a boost to a lagging sexual desire. Mrs Dubois would get a little more after the first month, to say the very least.
He sent a text to his sister.
‘Did you take the spy cameras I left with mother?’
‘Sure thing, Richard, one for our room and one for Marguerite’s. Do they have instructions in the boxes?’
‘Yep, it’s simple — buzz me if you need help!’
‘Will do! I assume Marguerite’s tablets are there?’
‘Oh yes, my playtime begins!’
‘So can I watch the cameras too?’
‘Sure, the instructions are in the box!’
‘Neat!’
Indeed, neat!
Clifford would have a front-row seat as his plan unfolded, complete in its under-handiness. His revenge would spread from Margy to Katie, then from Katie to Sharon and ultimately from Sharon to Mother! Oh, they would all pay as they fell into his thraldom—his, not hers! Then they would be directed to seek others, and his revenge on all womankind would be complete. A revenge born in his childhood — as a male he was constantly picked out for criticism and ridicule by Mother! Ridiculed, whilst his sister was petted and groomed.
Oh, how sweet it would be. He roared like the maniac he was.
Graham was coming to the end of his list when his phone beeped. A quick glance confirmed that the delivery to Marguerite had been made. He laughed; he just loved it when a catfish got caught in its own net. At that moment, Mr Galsworthy limped in.
“Oh, I see the ulcer is still giving you problems—let me remove the bandage…”
He forwarded the notification to the next interested party with a quick flick of his thumb.
Sherrie picked up her phone, read the message and replied.
“Sorry it never worked out between us; mind you, without your work there would never have been the twins. It’s a shame one of them was a misfit; Sharon makes up for that in droves. Thanks for setting this all up; the funds will arrive in your shortly!”
After Richard’s last debacle, Sherrie has run out of patience. It was inevitable; an uncultured idiot like Richard would blame Marguerite and target her in some ill-conceived, over complex plan. It was time he learnt the ultimate lesson; one does not piss off Mother Mistress!
Graham wished Mr Galsworthy well, then he logged into his banking app. Clifford’s small deposit had been dwarfed by Sherrie’s grand gesture. Now he could set up his real clinical trial. He happily ignored the fate of Marguerite and anyone in with her following the second stage of the treatment. He felt some responsibility for not analysing Sherrie sufficiently before he conducted the IVF treatment; it was now clear that she was seriously unbalanced.
So, the world may suffer if the alternative pharmaceutical worked as Richard/Clifford expected. So, what? It wasn’t as if it were Graham’s product! OK, Richard was his product, but it was not his own morality that should be questioned.
Across town, Sherrie wrote a detailed e-mail to Graham. He was to assemble a collection of the best plastic surgeons he could find; specialists in gender reassignment would be most welcome. Richard needed some specialist attention to curb his tendency to be a dangerous misogynist. This would be perfect — the oddest solution.