I shake my head, feeling like it will explode as I try to put her words together. “But I’m not crazy. I know what was real!”
“Do you, Claire?”
I blink, two sets of memories barreling down on me. My head is spinning, my blood boiling with rage. “What about the footage I saw? That’s the only reason I started to believe this lie!”
“I let you believe the video was real, not the product of your footage heavily edited with a body double. The special effects crew did an excellent job with that, I must say. I knew you’d never believe the video was real unless you found it on your own. Telling you that you couldn’t watch it ended up being the best way to convince you to gain access to my computer. I knew you’d find a way to hack it eventually, although I never guessed you’d have a friend help you.”
I remember Dr. Grand’s presence and look up at his looming form. I see what he’s holding. It’s his tray of sedatives; four syringes lined up in a neat row. One for each limb. “You knew too. You let me into her office the day I hacked her computer. You knew what I was going to do. That’s why you let me stay in there alone.” Looking back, it was all too easy. “You lied about everything. You aren’t a probationary.”
Dr. Shelia throws him a hard stare. “You told her about your status?”
He flinches slightly. Maybe he didn’t lie about that after all. “It didn’t break any rules of production. I wanted her to know.”
It’s too much. I can’t handle the weight of everything I’ve learned. I feel like I did when I watched my footage, on the brink of complete emotional and mental collapse. “What have you done to me? What have you done to Darren? You’ve destroyed us! Broken us!” I’m screaming. Wailing.
“It’s all in the name of science,” Dr. Shelia says. “Dr. Grand. Now.”
He barely moves before I spring away from him and his tray of sedatives.
“No!” I shout. I’m surprised when he pauses. I look from him to the tray. “Please, no. I’ll calm down, I promise. Just give me a moment. Then I’ll do whatever you want.”
He looks to Dr. Shelia. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She gives a subtle nod. Dr. Grand takes a step back and I return to my seat. My breathing is labored, eyes squeezed shut as I fight to take in everything I’ve heard. What does this mean for me? What can I do?
It becomes clear.
My breathing grows heavier until I’m gasping for breath. I sway, then open my eyes, seek out Dr. Grand. “Water,” I gasp. “I need water.”
He nods, looks to Dr. Shelia.
“Get her some,” she says with irritation.
Dr. Grand sets his tray on the corner of Dr. Shelia’s desk, then hurries out of the room.
I’m still gasping as I face Dr. Shelia. “Air. Please, I can’t breathe.”
She narrows her eyes at me, then gives them a roll. “Fine.” As she swivels her chair to face the window, my eyes lock on the sedatives. She rises, takes a step.
I grab a syringe.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I lunge for Dr. Shelia’s legs, stabbing the needle into her calf with all the force I can manage. The screen is partially illuminated with green. A quarter dose. I press the sensor at the end of the chamber
She shouts and collapses on the leg. As she bends to remove the needle, I stick another one in her opposite shin. Press the sensor. I retrieve the syringe as she struggles to remove the first, then leap out of reach of her swinging arms. Her movements are sloppy, exaggerated, making me think the sedative has reached higher than just her legs. She’s finally able to remove the first syringe and tosses it away from us. I don’t bother to go after it. Instead, I press the screen of the partially used one until the bottom turns green, ready for another quarter dose.
I grab the remaining two from the tray on her desk.
“Where’s Darren?” I demand as I advance toward her. “Tell me now or I’ll stick the rest of these in you at once.”
Her eyes are wide as she struggles to drag herself away from me toward the wall. “That would kill me.”
I offer her a smile, wave one of the syringes. “Exactly. Tell me where he is.”
“Dr. Grand!” Her eyes lock behind me.
I shift to the side, so my back is to neither of them. Dr. Grand is in the doorway, paper cup in hand, watching us with his blank expression. My stomach sinks, but I don’t move. I knew this was unlikely to work, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go down without a fight. I’m sizing him up, considering the best place to stick him with a needle...
“Dr. Grand!” she shouts again, her tone pitched with rage. “Why are you standing there? Sedate her!”
His eyes fall to the syringes in my hand, then move to Dr. Shelia. His expression shifts into something I don’t understand. Is it amusement? “I can’t,” he whispers.
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“It goes against the Ellis Law. I’m both cast and crew. My contract specifically forbids me from interfering with any of the Reality candidates in a way that counteracts the goal of the experiment.”
Dr. Shelia tries to wave an arm my way, but all it does is rise a few inches before flopping to the ground. “You think this isn’t counteracting the experiment?”
He shakes his head, then looks me up and down as if he’s appraising a painting. “No. This is exactly what you wanted to see. This is the sum of your experiment, of the Twisting Minds program. What will the subjects do as a result of the experiment? How will they react? How badly will they break?”
“Dr. Grand, you are misinterpreting your contract,” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m the one who had it drawn up. Now sedate her!”
He takes a step back. “I can’t. The law forbids it.”
“So, you’re just going to watch as she abuses me?”
“I’ve been watching you abuse her and many others over the last several months.” His tone is flat, empty. “This isn’t any different. It’s all science, isn’t it?”
Desperation flashes over her face. “Dr. Grand, please.”
He takes another step back, then another. “Don’t worry. I’ll call for enforcement.” Then he’s gone.
I’m so shocked, I can do nothing but stare at the empty doorway until movement catches my eye. I round on Dr. Shelia, watch her give up on her feeble attempt to reach the syringes in my hand. She falls back, then returns to her previous goal of scooting away from me. I spring forward and ram the partially used syringe into her shoulder. I press the sensor, and the arm goes limp. The other struggles to reach across her torso but can’t. I stick the next needle in her upper thigh. I press the screen until it turns entirely green. A full dose, but I don’t press the sensor.
Only one syringe remains in my hand. Another full dose.
“I’m not kidding, Claire.” Dr. Shelia’s words are coming out slow. “If you release any more sedative into my body, you will kill me. I don’t have the tolerance you do.”
I kneel beside her. “And I’m not kidding either. I don’t care if it kills you. If you want to live, tell me where Darren is.”
She laughs. “Why do you care? He never loved you. Your relationship was fabricated by me and my team.”
My shoulder twitches and I feel a surge of rage. I clench my empty hand into a fist. “It doesn’t matter. You said it yourself, I didn’t need any help falling in love with him. What I felt was real.”
She smirks. “What exactly are you going to do if I tell you where to find Darren? Break him out?”
I furrow my brow. Break him out...does that mean he’s imprisoned? I wrap my fingers around the syringe in her thigh, my thumb hovering above the sensor. “Answer me.”
She rolls her eyes. “He’s at the Rainier Public Sanatorium. Happy now? If you’d like I can give them a call, I’m sure they’d be more than pleased to reunite you before the enforcers lock you in a cell for the rest of your life.” Her voice is laced with venom.
My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. “Why is he at the sanatorium?
You said his time in the experiment ended after I saw him in the alley. That was months ago!”
“He may not have been my subject in the same way you were, but the experience shattered his reality almost as badly as it did yours.” She says this without a hint of guilt. In fact, I’d say there’s pride flickering in her eyes.
It’s taking everything in me not to press the sensor.
Dr. Shelia lowers her voice, an odd smile stretching her lips. “I’m sure this is about to be the most popular episode of Twisting Minds yet when it airs. And I can’t imagine the sheer volume tuning in to your lifestream right now. Think about that. Think about everyone watching.”
It’s a threat. I should back off. I know it. I’ve already gone too far. She told me where Darren is. He may be broken, but at least he’s safe.
There’s that word again. Safe. There’s no such thing as safe anymore.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she whispers. “Take these out and I’ll defend you against the enforcers when they arrive. I have that power. Nothing is unforgivable in the name of entertainment and science. That’s how I got you out of jail the first time, remember?”
I can’t speak. All I can do is watch my thumb as it trembles above the syringe, begging my fingers to move away, then silently screaming at them to press the sensor.
She continues. “We have amazing chemistry. You have no idea. We are magnetic on the screen together, unlike any of my other subjects. I can see you have a knack for the dramatic. You could be a star like me, not just a subject. The audience already loves you. Let’s end this on a powerful note. You move away and start sobbing. We’ll talk through your pain until the sedative wears off. That’s when I’ll wrap you in my arms. Cut scene. The audience will love it.”
I glare. “I’m not doing this for attention.”
She nods. “I believe you. Trust me, I do. But that’s the magic of it. You have the chance to move from unwilling participant to star. In no time, the popularity of Twisting Minds will pay off your probationary sentence. You’ll bypass Public, Select. You’ll go straight to Elite, and you’ll get to act side by side with me. I’ll make a part for you in season two.”
My eyes go wide. “There’s going to be a season two?”
“Of course there is! You may have been the final subject to crack, but the experiment is far from over. There are still unlimited other ways to prove my hypothesis. I have so many other ideas for people of different ages, backgrounds. There’s a little girl, age six, I’m in negotiations over. I can’t even imagine how pliable her young mind is.” Her voice crawls higher with excitement.
I feel nothing but cold. Empty. She’s going to do this again. And again. And again. “How could you consider doing this in the first place, much less a second time? Do you have no conscience? No care about what you’re doing to us? What you’ve done to Darren? What you’ve done to me?” My voice has risen so loud, I’m shouting now. “What you’re going to do to a six-year-old girl?”
Her mouth falls open. “You and everyone else should be proud you were allowed to be involved with something so important.”
“We should be proud?” Rage courses up and down my body, burning me. “Proud? Proud to be treated this way?”
“You’re treated better than you should be. You’re a probationary. You have no rights.”
A fire is burning in my chest, propelling my words. “I should have rights. We all should have rights. You’re no better than me, just because of your status.”
She laughs “You can tell yourself that all you want, but that’s not the reality. I’ve been there. I’ve been a bottom-feeding probationary. And I became this. I have no pity for the worthless like you.”
I shake my head. “You’re wrong. I’m not worthless. I’m worth so much more than this.” My mom’s words echo in my head. Rise up, my sweet one. You are worth more than this. Maybe I’ve always misunderstood what she meant by them when she came into my room, whispered in my ear, kissed me as I fell back to sleep. Maybe not. But I know what they mean to me now. “I’m worth more than this. We all are worth more than this. You can put whatever label you want on us, but you will never change that. We will rise in ways you can never imagine.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” Dr. Shelia says. “You think you’re a revolutionary? A rebel? No. You are property of the United Cities of America, and you are nothing.”
A tear rolls down my cheek. I tighten my grasp on the syringe in her thigh. “You’re wrong. And I can’t let you hurt more people.”
Her eyes go wide with realization, the color draining from her cheeks. “You can’t possibly...you’d be a murderer!”
I lean in close, bring my lips next to her ear. My voice trembles, but I can’t tell if it’s from rage or sorrow, as I whisper, “I plead insanity.”
I press the sensor.
The final syringe finds her neck.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I close my eyes and let the subtle motion of the truck sway me. Even with my hands bound behind me, I’m surprised how quickly I get comfortable. The seat cushion is plush, the backrest firm but shaped to contour my spine. I can almost pretend I’m not in the back of a peacekeeper truck headed to a sanatorium.
“Breaking news, Seattle!” a cheerful female voice rings out. I don’t need to open my eyes to know it’s coming from the screen hologram at the back end of the truck. That’s something I’ve nearly forgotten about the Elite city. There are screens everywhere. The bathrooms. Street corners. The rails. The busses. Jail cells. Sanatorium transport trucks.
The voice continues. “Our favorite little murderer has been released from the Bellevue Elite Prison and is on her way to Bellevue Elite Sanatorium.” The reporter then adds in a lighthearted undertone, “Which we all know is basically luxury rehab.”
“That’s you!” says the peacekeeper next to me. I open my eyes and see him pointing a white-gloved hand at the screen.
I shudder as the screen flashes a photo of my mugshot, followed by a video showing the crowd of reporters who swarmed me less than an hour ago outside the prison as I was led to this truck. The contrast is stark between the me from an hour ago—well-rested, dressed in the white, loose clothing of someone belonging to a sanatorium, hair brushed and pinned neatly back—and the me from my mugshot. There my eyes are red from crying and the dawning realization I’d murdered someone, my skin pale and haggard, my hair in blond streamers around my head.
The memory of the night the enforcers found me huddled next to Dr. Shelia’s body, rocking back and forth, sends a ripple of nausea through me.
The news host, a pretty brunette with wide, blue eyes and swollen, red lips, continues. “Citizens have been in an uproar ever since Dr. Shelia’s murder and Claire Harper’s subsequent verdict of being found innocent on the grounds of insanity. Some citizens think the Twisting Minds project went too far. Others think Claire did.”
A man’s fat, flushed face appears on the screen. I only met him once, but I recognize him as the prosecuting attorney from my trial. “Claire Harper had no rights. She should have been put to death immediately, not given a trial.”
The news host makes a comical buzzing sound in the back of her throat. “Wrong answer!”
The image shifts to the familiar face of the defending attorney, Ms. Martha. We had several meetings, but most of her work was done outside my presence since I wasn’t allowed to attend the trial until the end. I sit upright, curious. “At the time of the crime, Claire Harper’s lifestream had soared in viewership, earning her enough credits to pay off her probationary sentence. Even though she didn’t know it at the time, she was a Public citizen, giving her the right to a fair trial. And all the evidence is clear. Claire Harper acted during a psychotic episode, brought on by the trauma of the Twisting Minds program. She cannot be held responsible for her actions.”
Another familiar face shows on the screen. “Claire Harper had undergone severe prolonged emotional and mental stress,” Dr. Grand says. “She was prone to o
utbursts of rage, impaired judgment and mental faculties, and the inability to distinguish fantasy from reality. It is well documented in her lifestream, the Twisting Minds program, and in my professional notations.”
The news host returns. “Dr. Grand underwent a short trial regarding his refusal to help Dr. Shelia when Claire attacked her, but he was found innocent under the Ellis Law and the terms of his contract as cast and crew of Twisting Minds. The popularity of the show has paid off his probation and allowed the reinstatement of his medical license.” She smirks and raises a well-penciled eyebrow, then frames the side of her mouth with one hand as she pretends to whisper, “I’m sure it didn’t hurt that he was team Claire, if you know what I mean.”
The screen shows a white vehicle moving down a busy freeway, and I realize it’s the truck I’m in. “And for all you hopeless romantics, you better believe our little Claire has already put her newly found wealth and fame to good use. That’s right folks. As we speak, she’s on her way to Bellevue Elite Sanatorium, where dear Darren has already been transferred from Rainier Public. Her first act upon being declared innocent was to pay off her estranged lover’s probationary financial sentence. Even though their wealth has raised them to Elite status, both require continued mental care.”
The image returns to the news host who has her hand to her heart, which is essentially a deep valley of cleavage above her red top. “Are you swooning, Seattle? Stay tuned! We’ll update you on the reunion in less than an hour.”
My heart races. Less than an hour. I’m going to see Darren in less than an hour. If my arms were free, I’d bite my nails.
One of the peacekeepers sitting across from me leans forward. I can’t see his eyes through the black lenses in his white helmet, but his posture is casual. “Can I have your autograph later?”
Twisting Minds Page 18
