Squaring the Circle

by B K Brain

  SQUARING THE CIRCLE

  BRIAN HÖLTZ

  Copyright © 2019 Brian Holtz, B. K. Brain

  All rights reserved.

  DIVISION ONE: ENTANGLED

  Every fundamental particle has a property known as spin, its angular momentum and orientation in space. This can be measured, but we must first choose the direction in which to measure it. The outcome will be either spin up (aligned with the direction of the measurement) or spin down, (the opposite direction) each usually having an equal chance of occurring.

  An entangled particle’s spin will always be opposite of its mate, as long as both are measured the same way. It makes no difference how far apart they may be, even if the distance spans light years.

  Measure one and you know the spin of the other.

  Einstein thought the idea of two remote particles sharing information strange, to say the least. He described quantum entanglement as spooky action at a distance, a seeming impossibility. The experiment has since been performed by researchers all over the world.

  The results are spooky every time.

  CHAPTER ONE: IMPRÖBABLE FREQUENCIES

  1

  Edith Ann Sallenger navigated the massive bookstore with her head down, eyes fixed on alternating squares of tile. Black. White. Black. A scuff. A dirty footprint. Candy wrapper. And shadows of people all around, shifting, moving, too close. Too fucking close. She spied a clear aisle and picked up the pace, hating her mother.

  White, then black. White.

  A low rumble of crowd noise from every direction, like thunder. Thunder with piercing eyes and Venti non-fat, half-caff mocha lattés. Extra cream, double shot of pretension, please. An elbow. Too fucking close, dude. Back off.

  Black.

  Around the next corner a gathering of teenagers blocked the path. Three girls, one boy. The girls laughed and twisted hair around thin fingers, lapping up his attention. He grinned and made a dumb joke, eying the blonde. Bad move, kid. The redhead looks smarter. But intelligence isn’t what you’re after, is it? Now get out of the way.

  A bookshelf to the right: SCIENCE FICTION. She pretended to browse, waiting for boy-toy and his entourage to move. They saw her, smirked, didn’t care.

  White, black, and a paperclip.

  She’d been named Edith Ann after her grandmother, a woman who died years before she was born. A gathering of stained photographs in a family album wasn’t enough to forge any sense of nostalgia. She felt no obligation to a woman she’d never met. So she told people to call her Eddie. Most did so without question. But not her mother. To her she would always be Edith Ann.

  Even the voices called her Eddie, in spite of twenty daily milligrams of Zyprexa. It’s a pretty sad state of affairs when your mental illness shows more respect than your mom.

  The hallucinations started when she was fifteen, almost four years ago. She saw three physicians - a family doctor, a specialist, and a shrink. The tests went on for months. Physicals, MRI’s, CT scans, psychological evaluations, and blood work. Dear God, the blood work. Vial after arm-jabbing vial.

  I, Robot by Isaac Asimov. I wonder if that’s any good. She slid a copy off the shelf. Finally, the hormone patrol shifted far enough left to get by. White and black, black and white. Gum.

  The diagnosis came a week before her birthday. Her sweet sixteen presents included social anxiety disorder, bipolar depression and paranoid schizophrenia. She would’ve been content with an iPod, thank you very much.

  At the end of the isle, on the left. SCIENCE. Eddie glanced back at the teenagers, and then ahead, to the information desk and the coffee shop beyond. Lots of people, but no one looking this direction. She sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, let it go. The tremble in her hands eased.

  Everyone treated her differently after the diagnosis. It was like she’d become someone else, someone to be feared. Her new talents included making people uncomfortable, avoiding eye contact, and making up excuses to leave.

  Don’t get too close, folks! You never know what the freak-girl might do!

  Her best friend, Stephanie, stopped hanging out, stopped coming over for dinner. Stopped calling. Eventually she wouldn’t even acknowledge Eddie on the street.

  Five copies of Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time stood shoulder to shoulder, flanking Cosmic Dance and The Elusive Boson. She slid Boson out to have a look.

  The last two years of high school were a nightmare. The only kids that paid her any attention did so with sly glances and hushed conversations at a distance. She hears things, you know. Her world had deflated into a small circle of concerned adults.

  A dark figure appeared to the right.

  “Three,” said a strange, echoed voice. “Point one.”

  Startled, Eddie lost grip on the book. It smacked the tile face down. She turned to focus on a man, but it did no good. He wasn’t there, not really. A void stood in his place, an uncast shadow. It was like someone had used Photoshop to cut him out of reality, leaving only an empty hole. And a voice.

  “Three,” the void said again, as if from inside a tin can. “Point one. Four. One, five, nine.” Eddie recognized the numbers, of course she did.

  She took a step back, feeling an expansion in her eyes and a tightening in her chest. Voices she could handle, but this? This was something new. Had she taken her pills this morning? Yes. With orange juice.

  “What are you?” she forced out.

  “You are the algorithm.”

  “Me?” She took another step back, shrinking. Or was the shadow growing? Was it getting taller? Her throat, too tight to swallow, but she tried anyway.

  The nothing leaned in. “What is your purpose?”

  “Leave me alone.”

  The voice, louder. “STATE YOUR PURPOSE.”

  She stumbled back, caught her balance. Turned to run.

  A maze of books and a herd of unmotivated shoppers, blocking the road like cattle. An empty man-thing on her heels, demanding an answer. Calling out the digits of Pi.

  “Hey, watch it,” someone said as Eddie pushed through the crowd. Tears had come now. And panic.

  “Three,” it hissed from behind. “Point one. Four.” An infinite, never ending number. More bodies. Get out of my way.

  Eddie rounded a corner, looked out across the store. Had to find Mom. Just the sight of a familiar face would make it stop. That’s how it worked. Usually.

  Your purpose, little girl. Tell me.

  Was the voice in her head now, or still out loud?

  Who are you kidding? They’re all in your head.

  She spotted her mother standing in line at the coffee shop. She glanced behind, saw the shadow closing in, raced for Mom.

  People all around complained as Eddie shoved through.

  Three. Point one. Four.

  She slid to a stop, the soles of her sneakers barking against tile. Spun a full circle where she stood. Couldn’t breathe. Her elbow caught an elderly man’s arm, launching the steaming coffee he’d been holding into the air. The cup struck the center of a table five feet away, where two young girls were seated. The drink exploded like a liquid grenade, saturating the front of one’s dress and splattering into the face of the other. Screams, raised voices, and the sounds of chairs scraping and toppling to the floor.

  Eddie reached out, grabbed for a shoulder as Mom turned to see. The usual expression of horror grew over her mother’s face, starting in the eyes and then stretching downward, widening the mouth into breathless shock. The moment played in slow motion as it always did, Mom’s reaction rising to ridiculous, comic proportions. “Edith Ann!” Exaggerated like a Saturday morning cartoon - but not funny. Her mother was too angry to be funny. Too embarrassed. Too disgusted at her daughter’s behavior.

 
“Mom,” Eddie pleaded.

  “I’m so sorry,” her mother said to the girls.

  “Mom, please.”

  A ring of keys was slapped into Eddie’s hand. “Go wait in the car, Edith Ann.”

  “But…there’s a…it’s trying to…”

  “I said go wait in the car. Now.”

  Eddie looked out beyond the chaotic crowd, across a sea of heated voices and scowling faces. The man-thing stood rigid, black as ink, waiting. Its edges had turned to snakes, shifting, the slithering tentacles of a Cthulhu demon. Power radiated as if from a bonfire. It began to scorch her clothing, cook the exposed skin of her face and arms. Not heat, but it felt just the same. Like standing in an oven.

  Please. Leave me alone.

  The nothingman approached. Not around or between the mass of people. He moved through them. Closer.

  Eddie tried to back away, couldn’t. Power, like heat, biting her skin. Her mother’s voice, distant. The shadow’s voice, close. Too fucking close.

  You are the algorithm.

  Black, then white. Black. Everywhere.

  2

  A puddle of spilled coffee. A dirty mop bucket. Eddie.

  She woke to the sound of overlapping voices, the clank of ceramic cups, and shuffling feet. Flat on her back on the cold floor, in the middle of a coffee shop, her mother hovering above with a look as icy as the tile below.

  “That’s enough of this now,” Mom said. “Get up.”

  Get up. Out loud? Maybe.

  Eddie forced herself to a sitting position, trying to remember how she got there. A massive headache blocked all paths to memory. She ran fingers over a lump on the back of her skull. She must’ve hit the deck hard.

  Mom yanked her onto sneakers and had her moving down an isle before she could think clearly. There were eyes everywhere. Black and white. Hushed conversation.

  Something had been chasing her. What was it? Something dark. There were numbers. Unbearable heat and a question.

  What is your purpose?

  Her purpose? What did that even mean? Other than pissing off her parents, hearing voices, and popping psychotropic medications, she had no purpose.

  It wasn’t real anyway. A hallucination isn’t supposed to make sense.

  Out the front doors. Across the parking lot. At the car. She laid down on the back seat. The eyes were gone now. She could breathe.

  Mom’s voice didn’t pause even for a second, all the way home. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she said. “Aren’t you embarrassed? I know I am,” she said. “You aren’t even trying to get better,” she said. On and on, for twenty-six minutes.

  Three point one four one five nine. The digits played like a needle over scratched vinyl, again and again, as if to accompany her mother’s criticism in a strange, maddening harmony.

  The house and the driveway were as comforting a sight as she’d seen for weeks. Almost as good as the opening credits to her favorite show. It was on tonight, eight o’clock, channel 51. Eddie hoped it wasn’t a rerun again. She’d seen the old episodes a million times each. But rerun or not, she’d watch. Of course she would; science was magic.

  Once inside she went straight to her room and closed the door. Mom wasn’t finished complaining – she was never finished complaining – but it didn’t matter. The eyes and elbows were gone. Impossible shadows could demand answers from someone else, because she was done with that awful fluorescent place.

  I can’t take you anywhere.

  “Complete horseshit,” Eddie said, probably out loud.

  Nineteen years old and she was still forced to endure her mother every day. Technically, she lived with Rachel, her older sister, but she went to her parents’ house during the day when Rachel was at work. Eddie couldn’t be left alone, that’s what everyone kept saying. You never know what the freak girl might do.

  The room was dark, just as she needed it to be. Quiet. Picture frames lined a dresser along the west wall, displaying captured moments of an oblivious childhood. She couldn’t have known then, the way things would go. How bad things would get.

  Given enough time everything takes a turn for the worst.

  Eddie walked to the window and separated curtains. She looked out over random patches of yellowing weeds and dirt. Trees stood dark and rigid at the back of the yard, patient, waiting for things that would never come. There was beauty. Beauty and sadness, because nothing is forever.

  Everything spoils. Everything turns.

  She and Rachel used to play out there, in the shade of tall enduring trees.

  Eddie closed her eyes. She remembered following big sis everywhere, wanting to be just like her. Rachel was selfless, kind, and the yard was her kingdom. Bad feelings weren’t allowed under her rule. Criticisms were left to parents, judgments to God.

  But that was all before.

  She looked to the back of the yard, at a thick mass of limbs and leaves. At the southwest corner a massive Oak, the oldest of the bunch, had gone dry and black. Its skeletal arms, barren and lifeless.

  Everything turns.

  Even the patience of a tree has its limit.

  An hour later found Eddie sitting at the dining room table, gazing at food on her plate like a lab technician might consider a petri dish teeming with Ebola. A thick slab of steak, juicy with pink rarity, lay between green beans and a baked potato slathered with margarine and sour cream. To the right, a fork, waiting for her inevitable surrender. To the left, at the head of the table, Dad, wearing a greasy work shirt.

  He droned on as usual, first about his day at the garage, then about the weather. The talk was small, pointless, and fueled by ulterior motive: To get a conversation moving. Nobody, including him, gave a crap about the sun or an unfortunate lack of rain. Least of all Eddie. She’d eat food that wasn’t properly prepared, sure. But she refused to comment on precipitation.

  It was obvious Dad wanted to say something else. She wished he would say it and be done. Mom wasn’t helping. “You’re absolutely right, dear,” she said. “We do need some rain.” She motioned to Eddie. “It was a nice warm day, though. Don’t you agree, Edith Ann?”

  Eddie continued gazing at the bleeding steak. “You want to discuss temperature? Okay. I’m not sure this cow was cooked long enough to kill all the microbes.”

  “You know your father likes his steak rare.”

  “I’m not referring to his steak.” Eddie grabbed the fork, stabbed the meat on her plate and then held it up for Mom to see. “I’m talking about this one. The one over here.”

  “Oh Edith.”

  Dad interrupted. “Did you look for a job today?” The time for weather and undercooked meat had passed. “You can’t keep mooching off your sister, you know.” A job, the only thing that mattered. To him anyway.

  What is your purpose?

  Mom wasn’t about to inform Dad of Eddie’s episode at the bookstore. If she did she’d have to admit her daughter was different than other people. She’d have to admit she was sick. Everyone sitting at that table knew schizoaffective disorder didn’t go well with flipping burgers or running a cash register. They knew. They just refused to talk about it. Because if ignored, maybe it would go away.

  Eddie grinned. And they think I’m the crazy one.

  Her sister appeared at the doorway. “Hey, guys.”

  Mom smiled. “Rachel dear. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  Rachel put a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, leaned close and said, “Hey Ed. How was your day?”

  “I was very nearly murdered at the book store.”

  Rachel stabbed a look at her mother. “Tell me you didn’t take her to the big one downtown.”

  “It would’ve been fine if she hadn’t-”

  “Shit, Mother, we’ve talked about this. There are way too many people there. That place is a mad house.”

  “Shit Mother,” Eddie repeated.

  Mom said, “How will she ever get better if she doesn’t at least try to be normal?”

  “You think putting her
in high stress situations is gonna help her? You’re trying to scare the normal into her? Is that your strategy?”

  Mom said nothing more. She slid her chair away from the table, stood and headed for the kitchen. Dad kept eyes focused on his plate, quietly chewing. Same as always.

  Eddie used a spoon to squeeze the slab of meat on her plate. Pink juice drooled. She looked up to Big Sis. “I think this cow is still alive.”

  Rachel wrinkled her nose. “Gross. You ready to go, Ed?”

  Eddie stood to find her jacket.

  “You haven’t eaten your dinner,” Dad said.

  “We’ll grab something later, won’t we Ed?”

  “Yup.”

  Eddie navigated the driveway right behind her sister, eyes fixed on crumbly concrete. Noise from somewhere down the street startled her. A barking dog, children laughing. Eddie followed her sister, first navigating by voice, then by shadow. Rachel opened the driver’s side. Eddie stopped right behind, looked up, and then hurried around the car. A tense moment lingered while she waited for Sis to unlock the door. Tense, because dogs were all noses and tongues.

  Eddie closed herself in, checked the window, and then glanced around to be sure. She spotted the source of the laughter and relocked the door. Children were all questions and funny smells. Not funny ha-ha. Funny strange, like poop and Crayolas.

  Rachel made a right at the intersection, picked up speed. “So tell me what happened at the store.”

  Eddie turned away, watching blurred cars and houses. “Nothing,” she said.

  “Come on, Ed. You can tell me.”

  “I just did. Nothing happened. It said something and then chased me into the coffee shop.”

  “Nothing chased you?”

  “Yeah. It was shaped like a man, though. Weird, huh?”

  “It spoke to you? What did it say?”

  “It rambled off some Pi numbers and then asked me what my purpose was. My show’s on tonight. Can we make popcorn?”

  “Maybe.” Rachel’s jaw flexed and her brow went low, like she was thinking hard. “Have you ever seen this nothing before, Ed?”