The Little Black Box

by K. J. Gillenwater

  He cleared his throat. “I thought it would be wise to cover our tracks, yes.”

  Instead of pursuing the conversation, her attention was diverted when the file opened—a data spreadsheet. “All right, let’s see what you’ve got for me.” A page full of numbers filled the screen. “So what do we have here?” She reached for her coffee mug. Caffeine would probably be the only way she’d stay awake listening to Will explain the numbers he loved so much.

  He leaned forward, his shoulder touching hers ever so slightly. “Look at the far-right column. Those are the totals for each subject. Craig is the first line, Sam the second, and Bianca is the third.”

  Her eyes jumped to the last column of numbers. “What’s this fourth row?”

  “That’s our control row. I averaged last week’s readings, excluding these three, and added that to the file as a way of comparison. All three of the anomaly subjects had numbers that were off the charts.”

  “I see that.” Craig’s average for the week prior to his death was 8.9, Sam’s was even higher at 9.2, and Bianca had the lowest of all three of them—7.5. The control group average was only 2.3. “But what does all of this mean?”

  “These types of numbers,” he pointed to the first three columns, “should only be seen in the most life-threatening circumstances. Like I told you the other day—we’re talking fight-or-flight response. But you didn’t find anything like that in their journal entries.”

  She traced the columns of numbers with her finger, thinking. “Could the box be forcing these changes?”

  “What do you mean?”

  The last few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Her experience last night, and now these numbers. “What if the black box can alter the brain some way? Manipulate the aura itself?” As the theory formed in her mind, her words came out faster, her voice rose higher. “An aura is directly connected to a subject’s mental well-being. That’s what we were meant to be testing all along. But what if the professor figured out a way to make an aura-reading device into an aura-manipulating device?”

  “Changing people’s auras? Making people commit suicide? Why would the professor want to do something like that?”

  Paula blinked, the backlit screen of her laptop starting to bother her eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “So what does that mean for Subject 85?”

  “Bianca?”

  “She had high readings, but nothing happened to her.”

  Yet.

  They were both thinking it. How long would Bianca be safe?

  “We’ve got to call her.” Paula grabbed her notes to search for Bianca’s phone number. “Warn her.”

  “Warn her about what?”

  Paula’s thoughts immediately jumped to Lark. If Bianca was next, then Lark— “Oh, my God, Will. Oh, my God.”

  Her hands began to shake, and the familiar pressure grew behind her eyes. Her telekinesis pushed its way out of her brain.

  Not now. Please, not now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bianca Hines woke up that sunny October morning thinking about one thing: how much she wanted to die.

  Her roommate, Justine, headed to the women’s bathroom down the hall to take a shower before her morning class. The usual routine. Eight-thirty alarm. Grab the clean underwear, robe, towel, and shower bucket. Slam the door behind her to annoy the heck out of Bianca.

  Only this morning, instead of reflecting on how much of a bitch her roommate was, all Bianca could think about was how nice it would be to just end everything.

  She grew tired of the constant chase for money—grants, loans, scholarships, work-study. Then, there were classes, homework, a grade-point average to worry about.

  How many times had her mother told her she was on her own? With three younger children to raise, when her mother got paid she never had anything leftover to help buy a decent used laptop. Bianca was the only student in her Econ class who did her homework on a rented one from the university, and she barely kept up with the payments on that.

  Most mornings, even with Justine bugging the heck out of her, she could see a brighter side to her life. A rainbow beyond the clouds. Something good just around the bend.

  Today the sun shone, and the air snapped with the chill of autumn—her favorite time of year. She should be her usual optimistic self, but yet she couldn’t pull out of her blue mood. She couldn’t stop the little voice inside her head telling her there wasn’t any reason to get out of bed this morning.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Bianca pulled up the sheets and rolled over. “Come on in.”

  “Hey, B, why are you still in bed?” Rebecca, the R.A. for her floor, filled the doorway. Perky, tall, vibrating on a constant hum. She dragged Bianca’s desk chair over to her bed without even asking.

  Bianca didn’t answer.

  “I stopped by to see if you wanted to help me with—Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You look a little glum.”

  Glum? Didn’t that word go out with 1955?

  “I’m fine. Just tired.” Bianca kicked off the sheets, got out of bed, and unfolded the ironing board. The blouse she wanted to wear was as wrinkled as a Shar-Pei. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.” She plugged in her iron and cranked it up to high.

  “Hmm...you’re usually so chipper, you know? You always have a smile on your face.”

  Bianca touched a finger to the iron. Nice and hot. “No one can be happy all the time.” She pressed out a major wrinkle on the back of her blouse. The steam rose up with a puff.

  Rebecca seemed to take that under consideration. “Well, anyway, I stopped by because I thought you might like to take that treasurer job with the dorm student board. You’re good with numbers, you’re dependable—”

  “You mean boring.” Bianca drove the iron along the placket.

  Rebecca scrutinized her for a moment. “Oh, aren’t you silly?” The R.A. got up from the chair, her long legs giving her the appearance of a blonde gazelle. “Anyway, we’d love to have you, so think about it and let me know.”

  Bianca finished ironing the cuffs. “Do you have a cigarette?”

  “What?”

  “I said, do you have a cigarette?” Bianca focused on the R.A. with a hard stare.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.” A shadow of confusion slid across Rebecca’s face.

  Bianca tipped up the iron. The steam puffed out in a damp cloud. “I don’t, but I’d like a cigarette.”

  Rebecca was a closet smoker. Bianca caught her more than once crushing out a cigarette in the stairwell, waving smoke away. A look of guilt in her wide, pretty eyes.

  “I think I’ve got one.” Rebecca reached into the pocket of her jean jacket and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. “If you’re sure.”

  “And a lighter? Have you got a lighter?” Bianca eagerly grabbed the cigarette Rebecca tapped out of the pack.

  “Yeah.” She handed Bianca a green plastic lighter.

  “Thanks.” Bianca stuck the cigarette between her lips and headed to her closet. “I’ve been dreaming about doing this for a couple of days now.”

  “What? Smoking?”

  Bianca laughed darkly. She grabbed the metal can she'd stashed in there last night. This would be the way to do it. Just as she’d been planning. She didn’t think the decision to actually follow through with it would be so simple. So obvious. When Rebecca walked into her room, however, the plan had been set in motion. Rebecca and her cigarette had been the missing pieces.

  “Good bye, Rebecca.” Bianca popped open the can of lighter fluid, squirted it all over her nightshirt, and flicked the lighter.

  “What are you doing, B?”

  Bianca lit the cigarette, took a puff, and then held the lighter to the edge of her shirt.

  Rebecca screamed.

  Bianca heard the flames before she felt them. The deafening roar of the fire consuming oxygen and the crackle of her burning hair. The heat was the last thing. The very last thing. The flames, the sound, and then the heat and pain.
How wonderful it was to finally give in.

  ***

  Terrified of her powers and for Bianca’s safety, Paula jumped up. “I have to find Bianca...now.” The only way to burn off the anxiety that grew inside was to move, get going, start doing something. If the flood of adrenaline to her system triggered her telekinesis, then she had to do her best to combat it.

  “Wait. What are going to do?”

  She raced towards the stairwell. “I’ve got to help her.” She couldn’t slow down, she had to keep moving.

  “Paula!”

  The door banged shut, and she took the stairs two at a time. Since the first classes of the day didn’t start until nine, Bianca should be in her dorm room. Paula could keep her safe somehow. Make sure no harm came to her.

  She burst out into the middle of campus. The sidewalks hummed with students and faculty. She headed toward the dorms, and her anxiety dissipated, the pain behind her eyes lessened. She’d managed to counteract her out-of-control power without alcohol—a first. With Bianca in danger, she didn’t have time to reflect on it. The slick soles of her loafers slipped on the cement. She dodged students who milled outside the Student Union, and then gained traction on the manicured lawns that lined the walkways. Heads turned as she dashed past, but her thoughts were only on Bianca.

  She rounded the corner. Her heart stopped. Two fire trucks had pulled up onto the lawn in front of Bianca’s dorm. Half a dozen students stood outside watching black smoke rise from the five-storey structure.

  She ran past the clumps of students. She had a strong desire to slip by them and get through the doors. Everyone else stood and stared in horror.

  Tongues of orange flame licked the edge of a window and thick plumes of black, choking smoke poured out like water from a fountain.

  She pushed forward. Her eyes were glued to the window.

  The fire truck lights flashed and sirens blared. A battalion of yellow-jacketed firefighters spilled out onto the lawn and trampled freshly planted pansies.

  When one of the uniformed men held up his hands in a blocking gesture, Paula pulled up short.

  “Would everyone please move back!” He ushered Paula backward into the growing crowd of curious and horrified undergrads. “For your safety, would everyone please step away!”

  Helplessly, she watched as the flames grew higher and blackened the stone façade.

  She had to know. “Does anyone know whose room that is?” She hoped she was wrong. She hoped her crazy suspicions were unfounded.

  “Bianca. I think it’s Bianca Hines’s room.”

  ***

  Transfixed, Paula watched the firefighters work as they sprayed gallons of water into the blackened window. Several men with oxygen tanks and fire axes ran inside.

  As the flames grew higher, something primal inside her grew, too. A memory she’d buried long ago.

  The flames. The heat. Her mother’s hand on the window. Her dirty, bloodied hand pressed against the glass. The scene flashed in Paula’s head as if it had happened yesterday.

  Her stomach lurched.

  She stumbled away from the now-blackened hole that had been Bianca’s room and sank to her knees. Dry heaves took over. The memory of the smell of burning flesh filled her nostrils. The smell of death lingered everywhere. Acrid smoke choked her.

  “Paula, are you okay?” Will’s voice cut through the horror and the memories. His warm hand on her shoulder caused her to shudder in relief. “I saw the smoke from the parking lot. You took off so fast, I couldn’t catch up.”

  Needing to feel something alive in her hands, she clung to him, her arms wrapped around his neck. She pressed her face to his chest. His hand cautiously touched her head, stroked her hair, and then he simply put his arms around her.

  “That was Bianca’s room.” Her voice cracked. Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes.

  “Hey, hey,” he whispered. “We don’t know that anyone was in her room. She might be eating breakfast at the cafeteria. Or maybe she was in the shower.”

  He smelled of laundry detergent and some kind of spicy cologne. She pressed her face closer, wanting everything to disappear. Will could keep her safe. Goofy, silly Will with his faded t-shirts, ratty jeans, and ridiculous moustache. Who would have thought he could be so solid, so strong?

  Although she knew the crowd of students had grown in the last few minutes, it was as if she and Will stood in their own little island of calm and security amid the chaos. She squeezed her eyes shut and blocked out everything around them—the loud rush of the fire, the firefighters yelling to one another, the jets of water pounding the side of the building.

  Will rubbed her back gently. “It’s going to be all right. Everything’s going to be okay. Come on. Let’s go get a cup of coffee. There’s nothing we can do here.”

  She sighed and let her hands slip from his neck. He probably thought she was an emotional, screwed-up-in-the-head woman.

  He should’ve let her go then, but he tipped up her chin with a finger.

  She knew he was going to kiss her.

  “Oh my God, they’re bringing out a body,” someone called out from the crowd.

  Paula jerked away. Another stretcher, another body—this time under a white sheet. She sank to her knees, tears falling like a broken string of pearls, and wept.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What have I done?” Paula pressed her face into her hands. She couldn’t bear to look anymore.

  “This isn’t your fault.” Will knelt down. His voice shook, the shock of the tragedy affecting him just as much as her. “It was a horrible accident. Nobody’s at fault. Not you. Not anyone.”

  “Professor Pritchard,” her voice as heavy as a stone. “He did this. He’s the one that made those fucking boxes in the first place. Those horrible things!” She felt the eyes of the crowd turn to her, but she didn’t care. Let them look. Let them know this was no accident. These deaths were all connected to the black box. She knew that deep in her heart. She didn’t have to wait for the Fire Marshall’s report —she knew they’d find out the fire was set on purpose. Bianca did it to herself.

  Why was life so full of misery and pain? Nothing good existed in the world. Nothing. People you love could be snatched away in an instant. It was as simple as that.

  “Goddamn him,” she said. “This is going to stop. Now.” With a rough swipe of her hand, she wiped away her tears. Anger boiled over to replace the hopelessness and fear. Anger directed at one man: Jonas Pritchard.

  Her telekinetic energy took control of her mind. All her anger and frustration set it loose. A rush of tingling to her extremities, the pressure behind her eyes. She sat on the brink of losing her grip on her power, right here in this crowd of onlookers. She fisted her hands and clamped her jaw down, willing the wave of energy to stay inside. She needed to get away from here. Find a safe place until she reasserted her control.

  “Where are you going?” Will followed as she made her way through the gaggle of people. “Do you think you’re just going to walk into his office and demand he destroy all the boxes?”

  He grabbed her arm. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I can’t sit back and watch all of this happen.” She shrugged him off. “He knew something was going on with these boxes well before this. You alluded to as much.”

  “What do you mean? The animal studies?”

  “Yes.” Talking it through with Will brought her calm, and it seemed to lessen the intense sensation of her ability. “He must’ve known something wasn’t quite right, but he moved ahead with human trials anyway. All he cares about is his precious funding and making the investors happy. Remember the meeting on Tuesday? The preliminary results captured someone's attention. Someone with very deep pockets.” Then, it struck her. “Someone with very deep pockets who might need a machine that kills.”

  “Who would want a machine that—” He stopped short.

  “I can imagine lots of people who might want to get their hands on something like that. Maybe all of
these deaths are exactly what Pritchard wanted to achieve.”

  “You can’t believe that.” They strode past the Student Union, eerily empty of activity. People continued to gather at the scene of the fire. “Why would he have sent you off to interview these guys if he wanted them to die?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want them dead, but he wanted incontrovertible proof. When he got those unusual results, maybe they weren’t so unusual. Maybe that’s what he saw with the mice and what he was trying to accomplish in the human trials. He had Larry and all the other lab rats adjust the boxes until he started to see different outputs, the right outputs. I was one little part of that. He couldn’t tamper too much with the study, or someone on the study board would call him on it. But he needed to know if the different outputs were only a fluke. Don’t you see? Those deaths proved to Pritchard he was headed in the right direction. That means he’ll probably start adjusting more boxes, seeing what happens. It will only escalate.”

  “So what do you think we should do?” He stopped her under some oak trees next to the dining hall. “How are we going to stop this?”

  “We have to confront him. Maybe if he knows that we’re on to him, he’ll back off. I don’t know. But I can’t sit back and do nothing. We’re the only ones who know and the only ones who can stop him.” She picked up her pace, half-jogging past the dining hall. Another block, and they would be back at the Paranormal Sciences building.

  “Hold on.” Will grabbed her elbow. “I think it would be better if we collected more information and took it directly to the dean. Don’t you? Pritchard has a lot of alumni behind him. They may be whack jobs, but he does have his supporters. If we accuse him of something without all the facts in our corner, we might look like underappreciated grad students trying to grab the limelight. Besides, if we show him all of our cards now, he might find a way to bury it. Take it underground. And there’s no way he would continue to let us have access to the lab, the boxes, all the journals. Think about it for a minute.”

  The sirens died as one of the fire trucks drove away from the scene. She thought fleetingly of Bianca who never wanted anything more than to pay her college tuition and get her degree, and now she was dead. As much as Paula wanted to punch Pritchard in the face, call him a bastard, tear down his insulated college existence and expose him to the world for the monster he was, Will had a point. She wouldn’t get any justice for Bianca or any of the other victims without proof. They would have to take it above Pritchard. As much as she wished she could stop the study right now, she couldn’t.