by S. Harrison
“I thought I’d better put some jeans and shoes on, too . . . ,” Bit says as she walks into the room behind me. “When I heard your voice from next door, I jumped out of the shower so fast that I only got half dress—” Bit’s sentence stops dead. I look at her face in the mirror, and she’s frozen in her tracks, her eyes wide with startled shock. “Finn!” she screeches.
“Hi, Bit,” I murmur dopily, wondering what on earth she’s yelling for. She snatches a towel from the antique table and rushes to my side.
“What have you done!” she shrieks.
As usual, I have no idea what she’s going on about.
Bit grabs my arm and cradles it in the towel. I look down and see that the sink basin is red with splashes and drips of blood. I look up at the blank sapphire-blue eyes staring back at me, and there’s more red around my mouth, trailing lines down the pale skin of my face. I glance at my hand, and it’s steadily pulsing blood from a ragged gash torn into the meat around the base of my thumb, the flesh split open all the way to the bone. Bit binds the towel around the wound and pulls me by the wrist toward the door. I stumble along with her as she drags me down the narrow painted corridor.
We haven’t gone far when it opens up into a large beige concrete-walled room. There are medical-looking machines gathered around a stainless-steel table with a light on a hinged arm hanging over it. There are trolleys with surgical instruments and a collection of computer slates and monitors on a long bench, and on the far side of the room, I see Dr. Pierce and Jonah. They’re in a corner, hunched over a round wooden table, studying some large paper documents under the light of a desk lamp.
“Help!” shouts Bit. “I need some help here!”
The startled men flinch and look over at us as Bit pulls me toward the steel table. Jonah and Dr. Pierce lunge away from the documents and rush in our direction, pushing trolleys and wheeling machines out of their path. “What, what, what!” Dr. Pierce squawks, hooting like a wild white-haired mallard. He and Jonah arrive at the metal table and glare down at the blood-soaked towel.
“What the hell happened, girly?” asks Dr. Pierce as he swings the light over us and flicks it on.
Bit opens the towel and reveals the nasty-looking split in my hand. “I found her standing at the mirror, just staring into space. I think she . . . did this to herself!”
Jonah has a look of worry on his face as he leans on the edge of the table and surveys the tattered gash in my hand. “You did this to yourself, Finn?” he asks.
I feel a spark of hate flare inside me, and my first impulse is to scratch out his eyes, but as I look down at the wound and listen to the bells quietly ringing in my mind, I can’t help smiling dreamily. The red of the blood, the pink of the flesh, and the white of the bone are all so pure and pretty. Especially the white, it reminds me of fresh winter snow blanketing the ground in a quiet Ukrainian forest. I smile contentedly and look up at Dr. Pierce. He’s not smiling at all. I mimic his frown and mock it with a gruff chortle. “Cheer up, Graham,” I gibe. “She’s the best hacker in the world, and I’m a highly trained assassin.”
“What’s happening?” asks Jonah.
“I’m not sure,” Dr. Pierce replies. “Concentrate, Finn,” he says, staring into my eyes. “Picture the cut sealing closed. You can heal this.”
I smirk and snort at his weird request. “That’s ridiculous, not to mention impossible,” I say with an amused giggle.
“Finn?” Bit says softly, her forehead creased with concern. “What’s wrong with you?”
I glare at her. “There’s nothing wrong. You’re the best hacker in the world,” I say, jabbing a finger at her. “And I’m a highly trained assassin!”
Bit looks at me, studying my eyes carefully. “There is something very wrong,” she says, her voice trembling with worry. “Dr. Pierce?”
He leans across the table and quickly runs the back of his knuckles down my breastbone. “Oh no,” he says as his eyes go wide behind the lenses of his wire-frame spectacles. “We’ve got a problem. Keep pressure on that hand, girly.”
Bit nods and does as he says. She folds the towel back over the cut and pushes down hard on the bundle of red and white, as Dr. Pierce scrambles through the pockets of his lab coat. He pulls out a screwdriver, tweezers, a magnetic swipe card, a small lollipop, and loose change, among other things, but thrusts all of it back into his pockets as he quickly turns and begins scanning the trays on all the trolleys. He looks highly perturbed as he wheels the closest one to him and begins pulling open drawers and rifling through them.
On the far side of the room, beside the round wooden table with the lamp on it, is an opening that leads to another passageway, and down that corridor I can see the shapes of people approaching under the light of the fluorescent tubes above their heads. That monorail track must’ve hit me harder than I thought, because as they enter the room, I know who they are, but their names are foggy. The solidly built boy with the closely shorn hair is called . . . Brody. Yes, that’s it. And Margaux is the sour-looking blondie girl. The wiry boy, with the floppy sandy-brown fringe, limping behind her is called Brian? No, it’s Brent, and I think the pretty Asian girl with the long, silky black hair is . . . yes, I remember; that’s Jennifer Cheng. She looks particularly miserable today, but then again, all of them look different than I remember. Why exactly? At first I’m not too sure. Jennifer is in my calculus class at school and . . . then it hits me. At school they all wear uniforms! That’s it! They look different because they’re all wearing civilian clothes. Ha, silly me, how did I miss that?
“What’s going on?” asks Brody as they all cross the room toward us.
“Ugh, blood!” blurts Margaux.
“Where on earth is it!” yells a clearly frustrated and still-searching Dr. Pierce.
“Where is what?” mumbles Brody.
“Is she alright?” asks the pretty Asian girl whose name is escaping me again. She’s looking this way, so I think she’s probably inquiring about me. I could be wrong though. I’m hungry. Didn’t Otto say something about a roast beef sandwich? That sounds really good. I wonder if there’s gravy.
“She’s hurt,” Bit says as she presses down even harder on my hand.
“Is that . . . blood on her chin?” Brent says, leering in my direction. “Did she . . . did she bite herself?” He slowly shakes his head and sneers. “Wow, I told you she was crazy. Look at her eyes, there’s no one home in there. She’s lost it.”
“What did you just say to me?” I growl as I glare at Brent. That sniveling excuse for a civilian can’t talk to me like that. I ball the fingers of my right hand into a tight fist and try to pull away from Otto.
Brent’s eyes go wide. “I didn’t say anything.” He whimpers as he backs away behind the blondie girl wearing the pink cardigan.
“Finn! Keep still!” Bit says sternly as she tugs on my arm, and I look down at the blood-soaked towel in confusion as Dr. Pierce darts from trolley to trolley, wrenching open drawers.
“Where the hell is it!” he booms. “I never would have removed it? Would I? No, of course not!” he says nonsensically to himself. “But if I did, I would’ve put it somewhere safe, somewhere close!”
“The bandages are right there!” screeches Bit.
“I don’t care about her ruddy hand, girly!” barks Dr. Pierce.
“Then what are you doing?!” Bit bellows.
Dr. Pierce doesn’t seem to hear her as he mumbles to himself. “It was only theoretical. I didn’t think it could actually happen, but the symptoms fit, and it certainly explains the unusual readings from her neural scans—”
“Symptoms?” Otto blurts. “You know what’s wrong with her?”
Dr. Pierce nods emphatically as he rushes toward the bench with the computer slates on it and begins clattering them aside. “The two sides of her mind are colliding,” he shouts. “We need to separate them before they mix completely or . . .”
“Or what?” Bit asks, her face fraught with distress.
“Or she could go into full-blown neuropsychotic degradation,” replies Dr. Pierce as he tosses slates left and right. “Like I said, it’s only a theory of mine, but if that is what’s happening here, then there’s a very real chance that her two distinct personalities will begin destructively competing for dominance.”
“What does that mean?” asks Otto.
“Confusion, hallucinations, maybe even brain damage,” Dr. Pierce says ominously. “If we don’t stop this now, she may never be able to differentiate between one mind and the other. She’ll be lost in a dark maze inside her own head forever.”
“Good!” Brent barks as he peeks out from behind Margaux. “Let it happen. She deserves it!”
I smile at Bit, or was her name Otto? Either way, this is hilarious.
“Shut up, Brent!” yells Bit. “How do we stop it?” she asks as tears begin rolling down her cheeks.
“We need to find her command module,” says Dr. Pierce.
Jonah’s eyes go wide. He lunges across the table and tugs the collar of my t-shirt to one side. “She’s not wearing it?” he blurts.
“No! It’s gone,” the man in the lab coat with the white beard yells from the other side of the room.
“Command module?” asks the husky kid who I think I heard someone refer to as Brody. “One of those silver wristband things?”
“No! Don’t be stupid!” barks Dr. Pierce as he runs to the round wooden table and begins flinging and sliding documents and books onto the floor. “It’s a black stone set in a silver circle. It has a chain, and she wears it around—”
“It’s a pendant on a necklace,” says Jonah, then he slowly folds his arms on his chest and looks me in the eyes, frowning curiously as Dr. Pierce begins rifling through nearby drawers.
“Yes!” he shouts. “Like the Major said, it’s a pendant on a necklace! Everyone start looking!”
Brody and Jennifer begin looking around their feet as Bit releases my hand and drops to her knees, scanning the floor near the table. Everyone is scurrying about in a manic flurry, all except for pink-cardigan blondie girl, who is obviously trying to avoid looking at me, and Major Brogan, who is doing exactly the opposite. He’s standing perfectly still, staring directly at me, watching me intently with a tilted head and narrowed eyes.
“I think she was wearing it when I dressed her in the gown,” says Bit.
“How long ago was that?” Jonah asks.
“I don’t know,” replies Otto. “A couple of hours ago at least.”
“So she hasn’t been wearing the pendant at all?” asks Jonah. “For two whole hours?”
“I don’t know,” says Bit as she rechecks the top of a nearby trolley. “Maybe.”
Major Brogan turns back to me and stares again, like he’s waiting for something to happen. “What’s your name?” he asks me.
I leer at him suspiciously. “It depends who’s asking,” I say snarkily, and he tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me, like he’s wondering what to make of my answer.
“Maybe it came away from her neck in the other room,” says Otto as she dashes toward the passageway.
“Wait,” says Blondie. “It’s . . . it’s not in there.”
Bit stops in her tracks and looks over at her. “Where is it? Did you see it somewhere?”
Blondie’s nose crinkles, and her lip curls. “It was pretty,” she says as she loops her finger underneath a thin chain around her neck and pulls a beautiful black-and-silver pendant out from the collar of her white blouse. “And she was in a coma for god’s sake. I didn’t think she’d miss it.”
Otto glares at Blondie like there are bullets machine-gunning from her eyes, and she marches straight toward her, sending medical tools clattering to the floor as she barges into a trolley, knocking it out of her way. She stops right in front of Margaux and thrusts out her hand. “Give it,” Bit growls.
“Fine.” Margaux sighs as she rolls her eyes and pulls the chain up over her head. “This is your fault anyway,” she says, dangling the pendant in the air above Bit’s hand. “You said she was going to die.”
“I said I hope she doesn’t die!” Otto screeches as she snatches the necklace from Margaux and rushes back to the table. “I can’t believe you’d steal from a person who’s in a coma!”
“That is pretty cold,” says Brody.
“Shut up,” Margaux snaps at him. “I didn’t steal it; I repurposed it. And she’s not a person. She’s some kind of weird human-looking robot or something.”
Bit gives Margaux a murderous look.
I feel weird, light-headed, dazed, and jumbled. Whatever is happening right now is as confusing as hell, and I wish I could just get one thought straight in my mixed-up head.
“Quickly!” shouts Dr. Pierce as he strides toward me. “Put it on her, and pray like hell that we caught it in time!” he bellows.
“Wait,” says Major Brogan. “Maybe we should leave the necklace off her for a little longer . . . and see what happens.”
“Are you mad?” says Dr. Pierce as he snatches the necklace from Otto. “The two sides of her mind could barely coexist when she was an infant. You know as well as I do that her very sanity has become completely dependent on this device. She needs it.”
Jonah studies my face. “According to your theory she should have been brain-dead nearly an hour ago. That hasn’t happened, so maybe we’ve been wrong about it all these years?”
“I’m not wrong. I’m the expert here, Major. The necklace stays,” barks Dr. Pierce as he slips it over my head.
Suddenly a wave of nausea ripples through me. I thought I felt out of it before, but now I can hardly tell which way is up. My whole brain feels like it’s sinking into cold mud, and all I can do is sit here and watch everyone in the room stare at me.
“What exactly does it do?” asks Bit.
“The pendant is a neural processor,” says Dr. Pierce. “One of its functions is to order her thoughts and separate the two different sides of her mind.” Dr. Pierce and Jonah stand by the other side of the table and stare at my face, as Bit presses down on my hand and looks up at me, her brow creased with worry.
“Finn? How do you feel?” she asks as her gaze flicks from one of my eyes to the other.
Finn? That kinda sounds like my name, but it somehow feels incomplete. I smile, and I’m about to tell her that I feel absolutely fine and thanks for asking, but for some reason the words aren’t traveling properly from my brain to my lips, and the only thing I can think of to say is, “Who are you?”
The girl’s face drops, and her eyes widen. “It’s me, Bit.”
I focus on her face, and the name she just said slides away from my mind like water off a duck’s back, forgotten just like that.
“Who are you?” I ask again.
“Dr. Pierce, what’s happening?” the girl says as she looks over at an old man in a lab coat.
“Oh no. We may have been too late,” the old man says as he shines a light in my eyes. “Keep talking to her, girly,” says the old man. “And pray for a miracle.”
The girl looks up at me, and tears begin rolling down her cheeks. I smile at her. Her lips start moving, but the sounds coming out of her mouth don’t make any sense.
She looks so familiar. I know her from somewhere—I’m sure of it—but I just can’t place exactly where from. Are we related? Are we friends? Maybe she’s my sister?
I look at her freckled nose and big brown eyes and try to concentrate on the first time we met. I open my mouth to ask but instead of speech coming out, a huge gasp of air rushes in, filling my chest as the room suddenly begins moving. It sways and undulates, but the girl’s face stays steady and in sharp focus right in front of me.
A big bald guy in a suit and a weird old man with wire-frame glasses perched on his nose are watching me intensely. Behind them I see two teenage boys and two girls looking at me as the walls of the room distort and warp around them. Soon the men and four teenagers start to change, along with the walls. Their faces begi
n to melt, dripping down their bodies, melding into their clothing like molten wax. The ceiling bows and sags in the middle as all the light and color in the room begins running into liquid stripes and sliding into where the floor used to be, because even that has disappeared completely. It’s like someone has dumped turpentine on a painted world and everything is dissolving away, revealing an empty void behind it.
All the color gradually ebbs from view, leaving the purest shade of black that I’ve ever seen. Six of the seven strangers have gone. The walls have gone. The whole room is gone. All that’s left is the girl with the heart-shaped face and freckled button nose, staring up at me with her big brown worried eyes.
The first time we met was . . . let me think . . .
I look down at her and try to concentrate. I think it’s coming back to me.
Her dark wet hair begins to turn a lighter tone of mousy brown as it gradually dries and frizzes on her head. Her dark-gray t-shirt with a picture of a wise-looking old man on it suddenly turns stark white. It grows sleeves, and buttons pop into existence down the center as a neatly ironed collar folds out around her neck and a tie rolls down her chest. Thick black lines draw themselves over the bridge of her nose and connect at the corners to form the frame of chunky, nerdy glasses. She turns away from me and props her cheek on her hand. Her worried expression transforms into one of studious contemplation as a small wooden desk fades into view and positions itself perfectly beneath her elbow. A small potted plant, a bendy-necked lamp, and a glowing computer slate all sprout from the desk in front of her. She flicks a finger through the holograms floating above the slate, and when I look around I suddenly notice that we’re in a completely different room.
