The doctor spoke before Rowan repeated the question. “This simulation is simply reconstructed from your last available memories. You were injured in a near-fatal accident, specifically your brain was damaged, significantly—”
“What accident?” Rowan interrupted and gestured to the wolves. “Wasn’t it a wolf attack?”
“Yes and no.” The doctor had an apprehensive look. “A park ranger intervened and his rifle rebounded off your father’s knife, hitting you in the head. You don’t seem to remember that part. You’ve likely had much memory loss.” He emphasized that point. “The familiar environment, sound, sight, smell, and touch, helps your mind transition back to reality and lessen the physiological shock.” He spoke like a Santa or a grandfather recounting an old tale.
Rowan paused as his mouth opened. Despite helping to affirm his position as Rowan’s doctor, that explanation made no sense. How would a replay of his final moments before near-death lessen shock? He’d just woken to a wolf lunging at him and his parents’ dead bodies lying in pools of blood. If anything, he should be going into physiological shock right this moment. And he wasn’t going into shock. He felt serenely calm—which piqued more questions. Though he didn’t know much about brain biology. The so-called doctor could just be dumbing down the conversation.
Rowan reserved judgment and nodded. Perhaps this really was a doctor.
“How do you feel, Rowan?” His face was neutral again. “I’m sorry if this scene upset you. It was necessary to help your brain adjust.” He gestured with open hands. “Truly, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
A deception. A tinge of a feeling indication so. Rowan wasn’t sure how he exactly knew, but he’d bet his parents on it. He lied, “I’m a bit shaken, but I understand, doctor…”
“Roth. Doctor Vincent Roth. I’m a neurologist.” He smiled briefly.
A name. Finally. Not very professional there, not helping his claim.
Rowan nodded. “But what if that wolf got to me? This feels so real.” He kept his voice as on the innocent side. If the Roth wanted to play this game, then so be it. He could do it all evening. His parents were already dead. He had nothing to lose apart from himself.
Dr. Roth pulled out a small, rectangular device from his coat pocket, holding up the screen for Rowan to see. “This allows me to pause the simulation. I was about to intervene but you seemed to be alright. You are a fit young lad, after all.” He chuckled and pocketed the device.
True was that. Rowan didn’t need help for a tiny little wolf problem.
Glancing back at the wolf he killed, he held up his blade. Bits of wolf eye and brain and congealed blood clung to the metal. He’d done this to the stupid wolf. A small smile tugged at his lips. If only he had the chance kill the others by his parents’ corpses.
Then a thought struck him: If this simulation was created from his final memories, why were his parents already dead if they’re alive in the real world?
Roth couldn’t be trusted. He was up to something.
Rowan rotated his body back to face the doctor at a measured pace. He had to not let him know he’d noticed this vast inconsistency. “Can we leave now? I’d like to see my parents. How long has it been?” he asked using a concerned tone. “They must be worried about me,” he tacked on. And strangely, Rowen felt no worry for his parents. He was sure that he’d been worried about them in the past but his memory was hazy at best thanks to this incident. He exhaled—no time contemplate on that now.
After five seconds, Dr. Roth said, “I think this should be enough time. Very well.” He took out his device again and tapped the screen five times in multiple places. “Relax, Rowen. Everything will go dark.” He put on that grandfatherly smile again.
Mild anger constricted Rowan’s muscles as he stared him down. That same familiar, distant coldness lapped at his spine. “I’m okay.”
Dr. Roth tapped once more and the world faded to black.
* * *
September 4th, 2134
Rowan opened his eyes and took in the sight of an unfamiliar room. White walls, white ceiling, while floors. Everything was white except for pulled, gray curtains, a small, potted fern sitting in the corner, and the shiny metal of various medical machines and monitors. Several cords ran from a nearby, cylindrical machine, taped to Rowan’s forehead, chest, arms, and legs. He wore some kind of loose, white gown, tucked into a single-sized bed. One machine beeped regularly and another displayed lines which Rowan assumed to monitor different electric systems in the body.
“Rowan, are you awake?” his mother’s voice said from the left. He hadn’t noticed her sitting behind and so close.
Auburn hair, hazel eyes, fit physique, and small dimples on each cheek. Definitely his mother. “I’m—” His throat was rough and hoarse.
His mother’s hand took his. “It’s okay. Don’t talk.”
Rowan nodded. He must have had nodded at least ten times in the past twenty minutes but nodding was a sufficient means of communication. Simple and direct. And he didn’t have much to say anyway. It was just his mother.
“I’m so sorry Row.” Her face fell. Sadness. “It was all my fault for dragging us to that reserve. I just wanted to—” She shook her head and sighed.
Roth and his father walked in. He indeed looked like his father. It seemed like Roth had been telling the truth. But what was he hiding? Rowan was sure of it.
“Hey Row,” his father quipped and took a seat next to Rowan’s mother, “We made it out alive.”
Rowen nodded yet again and pointed to his throat when his father raised a brow. The man deserved at least some respect or fake respect. Or maybe no respect at all. How could he not have thought to bring food and water? The man had to be special.
“Mmmm, indeed,” Roth said. He carried a black, plastic clipboard, writing as he sat on a chair opposite to Rowan’s parents. “Just one last checkup.” He eyed a few of the machines for a moment before continuing his scribble.
The trio waited till the doctor finished his paperwork and checkup on Rowan’s status. He tapped a few buttons on the nearest machine and recorded a couple of figures on another, then took out a small flashlight and shone it into Rowan’s eyes. After a handful of other typical examinations, Roth clapped his hands together. “You’re a very healthy, and lucky young lad!” He patted Rowan’s shoulder twice and began removing the taped cords, a bit unceremoniously.
Rowan watched Roth’s every move and sly act. His parents must’ve been deceived but he wasn’t as dull. Whatever the doctor was up to wasn’t good else he wouldn’t have bothered to lie about it in the simulation. It had to be something either illegal or borderline.
But what? The quandary invoked a seeping hate for the doctor which Rowan couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Damn the memory loss. Perhaps he should speak up this instant—but knowing his idiot parents, they’d brush him off and take the word of the good doctor.
Though it was still worth a try. Rowan pointed to his throat, annoyance rising. “Wa— ter—” The pressure in his veins built to a hot ache in his skull. His parents couldn’t be this stupid.
Roth looked at him and winced. “Sorry lad. It didn’t cross my mind that your throat might be parched. Doctors aren’t infallible after all.”
Damn him! A jet of rage erupted in his stomach and tore up his jugular in heavy thumps of his heart. For a brief second, he thought his right hand still held that knife. Oh, he wanted that knife this moment. The good doctor would definitely talk then.
His dad rubbed his arm. “It’s alright Row. Just signed your discharge papers. We’ll be out of here before you know it.” He leaned forward and guided Rowan to sit up on the bed. Every muscle ached and burned under the exertion. He must’ve been unconscious for weeks if not months under the watch of Roth. His boiling veins simmered and that weird chill returned to his spine. He could vaguely remember having felt this feeling before the encounter with the wolves… so it probably wasn’t some that Roth had done to him.
> “Are you alright, Row?” his mother asked, squeezing his hand, “You look very blank.”
He gave her two nods and a smile. “Ti— red.”
His mother smiled back, satisfied with his response. What a dumb woman. It was too easy to keep her and his father under his thumb. Simple acting was all it took. No wonder he hadn’t felt any real worry for them.
“Indeed,” Roth said, “You’ve been out for almost two months now.” He strode over to the cabinet and fetched a pair of crutches.
Two months—enough time for Roth to have done virtually anything to his body. Rowan fought an urge to glare while his parents helped him off the bed.
The second his feet touched the ground, the room spun. His legs couldn’t handle the weight. Of course, they couldn’t. They’d atrophied in his coma. It was simple biology and it had escaped biologist mother. So useful she was.
“Gotcha, Row.” His actually useful father caught him as he tumbled forward, then guided him onto his crutches. His armpits strained in the weight.
Roth clapped his hands together like a dumb person again. “Alright, Rowan my lad. I’ll be seeing you soon again for your weekly checkup, but in the meantime, stay out of the woods and get some exercise when you can walk.” He chuckled and patted Rowan’s back. That bastard.
Rowan grumbled under his breath and let his parents guide him out of the hospital.
Chapter 3
Dissection
September 13th, 2134
Heart—check. Lungs—check. Stomach—check. Intestines—check.
All that was left to dissect were the bones of the frog, a tricky and tedious process but nothing that Rowan didn’t have the patience for. He started with its left leg. First, a long incision to break the skin. Then four more cuts to sever ligaments and muscles unique to this frog species. And two final chops, a scrape, and a light pull to separate leg bone from its hip and foot. Simple and easy. He couldn’t comprehend why over half the class appeared to have difficulty.
Mrs. Bentley had instructed his classmates to ignore the feet plus other complicated parts because those would take too long, much to Rowan’s displeasure. Something about cutting up these carcasses sated the increasingly common bouts of cold or fiery anger which had plagued him during the slightest annoyances. This was his favorite class by far. Something about the sciences was reminiscent of his video game collection which had grown substantially over the past weeks. His good parents had been wise to give in to his requests.
The two weeks since his discharge passed uneventfully while Rowan’s strength returned. After the first day, it became clear that his personality had changed in some way—judging from his parents’ reaction to his behavior of course. They’d clearly been expecting a different Rowan to return to their home and he wasn’t that Rowan. He didn’t even know what kind Rowan they expected. He had tried acting out a few different behaviors but that seemed to only further disturb his parents, which of course it would, in hindsight. He’d need to be more careful in the future.
Though soon enough, Rowan had learned his brain injury robbed him of a whole spectrum of emotions, empathy, and caused a significant personality change. At least for while his brain was reliant on the bionic implants. That’s what Roth had speculated during the first checkup. The doctor had graciously been quick and the meeting lasted a mere thirty minutes—after dismissing Rowan’s query on the little inconsistency he’d noticed in the virtual reality simulation. Roth had merely said it was a natural memory artifact caused by trauma, amplified by the machine that’d pieced together Rowan’s memories.
Perhaps that was all it was. The good doctor had saved his life. He deserved the benefit of the doubt at a minimum, even if Rowan was suspicious and distrustful of Roth’s peculiar, clownish act.
A gentle voice ended Rowan’s trance and ruminations. “Rowan, are you alright?” Mrs. Bentley asked. “You’ve been staring off into space.”
She was a plump woman and headed biological sciences. In the few memories Rowan had of her, she’d always treated him fairly.
He responded neutrally, “I’m fine, Mrs. Bentley. Just thinking about my classes and some of the content I missed.”
“Alright. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I’m fine. My frog is almost done.” He could remember most of his schooling after a week of quick revision. The images of his life were blurry but facts, mathematics, science, English and his other subjects were clear as ever, if not more so. He could remember people of significance to himself though most others escaped him.
Mrs. Bentley gave him a weak grin and waddled back her desk by the fish tank. A pair of goldfish noticed her approach.
It was clear that Mrs. Bentley had been taken aback by his personality change. Rowan didn’t care. All his teachers had been briefed on his accident, condition, and lingering symptoms. The only thing they didn’t know, including his parents and Roth, was his growing bouts of rage. Anger appeared to be one of few emotion that hadn’t been robbed or severely muted.
Damn those wolves. Damn his mother for that god-forsaken camping trip. He couldn’t be bothered to attempt feeling any sympathy for her—it was all her fault. Waves of ice emanated from the back of his neck as he mulled and stabbed the frog. He swore an cold hollow cut into the base of his neck, almost like a… connection to an infinite void.
A nasal voice wafted over from the right. “First day back and the dumbass needs all his teachers to babysit him. He doesn’t even have a bloody bandage.”
Max. That was the guy’s name. He could remember one or two fuzzy images which included Max. Curly, brown hair. Chubby cheeks—quite overweight. Big ears, fat nose. It was definitely him. He’d been cracking snide comments all day, truly testing Rowan’s control over his anger. Getting away with anything here would be difficult, to say the least. It’d be a needless complication to his life.
Rowan ignored the remark and focused on his growing frog skeleton. He’d just need its ribs, right arm, and skull and he could glue these bones together for a model skeleton. And with a glance at the time, he could skin the hands and feet before this period ends. Bones, muscles, and organs were a thing of beauty, Rowan had to admit. Anatomy fascinated him—apparently, it hadn’t before. Strange.
Jonathan, his apparent friend, said from a meter to the left, “Whoah man that’s amazing, how did you get all that done in just half an hour?”
“What do you mean?” Rowan said without looking up from his work. Sticky ligaments lined every rib and needed extra care to be removed without damaging the fragile bone.
“I can barely stand touching their slimy insides.” His voice curled up and down in tone, signaling mild disgust. Or excitement.
Rowan shook his head. “I don’t understand. It’s just some slime.”
“Use the tongs and clippers. You don’t have to touch it,” Rowan suggested.
Jonathan grunted in response, concentrating on his own, mutilated frog that looked to have more than two broken bones and slashed organs.
When Rowan had arrived at Westwind this morning, the teachers and the dean decided not to inform his classmates the details of Rowan’s injury. It’d been explained as a simple accident and then left the matter at that to respect Rowan’s privacy. His small circle of friends whom he had no memory of, Jonathan, Gabrielle, and Tory, weren’t informed either. Rowan didn’t care either way and suspected they had been assigned to watch him in case he collapsed or worse. They’d certainly done a good job and acted friendly when they’d introduced themselves before first period.
Jonathan was on the soccer and basketball team, a decent athlete but not anything else, much faster and stronger compared to Rowan. That had apparently justified a position on the student council. He could be rather useful.
Gabrielle was a strange, intelligent girl who didn’t behave like anyone else. She was… quirky and unique. She had to be a genius. And combined with that petite but curvy figure, the girl had stirred something base and primal within Rowan dur
ing their interactions. Quite sexy. He would’ve advanced on her if it wasn’t for all the witnesses.
As for Tory, she was Gabrielle’s very ordinary sister, quiet and mellow. Their personalities and looks didn’t match, though Rowan didn’t care. He could put up with them for they weren’t too annoying, so far. Gabrielle’s body certainly helped. It was peculiar how the other males avoided her like she was toxic. It had to be her odd, kind of childish character.
With a flick of his wrist, a few more parts and that frog skeleton would be done save for the hands and feet.
At the corner of his eye, Gabrielle’s straight blond hair fluttered in the draft two workstations down. She poked her frog with a stirring rod and sprinkled a white powder. The limbs jiggled and moved like it was alive, much to Rowan’s interest. It had to be some kind of chemical reaction that activated its muscles or nerves. This girl would definitely be useful in the future. Rowan made a mental note to strengthen this relationship as much as possible.
Aeon Chronicles Online_Book 1_Devil's Deal Page 3
