by Nate Kenyon
Steven Berger flipped open the little screen once again. The small party gathered around it to watch.
This was Berger’s favorite part. He kept stealing glances at the two men, at their faces, full of wonder, awe, and disbelief. Even Cruz was riveted, though she’d seen it many times before.
The scene played out across the little screen. Nobody spoke, moved, even breathed until it was over.
After another five minutes the screen went black. They sat back in silence for a long moment.
“Take this information back to your people,” Berger said quietly. He handed both of them a Helix business card with his name and private contact information across the front.
“We’ll be entertaining partnership offers from as many as seven major players.” He let the pause go just long enough, waited for the beat. “I’ll begin the bidding at five hundred million.”
Across the table, Cruz tore off a fresh piece of bread. Smiling to herself in satisfaction, she bit into it with a vengeance.
—17—
Sarah awoke with a scream lodged thickly in her throat. It had come again, the dream that used to plague her night after night. The howling machines with metal tubes and wires swarming across her face, webbing pinning her down, the smell of metal and burning flesh. Needles dripping clear fluid. The screams. Darkness, and she was lost! It was hot, so hot she was gasping for air, and she knew she had brought this upon herself, that she was the cause of the burning.
Dream images faded into a pattern of pink, swirling dots. She swallowed and blinked, fighting against the fear that rose up inside, fighting against her own mind. I know where I am. I’m in my room. Not in the bad place.
But how could she know for sure? The room was pitch-black when she slept. They had kept it that way on purpose to punish her at first, and as she slid deeper into her own private darkness they hadn’t bothered to change things. Not that it would have mattered then.
But her world had shifted now with all the swiftness of a flash flood. She thought of the woman who had been coming to see her, and it gave her heart a forgotten surge of hope. She allowed herself a moment to wonder what it might be like to be normal. But what did that really mean? To be like the others she used to know before the gray fog came, Aimee who talked to herself and Shawn who picked his hands until he bled?
No. They were different too.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and waited for the voices, but they did not come. Her mind had been unusually clear lately; she could function without the fog creeping up on her, and that made her feel uneasy. She was not used to such freedom, such long stretches where she had nothing but her own thoughts as entertainment. Maybe she should start taking the pills again? What would they do to her? Would they stop having to give her the shots? Would she have to go back to the bad place?
She heard a sudden noise. Something shifted nearby. Memories floated to the surface and she was transported to another time, another place. Disorientation. Nothingness. Whispers of words too faint to understand. Smoke touched her face, heat singed her skin.
Her arms and legs were held down. She stretched out her finger and fumbled for something, anything to tell her she was still alive. Somewhere in the distance she thought she could hear screaming again. Terror flooded her body and for a single moment she thought she might lose control.
When the lights flickered on she was blinded and hopelessly disoriented. The flashback had been vivid and had almost put her over the edge. She blinked as shapes swam into focus, and held on with all her might, biting back her scream.
“You’re awake,” the doctor said. She flinched. He was standing just inside the door. “Good. It’s time we talked this out. Long past time, actually.” He bent to undo the straps on her wrists, hesitated. “There are three men right outside the door. You’ll behave?”
She nodded. His skin was slick with sweat. She had never seen him with a single hair out of place until now, and it disturbed her more than his expression.
She studied him as her pounding heart shook her thin frame. His face had changed for her, and something deep inside had broken because of it. His face, a source of warmth and comfort for so long, was now cold and the light had gone from his eyes.
She reminded herself once again that she was the cause of the change. She had been very bad. She had done something so terrible, so unforgivable, that it could never be taken back. Never.
The straps fell away, and she sat up on her narrow mattress. This room had a dresser in it, and a lamp on a table by the bed, but the walls were bare. An upholstered chair faced her. There was a window across the room, with a shade pulled down and taped tightly to the window trim, to keep any light from entering. She knew there were heavy bars on the other side.
Dr. Evan Wasserman sat down in the chair across from her and crossed his legs, being careful to keep the creases in his pant legs straight. He smoothed the fabric with his palms and folded his hands in his lap. He patted down his hair with one hand. Then he looked at her, his gaze searching her features. His eye twitched. She could not tell whether he was satisfied with what he found there.
“Modern Catholic thought holds that each person is sacred,” the doctor said. “The church believes in the inherent dignity of the human form. Do you know why that is?” He did not wait for her to respond. “The idea is grounded in the belief that man is made from the image of God. The human form is the clearest and most obvious example of God living among us.”
He pulled out a white napkin from his pants pocket and dabbed at his face. “It’s rather hot in here. We should have lowered the temperature. But this is an old building, you see, and the controls are not very accurate. If one were to lower the thermostat here, the lower levels would become uncomfortably cool. Do you know why I mentioned God? This is important. I want you to listen carefully.” He leaned forward in his chair, hands in his lap again. He twisted the napkin as he spoke. “I mention these things because I want you to understand what you’ve done. By murdering another person you are, in essence, killing a piece of God himself. You are committing a mortal sin, one that cannot be undone. And, perhaps worst of all, by taking another person’s life you are acting as God. That. Can. Not. Happen.” He twisted until something ripped. His eye twitched at her. “You have something inside you that can be dangerous. That part you must keep tightly bound. The rest are parlor tricks. You must always remember that.”
She was trembling. Wetness streaked her face, and she wiped at the snot running from her nose. A single, choked sob escaped her lungs. “I didn’t mean…to…to…”
“But you did. You lost control and two people died. You forgot that whatever God has cursed you with, you are no different than anyone else on this earth. No different. You live, you breathe, you shit and piss, and you are here because someone else has willed it to be. I have willed it to be!” He stood up abruptly, knocking the chair backward against the wall. “This, above all, you must remember. I am in charge. I decide what you do and when you do it. You will not shut me out anymore.”
He was breathing heavily now, and his eye twitched violently. She stared at him through swimming tears, as the light refracted into a multitude of colors and blurred his features. She wanted him to go away now, please, leave me alone.
Wasserman took a step closer. “I say all this because we will resume our lessons tonight.”
“No!”
“You must learn control. The world demands it. God demands it.”
“I won’t do it! You can’t make me!”
The lightbulb in the lamp blazed brightly for a moment, popped, and went dark.
Wasserman glanced over at the lamp, and at the cord that had been unplugged from the wall since he came in. He stared down at the little girl on the bed, and chose his next words very carefully. “Your new friend. You like her, don’t you? I want you to understand something. She comes under my supervision, and only as long as I say so. Would you like to continue her visits?” He waited for her nod. “If you don’t cooperate, she can neve
r return to this place. You will be alone. We will lock you away downstairs, and you will never see the light of day again. You will never be allowed to see anyone except for me and the person who delivers your medication. If you do not learn to control yourself, you are not fit to rejoin the rest of the human race. The risk is too great. This is why we must continue, tonight.”
Fear bloomed deep within as her emotions battled each other. Above all, she did not want to return to the Room. She did not want the needle. Did not want to begin all over again. What if she could not hold herself in, what if it happened again? She could not bear to think of that, the smell of the burning, the screams.
But to refuse would mean the end of all hope.
“You have the opportunity to make amends,” Wasserman whispered, leaning over her. “You have taken lives, but now you have the chance to save one.”
For a moment, his face was full of naked fear. She realized that this part of what he was saying was very important to him, as important as life and death. She didn’t know why, but she thought that maybe she had found something else she could use.
Finally, she nodded. Wasserman smiled, reached out as if to pat her head, then thought better of it. “Good.”
He opened the door. Three large men in open white lab coats entered the room. They regarded her as a zookeeper might study a dangerous animal. Weapons were strapped to their waists; she could see the bulge there, and caught the flash of black as they moved.
“She’s cooperating,” Wasserman said. “But I’ll want you to follow at a safe distance. Should something happen, you know what to do.”
They strapped her to a gurney and rode up in the creaking elevator in silence. Her stomach cramped and burned, her pulse raced as they rolled down the familiar hallway toward the Room. She studied the patterns on the ceiling and tried not to scream.
They prepped her quickly. A nurse bent over her to administer the shot. Panic overwhelmed her, and she tried to twist away. No needles! But it was too late. Prickles of fire ran up through her shoulder, through her body. “Stay calm,” the nurse said. “This is going to make you feel a little strange. That’s normal. You’re going to do just fine.” She touched Sarah’s wrist. The light pressure of her fingers tingled. Then she was gone.
They pushed her into the Room. The gurney’s wheels squeaked as they slipped across the black padded floor. She could see the black ceiling, could feel the emptiness, the weight of the air. The walls swallowed sound. People spoke through layers of cotton. There were many of them around her now. Wasserman’s voice cut through the rest, directing everyone to their various duties.
She felt herself trembling, sickness welling up inside as her pulse thumped in her throat.
Wires were placed about her face and temples, monitors attached to her fingertips. Faces loomed over her, filling her sight, quickly replaced by others.
The prickling fire had spread through her limbs, her neck, her tongue. She felt something building deep within her body and began to feel the familiar itch of pending release. With it came another wave of terror.
They left her alone. The door closed. She was plunged into utter blackness.
She could not hold it back now. She screamed.
The Room swallowed the sounds with ease, and everything else that came after.
—18—
“We’ve had a problem,” Dr. Wasserman said.
Shelley had called that morning as Jess was sipping her tea at the window, watching the trains. She borrowed Charlie’s car and rushed there as fast as she could, arriving in under twenty minutes. She knew it was serious enough, calling this early.
Now he was walking quickly and she had to trot to keep up. “It was in the playroom—Sarah was accidentally brought in when the other children were present. You’re the only one she seems to respond to now, not that any of us had great luck before….”
Jess had never seen him in this state. His tie was pulled down and his shirt looked damp in back. He looked like a man on the edge of a very dark and very deep drop, who was looking for something to grab hold of before it was too late.
She could hear the sound of raised voices through the thick concrete walls as they moved quickly down the hall. By the time they reached the playroom, she could tell that the current disruption, at least, did not involve Sarah. Still, she had to pause for a moment to stare openmouthed at the scene that greeted her through the half-open doors.
Toys were scattered everywhere. The slide was overturned; a tattered, one-limbed doll lay against its base. Books had flown like fluttering birds across the room. The little plastic table had been upended and the legs popped off.
The bear she had given Sarah lay just inside the door, a mute eyewitness to the tragedy.
Light flashed in her eyes. She glanced across the room at the right-hand window. Behind the wire mesh ran a long, splintering crack, winking in the sun.
The commotion came from the corner farthest from the door. Two white-shirted counselors were slowly closing in on a disheveled, hysterical figure.
“She touched him,” Wasserman said. “Dennis does not like physical contact of any kind, as I think I told you.”
Dennis was backed against the wall. His baseball cap was tilted to the right and upward, his shirt untucked. His hands were up and pawing the air and his head whipped back and forth like that of a dog trying to free itself from a choke collar. His voice was a constant, piercing scream. “Nonononononono…”
“Where’s Sarah?”
“We managed to get her back downstairs. It took three men and almost fifteen minutes. She scratched one of them badly. I believe he’s gone for the first-aid kit.”
“I want to see her.”
“She needs to calm down. I’ll go with you in just a moment.” Wasserman stepped into the room and raised his voice to a commanding pitch. “You there! That’s not the way to treat him. Step away, give him air.”
“Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten. Twoandtwoisfour. Threeandthreeissix. Fourfivesix. Seveneightnine.”
The two counselors slowly moved off. Dennis continued to scream numbers in a wild, high-pitched stream. Jess remembered her brother’s similar episodes. Sometimes they wouldn’t even know for sure what had set him off, only that he had felt threatened by something. Her mother would have been drinking, most likely, though she hadn’t been doing that as much when he was still alive. Somehow he had always seemed to know when she did. He tried to draw it out of her by force.
What did we used to do? Talk softly to him, talk him down…
Wasserman spoke in a calming, quiet voice. “There, there, Dennis, no one’s going to hurt you. We’re all friends here. Friends, Dennis.” He moved slowly closer, hands at his sides. “There, now, that’s better….”
She took the bear and slipped down the hall to the elevator. Downstairs, she told Jeffrey behind the desk that she was here to examine Sarah. She let him examine the temporary pass Wasserman had given her after her first visit, even though he had seen it many times. Finally he led her through the dreary corridor to Sarah’s door.
Now that she was away from the scene upstairs, she allowed her anger to boil to the surface. How could they have made such a stupid mistake? To leave the girl with a group of other children when she hadn’t seen another child in God knew how long…
When Jess caught a glimpse of the poor girl, crouched against the wall, she was glad Wasserman had not followed her down here.
Sarah’s eyes were already beginning to glaze over. A long, thin scratch divided one cheek. They had slipped her back into her restraints and the drugs were at work on her already. But Maria was gone. So who was giving her these heavy sedatives?
“Sarah, fight it,” Jess said, over by her side. “Fight it. Do you hear me?” She unbuckled the jacket and slipped Sarah’s arms out, then lifted the girl to her feet. Sarah muttered something incomprehensible.
Jess made a sudden decision. “Hold on, we’re getting you out of this place,” she said. She piloted
them to the door, hit the buzzer with her palm. Come on, you son of a bitch. A moment later the door swung open and she pushed by the startled Jeffrey—“I’m taking her back upstairs”—and through the hall, half carrying, half dragging Sarah to the elevator.
Upstairs she poked her head into the hall, which was empty. “You stay with me,” she said, holding Sarah’s chin and looking her in the eye. “You focus. Do you want to see the sky? Do you want to feel the breeze outside?”
Sarah muttered. Her eyes rolled and focused and rolled again. What the hell am I doing? Jess wondered, carrying the girl down the empty hall. But Sarah needed something to shock her from this trance. If it went too far she might never come back out again.
Noise still from the playroom; Dennis had calmed down a little, but not much. She went for the doors, and didn’t see anyone until they were on the front steps, blinking in the bright sun.
She sat Sarah down on the top step. “Now you listen to me.” She took the girl’s chin in her hand again and tried to make contact with her eyes, tried to force her way through the soft glaze and hazy sun. “I know you’re scared, and angry, and hurt. They treated you like an animal in there when you had a good reason for what happened. How were you supposed to feel, with all those people looking at you?”
Sarah moaned. She pulled her arms into her sides and rocked, head cocked, eyes squeezed tight.
“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You didn’t mean any of it. You only fought back to protect yourself. Am I right, Sarah?”
Sarah twisted her head away. “Leave me lone.”
“I’ll go if you want. Do you really want to go back to your room? Do you want them to lock you up again?”
“No! I don’t!”
“I want you to fight that gray feeling that’s trying to fill you up. I want you to push it away. We’ve come too far to go back and I don’t want to lose you. Can you do that? Can you open your eyes?”
