by Potts, Allie
“It is better I ask these sorts of questions than the police.”
“I still don’t understand why in the world the police would be involved in the first place. Louis was obviously under the influence. I don’t see why any investigation would need to look any further.”
“Well, that’s the interesting thing. Have you heard a single story which would suggest Louis was intoxicated at the time of the accident?”
Juliane found herself shaking her head before remembering that Durham wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. “No. I assume that's because his publicist is trying to keep that aspect quiet. The company’s value would plummet if Louis ever lost the cult of personality thing he has going for him.”
“Well, according to my sources, the reason why alcohol isn’t mentioned as a possible cause is because he had none of it in his bloodstream at the time. In fact, he had nothing at all in his system that would have impaired his judgment or his reflexes.”
Juliane's eyebrow shot up. “Someone has to be altering the records then, because he clearly was having a good time yesterday.”
“I have been assured that the records are accurate. My source was there as the blood work was analyzed. She saw the results firsthand.”
“How did you manage that? Doesn’t that sort of information violate some confidentiality?”
Juliane didn’t need to hear Durham’s answer. She could picture him shrugging with a smug smile.
Durham sighed into his phone. “Juliane, I know all too well how it feels to be tossed aside, and I do apologize if you thought I had done the same to you."
His words forced Juliane to remember the day she was first introduced to Damien’s team. Those terrible minutes when he had made her feel like a discarded plaything. Now, while he obviously had a relationship with this woman in the hospital, he was casually throwing around information that could cost the woman her career as if they were talking about the weather.
"We were on our way to being friends once. Now that everything is out in the open, do you think we could try to be friends again?"
Durham was lying to himself if he thought he was any better than Louis. Durham could keep his friendship. She hadn’t missed it during all this time.
“I’ve said all there is to say.” Another headline crossed her newsfeed as she terminated the connection. Louis’s condition had stabilized. While he had suffered some severe trauma, he was expected to recover. The stock market was already responding with record purchasing on any company associated with one of Louis’s business ventures.
The market action reminded Juliane that the weekend was over and it was time to return to the office. She had already wasted too much time lounging around the condo and had yet to receive an updated report regarding the factory’s internal investigation. Once that was in, she would make her way to the hospital to visit Betty. Louis’s news was terrible, but Juliane couldn’t honestly say she was going to miss Elena.
As she reached her destination, Juliane’s vision began blinking with another incoming communication request. She rolled her eyes. The call had to be from a reporter. Durham must not have been the only one to make the connection between Louis and the woman seen at the game.
“This is Juliane Faris.” She braced herself for the onslaught of questions.
She was expecting a brash tabloid journalist to be on the other side of the line. Instead, the voice was weak and broken up as if every word was a struggle. It took Juliane several seconds to realize that the voice belonged to Betty.
“Betty? Is that you? I was just thinking about you. We must have a terrible connection. I can barely make out what you're saying. Can you repeat that?” Juliane heard a large crash in the background, followed by a tear-fueled scream.
“Betty! Are you there? Are you all right? Betty? Betty!”
A male voice answered, one that Juliane was not familiar with. “Are you a friend of Dr. Dronigh's?”
“I was. Yes, I mean I am. I don't know. It's complicated. But yes, I know her. Is she okay?”
The person on the other end sighed. “Would it be possible for you to come this way?”
“Have you called her husband?”
“She refuses to see him. She's refused to allow us to call anyone.”
“Is everything okay?”
The man on the other end cleared his throat. “I think it might be best if we spoke face to face. Can you come over? Please.”
"I'm on my way."
Twenty Seven
Juliane hadn't bothered to ask the caller for additional information that might help her locate him when she arrived at the hospital. She had just assumed that she would be able to trace the call and locate the source. However, when she entered the hospital's main entrance, her Internet connection was severed. Signs posted along the walls periodically suggested that wireless signals had been intentionally disrupted due to concerns about interference with medical equipment. As a result, Juliane had to rely on a series of signposts and building maps that took her down several hallways, across walkways, and in and out of no less than three elevators.
As she arrived at the suite of rooms, she couldn’t be sure what floor she was on or even if she was still in the main hospital complex or some satellite building. She hadn't felt so lost in years. "How can people work like this?" she muttered under her breath.
The medical staff must have access to some limited network, thought Juliane. Her skin tingled as if she could sense wireless activity just outside of reach. After living with constant connection for so long, the lack of data made her itch.
Juliane had heard of the rise of technology retreat centers. They were spas designed to help clients relax by embracing similarly disruptive materials. She cringed at the thought. She would never be able to relax feeling this incomplete.
A tall, older man met her as she entered through the suite door. His eyes were nearly hidden under thick furry eyebrows. His skin around his neckline was loose, as if he had recently lost significant weight, but his belly still extended. He reminded Juliane of one of the troll dolls she had seen in Chad's collection of old toys. All he lacked was a smile. Juliane pushed the comparison out her mind. She was here for Betty.
“Thanks for coming over so quickly. I am Dr. Thomas," said the man as he reached to shake her hand. "I am sorry you had to come down this way, but I just didn’t feel like we could discuss this over the phone.”
Juliane hesitated to meet the gesture. “Where is Betty?”
“We have her resting in a private room.”
“What happened? What is wrong with her?”
“Frankly, that's why I asked you to come here. Would you happen to know if your friend has been under psychiatric care or on medication that could alter her mental state?”
“I don’t know. We used to work together years ago, but haven’t really kept in touch as well as we should recently.”
Dr. Thomas ran his hand through his hair as his shoulders sank. “You were listed on her information as her emergency contact. I was afraid that it might be a long shot, but I hoped that you might be able to provide us with a little more information than what the records show.”
“I still don’t understand why you aren’t contacting her husband. I know that you said she doesn’t want to allow it, but surely, he has to be able to provide better insight than I can.”
“We’ve tried but have yet to reach him, and we are running out of time to react.”
“What exactly are you trying to react to?”
“Well, at first we thought her behavior was merely a result of the strain caused by coping with her son’s condition, but over the last twenty-four hours, she began to display symptoms of extreme paranoia. We attempted to sedate her, but it would seem our efforts may have made the condition worse. She suffered cardiac arrest, and her levels indicate some internal hemorrhaging, except we cannot seem to determine the source. There is a chance that the sedative triggered the attack if she was alread
y being treated with other medication. We may have successfully stabilized her heart, but unless we identify the source of the bleeding, we cannot be sure that other treatment options might not cause additional issues, and we really don’t have much more time to waste.”
The doctor kept talking, but Juliane couldn’t process the words. She sent a ping to Alan, only to receive a message delivery error. She cursed the hospital’s signal suppression under her breath. He should be here, not her. “I am truly sorry. I wish I could help, I do, but I really don’t know why she put me down as a contact.”
He sighed. “I understand. Well, I'd like you to try talking to her in any event. Maybe hearing from a friend will rally her enough to respond to some basic questions.”
The doctor ushered Juliane into a room the size of a closet. Her one-time colleague lay on the bed, connected to a multitude of machines and tubing, her skin washed out under the harsh ceiling lights. She looked much smaller than the woman who had entered Juliane's office just a few days prior, fragile and weak. As Juliane approached the bed, a machine whirred and a plastic cuff located around Betty’s arm inflated.
Another machine sounded an alarm, and a nurse pushed Juliane to the side so that she could replace a depleted IV drip bag. After adding a quick notation to the chart located at the foot of the bed, the nurse disappeared as quickly as she had arrived.
Juliane tentatively reached out to touch Betty’s skin. She felt like a plastic doll that had been left out under the sun for too long, soft and waxy. “Betty, it's me, Juliane. Can you wake up?”
Juliane and Dr. Thomas glanced up at the monitors to see if her words had resulted in any activity, only to see that there was no reaction. “Betty, you need to wake up. The doctors can’t help you if they don’t know what is wrong.”
The machine attached to the arm cuff whirred again, punctuating her words.
Juliane walked over to Betty’s chart, more out of a lack of better ideas rather than any expectation that it could offer any clues to the cause of Betty’s condition. The numbers and readouts shown on the chart could have been written in a foreign language for as much help as they offered.
Another nurse entered the room and whispered into Dr. Thomas's ear. Dr. Thomas's lips tightened. "Keep trying," he encouraged Juliane as he spun and followed the second nurse back out into the hall.
Once again Juliane cursed the hospital’s lack of network connectivity. If she only had access to her full capabilities, she would be able to access a whole slew of data. She could compare Betty's condition instantly with any number of case studies. She could run a simulation program and help rule out treatment options. She could do any number of things, but she was helpless. To do anything, she would either have to find a way to hack into the hospital’s network or somehow get Betty’s chart and all of her vital sign readings outside.
Juliane looked at the monitors again, weighing her choices. Either option would drain vital minutes. Minutes that Betty didn’t have to spare.
“Betty, wake up!” Juliane tossed the chart back into its holder in frustration. She began to pace. “Why in the world wouldn't you call Alan?"
Juliane slapped the bed's railing, sending the chart clattering to the floor. "And you thought calling me instead was a good idea? What could possibly be going on in your head? I may have made the occasional bad decision, but that one has to be worse.”
She looked at the monitors again. Betty’s readings showed no response to Juliane's diatribe. One of the other machines beeped, and the first nurse appeared to make an adjustment before returning the chart to its place at the foot of the bed. She vanished once again. The sound couldn't have been loud enough to have been heard at the nurses' station. Juliane realized she was looking for communication ports along the walls, as if her eyes wanted to look at anything other than Betty lying still on the bed. All she saw were a handful of silver electrical outlets dotting the otherwise white walls.
Somehow the equipment must be communicating with the staff. Juliane became even more convinced that there was a form of private network managing the data inside the hospital walls. “Where one private network exists, so could others.”
“This is for your own good,” announced Juliane as she reached out to Betty’s prone form. As her open palm connected to Betty's exposed skin, Juliane exerted her will. With Louis, she had established the connection in a heartbeat, but this time, it was like her mind was pressing up against a brick wall. She issued commands, breaking up the data packets. She visualized her commands as tendrils of ivy upon a wall and pulled. Betty's defenses were no match for her. The wall crumbled. She could feel Betty’s mind open before her as she established the private connection. She could feel all of Betty’s hurt and could sense Betty’s life draining away as if it were her own.
Choking back a sob, Juliane closed her eyes and imagined their old lab, focusing on happier times. A few more seconds passed. Juliane wondered whether or not the effort had been enough. She glanced around the room. She hadn’t seen the interior of the lab in years and expected some of her memory to be blurred, but everything showed as clearly as if she were physically standing in the room.
Movement along the length of one wall caught her eye, and Juliane watched as shadows converged into a solid dark mass. The shape seemed to pull itself from the wall’s surface; some tendrils reached out farther than others, causing the mass to lighten as it stretched into a fine mist resembling the Betty that Juliane used to know.
“How did I get here?”
“You aren’t really here, Betty. It is just the virtual world. I just had to come up with a location that we both knew.”
“Where is my son?”
“I'm not sure, but I believe he is still in the hospital."
“I can’t stay here. I need to go back to him.” Betty began to run toward the lab door. The thought must have occurred to her that she didn’t need to physically leave the room as she stopped moving in mid-stride. She frowned as she spun back on Juliane. “Why can’t I wake up?”
“I wish I knew. It’s been what I’ve been telling you to do for some time now.”
Betty’s forehead knit in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Apparently, your doctors misjudged your dosage when they sedated you.”
“Why have I been sedated?”
“Your doctor told me that you were suffering from an episode of paranoia. Unfortunately, something in your body decided to fight the medication. I am not going to sugarcoat this. Your condition is now quite serious. Have you been taking anything recently that could have triggered a reaction?"
“I’m not taking anything. I never have been. They think I'm crazy, but it’s not paranoia when it is the truth." Betty's form began to pulse.
“We didn’t just undergo some cosmetic procedure," she continued. "We completely altered our DNA. The changes. They'll pass to the next generation, and might well kill us unless we find an alternative power source."
“Alternative power source? What are you talking about? The technology doesn’t need one.”
Betty's lips pursed as she scolded. “Of course it needs a power source, and right now, it is pulling from our natural energy reserves. The greater the processing need, the greater the drain. It's the same concept as your body burning calories during any other exercise. I started thinking about those times you passed out when you were still getting used to everything, and it was the only explanation that makes sense!"
"But I still don't see how that would destroy the human race."
Betty sighed. "All the mysteries of the world are open to you, yet you don't have a clue sometimes. It’s kids, Juliane. We all start out as kids."
"I know that. I was one once too."
"Were you? Then you should remember that kids aren't as strong as adults. They can be insanely energetic at times, but only in bursts, and my son is proof that they are being born with the same amount of processing speed as I have. My son, your kid—assuming you
ever get around to having one—or any child of an upgraded person is going to have the same issue. They will simply burn themselves out, a whole generation gone unless we can find a way to teach them control at an early age."
"Or redirect the energy pull," suggested Juliane. Betty's paranoia had a certain degree of logic to it.
"I've tried that, but so far, the fix is only temporary and won’t last much longer.” Betty’s appearance had grown fainter as they were talking, reminding Juliane that she did not have time to waste on idle theories.
“Betty, I’d be happy to discuss all of this with you, but first, you need to wake up so that the doctors can help you.”
Betty laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. When their eyes met again, Juliane saw pity reflected back. "One day, with any luck, you'll understand." Betty faded further. "The doctors aren’t going to be able to save me because I won’t let them. My son is still alive only because he is pulling energy from me, but I am afraid he isn’t going to last long after I’m gone. I am going to need you to pick up on my work, not just for my son, but for the thousands of other children who are going to be born with this same condition.”
Suddenly, Juliane's vision of the landscape shifted. She was no longer in control. The lab morphed into a hospital complex, infinitely long, with children wasting away in their beds surrounded by helpless parents. Thriving cities emptied after a few short generations. Floating a short distance away, Betty was nearly transparent, having lost the majority of her form’s definition.
“And Alan isn’t able to help with any of this?”
The beds, children, and empty cities faded to black. Betty's semi-transparent form was all that remained, her head the only feature that still maintained some slight definition. Betty's voice hissed, “You can't trust Alan! Save my son. Chad knows where to find my research. Contact him. Do it quickly, while there's still time!”
Betty's face faded further into the darkness. Juliane watched her lips move, but no sound escaped. It was almost as if she had said, "I'm sorry."
