Otherworld

by Jason Segel

  “Busara?” I ask, though I can see her clearly. It’s just hard to believe she’s here.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought you’d gone home. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. What are you doing in here?” I demand. Then I remember the video on her computer at school, and my confusion quickly turns to rage. “Wait—were you just filming?”

  “No, it’s not like that,” Busara says. “I don’t have a camera with me.” She’s calm. Too calm. Maybe she’s an android after all.

  “Bullshit,” I say. That’s when I notice the plastic band around her wrist.

  “What’s this?” I ask, grabbing the band and pulling her arm toward me to get a better look. The sight of her name and birth date on the plastic takes me by surprise. “You’re a patient here?”

  She lowers her arm and covers the band with her fingers as if she’s ashamed of it. “I have a heart condition,” she says. “I spend a lot of time at the hospital. My cardiologist is on this floor.”

  “Oh.” That explains why she’s out of school so much. I feel like an asshole. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” she says. “How are you?”

  It’s a simple question, but one I find myself unable to answer. My mouth is open, but for the first time ever there are no words spilling out. We stand together looking down at the girl in the bed. What’s left of Kat’s hair is spread across the pillow, and her eyes are hidden behind the Company’s slim black visor.

  My vision blurs and a drop slips down my face and over my lip before I can catch it. I’ve spent hours alone in this room, and I haven’t shed a single tear. Then some random girl shows up and I lose it. Having Busara here makes me realize how alone I am. I don’t want her sympathy. I want Kat’s. The one person I would have turned to is gone. I’m here for her, but there’s no one here for me.

  “My doctor says Kat has something called locked-in syndrome,” Busara says. I’m grateful I can reply with a nod as I wipe my eyes on the collar of my shirt.

  Busara turns her gaze away from me and back down at Kat. “It seems to be going around.”

  I clear my throat. “What do you mean?”

  “I heard that two of the other kids who survived the accident at the factory have it too. West and Brian. They were moved to a long-term care facility earlier this afternoon.”

  I wonder if that’s where they’ll be sending Kat soon. To some place where malfunctioning human bodies are kept clipped and cleaned while the minds trapped inside them wait for death. My only hope is that the White City has set Kat free.

  “It’s surprising,” Busara continues when I don’t respond. She seems eager to keep the conversation going. “Locked-in syndrome isn’t very common, you know.”

  I didn’t know. And I’m not sure how she does.

  My skepticism must show on my face, but it doesn’t stop Busara. “As a matter of fact, it’s pretty rare. And yet three of the four kids who survived the accident have it. What do you guess are the odds of that?”

  She looks at me as if expecting an answer. All I can offer is a shrug.

  “I gotta say, if I were the fourth kid, I’d be feeling pretty lucky right now,” she adds.

  A memory flashes through my brain, and I’m reminded of something I meant to follow up on. “Marlow Holm is the fourth kid. Did you know that?”

  Busara nods.

  “What else do you know about him?” I ask. “Have you found out anything new?”

  “Nothing much, really,” she says. “His old social media posts make it seem like he and his mother had to leave California pretty abruptly. But why do you ask? Do you think Marlow had something to do with what happened to Kat?”

  Marlow was the one who suggested the party. He was also the only kid who walked away. And his abrupt departure from California does seem pretty fishy. “I don’t know what to think yet,” I tell Busara.

  The room stays silent for longer than I’d like, but I can’t come up with anything to say. Finally Busara breaks the silence. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  Love is too small a word for what I feel. How do I explain that before Kat, nothing was real? The nannies who doted on me were all paid to do it. One day they’d be hugging me, and the next they were gone. Kids at school played with me so our parents could network. Most never even pretended to like me. Then I met Kat, and she chose me. No one forced her or paid her. I was the one she wanted to be with. When I was eight years old, Kat stepped out of the woods and rescued me. I will spend my entire life thanking her for wanting to do it.

  “Yes,” I tell Busara. “I love her. Kat’s my whole world.”

  Once Busara leaves, it’s quiet aside from the beeping of machines. I sit down in the chair beside Kat’s bed and take one of her limp hands in mine. I wish like hell I could see her eyes. I wonder why Busara never asked about the visor.

  Kat’s lips part and I forget everything else. They almost look like she’s preparing to speak.

  “I’m sure it’s really great where you are,” I whisper, letting my head come to rest on the side of the bed, “but please come back when you’re ready.”

  “No,” a voice says softly.

  I sit bolt upright and try to figure out if I could have imagined what I just heard. Then Kat clenches my hand and her mouth stretches open in a silent scream.

  “Kat?” I stand and bend over her, my face inches from hers. “Kat, are you there?”

  “No!” she gasps. “Oh my God, no!” Her voice is weak, barely louder than a whisper, but I can feel her panic. It’s like she’s narrating a nightmare. Her fingers are clamped so tightly around mine that they’ve cut off my circulation. Kat’s heart monitor is going nuts.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, smoothing her hair. If she’s talking, it could mean she’s getting better. The relief that floods through me almost makes my knees buckle.

  “Don’t do it!” she screams. “Oh my God!” My relief is gone in an instant. Something is very wrong.

  I yank Kat’s visor off. Her eyes are wide open, and they’re darting from side to side. I slam the palm of my hand into the red button that calls the nurse. Then I run to the door and shout for help. Two women in scrubs sprint down the hall toward the room. One rushes to Kat’s side and immediately begins examining her IV needle and tubing.

  The second nurse stops at the door. “What just happened in here?” she demands. She’s looking at the visor that’s still in my hand. “Why did you remove the patient’s visor?”

  “She was talking,” I say, examining the visor for the first time. I put it up to my face, but the lenses are dark. “She sounded totally terrified. She must have been scared of something she saw.”

  “The IV had a leak,” reports the first nurse. She quickly preps a new one. “It’s run out, and there’s a puddle on the floor.”

  “A leak?” The second nurse turns to me. And she’s angry. “Did you touch any of the equipment?”

  “Absolutely not,” I snap. “I was in the cafeteria watching television for the last hour. I just got back here a minute ago.” Yes, and there was someone here when I came in, I realize. But for reasons that aren’t completely clear to me, I don’t say a word.

  “Okay, we’re good,” reports the first nurse. “IV’s back in.” She’s moving around Kat’s body, checking her vitals. “I see no signs of movement. There doesn’t appear to be pain response, either,” she adds. “As far as I can tell, her condition remains the same.”

  I’m back at Kat’s side in a moment. The nurse is right. Kat’s totally still again. Her lips are sealed and her eyes are dull and motionless. “I don’t understand. She talked to me. She squeezed my hand!”

  The nurses are quiet. They’re watching me carefully, as if I’ve lost my mind.

  “The disk—it’s the disk. It needs to be removed,” I insist. I’m trying my best to sound perfectly calm and rational, but I’m on the verge of losing it. “Something’s wrong. She was really scared—and Ka
t doesn’t scare easily.” I can still hear Kat’s voice in my head. She wasn’t just scared, she was terrified.

  “We can’t do anything without Dr. Ito’s authorization,” one of the nurses informs me. It’s like talking to a goddamn robot.

  “Then get her!” I nearly yell.

  “It’s almost one o’clock in the morning,” the other nurse points out.

  I lower my voice. “If Dr. Ito’s not here in fifteen minutes, I’m going to take the disk off myself,” I announce.

  “Don’t. It could be dangerous for the patient,” the first nurse says. That might just be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.

  “It’s a video game!” I’ve finally lost my cool, and it is not coming back. “What in the hell is going on here? You just take the thing off!”

  “Not without the doctor’s permission,” the first nurse repeats firmly.

  “Then get her!” I shout at the top of my lungs, and the two nurses both scurry away.

  I brush a lock of copper hair away from Kat’s pale, dry lips. Then I take her hand in mine and prepare to wait. I will stand right here until Dr. Ito arrives and the disk is removed. I don’t care how long it takes. My eyes aren’t going to leave Kat. I’d memorize the freckles on her face if I didn’t already know them all by heart. I place a finger on her pulse. It feels faster than it should. Thirty minutes pass, and Kat doesn’t move. I don’t even see so much as a twitch. Then Dr. Ito arrives with a posse.

  She’s followed by two security guards, a nurse and Martin—the emo engineer from the Company, who appears to be wearing his pajamas. The security guards look eager. Martin looks like he might vomit at any second.

  Dr. Ito joins me at Kat’s bedside. “What’s going on here?” she asks.

  The doctor listens patiently while I tell her everything I saw and heard.

  “How long has it been since you got a full night’s sleep?” she asks when I finish.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, though I can see exactly where she’s heading.

  “Sleep deprivation can have a serious impact on the human brain,” she informs me. “What you experienced was a hallucination, Mr. Eaton. Katherine is physically unable to speak or move.”

  “I’m completely awake, and I know what happened,” I insist. “Kat spoke. She screamed, actually.”

  Dr. Ito shakes her head. “That’s impossible,” she says. “The damage to her brain is too severe.”

  I hold up the visor and address my next question to Martin. “She saw something on this that scared the hell out of her. What was it?”

  His shaggy hair flops from side to side when he shakes his head. “The White City’s all butterflies and bunnies. There’s nothing there that could possibly scare a girl Katherine’s age.”

  “Then why the hell was she screaming?” I take a step toward the engineer, and one of the security guards puts a hand to my chest.

  “Calm down,” he orders.

  “It’s okay,” Martin says. I’m not sure if he’s talking to the guard or to me. “Hundreds of people have visited the White City. To my knowledge, none of them have ever woken up screaming.”

  “To your knowledge?” I shoot back. “Aren’t you keeping track? What kind of test is this?”

  “I’m sorry, I—” Martin starts to say.

  “I’m afraid this entire conversation is pointless.” Dr. Ito cuts him off. Her voice is different now. She’s no longer playing nice. “Katherine could not have moved or spoken this evening, Mr. Eaton. You need to come to terms with the fact that there’s very little chance that she ever will.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I sound like a stubborn child.

  Dr. Ito clearly doesn’t care what I believe or don’t believe. “I’ve been practicing neurology for over twenty years,” she’s saying. “If you’re questioning my competence, that’s just more proof that you’ve lost touch with reality. I’ll be advising Katherine’s parents to have her moved to a long-term care facility soon. We have done all we can for her here.”

  I feel goose bumps break out on my arms. “The same facility where they sent the two other people who were hurt at the factory? Brian and West? I heard they have locked-in syndrome too. Is that right?”

  Martin looks over at Dr. Ito. I notice she’s careful not to look back. Either I’ve gone completely insane or something incredibly weird is going on here.

  “I’ve told you before, I’m not at liberty to discuss any of my patients with you, Mr. Eaton.”

  “That’s fine,” I tell her. Once again, I’ve run out of patience. “I’m done talking anyway. Game over.”

  I drop the visor on the floor and crush it beneath the heel of my shoe. Then I lean over Kat and gently lift her head, feeling for the disk. The thing’s coming off whether they like it or not.

  “Stop him,” Dr. Ito orders. “He’s going to endanger my patient.” The two security guards are on me in a heartbeat.

  “No, no, he won’t. It’s okay!” I hear Martin insist. “The disk just peels off. It can go right back on again. You don’t need to hurt him!”

  My hands are pulled out from beneath Kat’s head, and both of my arms are pinned behind my back. They have me bent over at the waist, my head pressed into Kat’s lap.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” Martin cries. “Are you sure this is necessary?”

  I feel a sharp jab in my left butt cheek. Then I feel nothing at all.

  I wake up in a hospital room with a nurse and a guard standing over my bed. The clock on the television says 11:41. The sun is shining, so it must be just before noon on Wednesday. Which means I was out for almost eleven hours.

  The nurse is holding a plastic bag that’s filled with my few belongings.

  “You had to be sedated. Now it’s time for you to go home,” she says. I can tell she’s looking forward to showing me the door. “If you don’t comply, we will be forced to phone the police.”

  It’s a good thing I’ve kept the document Kat’s mom signed in my back pocket. I sit up and unfold it. Then I hold the paper up for the nurse to see. “Kat’s mother wants me to stay with her,” I croak. My throat is parched.

  The nurse doesn’t even look down at the page. “The woman who signed that document no longer has legal guardianship over her daughter. Katherine Foley’s sole guardian is now her stepfather, Wayne Gibson.”

  Oh, shit. I try to stand up, but it takes two attempts. My legs are still wobbly from the sedative.

  “I need to talk to him,” I say.

  “Shoot.” I turn to see Wayne Gibson sitting in the corner of the room, a smirk of triumph smeared across his face.

  “What’s going on?” I demand. “What did you do to Linda?”

  “What did I do to Linda?” he repeats incredulously as he rises from his seat. “My wife voluntarily committed herself to a mental health institute yesterday. Our daughter’s illness has been weighing heavily on her, and she was worried she might do herself harm.”

  If that’s the truth, it doesn’t seem to bother him much. I wish there were a scalpel lying around. If I cut into this asshole, I’m pretty sure I’d only find gears and wires. No human being has posture this good—or a heart this cold.

  “I want proof that she left you in charge of Kat,” I say.

  “Mr. Gibson has provided all the necessary legal paperwork,” the nurse answers from the other side of the room.

  For the first time ever, I genuinely wish my parents were here. Without a lawyer, there’s no way I can win this battle. And getting into a pissing contest with GI Joe isn’t going to do Kat any good—or help me figure out what the hell is going on.

  I look back at Mr. Gibson. “May I speak with you privately?” I ask, adjusting my tone.

  “Certainly,” he says diplomatically, nodding at the nurse. I guess it’s easy to be gracious when you know you’ve won.

  The nurse and the guard shuffle out of the room. Wayne assumes a superhero stance—chest out, arms crossed and legs apart—and I realize
I’m not going to convince him of anything.

  “Kat spoke yesterday,” I say.

  “Thank you for letting me know.” It sounds like a voice recording at some corporate headquarters. “I will inform the doctors. Is there anything else?”

  “The Company disk needs to be removed. It was scaring her.”

  “Thank you. I will let the doctors know about that as well.”

  Nothing I can say will make any difference. I see that now. My words just bounce off him. This short, cocky man with his button-down shirt and perfectly pressed pants is completely invulnerable.

  “You don’t give a shit about Kat, do you?” I ask.

  “Don’t worry, son.” He gives me a pat on the shoulder and then heads for the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Wait!” I reach out to stop him and he spins around. His lips curl slightly as his eyes travel from my hand to my face. His expression is as good as a growl. I pull back before my fingers brush against him, like a kid who’s nearly been nipped by a dog. “Can I at least see her before I go?” If he wants me to beg, I will.

  “Katherine isn’t at the hospital anymore,” he says just before he leaves the room. “She’s moved on.”

  For a few horrible seconds, I assume the worst. Then I realize he means it literally. She’s been moved to the facility. I’m relieved she’s alive—but otherwise, I couldn’t be more terrified.

  —

  The plastic bag with my belongings bounces against my thigh as the security guards frog-march me out of the hospital. As we pass the waiting room I catch a glimpse of Busara. She’s arguing with some guy who’s got a backpack slung over his shoulder. Her eyes lock on to mine and the guy turns to see what’s caught her attention. Jesus. It’s Marlow Holm. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something to me but he can’t quite get it out. I struggle to break free and go back to them, but the security guards drag me forward and out the front doors. They drop me to the ground in the parking lot and stand blocking the path to the hospital.