Forging the Nightmare: A Jarrod Hawkins Technothriller

by J. J. Carlson

  “I’ll tell them if you promise to get some sleep.”

  Daron smiled. “Just let ‘em know. I can sleep when I’m dead.”

  Deeper within the concrete labyrinth, a figure in a white lab coat strode through the halls of Sub-Level Six. Nimble fingers typed in a lengthy passcode, and a steel door opened. Light flooded the room, illuminating a white container that lay against the far wall. Large, black cables were attached to both ends, and the container gave off a soft hum. A metal tag on the side read “Jane Doe, Project Lateralis.”

  A well-preserved human body lay inside the container. The woman’s dark hair and striking countenance were visible through a glass viewport. Deep scars covered the right side of her face, but they failed to completely mask her beauty. The container was a technological marvel, keeping the body in perfect stasis. Even months after her death, the woman was plainly recognizable as the late Melody Hawkins.

  25

  Emily awoke with a tightness in her chest. Morning had finally come. She didn’t know when she finally dozed off, but it was recently. An overwhelming sense of failure had dogged her throughout the night, and she experienced conflicting nightmares. In one, she was in the mental conditioning room with Jarrod. As she prepared Jarrod for a simulation, Eugene entered the room, showing his perfect smile. Without provocation, Jarrod jumped onto Eugene and tore into his throat with shark-like teeth. When Emily screamed, Jarrod turned to face her. At first, she could only see the blood dripping from his mouth. Then she saw the tears in his eyes.

  In a different dream, she was in her comfortable, above-ground office. A scratching sound prompted her to leave her bean-bag chair and open the door. When she did, she found Jarrod on the floor, naked and bloodied. His body was thin, unaltered by the Nerium experiments. He reached for her, pleading for help, and she knelt to take one of his hands in her own. As she did, he began to scream in pain, and his hand turned to ash. The charring spread over his body and he was suddenly blown away by an inexplicable wind.

  She shivered at the recollection of the dreams, and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Rubbing her eyes, she reached toward her nightstand to grab her cell phone. It wasn’t there.

  She frowned, wondering if she left it in the car again. She shook her head, clearly remembering that she had at least brought it indoors. She stood up and walked to her bedroom door, then froze. It was open just enough to keep the latch from engaging. This time, she was absolutely certain she had closed and locked it before coming to bed. Rushing over to her closet, she yanked the door open and looked inside. Nothing was out of place. Warily, she opened her bedroom door and walked out into the living room. The television was gone, and so was the laptop she left on the couch.

  The evidence of theft was actually a relief—petty criminals were less terrifying than the ghost of her former patient. She tiptoed to the front door and the living room window to check for signs of forced entry; there were none.

  Passing through the kitchen, she went to the back door. The latch for engaging the deadbolt was missing. Upon closer inspection, she found that the deadbolt was visible in the gap between the door and its frame. With the lock engaged and the latch gone, it would only serve to keep anyone inside from getting out. Her stomach turned, and she whirled around, but she could neither see nor hear anything suspicious.

  A note on her refrigerator caught her attention—she never attached anything to the outside of her stainless-steel appliances. As she drew closer, she gasped. A knife had been driven through the note into the freezer door. Trembling, she crept close enough to read it. Run, and I will drag you back by your hair. Scream, and I will tear out your larynx.

  “Please take the threat seriously,” a voice in the living room said.

  Emily jumped back and cried out. A flood of emotions washed over her as she peered out of the kitchen. Jarrod was standing by the front door, wearing a green sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sneakers. His skin was still gray, and tiny hairs had started to grow on his scalp and face.

  “Jarrod!” she cried. “You’re alive!”

  “Don’t talk,” he growled. Nodding his head toward the couch, he added, “Sit.”

  Uncertain of his mental state, she complied without question. Jarrod stared at her and took two deep breaths, but his expression was unreadable.

  Emily twiddled her thumbs, then said, “Do you remember me, Jarrod?”

  “I know exactly who you are,” Jarrod said, his voice rising with each word. “You are a dangerous woman, and you kept secrets from me. You did something to my brain, and I want to know what it was.”

  Emily hesitated, momentarily distracted by another thought. “I think my house is being watched,” she whispered. “They may even be able to hear us.”

  “No one is watching your house. There were seven devices that could be used to record audio or video. Some were commercial and some were professional, but they have all been removed.”

  Emily felt relieved. Jarrod’s presence was confusing and unsettling, but she was more frightened of what might happen if a team of heavily armed guards charged through the door. Her house must have been bugged while she was out the night before, but here was no doubt in her mind that Jarrod had the skills to find any and all listening devices the security team may have planted.

  “Why am I here?” Jarrod asked.

  The question wasn’t a riddle. Emily knew exactly what he wanted from her, but she didn’t want to upset him. She decided to give a vague response. “Because you know it’s safe here, Jarrod.”

  Jarrod took three quick steps toward her, then stopped. He tilted his head down for a moment, then looked her in the eye. “Don’t play games with me, Doctor. You know what I mean. Your address has been popping into my thoughts since I left Hillcrest, yet I have never been here before. You were in charge of the mental conditioning process, so I assume you placed your address in my head. I want to know why.”

  Emily held his gaze. “Why do you think you feel drawn here, Jarrod?”

  “Answer my question with a question one more time and I’ll—“ Jarrod stopped mid-sentence and lowered his head again. He did not lift it again for several seconds. “What did you do to me?”

  “I’m sorry, Jarrod. I’m not trying to mislead you or play games. I did put the address in your mind. I was worried that the experiments weren’t going to work and, knowing your potential, I feared you might escape. I wanted some way to reach out to you if you ended up lost and alone. I wanted you to feel like you would be safe here.”

  “What else?”

  Emily hesitated. “That’s all. I just want to help you, Jarrod.”

  “There is something else. Tell me what you did, and why.” Black streams of liquid armor started crawling up Jarrod’s neck. The armor pooled at his eyes and wrapped around the back of his head. Emily recoiled, pushing herself into the sofa.

  Suddenly, Jarrod pivoted and looked out the window. “Expecting company?”

  Emily’s heart was pounding. She searched her brain for something she had missed. “No, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “It is Doctor Torres,” Jarrod said. “Invite him in so we can continue our discussion.”

  Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she started rocking in her seat. A moment later, there was a knock at the door. Concealed in the hallway, Jarrod nodded at her, and she said, “It’s open!”

  Santiago turned the knob and pushed inside. “Hi, I wanted to talk to you about something Wagner mentioned to me. I would have called, but it’s sensitive information.”

  Emily’s eyes flashed to a spot behind San. He looked over his shoulder, and jumped. “Jeez!” he shouted. “Is that you, Jarrod?”

  Jarrod was inches away from him. The black metamaterial was gone except for a pair of black domes that covered his eyes.

  “Have a seat, Doctor Torres,” Jarrod said in a level voice.

  “Okay buddy, no problem. And you can call me San.” He gently took a seat across from Emily, noting the panic in her eyes.r />
  Jarrod stepped forward and stood over San. “How do you feel, San? Are you afraid?”

  “Yes,” he answered, maintaining eye contact with Emily. “I guess I am.”

  Jarrod took a step in Emily’s direction. “I disagree. I think you feel stress, concern, and guilt, but not fear. Still, you aren’t being intentionally dishonest. Sometimes it’s hard for humans to sort through emotions when under pressure.”

  San intertwined his fingers and squeezed tight. “I guess you’re right, but how—”

  “It’s not important, “Jarrod interrupted. “You are an open book, the same as everyone else I’ve met since the operating room. Everyone’s emotions are as plain to me as the color of the clothing they wear. But not hers. It’s as if she is shrouded in a haze.”

  San looked at Jarrod, then back at Emily. “What’s he talking about, Emm?”

  She stared down at the floor and said nothing.

  “Speak up, Doctor Roberts,” Jarrod growled, “or I will be forced to persuade you.”

  Emily bit her lip and still didn’t speak.

  “Very well,” Jarrod said. “Doctor Torres, would you kindly lean forward and put your head between your knees?”

  Slowly, San obeyed.

  Jarrod’s hands suddenly turned slick black. Emily watched in horror as his thumb stretched out and sharpened to a point, curving inward like a talon.

  He set the point at the base of San’s skull and said, “Three pounds of pressure here, and he dies instantly.” Moving the claw down an inch, he said, “Here, and he is paralyzed from the neck down for the rest of his life. Which would you choose for him, Doctor Roberts?”

  Emily shivered, but still held her tongue.

  Jarrod took a deep breath. “I can smell more fear on him now, but not much. He is a very brave man. But this really isn’t about him, this is about you, and how far you are willing to push me. Tell me what you did to me, and why.”

  Hot tears welled up in Emily’s eyes.

  “I think San deserves to know what this is about,” Jarrod said, just below a shout. “He should know why I am about to start hurting him.” Jarrod knelt beside San, but kept the lethal talon in place. “Something in my subconscious drew me to this place. That, by itself, is not so troubling. I could have investigated the house and went on my way, but there is another problem.”

  Jarrod leaned closer to San’s face and whispered, “There is a problem with her. You see, I can’t tell what she’s feeling, and I can’t tell if she’s lying. Whenever I look at her, or smell the air around her, I get nothing. When I try to read her body language, my head spins. If I even consider the possibility of harming her, a searing pain splits my head from ear to ear. I have a few theories about this, but I want to hear her say it.”

  Jarrod pricked the skin on San’s neck, which started oozing blood. San didn’t flinch; he just closed his eyes.

  “He is brave and tough,” Jarrod said. “It’s likely I’ll have to inflict significant trauma to get the screams I need, the screams that will break you down and make you talk.”

  Before Emily could utter a word of protest, San spoke up, “Do you see what we’ve done, Emm?” A single tear dripped down his face and onto the carpet. “We took everything away from him, and now he’s doing what we made him to do. We deserve this.

  “I deserve this,” he continued. “Jarrod, I’m so sorry. I’ve done so many things that I regret, but I don’t regret any of them as much as what I did to you. Before you kill me, I want you to know that I am sorry.”

  Jarrod’s head twitched to the side, almost imperceptibly. “Your friend is noble,” he said, “You can let him keep his dignity if you just talk. Sit there in silent pride, and you can watch him bleed to death in writhing agony.”

  The rest of Jarrod’s fingers began to morph into long, black talons, teasing at the nape of San’s neck.

  “Stop!” Emily shouted. “It was me, alright! San didn’t do anything compared to what I did. But I was afraid. I did it because I was afraid.”

  Jarrod lifted his hand and stood. “You did what because you were afraid?”

  “I…hurt you,” she said, her voice cracking. “I used the mental conditioning to make you associate certain neural pathways with pain and confusion. I altered your brain so that any thoughts of hurting me would trigger a pain response. I really did want to help you, Jarrod, but I was afraid of what you had become.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Jarrod said, “but what’s the point of the fog. Why keep me from reading your emotions?”

  She hesitated. “I knew I would never be able to treat you if you could tell exactly how I felt. How can a therapist be effective if the patient can sense her pity, her sorrow? You need treatment, Jarrod. I did these things so that, one day, I could provide you with that treatment.”

  “That’s a convenient excuse,” Jarrod scoffed. “I’m sorry, Doctor, but you have done nothing to gain my trust. And since you decided to brainwash me, there is no way you can ever earn it.”

  Jarrod put a hand on San’s shoulder. “I trust him because he is transparent. He helped turn me into what I am, but I can taste his regret.”

  San grasped Jarrod’s hand and nodded. “I meant what I said. I am sorry.”

  “I know,” Jarrod replied, wiping some of the blood from San’s neck. Kneeling again, he added “The cut is superficial, it should heal without scarring.”

  San gingerly fingered the cut and wondered if Jarrod really would have tortured him if Emily hadn’t cooperated. “I’m, uh, glad that you’re alive, Jarrod. If there is anything I can do to help you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Jarrod sat down on the coffee table directly in front of San and said, “Actually, there is.”

  26

  The V-8 in San’s navy-blue Crown Victoria rumbled as he pulled out of Emily’s neighborhood. The pair of doctors had decided to ride together for the purpose of private discussion. Jarrod had returned Emily’s cell phone to her before disappearing into the early morning mist. It was now stashed in the trunk with San’s phone and wrapped tightly in a blanket. They had taken this precaution under Jarrod’s advisement to avoid unwanted audio surveillance.

  San and Emily navigated the streets in silence for several minutes before Emily decided to speak. “You were really brave back there,” she murmured

  San scoffed, “Facing death with brave resolve is very different from resigning to death in shame and remorse.”

  “You shouldn’t feel ashamed, San. We did the best we could for Jarrod, knowing that Wagner would continue the project with or without our consent.”

  San gripped the steering wheel tighter. “No. Wagner could never have gotten Nerium off the ground without our help. Sometimes the path to destruction is a long road, paved with innocent-looking choices. Years ago, I was building prosthetics for wounded veterans. That was all I was doing. I was happy to go to work in the morning and slept well at night. When I was brought in to help with defense research, I was ecstatic. I told myself that the mechanized body armor would keep future troops from needing prosthetics in the first place. Then I thought the robotic implants could be used to give an amputee a better quality of life, at least down the road when the technology was released for civilian applications. When I helped with projects that served no other purpose than creating instruments of violence, I told myself that the millions of dollars in research could eventually be used for good, given the chance.”

  He shot a cold look at Emily. “And some of the work I did made Nerium possible. Because of things that I did, Jarrod was taken out of treatment, cut open, brainwashed, and turned into an unfeeling, cold-blooded weapon.”

  The subdued hum of tires on pavement was the only sound in the car for a full minute before Emily broke in. “You’re being too hard on yourself. We didn’t know how far they would take it, the details on every project were highly classified.”

  Through gritted teeth, San said, “My son will be fourteen this summer. What if it had been him i
n the clinic, broken down with PTSD and depression? Would I have ever told myself that the ends justify the means, knowing my own son would end up on the operating table? Not in a million years. And if it is wrong to do it to my own child, then it was wrong to do it to Jarrod.”

  “But what’s done is done,” Emily argued. “We can’t change what happened, all we can do is help him the way he is now.”

  A spark of determination flashed over San’s face. “And we will. We wrecked his life, and he came to us for answers, asked us for help. Through providence, we have a chance to do something right.”

  Emily nodded. “And it’s a good sign that he wants treatment, but I think he came to us purely for reasons of self-preservation. Having flashbacks and blacking out can be very dangerous, and Jarrod has an enhanced survival instinct.”

  “It doesn’t matter why he sought us out. We need to do the right thing with the opportunity we’ve been given.”

  San ruminated for a moment on what Jarrod had said, then added, “He doesn’t trust you. That’s why he wants me to sit in on all his therapy sessions with you. Are you sure it was a good idea to cut off his ability to read your emotions?”

  “I do,” Emily said. “Even the best counselor can feel frustration, hopelessness, pity, boredom, fear, or anger during a session. If the patient could detect them with certainty, there would be no chance of successful treatment.”

  San nodded slowly. “Makes sense. I’m glad you had the forethought to use the mental conditioning in that way. I’m also glad it didn’t get either of us killed. And speaking of that, we are going to have to find somewhere else to do his therapy. I imagine the security crew at Hillcrest will have your house re-bugged before you get home tonight. They probably won’t say anything about the first batch of devices going missing, since it was illegal for them to break in and install them in the first place. But it might not be a good idea to have Jarrod come over and clean house again.”