by Scott Rhine
“I didn’t mean to risk your life,” he said.
“I know,” she said between bites.
“We think we know what makes you special.” Daniel fumbled his words. “I mean phys…physiologically speaking. You had your appendix out. The information will help us save lives. The appendix and endocrine system react negatively to the chemicals released by the brain during the high-gamma processing phase. I didn’t understand all the details, but the effect is worse in women; guys just have shorter lives and early onset of certain psychological disorders.”
She nodded while chewing. Jez wanted to ask about pages but didn’t dare interrupt the flow of information. She was sure the kid wasn’t supposed to be telling her any of this. She wouldn’t have said a word, but Daniel asked, “Why did you have your appendix removed?”
“My dad died of a burst appendix in his twenties. I was working as an escape artist, and when I had a flareup, Chance said…”
She broke off in mid-sentence, no longer hungry.
After a long moment, she could breathe again. “I’ve been awake for twenty minutes now. That’s the longest it’s ever taken me to remember the accident.”
Daniel met her gaze. In the sunlight, she could see that his eyes were the same green as her own, but much more earnest. “His death wasn’t a random act. The same Rexes that got your friend were coming after you. When they didn’t find a page among his things, they thought you might know where he hid it.”
“Dinosaurs?”
“No. While Rexes are big, strong, stupid and cold-blooded, in this case I mean flunkies for another organization that’s also collecting pages, the Fossils. When their lead scientist, Dr. Wannamaker, wants a problem resolved, he dispatches a ‘prescription’ to eliminate it, an RX.”
First, her hands turned to ice. Then, the anger started. Jez growled, “Chance was murdered by hit men?”
“They weren’t supposed to kill him. Rexes start as washed-up athletes and ex-cons who would do anything for a job. They’re given an Override… treatment that enables them to ignore pain and certain bodily limits. Without pain of their own, they begin to lose normal, human empathy and turn into sadistic bastards. In this case, they misjudged the amount of force during questioning and killed him by mistake. It happened so quickly that I couldn’t send a team in. I shouted, but he couldn’t see me like you could,” Daniel babbled.
“You saw them kill Chance?” she snapped.
Daniel paused. “There are some things you can’t un-see. That’s why I couldn’t stand by and let them hurt someone else.”
Jez was raging. “And you came here to confess, so you’d feel better?”
Daniel started to lose his temper, too. “I came to make sure that when they let you go from here, you run, and keep running. I’ve got a Swiss bank-account number that I can give you. Use whatever you need.”
She snorted, and he took offense. Daniel said, “I have real money. They pay me well for what I do. I can’t spend it all.”
Jez shook her head. “No. I believe you, sweetie. I’m laughing because you think I’m going to leave now that I know who killed my fiancé.”
Daniel growled in frustration. He whipped out a pass card and gave it to her. “Take my badge. Everyone always opens the doors for me anyway. When no one is looking, use it to get into Ward Seven. It’s where they keep the mistakes. Meet them, and then tell me you’re not afraid.”
“What are these pages you keep talking about?” Jez asked.
Daniel rolled toward the door. “I refuse to tell you anything that someone may want to torture out of you later.”
****
For the first day she was in the general population, Jez just watched the routines of the ward between her own activities: exercise, shower, therapy, lunch, art, group, journal, dinner, TV, massage, bed. The workout time felt good after being idle so long. She could get used to this life, but the counselor told her that the evaluation period was only three more days. If she needed medication, or aversion therapy, the stay could be extended by two weeks.
Late the next day, as she peeked through the window into Ward Seven, one of the shuffling forms looked up. The unshaven man locked eyes with her and recognition passed between them. After a long moment, the patient on the other side laid a finger over his lips and left her field of vision.
The heavy-set, African-American nurse coming back from her break said, “You’re not supposed to be here, ma’am.”
Jez jumped in surprise. “I know him.”
The healthcare worker had biceps as big as Jezebel’s thighs. For a moment, the former dancer was afraid that the other woman was going to pick her up and carry her to pottery class. Instead, the nurse made a face. “Please don’t tell anyone you saw him here; we have confidentiality rules. A big-name screen writer like Mr. Ragnar would bring in the press.”
Jez held up a hand. “Don't worry; we have the same boss. Ragnar was great, but his last two films were… disturbed.”
The nurse nodded glumly. “No matter what kind of therapy they do with him, writing exercises, art therapy, or talking, it always ends in zombies. Trust me, honey, he’s better off here.”
When the nurse went to dinner, Jez used Daniel’s badge to slip into the ward. Locating Ragnar was easy. Of the four men in the TV lounge, his was the only face tracking her like a sunflower following the sun. Ragnar motioned her to join him in the art room.
“An angel comes to visit me,” said the patient in rasping, stalker-like tones. “I saw you rise in the east.”
Jez dazzled him with her best smile. “How did you know I was a… friend?”
He glanced around, checking for observers. “Whenever someone becomes active, the rest of us see, like a lightning flash in the distance.”
“Active?” she asked.
“Normal people are like trees. Half their existence is buried in the dirt of daily life, half in the air of dreams reaching for the light of heaven. Actives are not rooted in place.” Ragnar leaned close to her, and her skin crawled. “But not all the actives are good. Beware the zombies! You can hide from them in the cornfields if you hear them first. They may not be bright, but they can run and never tire. Your only hope is to get out of their sight, out of their reach.”
The man was raising his voice and would soon attract attention. Jez tried to change the subject. Whispering, she said, “What can you tell me about the pages?”
He lowered his head. “They tortured me for days before Fortune found me. I didn’t betray my trust.”
“I don’t think that was luck…”
“Elias Fortune,” he clarified, naming a tycoon who got his start in real estate and pornography. Today, Fortune was the billionaire head of a multi-media empire.
Jez blinked. This conspiracy was bigger than she’d imagined.
Then, the writer began to lose the little coherency he possessed. “He said my page was blank. It was all for nothing. That which is beautiful and useful to many is often fragile. Why must we guard against things being stolen or destroyed: children, tall buildings, planes, water systems? Destroying is easier than building. It only takes one insect.”
Jez tried to talk him down. “Good ideas infect and lift nations for generations to come–paper clips, the number zero, Velcro. We just need that one positive while suppressing the thousands of bad. Have faith that people are basically good. You still have the Collective Unconscious.”
He shuddered. “At night, when the noise stops, when the ocean turns quiet, I hear them. I must build barricades and hide, but your sun has been a blessing to me. I can sleep when you’re here. You’re not afraid.”
Jez suddenly realized that the zombies were the men Daniel referred to as Rexes, the ones who had killed Chance. This writer could see them for what they were, and it had torn him up inside. “Sweetie, I’m just as afraid as you are, but nobody hurts the people I love and gets away with it.”
Chapter 3 – Intake Interview
After the third day of evaluation, th
e head of the ‘spa’ called Benny to give Jezebel a clean bill of health. Relieved, Benny made arrangements for an intake interview.
The next morning, Elias Fortune and Daniel sat with him in the observation room, behind the one-way mirror. When Jezebel entered the sterile, white interrogation room, Daniel said, “She looks sharp. I thought you said we couldn’t risk stopping at her apartment to pick up clothes.”
Even in the gray jacket, skirt, and ivory blouse, she managed to brighten the room. Her smile and the golden butterfly helped.
Benny explained, “I sent her the outfit so she’d look more professional. I have an eye for women’s measurements.”
Fortune chuckled. “So I’ve heard.” He was a haggard fifty-six, thinner than considered healthy, and more petulant than a boy king. The billionaire was about to say more when the woman caught their attention.
Jez narrowed her eyes and squinted through the mirror at each of them. Waving, she said, “Hi, Uncle Buddy. Hi, Oobie. Who’s the new guy?”
Irritated, Elias Fortune switched off the speaker. “She has no measureable skills of any worth.”
Benny Hollis suppressed a grin at the blatant sexism. “She’s determined, follows protocol, and can already discriminate actives at range. I’d say she’s prime material. No one would suspect.”
Fortune glared at his lieutenant. “This is like betting a chimpanzee will eventually write Shakespeare, Benjamin. In the business world, that is precisely what I make money betting against!”
Daniel risked displeasure by saying, “I could use someone to clean my bus, fetch the meals…”
“And file his reports,” added Benny. “You always complain they’re late, sloppy, and incomplete.”
Fortune seethed. Daniel never asked for anything, and he was the rarest talent on the project. “Very well, Oobie, you have a new pet, but she’s your responsibility. If she makes a mess on my floor, you will clean it up.” When the teenager nodded, the tycoon said, “Benjamin, do the intake. Remind her of the exit clause.”
The former star nodded. A few moments later, Benny walked into Jezebel’s room and tossed a wad of papers on the table. She rotated her chair to face him, giving him both a smile and her best knee. “Do I get the interview?”
Benny was poker-faced. “That little parlor trick you just pulled was your interview. You have the job—on probation. How far away could you sense us?”
“From the door.”
“Twenty-five to thirty feet after a week’s gestation. That’s not bad. About 20 percent of subjects never develop awareness. The majority of us can only tell by touch.”
“What’s the record?”
“Fifty miles, but he can’t turn it off, even when he sleeps. Our two most-effective agents max out at fifty yards. Sign first; then we talk.”
Her smile lit the room as she signed the first two forms without reading. The last page was different. It was a suicide note. She stared at Benny, waiting for an explanation.
He hardened himself, and said, “We all sign one. If you’re killed in the line of duty, this is the easiest explanation to give the police. The CIA does the same thing.”
“And if I blab to the media, I end up dead?” she guessed.
Benny shook his head. “Believe it or not, we’re the good guys. We don’t work like that. However, my employer wishes me to state, Miss Johnson, that you have just spent a prolonged period in an asylum after suffering grief, alcoholism, and a psychotic break. The media will receive just enough details about your harrowing experience to give you sympathy, but no air time. My boss’s code name is Dirt Bag for good reason.”
She snickered. It made a twisted sense; porn and property were both dirt. “He sounds like a prince.”
Bending the rules, Benny explained, “He’s an overbearing prick, but he’s in charge because he’s the only one to have ever mastered three pages. I only have two. We consider our organization a meritocracy.”
She stared unmoving at the note that announced her own death.
Trying to be a gentleman, the actor shifted gears. “How’s the therapy going?”
Jez shrugged. “I’ll be seeing the shrink as an outpatient once a week. I’ve been going to AA every day. I’ll make it.”
“Find any deep issues?”
This question told her that he could have read her files, but hadn’t. She replied, “Anger turned inward becomes depression, and I have loads of anger.”
“Towards anyone in particular?”
“Mainly that bitch, Olive,” she admitted.
“The other reindeer?” he joked.
This caught her off guard. “What?”
“You know, the Rudolph song: ‘Olive, the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him names.’”
She broke out laughing. “Yeah, that’s the one, my fiancé’s sister who referred to me as a trailer-park bimbo.” Deciding that anyone who bashed Olive and his own boss wasn’t all bad, Jez signed her name on the final note with a flourish.
Taking the stack of papers, Benny said, “Welcome to the Ladder Project. Your code name, Miss Johnson, will be Butterfly.”
“It’s not very spy-like. Can’t I pick one?”
“Did your parents let you pick your birth name?” he countered.
“No.”
“Think of us as your parents. The most important thing to remember as an agent is that your cell is your family. Do nothing to endanger them. Talking to outsiders about the project can get us all killed.
“Your immediate supervisor is Oobie–that’s an acronym for Out of Body. By now, you probably know that. It’s a powerful technique, and he is the only one to assimilate that page fully. He heads Eye Corps, our scouting branch.”
“Your official title will be executive assistant in the human resources’ scouting division. You will have a salary, benefits, and a travel allowance.”
Jez raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me I went through all this to be a glorified secretary? Why? Because I only read about a paragraph before I passed out?”
“That’s called a theta trap. It sends a receptive brain into a deep-theta state used for learning during sleep. You’re lucky. If you had read the whole thing, you might not be here. Not everyone can handle the input. We usually give the first page to candidates as a litmus test.”
“So you take just anyone?” Jez asked.
Benny shook his head. “Normally, we’re more selective. There are weeks of pre-tests. You have significant training to catch up on. We will be sending you some tutors. The first thing you’ll learn is how to go in and out of deep-theta state at will. This can immunize you to the side-effects of a page and enable you to hide from interrogation.”
Jez swore at this revelation.
Benny went on with the indoctrination. “Don’t worry; your cell always has a hypnotic key to bring you out of the state, to make sure you’re not stuck there permanently. Because I’m an entertainer, my key is a tug on the right ear lobe and the Carol Burnett closing song.”
“And Oobie?”
“He’s big on video games. For him, pull on his right forefinger, and say ‘Game over.’ What would you like your key to be?”
Jez thought about this and answered, “Chance would always clap me on the shoulder and tell me ‘Good show.’ That should work.”
“What did you do as a magician’s assistant?”
She snorted. “It was like ballroom dancing; the woman does all the work. I had a lot of contortions and escapes to do, but he got the applause and his name on the marquee.”
He nodded, remembering the show-biz adage. “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, backwards and in high heels. Why didn’t you find a job with another magician?”
“I had an offer, a disgusting one. He made sure I didn’t work as an assistant again. Enough about my depressing life, what about you? If this boss is so obnoxious, why not just read another page?”
“The powerful ones are a mental balancing act. We’re very careful about trying new combin
ations, just like medication. Empathy combined with the collective unconscious is a two-edged sword. I can affect others, but their emotions affect me. If I use the ability too often, I open myself up to a sort of externally imposed manic depression. Worse still, if I read another page and went insane, I might be contagious.”
“That gives me warm fuzzies,” Jez mused.
“I told you I’d answer what I could, whether you wanted to know the answer or not.”
“Let’s go back to the basics. What’s with the funny, gold color?”
“The paper is really a composite fiber, not unlike Kevlar. Normal fire will not harm it, nor can scissors. They’ve even been known to stop a bullet.”
“Pretty advanced material,” she admired.
“More than you know.” Benny placed the page in front of her again. “Without touching the surface, what do you notice about it this time?”
“It’s blank. Is this a joke?”
Benny shook his head. “You’ve heard of that new, smart paper? Lower your hand toward it very slowly and watch the surface.”
Jez obeyed, and saw black flicker for an instant. The print went through several types of characters before settling on English. “Benny, this paper is too smart.”
Benny nodded. “Everyone sees their own native language. Illiterates get pictures. Down’s subject 075 saw comic-book panels. Very little of the message is the physical text people read. The important stuff doesn’t Xerox.”
The amount of information was dizzying. Jez grabbed for Benny’s water bottle and took a swig. She seemed desperate to stall, unsure why.
Benny was very gentle. “What are you afraid of?”
Jez sighed. “Some things can’t be unheard, but I’m in the family now. Give it to me.”
Benny continued, holding her hand. “Data is fed through skin contact or the optic nerve in more subtle ways. Chemical, DNA radio, we don’t know for certain. When you read this language, you dream about the text; though, everyone processes in different ways and varying speeds. What does that tell you?”
She rubbed the back of her butterfly pendant like a rabbit’s foot. She had done this so often, the jewelry was now a paler color in the center. Very deliberately, Jez said, “This page was not made by human beings.”
