by Elle Casey
She glanced at the screens behind her. The doctor and nurse still crowded Lizzy. Stan entered the room, and one of the nurses pushed him back out. Avia caught a glimpse of Lizzy. She was lying down, but her eyes were open, focused on one of the doctors. Alive. The seizure had ended.
Avia’s heart twisted, but she forced herself to focus. Stan would be back any minute. Lizzy’s room number was in the bottom corner of the vid. Room 15.
Breathing hard, Avia turned back to the menu and selected Room 15 from it. Adrenaline surged through her as the video feed popped up on the main screen.
Access Recording.
Avia pulled up the recording and highlighted the past hour. She hit Delete. A new message appeared.
This footage can not be recovered. Do you still wish to delete this file?
Avia’s finger hovered over the button, and she swallowed. Should she do it? The data—
“Doctor Sherman? What ya doing back there?” Stan was heading toward her, and he didn’t look happy.
Avia jabbed her finger at the button.
This footage has been deleted.
She exited the menu, and the main screen reappeared, looking just as it had when she’d found it.
“They didn’t want me in that room.” Stan stepped into the station, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing back here?”
“I’m sorry,” Avia said, stepping around him to get out of the station. “They did say they wanted you. I was just watching the feed for Lizzy’s room. I’m going now.”
Stan shook his head and sat back down in his seat.
Avia headed for the door, and it slid open before she reached it. She looked back at Stan. He was watching her with narrowed eyes.
“Please,” Avia said. “Comm me if Lizzy has another seizure?”
“Will do. Doctor Sherman.”
* * *
When the door shut behind Avia in her darkened lab, she realized she’d left her holotab in Lizzy’s room. Avia pressed her back to the door, not bothering to turn on the lights, and considered whether it was worth going back for.
They’d bring it to her tomorrow. Along with a demand for her resignation, no doubt, when they figured out that she’d deleted the footage. How could she explain that? They’d know it was her. Her mind felt fogged from nights of too little sleep, and though she wracked her mind for ideas of how to help Lizzy, none came.
Weariness overcame her, and she started across the room toward her futon, making her way by the low glow her inactive holo screen gave off. She’d get some sleep, then start researching Lizzy’s condition. She peered at her screen to check the time.
12:23 a.m.
Ben had died at 12:37 a.m. One year ago.
She made it to her futon and sank down into it. She let go, and the heaviness in her chest imploded, making it impossible to breathe. She pushed her face into the pillow, taking haggard breaths, trying to keep the tears from coming, but the pain pressed into her, threatened to destroy her, to drag her down, suffocate her.
Avia reached beneath her blanket, fumbling in the dark for that scrap of soft cloth—a remnant of the threadbare blankie Ben had carried everywhere. She huddled into the futon, pressing her lips to the cloth. “I should have protected you.”
It had been her job to protect Ben, to keep him safe. And she’d failed. The tears came, and she let them. The heaviness intensified, and sobs wracked her body, carrying her away into the never-satisfied darkness, wearing her out until she had nothing left to give.
* * *
A car is coming.
Ben’s toy train tumbles into the road.
He chases after it, and I reach for him, screaming, but he doesn’t stop.
I close my eyes as the car hits him, steel on flesh and bone. I lift my hands to my ears so I don’t hear the sound of his body hitting the pavement.
Because I know this a dream, and he dies every time.
Every time.
Avia forced her eyes open and took in the darkness of her lab. She lifted her hand to her eyes to wipe away tears she’d been crying in her sleep. All the nightmares were the same. She’d lost Ben in an infinite number of ways, over and over, every night.
The holo screen still glowed softly from across the room, and she made her way to the light switch by the light of it. 4:00 a.m. She should try to sleep, but Ben had died, and Lizzy needed her. She needed to do research. She flipped the switch and sat down at her holo screen. Her holotab was back in the East Wing, but she could still access the main computer here.
Avia pulled up everything the system had on seizures, sensory processing disorders, and the gene therapy Lizzy’s parents had received. Then she got to work.
By the time the clock read 8:00 a.m., Avia felt no closer to figuring out what to do about Lizzy. There was nothing in the literature about telepathy, obviously, and Avia’s mind felt nearly as foggy as it had before she’d slept. Phan would probably be here soon about the footage Avia had deleted.
Avia grabbed the overnight bag she kept in one of the cabinets and hurried to clean herself up at her lab’s sink.
Just as she was dropping her toothbrush back in the bag, the door slid open. Dalton walked in, carrying a holotab, and Phan walked in behind him. Both of them glanced over at her futon, at her tangled pillow and blankets, the bag on the floor before her.
Phan shook his head, his expression downcast, but Dalton’s lips formed into a sneer of disgust.
“What did you do last night, Avia?” Dalton said.
Avia shoved her bag under the futon and slowly stood, meeting Dalton’s gaze head on. “Doctor Sherman,” she said, her voice stiff. “I went to see Elizabeth Benton, because she was awake and Doctor Phan assigned me to her case.”
Dalton’s nostrils flared, and he looked at Phan.
“Doctor Sherman,” Phan said. “The front station records security footage of every room in the wing. An hour of it is missing from exactly when you went to see her and she suffered her seizure. It was the worst seizure she’s ever had, and now we have no idea what triggered it. But you were there.”
Avia shrugged. “How strange. Did you ask Stanley what happened?”
“Yes, actually, we did,” Dalton said, satisfaction in his voice. “He says he let you in and claims that a glitch must have deleted the footage.”
Bless Stanley. But she wasn’t in the clear yet. Avia clenched her hands into fists and her heart pumped faster as Dalton crossed her lab. He stopped at her desk to attach the holotab to her holo screen.
“This is your holotab. You left it in Lizzy’s room last night. But I added on some footage for you to watch. You know… we also have security cameras in every hallway.”
He brought up the 2D video, grainy from the dim lights of night shift, and she could make herself out, sitting behind the station. In the video she was looking intently at one of the station’s many monitors, but the main monitor’s screen wasn’t visible from the angle of the camera in the hall, so her actions weren’t clear.
“I was just watching Lizzy. I was worried for her.”
“You’re looking at the main system monitor here, not at the monitor showing the footage from Lizzy’s room.”
Avia turned to Doctor Phan. “What exactly are you accusing me of? You think I would delete footage? Stanley told you the system has a glitch.”
Phan licked his lips. “No. No, of course I’m not saying that.”
Avia released a breath. “So do you want my help with Lizzy or not? I think I can help her.”
“We don’t have a glitch in our system,” Dalton said. “You said—”
“Did you get the brain scan analysis back yet?” Avia asked, cutting Dalton off.
“Doctor Phan,” Dalton said. Avia darted a glance at him. His face had gone red, and Avia found herself taking a step away from him.
He likes it when they try to escape, and he holds them down to hurt them.
Doctor Phan shot an irritated look Dalton’s way, then folded his arms across his ches
t. “We got the scans back this morning.”
“And?”
“We still don’t know what it means. When Elizabeth is working on a problem, or when she exhibits strong emotion, the parts of her brain we expect to light up, don’t. Instead, the parts associated with sensory processing light up. They’re constantly ‘on,’ which is why she has a hard time with any sort of touch. And when that section gets very fired up, she has a seizure. She had one, once, during one of the first tests we did.”
Dalton interrupted, clearly annoyed, but Avia blocked their voices out. She turned away from them both, thinking, one hand pressed to her forehead. Lizzy was somehow feeling what others felt, hearing or understanding what they thought by using the sensory processing areas of her brain. They’d need to study her to find out how, but… if they could lower her sensitivity to stimuli, lower her sensitivity to what other people were thinking and feeling—perhaps that would bring the seizures to a halt. Avia’s hand slid from her forehead. It was only a hunch, but—
“Doctor Sherman,” Phan said. “What are you—?”
“Wait.” Avia strode over to her desk and pulled the plastic bottle of grimp from her drawer. “This? How does this work?”
“It regulates emotions,” Phan said, his brow wrinkling. “It lowers a patient’s sensitivity to—”
“Stimuli,” Avia finished. “I want you to dose Lizzy with this. I think it could help stop her seizures.”
“It won’t have an effect,” Dalton said. “Lizzy has a sensory processing disorder, not an emotional one.”
“Try it, Doctor Phan. Just try it and see how she feels. Then we’ll talk about what happened last night. Do you want the child to suffer a seizure that will leave her brain damaged… or worse?”
“What makes you think this will work?”
“It won’t,” Dalton said.
“I was doing some research last night. I think her brain processes her emotions and thoughts differently than ours… it’s not wired the same. Her seizures come on when she becomes overstimulated. Perhaps if we lower her emotional response, we can halt the seizures.”
Phan’s brow furrowed. “I can see what you’re saying, but—all right. The risk is low. We can try one dose on her, just to test how her brain responds.”
* * *
Avia watched from behind the one-way mirror as nurses wheeled a machine into Lizzy’s room. Lizzy looked up, sleepy, from her place on the bed, then shot into sitting position. Her gaze went straight to the mirror and landed on Avia.
Avia shivered. Lizzy could see her, or feel her, through the mirror. Avia yearned to study the girl, but not if it risked her life. She turned to Doctor Phan. “Please, I’ve established a connection with her. Let me go in.”
“No. The nurses and I will handle this.”
“She doesn’t even have her parents—”
“This is a low risk procedure, and they’ve approved it. They will be here shortly.”
Lizzy screamed something at the nurse who was trying to adhere the round metallic sensors to Lizzy’s scalp.
The nurse glanced back at the mirror, and the second nurse hurried out through the door and addressed Doctor Phan.
“Elizabeth is asking for Doctor Sherman.”
Dalton made a noise from beside Avia, who lifted her brows at Doctor Phan.
“Fine, then. You come in with me.”
Avia followed Doctor Phan into Lizzy’s room, and Lizzy pushed the nurse away as Avia hurried to her side.
Lizzy grabbed Avia by the arm, and Avia worked hard to calm the mixture of excitement and worry she felt coursing through her. Sudden doubt hit her. What if she was wrong? Telepathy didn’t exist.
She focused her mind on one thought. We’re going to try a drug to help you. Hold up one finger if you can understand what I’m thinking.”
Lizzy’s eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly. She held up one shaking finger. “Will it hurt?”
Avia stared at Lizzy’s finger and took a deep breath to calm her own mind. “No. You have to let the nurses put on the sensors and give you an IV though.”
Lizzy settled back in bed, and tears leaked from her eyes as the nurses worked. Every few moments she’d jerk at their touch, but she managed to keep herself fairly still. Avia’s arms ached to hold the child, to tell her it would be okay, but touching her would only make the pain worse. How would it feel to feel the emotions of everyone in the room, to hear their thoughts? She hadn’t asked Lizzy how it worked, how touching a person helped the connection, but now wasn’t the time. Now it was time to try to stop her seizures.
Doctor Phan gave Lizzy the drug, and then they waited, watching the machine that tracked her brain’s functioning.
“It’s still the same pattern as before. All sensory. Very erratic,” Doctor Phan said.
In the bed, Lizzy shut her eyes tight. The small metal circles were buried in her tangle of hair, and crisscrossing wires were attached to the machine at her side, which showed a 3D image of Lizzy’s brain. She looked so small, helpless. Avia hugged herself in the chill room and watched. Waited. Maybe her hunch had been a mistake. Why should grimp help the girl regulate other people’s emotions? It didn’t even make sense. But Avia had made more than one breakthrough in her years in the lab by following her gut instinct.
Lizzy started to seize, and Avia moved to her, but the nurses and Doctor Phan pushed her out of the way. As they reached her bedside, the seizing stopped, and Lizzie’s body went limp.
Then she sat up suddenly, dragging all the wires with her. Her eyes were wide again, a look of wonder in them. She reached out her arms toward Avia. “Doctor Sherman,” she said. The nurse and Doctor Phan stepped away to make room for Avia.
“The patterns are changing,” Doctor Phan said, his voice rising. He stepped closer to the machine, and the nurses crowded around it with him.
Avia went to Lizzy, and the girl grabbed both her hands, her face lighting up.
“I—”
“Shh,” Avia whispered. She tilted her head up a bit, toward the ceiling and the camera.
“It’s gone,” Lizzy said. She looked joyful, like a child should, for the first time since Avia had met her. “I’m just me. It’s only me in here,” she whispered.
“I can’t believe this,” Phan said from his place by the machine. “Dalton, get in here.”
Lizzy stared around the room in wonder, at each person in turn, and shook her head. “Nothing. Only me.”
Avia focused a thought for Lizzy. Dr. Phan, prancing around, dressed like a clown.
Lizzy showed no sign she’d “heard” Avia’s thought. The medication really was working. Avia’s chest expanded, her heart lightening. “Doctor Phan, what’s happening?”
“Her brain patterns are starting to normalize. I don’t understand how the drug could do this. We’ll have to do more testing, keep a close eye on her—”
“But if her patterns stay that way?”
Doctor Phan’s brows lifted. “It’s too early to say, but… we’ll see if it stops the seizures.” He looked back at the screen, and he and Dalton launched into a conversation about brain patterns. Not Avia’s area of expertise.
She looked back at Lizzy. “I don’t know if this will be permanent, but—can you still feel your emotions?”
Lizzy beamed. “I feel all mine, and no one else’s,” she said, keeping her voice low. She took a moment to yawn. “Thank you, Avia.”
“You look tired. You should rest. I’ll be here.” Avia took Lizzy’s hand in her own, and Lizzy closed her eyes.
Avia stood there for a while, holding Lizzy’s hand, gazing down at her, until Phan came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to monitor her for a while. You can get back to your lab. I… we need to talk about your funding later today.”
Avia stepped away from Lizzy and met Phan’s gaze. She felt dizzy, nauseated. She didn’t want to have this conversation. “No need. I already know you’re dropping my program.”
Phan press
ed his lips together and gestured toward Lizzy. “You made a good call today, but—I’m sorry about your project. I’m reassigning you to East Wing. You can move your things tomorrow.”
Avia nodded, trying not to let her emotions boil over, trying not to say something she’d regret, trying not to cry. She pushed past Doctor Phan and hurried out the door.
Hearing it confirmed, that her project was being closed down… all the excitement and relief of helping Lizzy vanished, leaving only regret and deep pain behind.
She may have saved a child’s life today, but it was the anniversary of the day she’d lost her own. She just wanted to be alone one more time, in the lab she’d be kicked out of tomorrow.
* * *
Avia sank down into her desk chair with a heavy heart. Her holotab was where Dalton had left it, attached to her screen. In the corner, the message still blinked. Avia sighed and tapped the air to open it.
Grant appeared, and heat spread in Avia’s chest. New furniture was arrayed behind him, things he’d bought when he’d moved on with his life. She hated him for leaving. She hated him for being unable to move forward with her. He’d blamed her for her long hours at the lab, said she’d grown distant, but hadn’t he said “for better or worse”?
Avia started the video. Grant looked serious, but his eyes were kind, like the Grant she remembered from earlier years. Was he happier now?
“Avia, I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I’ll be here for you when you’re ready. I still want to be friends. I miss… I miss Ben, too. When you’re ready to talk, call me. We can meet up. I’ll even drive up to Seattle to see you.”
He cleared his throat and tapped something on his side of the screen. “I found this video on my old tablet. I don’t think you have a copy. It’s from Ben’s third birthday party. I wanted you to have it… so you can watch it when you’re ready. I hope I’ll talk to you soon.”
