by Harrison, S.
“Here, Finn; I’m right here.”
Bit leans over me and grasps my arm again, this time with both of her hands. Tear tracks have cleaned lines through the dust and grime on her cheeks. She’s trying her best to smile again, but worry has forced her lips into a straight line, her face losing the fight to pretend that my injuries are anything but catastrophic.
“Wha . . . hap . . . ?” That’s all I can manage to say, but she gets the message.
“Are you asking what happened, Finn? You don’t remember anything?”
I rock my head slowly from side to side.
“Nothing at all?” Bit sighs. “I don’t know if I can explain it, Finn, but . . . another side of you came out. Another personality, she’s the opposite of you . . .”
“In . . . fin . . . i . . .”
“Yes,” whispers Bit. “It was Infinity.”
I take an agonizing wisp of a breath and hiss, “Met her . . . in . . . my mind. Infinity . . . bad.”
“But she saved our lives, Finn. She saved all of us.”
“Don’t . . . trust . . . her.”
Bit frowns. “What? Why shouldn’t I trus—?”
Bit is cut short by the bearded man’s voice barking at her from across the room. “Move away from the table, girlie; give me some space to work in.”
There’s an awful clattering of surgical instruments as Bit’s hands slip away from me. The bearded man’s arm comes into view, swinging a large light mounted on a stainless-steel swivel directly over me. With a soft click, the light switches on, blinding me with startling, bright white.
“Wheel that over here!” orders the bearded man. “You, hook that bag up there! Girlie, make yourself useful, and plug that machine into that electrical outlet.”
“Excuse me . . . ,” Professor Francis’s voice is a faint whisper a few meters away, but I can hear it as clear as a bell. “. . . I may not be a medical doctor, but I’m educated enough to know that Miss Brogan’s injuries are far too severe for her to survive. Perhaps a gentle and merciful release from her suffering is preferable to a futile attempt to save her?”
The Professor is a kindhearted man, so I know that I wasn’t supposed to hear what he just said, but the bearded man’s response, on the other hand, is not so quietly spoken.
“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here, so get the hell out of my way, you pompous moron, before I slap your face around to the back of your head! Down that corridor is a room,” snaps the bearded man. “Everyone, out! Right now!”
I can hear the sound of shuffling and murmuring as the group leaves, but one loyal voice pipes up among the solemn whispers.
“I’m not leaving her,” insists Bit.
“Yes, you are!”
“No . . . I’m not,” growls Bit. I hear her take a deep breath and exhale long and slow. “Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are. I’m so grateful you sent that encoded message to my computer slate and guided us down here to safety; we would probably all be dead if you didn’t. But I want to make this absolutely clear. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me leave her side.”
I may be blinded by this bright-white light, but I can still tell by the palpable pause of intense silence that the bearded man realizes there’s no point in trying to stare down Bettina Otto. “Fine!” barks the man. “Draw those curtains around the table, clean me a patch of skin right there, wheel that IV stand over here, and shut your mouth. Can you do that, girlie?”
“Yes, I can do that,” replies Bit.
“Well, you obviously don’t know the meaning of the words ‘shut your mouth,’ but we’re fighting the clock here, so hurry up and get to it. And my name is not ‘Mr. Whoever.’ You can call me Dr. Graham Pierce.”
There’s the sliding whoosh of curtain rings on a rail, a dabbing of wet cotton on my arm, and a sharp sting as a needle is pushed into my vein. Almost immediately, I feel a warmth spreading up my arm. It’s like I’ve been injected with sun-warmed molasses. The jagged spasms and sharp thorns of pain slowly topple like dominoes and melt one by one, dissolving in a gentle, rolling liquid caramel of numbing relief.
“That’ll put her under,” the man says, more for his own benefit than Bit’s, I imagine.
I’m grateful as the warmth continues to spread, oozing up my neck and flowing into my face, filling the hollows behind my eyes with a soothing heaviness. All the pain completely ebbs away. My mind begins blissfully drifting as the bright light fades to gray and then softly to black. The last thing I feel is the pressure of another needle being pushed into my arm as the voices of Bit and the bearded man drift into my ears and float like wisps of liquid smoke around the edges of my semiconscious mind.
“What is that?” asks Bit. “It doesn’t look like any bag of blood that I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s because it’s not blood. Now, pick up that metal headband, girlie.”
“My name is Bit.”
“Well, that’s a stupid name, and I thought I told you to shut up.”
“Y’know, you sounded a lot nicer in the message that you sent me.”
“That was then, and this is now. Lift her head, and put the headband on her; be careful. Good, now pass me that other one. Let’s see if the old thing still fits me. Yep, nice to know my head hasn’t shrunk after all these years. There’s a third one; open that panel, take it out, strap it to your head, and sit down. There, use that chair behind you. Don’t tangle the wires on the headband. That’s it—comfortable?”
“No.”
“Well, too bad. Now, when I give the word, slide the lever on that machine all the way to the right and press that green button.”
“I don’t understand what we’re doing. Shouldn’t we be trying to stop the bleeding? She’s so pale and cold. Her leg looks really bad, and her hand . . . her hand is . . .”
“It’s too late for that, girlie. There’s only one person who can save Finn now, but she’s lost somewhere in Finn’s head. And I think you know who I’m talking about.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know exactly who you are, Bettina Otto. And whether you know it or not, there’s a whole lot of blame resting squarely on your shoulders for this mess we’re in, so if you insist on staying, you’re gonna do your darndest to help me try and fix it, or none of us is getting out of here alive. Now, slide the lever, and press the button, girlie . . . We absolutely must find Infinity.”
CHAPTER THREE
Where . . . am . . . I?
My thoughts are misshapen bubbles struggling to rise through treacle.
Jaw slack, neck limp, I gaze out into a heavy gray fog through the thin slits between my weighted eyelids. I try to remember something, pull anything from the depths of the sticky mire clogging the inside of my head. Three weary frowns and one feeble clench of teeth finally summon a dim globule of hope. It pushes its way to the top, bubbles on the surface of my mind, and softly pops open, releasing a wisp of faded colors and whispered words.
“. . . always kept so far in the dark . . .” The memory of the metallic-tinged voice echoes in my mind as the tinted vapor slowly rearranges itself into the pale, creased mask of Nanny Theresa’s silver-hooded face. Surrounded by stark white and blurred at the edges, she stands over me, her hand clasped around my neck as she ever so slowly, almost joyfully, crushes my throat. A pleasant memory would have been nice. A sunny day? A picnic beside the secret pond? Riding horseback beside Carlo through the sweet perfume of summer blossoms? No. The first thing I remember is the last thing I wanted to see.
I try to force away the grotesque, gray-eyed mask, and, to my surprise, the fog also begins to unwrap from me. As it gradually evaporates, my surroundings reveal a much more familiar-looking place. All around me is the pitch-black expanse of my subconscious.
The void looks the same as it always does, dark and boundless, but something
about it feels very different. This time, it’s thick and gelatinous and so heavy against my skin. My body, suspended in its own dreary light, feels different, too. It’s numb and cold and prickly all at the same time. I can’t move my head at all, so I try my hand, straining with all my might to raise it to my face, but it feels as if I’m trying to drag a block of lead through wet cement. My hand isn’t the only thing behaving strangely. Every word I’m thinking is long and drawn out, the voice in my mind low and muddy like a recording played at a third of its normal speed. As much as it pains me to admit it, maybe Nanny Theresa was right, because here I am . . . lost in the darkness, once again.
At least one thing is the same. Just like every time I’ve been here before, I need to know why.
I close my eyes tight and reach inward, trawling through the emptiness for any scrap of recollection. It’s beginning to take more effort than it’s worth, and I’m about to give up when a blunt pressure pushes into my mind like a thumb pressing into my forehead. The thought burrows into my brain and, with an uncomfortable insistence, swipes a streak of thick red across my memory. The red becomes thin lines, rivulets of blood, trickling down the sides of my legs and dripping down my arms as I’m carried through dimly lit, rust-orange tunnels to the sound of clanging footsteps and the dry wheezes of labored breathing. I remember a bearded man, the shrill notes of a mournful scream, the shock of horror in Margaux’s eyes, and the cold on the skin of my back as I was laid on a table. Brent, Brody, and Professor Francis were all there. There was oh-so-much pain, then a needle and a sweet warmth enveloping me as the darkness folded in, but before that . . . before that, I remember something else.
Bit’s dirt-smeared face flickers into view, looking down on me from above with tear-filled eyes behind the smudged lenses of her glasses. I remember her horrified expression clearly now, but I immediately wish that I hadn’t. I open my eyes wide, longing for the cleansing purity of the darkness to wipe the memory clean away. Recalling that look on Bit’s face is more than I can bear for another second. It tells a story that fills me with utter dread.
Dear darkness, please hide me away from a possibility that I’m not ready to face. Wrap the truth in the void, and bury it in the darkest places in my mind. Please.
The darkness seems to leer at my request. It’s no use. I don’t have the strength to deny what I saw in Bit’s eyes. A sickening emotion rears up in my gut, and my eyes fill with tears. They push out like tiny glass beads and creep down my face as a cruel sense of finality swells like a balloon in my heart. It grows, undeniable, filling my entire chest until, with an echoing sob, it bursts, painting my insides with bitter acceptance. I have no idea how or why my broken body came to be lying on a steel slab, but I know what’s about to happen because of it.
I’m going to die.
I can feel it.
The dregs of my life are slowly but surely slipping away, disappearing down an invisible drain into oblivion.
I don’t want to die.
Not alone in the dark, like this.
Tears slowly trickle down my face, and I whimper into the void, completely overwhelmed by a deep and fearful misery.
“Caaaaan . . . yooooou . . . heeeaaar . . . meeeeeee?”
I shudder and gasp with fright. What . . . what was that?
It was faint and far away, but I’m sure I just heard a voice. Did I really hear it? Where did it come from? Did I imagine it?
“Hello? Is somebody there? Anybody?” My trembling voice doesn’t carry at all. It’s nothing but a breathless whisper. I wait, and I listen, but . . . there’s nothing. My fear has made me desperate. My fading mind is summoning voices to keep me company until the end.
“Sheeeee’s . . . haaaaardly . . . breeeeeathing.”
Wait. I heard that! It was different from the first voice, but I definitely heard something that time. Who is that? That’s not my imagination; it can’t be!
“Hello? I can hear you. I’m here. Help me . . . please.”
Again, my words stop a short distance from my lips, as if a thick blanket is hanging only inches from my face.
“Quiiiiickly . . . giiiive . . . meeeeee . . . thaaaaaaat.”
The first voice again. There are two different voices, but they’re speaking so strangely, so deeply, and so slowly that I can hardly tell what they’re saying.
“Hello! I’m here. Hello? Please . . . help me,” I whisper into the blackness.
Silence.
I can hear them, but they can’t hear me at all. Don’t give up, Finn; keep trying.
“Help me . . . please,” I try to shout, but my words are only feeble wisps.
“Whaaaaat . . . iiiiis . . . iiiiit?” asks one of the voices. It’s quieter than before, farther away, more distant with every stretched-out sound. They’re leaving me.
“Hello? I’m here,” I squeak, but there’s no reply. I’m just not getting through. Whoever they are, they can’t hear me. They’re talking to each other, not to me. I squint, staring into the dark distance, hoping for a twinkle of light, a miracle of hope . . . anything. Try again, Finn, before the voices are gone forever. Call out one more time. Give it everything you have left . . .
“Hello.” My cry is faint and fragile, but maybe . . . just maybe . . .
No . . . still nothing.
The tears stop flowing; I’m too tired to cry. I’m overcome with exhaustion. I just want to let go. I gently close my eyes, and my body surrenders. I can feel myself sinking into the blackness feetfirst. It’s cold to begin with, but then I don’t feel anything. It’s as if my toes are vanishing from the world. I just can’t fight anymore. There isn’t anything left to hold on to. I don’t even have the strength to panic.
The feeling of nothingness slowly creeps up my body, enveloping my legs, then my hips, and crawls up over my stomach and chest like an icy blanket. A silent breath seeps from my lips as the dark coldness folds up over my mouth and nose. I peer into the darkness one last time to say good-bye to a life that offered me more questions than answers and, in the end, more pain than love.
I can’t feel my skin or my arms or legs anymore; my hands and feet are gone from existence. I can’t feel my face. Only the edges of my eyes remain. As I close my weary eyes, I find, to my surprise, that my final emotion is one of gratitude. Even through all the bad, there was enough good to make me so very thankful.
Thankful that I had a chance to live at all.
The cold of the void finally covers me completely, taking me away, back to nothing, and as my thoughts drift away into nowhere, the very last thing I’m able to feel . . . is my heart . . . beat . . . stop.
A spike of pain lancing deep into my chest.
A high-pitched squeal.
Heat and pain pumping through me.
My back arches like my spine is trying to burst through my rib cage, and my teeth grind in my skull. My animal instincts scream at me to fight this unseen attacker as my jaw clenches in rolling spasms and my eyes snap back in my head.
I’m hit by a bolt of lightning. I scream out into the void, my cry echoing through the dark. A gust of wind rips violently through me, and my whole body is wrenched from the ocean of darkness like a fish on a hook as an intense explosion of white light bursts on a far horizon. Everything fades back to black. My skin burns with a cold electric fire and crackles with sparks of pure energy.
“Ohhhh . . . mmyyy . . . god!” says one of the voices. The faraway voice I heard before seems nearer now. The words are closer together, faster, easier to understand. And if I’m not crazy or mistaken, they almost sounded like . . .
“She took a breath and opened her eyes for a second! What was that?” asks the voice, and I know it for sure. It’s Bit.
I don’t know how, but I can hear her.
“That, girlie, was a massive dose of fortified adrenaline. Right into her heart,” says the other voice. It’s still q
uite far away, but I can understand it now, too. It’s the voice of the bearded man.
The burst of air seems to have cleared my head a little. I can feel my senses slowly gathering back into my mind as the static sparks dancing across my limbs begin to wane. I flex and stretch my arms; I can move again, much slower and with more difficulty than I’m used to, but at least now I feel closer to being alive than dead.
“Hello?” I call out into the void.
“Did you . . . ? I swear, I just heard something!” Bit’s voice says from somewhere in the darkness. “I heard it in my head.”
“Hellooooo!” I shout out again.
“It’s Finn! I can hear her! Finn, it’s me, Bit! I can hear you!”
“Concentrate on our voices, Finn,” says the man. “Pull them toward you. Keep talking to her, girlie.”
“Finn, we’re here to help!”
I focus on Bit’s voice and will it to come closer.
“Dr. Pierce says you need to stay with us. Concentrate! Don’t give up, Finn! Fight!”
Bit’s voice is getting louder and louder with every word.
“Bit? Can you still hear me?” I call into the distance.
“Yes, Finn, I’m right here!” she calls back.
“Who is there with you? Where am I? What happened?” I shout.
“My name is Dr. Pierce . . . ,” the man’s voice replies. “You’re in my laboratory, and you’ve been hurt, Finn. You’re attached to a machine called a Neural Interface. It allows your subconscious to communicate with ours.”
