“Why?”
“To alter the future, I suppose,” said Benjamin. “To stop tragic events from happening and change the course of history. You’re saying no such program exists?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Dr. Holst. “Which isn’t to say it doesn’t exist—or won’t exist, in the year 2000—but you have to admit it sounds improbable.”
“Then who killed my daughter?” Benjamin asked.
“Who do you think killed her?”
“I told you,” said Benjamin. “Cameron Payne. And indirectly, William Glazier.”
“Even though I’ve told you these people don’t exist.”
“You told me to tell you what I experienced.”
“And now I’m asking you to reflect on that experience. Knowing that William Glazier doesn’t exist, and that Cameron Payne probably doesn’t either, who do you think killed Jessica?”
“Assuming that some of the things I know for certain are false, what do I think? That’s an impossible question to answer.”
“But you have to answer it, Benjamin. You need to feel your way through your memories for the truth.”
“Why don’t you just tell me what happened?” Benjamin demanded. “Why the games? How is it possible that it’s 1950 now when I have five decades of memories since then? What is happening to me? Just tell me what is happening!”
“I’ve tried,” said Dr. Holst. “Yesterday. And the day before that. Every day since you’ve been here, in fact. But every time I tell you, you shut down. You retreat into your fantasy world, where I can’t reach you. I’ve come to the conclusion that there are certain things you have to work out for yourself. I can’t do it for you. So please, Benjamin, humor me. Tell me who killed Jessica.”
“Cameron Payne and William Glazier.”
“Because she uncovered the truth about a secret government project to conduct experiments on children in order to predict the future.”
Benjamin said nothing.
“Am I misstating what you said?” asked Dr. Holst, leaning forward and looking Benjamin in the eye.
“No,” replied Benjamin. “That’s accurate.”
“But you hear how absurd that sounds, right?”
“Yes. But sometimes absurd things happen.”
Dr. Holst nodded. “Presumably, then, I’m part of this conspiracy. Correct? I’m one of the evil scientists conducting dangerous experiments on children for nefarious purposes?”
“Presumably,” said Benjamin.
“And what does that make you, Benjamin? How do you fit into this?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do,” said Dr. Holst. “Follow the narrative where it leads. If I’m helping to run this secret program, then who are you?”
“I’m a retired police detective,” said Benjamin. “I’m 58 years old. My name is Benjamin Stone.”
Dr. Holst sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You’re a retired police detective. You came to town to find your estranged daughter. A daughter who hated you, and showed no signs of wanting to reconcile with you.”
“Jessica didn’t hate me,” Benjamin said.
“What did she tell you the last time you saw her?”
“She was angry,” Benjamin said. Had he told Holst about the argument he’d had with Jessica before she stormed out that day? “She didn’t mean that.”
“How did you find her?”
“Detective Lentz called me.”
“When her body was found, you mean.”
“That’s right.”
“And you never talked to Jessica before that?”
Benjamin glared at Dr. Holst. “What are you getting at?”
“Who are the most likely suspects in a murder such as this?”
“Boyfriend,” said Benjamin. “Or a family member. But that isn’t what happened.”
“No,” said Dr. Holst, dryly. “Because Jessica was murdered to cover up a top secret government program.”
“You want me to think I killed Jessica,” said Benjamin. “That I made up this whole thing about GLARE to avoid responsibility for my actions.” The word slipped from his mouth before he had a chance to stop it. Holst made a note.
“I want you to ask yourself which is more likely,” said Holst. “That you had a psychotic break and killed Jessica, or that she was killed to keep the lid on a secret conspiracy to conduct experiments on children in order to predict the future.”
“This is bullshit,” said Benjamin. “I didn’t kill my daughter. She was dead before I ever came to Sunnyview.”
“When you came to Sunnyview in the year 2000, you mean.”
“Yes, God damn it.”
“But it’s 1950 now. If you were 58 in 2000, how old are you now?”
“Stop it,” Benjamin growled. “Just stop! You’re trying to make me think I’m crazy!”
“I’m trying to get you to understand that you are asserting certain facts that can’t possibly be true. You had a psychotic break, caused by the death of your daughter.”
“I would never kill my daughter!” Benjamin cried.
“I know you wouldn’t, ordinarily,” said Dr. Holst. “But something happened to make you violent. I think you had a dissociative episode. I want to help you understand why that happened. But I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me.”
“I did not kill Jessica!” Benjamin roared.
“Okay,” said Dr. Holst. “Let’s explore the idea of this secret program to predict the future.”
“You’re going to humor me, you mean,” said Benjamin.
“I’m on your side, Benjamin,” said Dr. Holst. “I want to help you determine what is true and what is illusion. I assume that’s what you want as well. So tell me what you’ve experienced, and I will do my best to be objective and help you work through it. Does that sound fair?”
Benjamin glared at Dr. Holst. If Benjamin didn’t trust Holst before, he certainly didn’t now. It was clear the man had an agenda. He was trying to convince Benjamin he had killed his own daughter. But why? If he was part of GLARE, how did convincing Benjamin that he had killed his daughter help them? Any avenue Benjamin’s mind tried to travel ended up somewhere that he didn’t want to be. He was adrift in a sea of conflicting memories, and he desperately needed some sort of anchor.
“GLARE is real,” he said, as much to himself as to Dr. Holst. “They experimented on children, put chemicals in the water supply. Jessica found out about it, and they killed her.”
“What is the purpose of GLARE?” Dr. Holst asked.
“It’s an intelligence-gathering operation,” said Benjamin. “They use their subjects to pinpoint future events. The information is passed on to the government, so they can prevent them, or prepare for them.”
“What sorts of events?”
Benjamin thought about what Glazier had told him, and about Sofia’s and Estefan’s visions. “Large scale tragic events,” he said. “Catastrophes.”
“Like hurricanes?” asked Dr. Holst. “Or earthquakes?”
Benjamin shook his head. “No. The subjects seem to focus on human-caused events. Wars, terrorist attacks, that sort of thing. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s easier to predict those sorts of events.”
“You met one of these subjects?”
“Yes,” said Benjamin. “A girl named Sofia.” Actually, he had met two subjects and the widow of a third, but he didn’t feel the need to give Dr. Holst all that information quite yet. “Sofia saw airplanes hitting buildings.”
“How old was she?”
“Eight, I think.”
“And she was a subject of this ‘GLARE’ program? In the year 2000?”
“She was,” said Benjamin, again not feeling the desire to elaborate.
Dr. Holst nodded and jotted something down. “Where did she see this happening? Where were the buildings the airplanes hit?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Benjamin. “Nor do I know when it happens. I didn’t grill her for specifics.”
; “Of course not,” said Dr. Holst. “But you must see how this Sofia’s experiences mirror your own. If Sofia is a manifestation of your own confusion about reality, understanding what she saw may help you make sense of your own circumstances.”
Benjamin nodded slowly, regarding Dr. Holst as he scribbled away at his pad. This situation was starting to feel all too familiar. Benjamin had been through hundreds of interviews like this, but usually it was in an interview room in a police station, and he was the one holding the notepad.
“Sofia wasn’t the only subject I met,” Benjamin said. “There was also a man named Estefan.”
Dr. Holst’s response was almost imperceptible, but he couldn’t hide it completely. His pencil paused on the paper for a moment, as if he had lost his train of thought. He quickly finished the line, but Benjamin had already seen his tell. Dr. Holst recognized the name.
“Oh?” Dr. Holst said, faking nonchalance. “Did this Estefan have visions of the future as well?”
“Estefan was insane,” said Benjamin. “He had what I think you would probably call a ‘psychotic break.’ One day he woke up, and he was a different person. It was too much for him to take.”
“Interesting,” said Dr. Holst. “It’s possible that this Estefan represents—”
“Estefan doesn’t represent anything. He was a kid that GLARE experimented on.”
“GLARE is a delusion, Benjamin. I’ve been trying to help you see that.”
“No,” said Benjamin, his instincts kicking in. He was certain now that Holst had been lying to him. Maybe not about everything, but he certainly wasn’t giving Benjamin the whole truth. “You’ve been playing me. Trying to confuse me about what’s real, so that you can squeeze me for information. I didn’t kill my daughter and you know it.”
“Then who did?” said Dr. Holst.
“Cameron Payne. William Glazier. GLARE.”
“GLARE doesn’t exist. Neither does William Glazier.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Benjamin.
“Please, Benjamin,” said Dr. Holst. “You have to trust me.”
“Because you’re all that I have, right?” asked Benjamin. “You’re my tether to reality. But it isn’t true. You’re not all I have. I’ve seen things, patterns that point to the truth. Some of what I’ve experienced is delusion, but not all of it. The truth lies underneath it all, and I can glimpse enough of it to know you’re lying. GLARE is real, and you’re the proof. You’re using me to gather intelligence. I’m one of your subjects.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Sofia,” said Benjamin. “And Estefan. I’ve seen what GLARE does to people. I recognize the signs.”
“These people exist only in your imagination,” said Dr. Holst. “They are manifestations of your psychosis. You can’t—”
“So my ‘dream’ is only real when you need it to be,” said Benjamin. “Is that it? You make me doubt my own memories, so that I’ll spill them to you, and you can sort through them for what you need?”
Dr. Holst stared at him for some time. “Are you sure that you want to go down this road, Benjamin? I’ll acknowledge that I have my own agenda, but I do have your interests at heart. I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Holst.
“I’m not afraid of the truth,” said Benjamin, although he sounded more certain than he felt. Part of him wanted to retreat back into the uncertainty of delusion.
“Alright, then,” said Dr. Holst, getting to his feet. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?” asked Benjamin.
“To see the truth.”
Benjamin hesitated, but got to his feet. He followed Dr. Holst out of the room and down the hall. Dr. Holst knocked on a door and waited for a moment, but Benjamin heard no response. Dr. Holst opened the door, peeked inside, and then motioned for Benjamin to enter. Benjamin did, and Dr. Holst followed, closing the door behind him.
The room was nearly identical to the one in which Benjamin had awoken not long before. But in this room sat a small figure, silhouetted against the gray glow from the frosted window pane. The figure didn’t stir as Benjamin and Dr. Holst entered.
“Estefan,” said Dr. Holst. Still the figure didn’t move. Dr. Holst turned to Benjamin. “You’ve met Estefan, yes?”
Benjamin nodded dumbly. Was it possible? This was the same Estefan? The one whose widow Benjamin had met?
“Wie geht es dir heute?” asked Dr. Holst.
The figure stirred slightly, but didn’t respond. Dr. Holst turned back to Benjamin. “Estefan arrived a week before you did. We had high hopes for him, but it seems we pushed him too hard. I tried to warn David, but he wouldn’t listen. We’ve been getting a lot of pressure from Washington to produce results.”
Benjamin was dumbfounded. On some level he had hoped he was wrong, that there was some other explanation. But Estefan was another point of commonality, a confirmation of the truth in his “dreams.” GLARE was real. Estefan was real. Estefan had seen the future, and somehow it had driven him mad.
“You spoke to him in German,” Benjamin said.
“It’s the only language he is fluent in. He knows some French, very little English. No Spanish, as far as I can tell. I speak some German, but we have a translator on staff for our sessions together. Not that it does us much good.”
“But… he grew up in Sunnyview, to Spanish-speaking parents. How can he have forgotten how to speak both English and Spanish?”
“The better question,” Dr. Holst said, “is how did he learn to speak fluent German?”
Benjamin nodded slowly. He suspected he knew the answer, but he was hesitant to speak it. “He isn’t Estefan,” he said at last.
“That’s correct,” said Dr. Holst. “In a manner of speaking, anyway. Estefan projected himself into the future, taking on the point of view of an elderly woman in East Berlin, about forty years from now. We were able to ascertain a fair amount of detail about her life, but no actionable intelligence. We use various drugs to help improve recall and vividness, and we kept increasing Estefan’s dosage in hopes of getting useful information. One day he woke up speaking German. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragic.”
Benjamin considered Dr. Holst’s statement. He was tempted to think that Holst was referring to the loss of potential intelligence, but he sensed there was more to it than that. Holst really was saddened by what had happened to Estefan.
“What’s his… her name?” Benjamin asked.
“I don’t know,” said Dr. Holst. “She won’t talk to me. She talks sometimes, but doesn’t seem to be fully aware of where she is. Doesn’t acknowledge people around her. The shock of finding herself in a hospital in a foreign country, four decades in the past….”
“In the body of a young boy,” Benjamin added.
“Yes,” said Dr. Holst, turning from Estefan to Benjamin. “Although it’s unclear whether she is even aware of that.” He went to the door, beckoning for Benjamin to follow.
“What do you mean?” asked Benjamin, walking after him. “How can she not know?”
“The mind has amazing coping mechanisms,” said Dr. Holst, as he closed the door. He continued down the hall, motioning for Benjamin to come along. “I recently read of a stroke victim who had completely disowned the left side of her body. She wouldn’t bathe her left side, wouldn’t brush the hair on the left side of her head. When given lipstick, she’d apply it only to the right side of her mouth. If a doctor pointed out to her that her left arm was clearly connected to her body, she would make all sorts of excuses for it. If pressed, she would get angry and tell the doctor that she didn’t know whose arm it was, but it wasn’t her problem.” They turned down a corner, passing a couple of orderlies who regarded Benjamin curiously.
“But you’re talking about brain damage,” said Benjamin. “A physical problem with the brain.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Holst, “but the line between mental illness and brain inju
ry is not as clear-cut as many believe. Particularly in certain types of brains.”
“Where are we going?” asked Benjamin.
“You said you wanted the truth,” said Dr. Holst. “I’m going to give it to you.”
“So no more worries about me shutting down? Losing myself inside the delusion, because I can’t handle the truth?”
“I’m very concerned about the possibility,” said Dr. Holst. “But to be honest, I’m out of time. I’ve tried to work with you, but you keep fighting me. As I said, this program is under a great deal of pressure to produce results. Maybe my mistake was not in pushing you too hard, but in not pushing you hard enough. Maybe you need to be confronted with the truth.”
They came to another door, which bore a placard labeled RECREATION ROOM.
“What’s this?” Benjamin asked, as they paused in front of the door. “The truth is in the recreation room?”
“Part of it, yes,” said Dr. Holst. “If you don’t feel you’re ready for this, we can return to my office.”
“Ready for what?” asked Benjamin. “What’s behind that door?”
“It’s time to decide,” said Dr. Holst. “Do you want to retreat into the illusion or do you want to know the truth?”
“I want to know the truth,” said Benjamin.
Dr. Holst nodded. “Then follow me.” He opened the door and walked inside. After a moment, Benjamin followed.
He found himself in a large room lit by natural lighting that filtered in from high-placed windows. To his left were a ping-pong table and a foosball table. To his right were a number of plush chairs and a bookshelf containing several dozen hardbacks and piles of magazines. Two boys and a girl sat together, talking quietly. They appeared to be between the ages of eight and twelve. Both boys seemed to be of Hispanic descent; the girl looked like a mulatto. They looked up when Benjamin entered the room. They exchanged anxious glances, and their conversation became muted.
Benjamin looked around the room. There was no one and nothing else of interest here.
City of Sand Page 20
