Abduction

Mother, Father and Stephen are all in my room first thing in the morning, waiting to escort me to my big CT scan. I had one when I was in the coma, before they put the tube in for the brain drain, but obviously I don’t recall it. Father’s eyes have that early-morning puffiness, and he smiles at me as he sips coffee. Stephen is affectionately cradling a calculator, the way most kids would a stuffed animal. Mother is all business.

“Did Dr. Lavoie say what you should wear?” she asks me. “I can’t remember if it matters.”

I shrug. I let her take care of the small stuff. I’m putting all my energy into concentrating on more pressing issues, like willing that weird, lumpy organ in my skull to wow the doctors today.

Mother digs through my drawers and hands me a pair of yoga pants and a hot-pink T-shirt with Little Miss Sunshine written across the front. Hands shaking, I slip on the clothes in the bathroom.

The scan is only to check how the healing is progressing, Super Doc said. It’s not the Final Word. But I can’t help wondering what will become of me if it detects what I fear most: that I am not getting better at all, that I am damaged beyond repair.

Once dressed, I stare down the Girl in the Mirror. “Kick some ass today, okay?” I whisper. She nods, but her eyes are huge, like a scared puppy’s.

We march down the hall, the four of us, on our mission to the eleventh floor. I am hyperalert: I can feel my heart beating in my chest, my feet touching the floor with every step, Mother’s hand on my lower back. I am fully here, in the moment, not the Sleeping Beauty of a few weeks ago. That should count for something, shouldn’t it?

A short woman with spiky blond hair is in the scan room when we get there, and after a brief “Hello Jessica, my name is Donna,” she launches into a speech describing the test procedure and the rules I have to follow. I have to take off any jewelry. I have to wear the most ridiculous-looking gigantic helmet that must weigh a hundred pounds. Donna excuses herself for a moment, saying she needs to do something on the computer in the other room. The door closes behind her, and Stephen leans in toward me.

“Be brave, my friend. I know you must be scared,” he says, “being the human subject in alien experiments.”

Mother shoots him a dirty look. But I laugh, although nervously, and Father chuckles too.

“Please stop them,” I say, “if they try to take my brain out through my nostrils.”

Another look from Mother, but she doesn’t try to put an end to our silliness. There must be a sense of humor somewhere deep down in there.

Stephen is standing up now, his hands firmly planted on his hips. “They are obviously cold, heartless creatures who see us as nothing more than lab rats. We need an escape plan. And we don’t have much time!”

I wonder what it’s like for him at school. The other kids must either love him or think he’s a freak. I stand up too, to join him in the fight. “Yes! How about I get in the scanner, let them think we are cooperating? Then, as soon as they let me out, we hit them with a surprise attack.”

He nods. “Unless, of course, I smell burning flesh during the scan, in which case I go after them like a rabid pit bull!”

I laugh, but Father’s eyes shoot to the door, and when I turn around, the technician is standing there. Her eyes are narrowed, and I can’t tell if she’s amused or disturbed.

“The scanner doesn’t usually burn flesh,” she says, “but we’ll keep an eye on it.”

Usually? I see then that she’s playing along, and my laugh comes out an obnoxious snort. Mother and Father laugh too, and the tech picks up the helmet and moves toward me. At that moment, all the fun Stephen had put into the room vanishes. My body tenses.

Donna raises her eyebrows apologetically at my parents. “Unfortunately,” she says, “no one is allowed to stay in the room with you.” Mother nods, her face creased with worry, and gives me a tight hug. Father hugs me too, and Stephen gives me a thumbs-up.

I wave to them as they leave the room, like an astronaut about to embark on a shuttle. I want to give them what they want: their daughter and sister back.

“Hook me up,” I say.

And so it begins. Donna has me lie down on the bed in front of the scanner, my head fitting into the bottom half of the giant helmet. She gives me earplugs and foam pads to place around my head. She hands me what looks like a video-game controller and shows me the big red button, explaining I can push it at any time if I panic or feel ill or whatever. There will be very loud noises, and clicking and whirring, so she will put some music on for me. I must be careful not to move my head at all, or the photos of my brain will blur. I listen and nod, but inside I am screaming, Don’t make me, please! I’m getting better, I promise! I haven’t hit anyone in weeks!

When Donna finally fires up the machine, the bed I am lying on moves me headfirst into the tunnel of the scanner. It feels like it’s happening in slow motion. The tunnel is not as dark as I expected, and music materializes in my earphones. It’s the kind of fluffy stuff most girls my age must like. I examine the beige plastic above me, trying hard to think positive. C’mon, brain. Show them your stuff. Even over the music, I can hear the whirs and clicks and shrill beeps Donna warned me about. I close my eyes and focus on the beat of the music, letting it carry me away from this place.

Song after song, more groans and whistles from the scanner, and then the music stops and Donna’s voice cuts in. “We’re all done, Jessica. The bed is going to slowly move forward so we can get you out of there.”

The platform vibrates slightly as it moves, giving me a soft massage, and the light grows bright. I think about death and the light at the end of the tunnel. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but when I emerge my eyes are watering, and I’m not sure if it’s from the machine or… could I actually be crying? I reach my arm up to dab at my eye, to see if it’s wet, but the door pops open and Mother comes in and grabs my hand midair, clutching it tightly in her strong grasp. She holds it like that until Donna appears and says, “Perfect! You did perfect!” and lifts the monstrous helmet from my head.