8: THE GIRL

HOWARD DRAGGED EILEEN through the lab and plopped her into one of the chairs. Claire sat in the seat next to her, and Hanna across from both of them. Russell grabbed Eileen’s headband, but she lunged out of her seat before he could put it on. The shackles around her ankles snagged and sent her tumbling to the floor.

Howard yanked her up and slammed her back in her seat. He held her down, dodging her sporadic kicks. “Is there something we can use to restrain her?”

“You can’t restrain me,” Eileen said. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting you inside my head. I’ll die before that happens.”

Howard tightened his hold on her. “Shut up!” He turned to Hanna. “She’s not going to sit still. We need to restrain her.”

“I’ve got it,” Russell said, scurrying over to a milkcrate by the control panel. After rummaging through, he pulled out a small syringe. “Here we are.” He bit off the plastic cover and plunged the needle into Eileen’s arm. Her thrashing slowed, her eyes rolled back, and her mouth fell open with a dribble of saliva gathering at her chin.

Howard stood back, staring at the syringe. “What is in that?”

“Passiflora. It’s a sedative.”

“Will that affect what we see inside?” Claire asked.

Hanna shook her head. “Not Passiflora. Benzodiazepines are the more common type of sedative, but they have adverse effects on the mind. Dissociation. Amnesia. Not ideal for our purposes. We need access to her memories. Benzos can also be lethal in large doses. We decided it’s best to avoid them in general. Instead, we use a special extract of passionflower. It’s a natural alternative that doesn’t have as many negative effects. It usually comes as a pill, but we needed a more potent version.”

Russell examined the empty syringe, placing the plastic cover back on. “This stuff will keep her under for at least an hour, and it won’t mess with her memories.”

“It’s also safer,” Hanna said. “We still have to watch her dosage, but the chance of an overdose is far less likely with this passionflower extract.”

“That safety part is important,” Russell said, tossing the syringe in a waste bin and placing Eileen’s headband on her head. “If her mind is wacky while you’re in there, it puts you in danger too.”

Claire leaned back in her seat. “Wacky, huh? That’s an underused word. So, you’re really pushing me into the deep end.”

Hanna put on her own headband. “I think you’re ready. Are you having doubts?”

“Not at all. I prefer to kick things off with a bang. It’s the best way to learn. I’m just glad she won’t be tripping on benzos.”

“We learned the hard way. We worked with someone who was out on benzos, specifically Temazepam, and I’ll tell you, it was gnarly.”

“Is that a technical term?”

“He almost overdosed. Apparently, one vial of the stuff is way too much for one person to handle.”

Russell glanced back at the milkcrate. “I think we still have some Temazepam in there. That stuff also usually comes as a pill, but we like the strong stuff here at Core Tech. We should probably just toss it, but a part of me would hate to waste a perfectly good sedative.”

Hanna cringed. “That’s probably the creepiest thing you’ve ever said, Russell.”

Charles entered the lab with Arthur and Lenny. Arthur held his tripod and camera.

“Where’s the best spot to set this up?” Arthur asked. “I should probably get the monitors in frame, right?”

Hanna shook her head. “There’s no live feed. Everything records to our storage server, and the computer renders it overnight. You can still set it up if you’d like, but all you’ll get is footage of us sitting in these chairs.”

Arthur leaned the tripod against the wall and placed the camera down. “I guess there’s no point then.”

“So, we won’t be able to see what happens until tomorrow?” Charles asked.

“Correct. It should be ready in the morning when we first get in. Remember, what happens in there isn’t physically real. It’s not like we can just drop in your camera and hit record. It’s a virtual visualization of signals sent to the brain. The process to convert that into a usable file is substantial.”

“It takes up a lot of space too,” Russell said. “Storage was an oversight when we first built this computer. We had to build an external storage server as a temporary fix.”

He pointed to a plastic box-shaped case on the counter, which was attached to the main computer through a series of wires.

“It has ten NAS hard drives, each with ten terabytes of storage, all hooked up to a connected server. Eventually, when we rebuild this system, we’ll consider the extra storage in our design. Until then, we have this wonky setup. But it all still works. Everything saves to the storage server, and then the main computer renders the raw data into an interactive 3D space. The raw capture files are so big that we can’t afford to back them up online, but the final rendered product is small enough to store on the cloud. The whole process from capture to final render should take around twelve hours. Sometimes longer depending on the length and complexity of the session. We won’t be able to see what’s going on in real-time, but I will have live readings of their brain activity. That information will display on these monitors.”

Howard glanced at the control panel, where the screens showed diagrams of the brain, shaded with colors and labeled with numbers. “You’re acting like we know what any of that means.”

Russell shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s the best we can do.”

“Thank you,” Charles said. “The footage in the morning should be good enough. Now, let’s not stall any longer. Are you ready to go in?”

Hanna held her thumb out. “I’m good to go when you are, Russell.”

Russell plopped the third headband on Claire and walked over to the control panel. “Here we go. Initiating in three, two, one.”

Hanna shut her eyes, preparing for whatever they would encounter inside Eileen Warner’s mind. What kind of twisted perils would they see?

“Go!” Russell shouted, slamming his finger down on the keyboard.

 

*****

 

Hanna and Claire stood on an empty suburban street in the middle of the night. There was a line of modest houses along both sides of the road, each an exact copy of the one beside it. Blue door. White vinyl siding. Brick chimney. Single car garage.

None of the streetlights were illuminated and pure darkness shrouded the inside of every window. The only light came from the moon, glowing brighter and larger than ever. A strong, chilled breeze pushed a heap of dead leaves from one lawn to another. At the end of the street was a dead end, where the road widened into a circle and the houses formed a loop.

“It’s a cul-de-sac,” Claire said. “Reminds me of where I used to live.”

Hanna turned around to look in the other direction. The road stretched endlessly far, with the same identical house repeated over and over. “This is her insular cortex. She must have lived on a cul-de-sac when she was younger. These houses probably represent the one she grew up in.”

Claire folded her arms, rubbing the goosebumps away. “It feels so empty.”

“People’s minds vary. Some are livelier than others. It does feel oddly hollow, but that probably has something to do with the sedative.”

“It’s eerie. I don’t like it. Let’s get off the street. Do you think any of these houses are unlocked?”

Hanna walked forward, following the paved path. “Maybe, but we should be careful. Doors are usually passageways to other parts of the mind. It’s how the brain tends to manifest transitions and thresholds. These doors could lead anywhere. They could dump us somewhere we don’t want to go.”

“So, how do we control where we go? We’re looking for her memories, right?”

“We are, but that’s not as simple as it sounds.”

“Dennis seemed to do it pretty easily.”

“That’s because he was the host. The host always has more control. Eileen could bring us to her memories without any issues.” She gestured to the vastness of the area around them. “But who knows where she is? And even if we did find her, there’s no way she would help us. She made that pretty clear when I spoke with her earlier.”

“So, what do we do? What’s our next step?”

“I don’t have complete control, but I do have some. When you do this for a living, you learn a few tricks.”

She closed her eyes and focused, conjuring some of her strongest memories. The fluttering feeling of her first kiss. The nervous excitement of moving into a college dorm. The relentless sorrow of losing her father. They were the tentpoles of her life. The moments that shaped her into the person she was today. The memories that defined her.

“Look,” Claire said, pointing at one of the houses.

A light had flipped on through one of the windows, standing out like a spotlight on a dark stage. The front door had unlatched from its frame and the wind had blown it half-open.

“That’s where we go,” Hanna said.

Claire gazed at her in awe. “How did you do that?”

“I’m able to connect with Eileen’s mind on an emotional level, but it’s something that takes years of practice.”

“You’re certain that door will bring us to her memories?”

Hanna nodded, walking forward. “It should, but my technique is limited. I can guide us toward her memories, but I can’t choose which ones we see. That’s where the host has the advantage.”

“So, we’re stuck sifting through memories at random?”

“The strongest memories tend to surface on top. Moments with strong emotional resonance. But recent ones can get mixed in as well. The murders were fairly recent, and I imagine they would have had a big impact on her. There’s a good chance we could stumble upon one of them. There’s also a chance we could be at this for a while.”

“Whatever it takes.”

They approached the house, crossing over the pristine lawn and climbing the stairs to the open door. An echoing hiss escaped through the opening, beckoning them to enter.

Claire reached for the doorknob, but Hanna stopped her before she could pull it open. “Remember, there could be anything behind this door. We must be careful.”

Claire acknowledged her words of caution and slowly opened the door.

On the other side, they found themselves standing in a cluttered living room. Crumpled paper littered most of the floor with empty pizza boxes filling the gaps.

The glow of a small tube television illuminated the room. The screen was mostly static, with short distorted flashes of what appeared to be the 1956 film, Love Me Tender, starring Elvis Presley. The television was muted, and the only sound in the room was the harsh tick of a clock on the wall.

A girl was lying on the couch, no older than ten. Her face was damp with fresh tears.

“Is that Eileen?” Claire whispered.

Hanna nodded. “Most likely. Or a memory of her, at least.”

The girl, whose attention was fixed on the television, noticed the two of them standing by the entrance. She wiped her face with her sleeve and stared at them, remaining on the couch.

The kitchen light was on behind her, where a large man sat alone at a table. Gathered in front of him was a cluster of empty beer bottles. The man stared at a half-drunken beer, swaying in his seat and mumbling to himself.

“Eileen,” the man called.

Panic invaded the girl’s face. Her body went stiff and her eyes shut.

“Eileen,” he said again, this time less enthused. He stumbled out of his seat, falling to the floor, but lifting himself back up. He walked from the kitchen to the living room, dragging his feet along the dusty carpet. “Hey, you answer when I talk to you.”

He leaned over the back of the couch to look at her. The girl didn’t move. She kept her eyes shut.

“Is she sleeping?” the man mumbled, glancing at Claire and Hanna.

“Yes,” Claire said. “You shouldn’t wake her.”

He circled around to the front of the couch. “Stupid kid. That’s why you don’t stay up this late. You fall asleep with the TV on and waste all the goddamn power.” He leaned forward to examine her face. “Are you really asleep?”

The girl remained as still as she could, but Hanna could see her arms trembling. “Yes, she is. There’s no need to disturb her.”

The man spun around and glared at both of them with bloodshot eyes. “I’m not asking you. I’m asking her. I don’t think she is asleep. I think she can hear me just fine, and she chooses to ignore me because she’s an entitled little brat. Here, I’ll prove it.” He undid his belt, pulling it from the waist of his pants and folding it in half.

“No,” the girl whimpered, curling up on the far side of the couch. “Please, don’t.”

“See?” the man said, holding the belt up in his hand. “Just a little persuasion and the truth comes out. Because she knows she shouldn’t be lying, right, honey?”

Tears gathered in Eileen’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to lie.”

“Did you hear that? She says she didn’t mean to lie. I guess that makes you a genius now, doesn’t it? Because I’ve lied a lot over the years, and every single time I’ve meant it. I’m not sure how in the world you would lie to someone without meaning it but, apparently, little miss genius has figured out a way. She’s cracked the code. She’s up there with Albert Einstein himself because she somehow managed to lie without meaning it. But the fact remains. You did lie, and liars need to be taught a lesson.” He stepped toward her with the belt raised over his head.

“Stop!” Claire yelled. “Don’t lay a finger on that girl.”

Hanna glanced over at her. “Don’t interfere. This is only a memory. It’s not real.”

The man twisted around and stared at Claire. “What did you say?”

“I said, don’t touch her.”

The man tightened his grip on the rough leather belt. “Yeah? And what if I do?”

“Then I’ll stop you.” Claire reached for her sidearm, but it wasn’t there. Neither was her holster. It was then that she noticed she was wearing an entirely different outfit altogether.

The man grinned. “Forget something?”

As he turned back to Eileen, Claire lunged forward, crashing into his side and knocking him to the floor. He landed on a pile of pizza boxes, shaking his head and fluttering his eyes in a daze.

Claire hopped up and crouched beside the girl, offering a hand. “It’s okay. You’ll be safe with us.”

Hanna watched from across the room. “We can’t bring her with us. She isn’t real.”

Claire ignored her, looking into the girl’s eyes. “It’s up to you. You can stay here, or come with us.”

Eileen looked down at her father, who was still on the ground, rubbing his head and groaning. She reached out and grabbed Claire’s hand.

“Okay, hun. We’ll keep you safe.” She guided the girl over to Hanna. “Let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” Hanna asked.

“I’m not just going to leave her here with that guy.”

“This is a memory. It’s already happened. Taking her with us isn’t going to change that. Whatever we do here doesn’t affect anything. It only puts us in more danger.”

“What danger?” Claire asked. “We’re all—”

A wooden bat slammed into the side of her head. She dropped to the floor, bouncing off a wall on her way down. The man stood behind her, winding up for another swing.

Hanna charged forward, lifting the man up by the waist and throwing him onto the kitchen table. The empty beer bottles smashed under his weight, sending shards of glass through the air.

He pushed her away and hopped off the table to wind up another swing. Hanna raised her arms and caught the bat as it came down. She yanked it from his hands and jabbed his gut with the handle.

He keeled over, clenching his stomach, but recovered with an unexpected burst of strength. He lifted her up by the legs and slammed her down on the floor, sending the bat out of her hands and knocking the breath from her lungs. She squirmed on the floor, gasping for air as the man sat on top of her, straddling her stomach.

He raised his fist and smashed it into her face. A burst of stars invaded her vision. She tried to lift him off, but another fist caught her cheek, draining all of the strength from her body. Her arms fell limp to her sides, too exhausted to fight back anymore. Anticipating a third punch, she turned her head away.

Claire ran over and kneed him in the temple. He flopped over, landing beside the wooden bat.

“Come on,” Claire said, helping Hanna up. “Let’s get out of here.” She ran to the girl and grabbed her arm. “Come with us, honey.”

“We can’t take her,” Hanna said, wiping her face with her hand to see if she was bleeding. A vibrant red coated her fingers.

“I’m not leaving her,” Claire said. She pulled on the girl’s arm, leading her to the front door.

“Not that one,” Hanna said. “Use the closet over there.” She pointed to the door next to the kitchen. A light from the other side was peeking through the frame. “That will lead us to another memory.”

They scurried to the closet as the man stood up. He lurched toward them with the bat in his hand. Claire opened the closet door, which did not lead to the inside of a closet. Instead, it led to a school cafeteria.

“Hurry, go through,” Claire said.

Hanna ran through and spun around, waiting for Claire.

“You too,” Claire said, looking at the girl.

Eileen stood where she was, staring straight ahead.

“What are you waiting for? Go!”

“She can’t,” Hanna said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. She can’t leave this memory.”

“But that man is going to…” She trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

The man was only a few steps away.

“Claire, we need to go now. You have to leave her. She’s not real.”

The bat swung into the door, inches from Claire’s head as she stepped across the threshold.

Hanna and Claire peered through the open door at the man standing behind the girl. One hand was on her shoulder, the other gripped the bat. His menacing eyes stared back at them, and a grin formed on his face.

Eileen grabbed the side of the door and slowly pushed it shut. The hinges squealed a torturous pitch. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a trail of snot dripped from her nose. The door closed. And then they were gone.