10: THE BUST

THE DOOR LED to the inside of an apartment complex. The room they were in was filthy. Garbage covered the floor and the carpet was stained with splotches of gray and brown. The air was filled with a haze of dust, and there was an unpleasant stench of rotten milk.

Eileen was lying on a couch with a cigarette wedged between two of her fingers. This time, she was not a little girl. She sucked in a lungful of smoke and blew it toward the ceiling. She did not bother using an ashtray. Instead, she let the end of the cigarette burn off and fall to the floor.

A CD player sat on the table beside her playing Elvis Presley’s “Love Me Tender.” His soothing voice filled the silence with a calm and comforting melody. Eileen tapped her feet to the rhythm of the accompanying guitar, mouthing the words as Elvis sang.

“I love this song,” Hanna said. “It reminds me of my father.”

Eileen twisted around to see the two of them standing behind her. She swung her feet off the end of the couch to face them. “Hey there. How’s it going?” She coughed into her hand a few times, loosening the phlegm in her throat. “I didn’t see you there.”

Claire stepped forward to get a closer look at her face. “Are you…”

“I don’t think so,” Hanna said. “I think she’s just another memory. Not the real thing.”

Claire shrugged. “I guess the real Eileen wouldn’t be this friendly.”

Hanna glanced out the window, seeing nothing but dense fog. “She’s out there somewhere.”

“What are the two of you going on about?” Eileen asked, pressing the end of her cigarette into a coaster. “You know what? That’s none of my business. Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable. My door is always open for a fellow woman. We’ve got to stick together, you know.”

Claire sat in a reclining chair. “I believe the same thing. I’m always surrounded by men at work.”

“I feel you, sister. I’m a prostitute. It’s my job to be around men. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all of my years of working, it’s that you have to assert yourself, or else they just don’t take you seriously.”

Claire nodded. “I can oddly relate to that. Who knew prostitutes and SCB agents could have something in common?”

Hanna stood beside Claire. “This is strange.”

“What’s strange?” Claire asked.

“This memory. Why are we here? What’s so important about this memory?”

“I have plenty of mundane memories,” Claire said.

“Right, but we have no control over these memories. We should be seeing impactful memories, not mundane ones. The first two followed that pattern. Her abusive father and her attempted suicide. Those are both life changing moments. But this.” She gestured to Eileen, who had slumped back into the couch. “This is just her hanging out in her apartment.”

The song on the CD player ended. There was a short gap of silence, and then “Love Me Tender” started from the beginning again.

“I just love this song,” Eileen said. “I could listen to it all day long.”

“This is a good opportunity,” Claire said to Hanna. “She seems like she might be willing to cooperate. Maybe we can ask her a few questions. Get some information about the case.”

Hanna observed Eileen’s friendly grin. Maybe Claire was right. She sat down on a wooden chair across from Claire. “Eileen. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

Eileen shrugged. “Sure, why not? People don’t usually care about the prostitute. It kind of makes me feel important. Like I’m a big Hollywood movie star, and you’ve come to ask about my next blockbuster hit.”

Hanna recalled Eileen’s rant about Hollywood conspiracies and felt an urge to avoid the topic. “What can you tell us about Anthony Higgs?”

“Tony? He’s a good guy. Great customer. Has a bit of a mouth on him, but he pays, and that’s what matters.”

Hanna turned to Claire. “That’s what she told me when I spoke with her alone. As long as they pay her, she’s happy.”

“That’s right,” Eileen said, pulling a box of cigarettes from her pocket and choosing another to smoke. “I’ll put up with a lot of crap if they’re willing to cough up the dough.”

She reached for the lighter on the table, but Hanna grabbed it instead. “Please, let me.” Hanna flipped up the cover and struck the flint wheel.

“Thanks, hun,” Eileen said, leaning forward with the cigarette between her lips. She lined up the tip with the dancing flame and took a deep breath inward. The end of the cigarette glowed with red embers. She sealed her lips shut and let the smoke escape through her nostrils. “Tony whines about his wife all the time. It sounds like he can’t stand to be around her. I guess that’s why he comes to see me.”

Elvis’s song came to an end again. There was another short gap of silence before the player looped back to start the song from the beginning.

Eileen smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this song.”

“What about Cameron Shultz and Tucker Wright?” Claire asked.

“Cam and Tucker are good guys. Tucker yaps just like Tony, but Cam is quieter. I think they’re both married too. Or maybe one of them is divorced? I can’t remember. I do know they have kids. All three of them. I’ve seen the pictures from their wallets.”

Claire shifted forward in her seat. “How do you feel about their deaths?”

Eileen tilted her head to the side. “Deaths? What are you talking about?”

“The murders. Tucker was murdered two weeks ago. Cameron and Tony the week before that.”

Eileen shook her head. “No, that’s impossible. I saw Tucker three days ago. And Tony came by last weekend. They were fine.”

“This is a memory,” Hanna said to Claire. “For all we know, it could be a year old. In her world, the murders haven’t happened yet.”

“Murders aren’t very common around here,” Eileen said. “It might not look like it, but this is actually a pretty safe neighborhood. Very little crime, other than, you know, what I do. But I don’t hurt nobody. Just have sex for money. Is that really so bad?”

“No gangs or dealers in the area?” Claire asked.

“Yeah, there are some dealers, but I don’t consider that a crime. They’re businessmen. They recognized a demand in the market, and they filled it. What’s criminal about that?”

Instead of arguing, Claire just nodded.

“In terms of gangs, sure, they’re around, but they’ll leave you alone unless you piss them off. I stay out of their way, so we’re all good. The worst thing that happens around here is petty theft. It happened just last week, actually. I must have left my car unlocked because someone snatched my hairbrush. No biggie. I bought a brand new one for a buck. Hell of a deal.”

“So, Tony, Cameron, and Tucker are all safe and healthy?”

“As far as I know, they’re as healthy as hornets.” She smacked her lips together. “I don’t know about you, but all of this chit chat is making me thirsty. Do you want anything while I’m up? I’ve got beer and tap water, but I suggest beer. You can’t trust the tap water. The government dumps all sorts of chemicals into the pipes.”

Hanna shook her head. “We’re fine, thank you.”

“Suit yourselves,” Eileen said, getting up from the couch. “Holler out if you change your mind. I’m not getting up twice.” She walked past them and into the kitchen.

“I don’t think we’re going to learn much from her,” Hanna said. “She’s just repeating everything she told me earlier. She doesn’t even know about the murders.”

Claire glanced around the room. “I don’t know. She might be playing dumb. I told her I was SCB. We both know how she feels about the SCB.”

Masked by Elvis’s voice, they heard the muffled sound of car doors shutting outside.

“It still doesn’t make sense to me,” Hanna said. “Why is this memory so close to the surface? It just seems like a normal day.”

Claire stood up and walked to the window, pushing aside the curtain to peek outside. Everything was shrouded in a nebulous mist. “I can’t see a damn thing out there.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to see anything. She’s not out there. It’s not part of the memory.”

Claire glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. “Wait a minute. Is this the day that we…” She trailed off, staring at Hanna.

They could hear shuffling feet outside.

“What is it?’ Hanna asked. “What’s wrong?”

Eileen returned with a can of beer in her hand. “What are you all standing for? Sit down. Relax.”

Elvis came to the end of his song, and the room fell into silence. They all stood still, waiting for the song to repeat. No speaking. Just the faint sound of the disk spinning in the player.

Finally, “Love Me Tender” played, and as it did, the door burst open. A squad of men stormed into the room, all armed with automatic rifles, equipped with helmets and armor. They charged forward and pointed their weapons at Eileen.

“Get down on the ground!” the squad leader yelled. “Do it now!”

Eileen dropped her unopened beer. The can hit the floor and sprayed a stream of fizz against the wall. She threw up her hands as high as she could. Her eyes shot wide open, shifting back and forth between all of the guns pointed at her.

“I said get down,” he yelled again. “Or we will shoot!”

She obeyed his command, lowering down with her hands still raised. Once she was on her knees, the squad moved in and pushed her onto her stomach.

The squad leader took out a pair of handcuffs and locked them around her wrists. “Don’t resist.”

“I’m not resisting,” Eileen said. Her voice was muffled against the floor. “What the hell is going on?”

He pulled her back up to her knees. “Is there anyone else in the apartment?”

“No, goddamn it. Will you tell me what’s going on?”

Howard walked through the front door, followed by Lenny and Arthur. They all wore bulletproof vests, aiming their sidearms forward. When Howard saw Eileen was restrained, he holstered his weapon.

“Eileen Warner, you are under arrest for the murder of Anthony Higgs, Cameron Shultz, and Tucker Wright. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

“What are you talking about?” Eileen asked. “I didn’t murder anyone.”

“Answer the question, Ms. Warner. Do you understand these rights?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“With these rights in mind, is there anything you would like to say?”

“Not a chance.”

Howard nodded. “Very well. Get her out of here.”

The squad guided Eileen out of the building, led by Arthur and Lenny.

Howard paced around the apartment, studying her home. The CD player reached the end of its song and looped back again, opening with the calm strum of a guitar. Before Elvis’s voice could start, Howard pressed one of the buttons. The song stopped, and “Jailhouse Rock” played.

“That’s more like it,” he said. “I love The King, but that song was just too damn slow.” He bobbed his head from side to side and strutted out of the room, snapping his fingers to the new tempo.

Claire turned to Hanna. “If it wasn’t obvious, this is the night we took her into custody.”

“Yeah,” Hanna said. “I picked up on that. Were you there that night?”

“No. I was out sick. Had a nasty fever.”

Hanna walked up to the CD player to turn it off. “It’s weird. It’s the night you took her in, but she didn’t seem to know about the murders at all.”

“It could be an act. I wouldn’t expect her to confess.”

Hanna stared at the can of beer on the floor, which had stopped spraying and was now soaking into the carpet. “I guess not. But still, it was odd.”

A spotlight from nowhere illuminated the front door.

“I assume that’s where we go next?” Claire asked. “That will lead us to the next memory?”

“Correct. But I’m starting to wonder if there’s a better way. We’re not getting any closer to finding what we need.”

“What other option do we have?”

Hanna watched the spotlight flicker. “We could try her dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. There will be definitive proof there.”

“Her truth center? Do you know how to get us there?”

“Maybe. I’ve never done it before, but in theory, it should be similar to accessing her memories. It doesn’t hurt to try. We can’t just roam through memories all day without any control over them.”

“Okay,” Claire said, stepping aside. “Give it a shot.”

Hanna stared at the spotlight. The flickering became more uniform.

On. Off. On. Off.

Like someone flipping a switch in a deliberate pattern. The rate of the flicker increased, growing more rapid with every cycle.

On. Off. On. Off.

Other lights in the room flashed, some matching the pace of the spotlight, others falling out of phase. They all grew with intensity, transitioning into a strobe light effect.

On. Off. On. Off.

The entire room fell into a dizzying swirl of disorientation with bursts of light invading from all sides. It was overstimulating. Overpowering.

And then all of the bulbs blew out, filling the room with darkness. The spotlight on the door returned, but now it was red, painting the entire room red with it.

Claire glanced around the apartment, soaking in the new sinister atmosphere. “Does that mean it worked?”

Hanna approached the door, reaching out to touch the wooden surface. “I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve tried to access the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex without the host. I don’t know how the mind reacts.”

“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” Claire said. She walked into the red spotlight and pulled open the door.

Hanna followed with caution. The color change raised her curiosity. Was red good or bad? Or did it even matter at all? The fact that she did not know the answer bothered her.