Lake

 

 

“You’re not supposed to be here until tomorrow,” says the woman who answers my knock. She crosses her arms, making her canary-yellow suit’s shoulder pads even more pronounced.

She looks to be in her late thirties. Sophie is—was—sixty-three, but Deborah explained that most Mentors choose to appear younger in the dreamspace.

“Sophie?” I confirm.

“I prefer that you call me Dr. Weiss.” The bite in her tone is anything but welcoming. “Oh, well. What’s done is done. Come on in.” The wisp of smoke from her cigarette follows her like a chemtrail. No-smoking rules must not apply in her dream world.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t informed we were scheduled to meet on a specific day.”

I’ve been conceptualizing our first meeting since I was accepted, placing Sophie in the role of a pseudo-grandmother. She’ll patiently teach me everything she knows, and I’ll patiently listen to her stories and keep her company, similar to my relationship with Grandma Bee. Not only have I somehow gotten off on the wrong foot, I need to reconsider our rapport. Sophie is closer to the age my mom would be today, if she were alive.

I blink away tears and search the room for a tissue. Is that a typewriter on the desk? Of course. According to Deborah, the Mentor is the one who creates our dreamspace, and they often select a favorite era. Given Sophie’s—I mean, Dr. Weiss’s—huge shoulder pads, bright make-up, and big hair, she’s placed us in the 1980s. I then notice the lab equipment’s knobs, dials, and rotary counters. Technology has significantly evolved since the eighties. Will we be able to accomplish what we need to with this antiquated equipment?

Sophie purses her fire-engine-red lips. “Someone needs to do something about the Placement Office.”

The Darwinians didn’t employ a placement office to recruit me. But more importantly, why isn’t Sophie acting thrilled? The procedure was a success! I’m having a conversation with someone who physically died last week. Her terminal illness did not end her critical work. With her guidance, it will continue through me. Understandably, this experience is more than a little overwhelming. I’ll overlook her odd reaction—because that’s what colleagues who will be sharing a brain for the rest of their lives do.

I earnestly say, “I am honored to be your research partner for life.”

“No need to be sarcastic. Working for me may feel like an eternity, but rest assured, your internship will only last four months.”

What is she talking about?

Sophie stubs out her cigarette in an ashtray filled with lipstick-stained butts. She heads over to a counter with a black, laminate surface and shakes her head at the thirty-six petri dishes lined up in perfect rows of six. “First, I discover the post-mortem brain tissue samples didn’t react to the octopus enzyme as I’d expected, and now I learn the University isn’t managing our lab assistants as they should. It’s enough to make me go back to teaching.”

My scalp starts tingling. “Sophie—I mean, Dr. Weiss, don’t you know who I am?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “They run so many of you through here, it’s hard to keep track of all your names.”

How can she not recognize me? Even though I’ve never met her, I’m quite aware she was behind the one-way glass during those grueling interviews. Maybe I appear different in the dreamspace, too. I look around but don’t see anything reflective to confirm or deny my theory. “I’m Lake Summers.”

I wait for the aha moment. Once she realizes her gaffe, I’ll assure her it’s an honest mistake. After all, the woman doesn’t have a body anymore. Who wouldn’t be out of sorts at first? I give her my best I’m-glad-you-chose-me smile as she scrutinizes my face. There’s not a flicker of recognition.

“I hope you won’t let writing your thesis interfere with your work here.” Sophie returns her attention to the petri dishes, looking as displeased with them as she’s been with me.

My stomach feels like I’m barreling down a rollercoaster. Except it’s not thrill-seeking fear running through me; it’s pure terror. She doesn’t remember who I am.

“Dr. Weiss, I’m your—”

I’m wrenched from my dream by someone shaking me, and not gently. I take in the body towering over me—too massive to be Deborah’s. The crack of light shining from under the door masks my intruder in shadow. Endorphins flush my brain and adrenaline flows to my heart. Within seconds, my heart rate is at its upper threshold.

A huge hand clamps over my mouth before I can scream. I violently shake my head, but he holds tight. There’s a click, and the harsh light distorts his face’s contours. Stryker’s near-black eyes laser into mine, and my panic multiplies when he doesn’t remove his hand. He leans in closer, and his breath rustles my hair.

“Don’t scream,” he whispers. He lifts his eyebrows questioningly.

I nod, at the ready to yell for help.

He studies me while lessening the pressure. “Please.”

I hold still and try to appear docile. The second he releases me, I roll to the other side of the bed and scramble to my feet. “That was totally inappropriate. Leave! Now!”

He puts his finger to his lips and jerks his head toward the bathroom. It’s the middle of the night, and after what he just pulled, he needs to have his cranium examined if he thinks I’m going in there with him. When I don’t comply, he strides over with a determined look, and I back away until my shoulder blades dig into the wall.

He leans down, hovering his lips over my ear. “I’m sorry I scared you, but they can’t know I’m here. I really need to talk to you. I’ve checked, and there are no bugs in the bathrooms.”

He’s not exactly building his case for me to trap myself in a tiny, windowless room with him. “You’re delusional.”

“Shhhhh!” He holds up his index finger, then heads to the other side of my room. He reaches up, removes the cover from the smoke detector, and points to a silver disc the size of a penny. From what I’ve seen in the movies, it appears to be exactly what I didn’t expect to find in my room: a bug. My insides twist tight. Stryker has been, implausibly, correct.

I can comprehend needing precautionary measures for situations like a medical emergency, but why wouldn’t Deborah have informed me?

Stryker gestures to the bathroom.

I warily follow him, and he closes the door behind us. I grab my hairbrush and hold it with the bristles out.

He eyes it. “Jeez, Lake. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I cross my arms, primarily to cover up the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. “What do you want?”

“I’m breaking us out tonight.”

“This isn’t a jail.” Then something occurs to me. “How did you get past your locked door?”

He points to the gaping hole in the ceiling. “Air ducts. Lake, I’m trying to save your life here.” He entwines his fingers and cups his hands by my right knee. “I’ll give you a boost.”

Learning that I’m being bugged is unnerving, but accepting Stryker’s story that they will literally kill me if I fail is simply insane. “Everything you believe about the Darwinians is speculative. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I found proof while snooping around in one of the labs.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “There was a stack of files on the desk, and they were all numbered. The one labeled Candidate #23 is yours. My file is Candidate #18.”

“So, there were others before us. Not everyone has the ability to merge.”

“The last entry for Candidate #22 said she was terminated.” He holds my eyes.

“Which would be the end result if she couldn’t merge. They erased her memories about her time here, and she returned home to resume her life.”

“Keep believing that if it makes you feel better, but I’m not sticking around to find out which of us is right. For your sake, I hope you figure out how to merge before it’s too late.”

I’d been so distracted with Stryker’s unorthodox appearance, I haven’t acknowledged my accomplishment. “I did it! I merged tonight. I was interacting with Sophie when you woke me.” Not the time to get into how she mistook me for her new lab assistant. It was our first time, and Stryker interrupted us.

He doesn’t quite meet my eyes. “Great. I hope it all works out for you. And here’s a piece of advice: don’t tell them you know about the bugs.” He reaches for the bathroom’s doorknob.

“Wait!” I grab his wrist. “Sophie wasn’t expecting me until tomorrow. It could be the same with your Mentor. He’s not connecting with you because it hasn’t been the designated time.”

“I’ve been trying to merge with Bjorn for nineteen nights. I think it’s safe to say he’s not showing.”

“If I can do this, so can you.”

Stryker looks like he’s considering it, until his face fills with disdain. “I don’t need your pedestrian motivational speeches.”

It’s his reaction that confirms my suspicion. He’s not angry at me; he’s angry at himself. He’s probably never failed at anything, and he’s using his unfounded fear to justify his decision to give up.

“Before you go, answer this. Are you certain Bjorn is dead?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t leave.

“You need to stop focusing the blame on the Darwinians and start believing Bjorn’s consciousness has been successfully transferred.”

“I tried. It didn’t work.” He shrugs as if the problem is out of his hands, but his eyes betray him. He wants this so badly.

“Trying isn’t good enough. You have to believe.” I reach up and place my hands on his shoulders. “You. Can. Do. This. And yes, that is a motivational speech, because you need to hear it.”

His eyes meet mine. “If I don’t merge tonight, I’m bolting.”

“Fair enough.” I self-consciously let go of his very broad shoulders.

It’s not until after he hoists himself into the air duct that a twinge of doubt appears. I am correct about being allowed to return home, aren’t I?