Part 1
I came awake slowly, in fits and starts. I was first aware of tubes pushing and pressing everywhere. They were thrust down my throat, pressing against my nostrils, and even, well, you know, to drain my bladder. I was just accepting that something pretty bad must have happened to me when I felt darkness beckoning me. I tried to stave off unconsciousness, wanting to remember what had happened, where I was, how I'd gotten here, but I didn't have the energy.
The next time I managed to open my eyes, and blink the white walls and machines with flashing lights into focus. I heard the rhythmic whooshing of the respirator that forced air into my lungs, the steady beeps from the heart monitor recording every beat. I smelled the unmistakable hospital scent of disinfectants and medications and felt the cold IV needle in the back of my hand and the painful pressure of the extra fluids it fed up the vein in my left arm. I still couldn't remember anything except a vague sensation of intense pain; a pain that had seemed to strike every nerve ending in my body at once. It was so overwhelming that just the memory of it had me welcoming the safety of dark oblivion.
I don't know how many times the cycle repeated itself. Wake up, focus momentarily on my surroundings, try to figure out what was happening, and then slip back into the void. Eventually, however, I regained consciousness with a clear mind.
It wasn't as hard to open my eyes this time and my thoughts finally flowed in a coherent pattern. As I let my eyes wander aimlessly I tried again to remember what had brought me to this room. I still remembered the agony---like being split apart cell by cell and then jammed back together in a rush. At least now the memory was more distant, like the memory of labor pains in childbirth. I knew that it had hurt, but I no longer felt the echoes of agony vibrating through my body.
Had I been struck by lightning? Touched a live wire? I didn't think I'd been shot or in a car accident or anything like that because I was pretty sure that if I had one part or another of my body would hurt worse than the rest. Actually, right now I didn't feel too bad at all. Minor aches and pains in my chest, where the IV entered my hand, where the tube ran down my throat, but nothing I couldn't handle.
All of which left me with the same questions. What had happened? How long had I been here? Why weren't my children, at least, here to check on me?
"She's awake!" The voice that interrupted my reverie was young, male, and full of astonishment.
I hadn't heard them enter and the tubes didn't give me the freedom to turn my head and look at them. At least someone had come, though, maybe now I could get some answers about my condition!
"She's opened her eyes before, Johnson." An older male voice corrected sternly. "It doesn't mean she's aware of us."
The two men came to stand next to my bed, the younger with dark hair, an earnest expression, and amazingly blue eyes. They were almost familiar, in a foggy sort of way. I wondered if I'd seen them during my earlier broken moments of consciousness.
The older man bothered me. His expression was neutral to the point of being blank. Only his pale green eyes showed any emotion at all and that was the type of arrogant impatience that I truly hated in doctors. His hair was white and the lines on his face attested to his years of experience, but I already disliked him.
That's okay. I told myself. You're awake now. You'll be out of this place in no time at all and then you'll never see the man again.
"Look, Sir, she's watching us!" Johnson crowed. His eyes were alight with triumph, although I couldn't imagine why. What had they expected? Was I supposed to be blind?
"Doesn't mean a thing." The older man insisted. "She couldn't possibly have any higher mental functions at this point; she's just reacting to random electrical discharges from the brain stem."
No mental functions? My brows drew together thoughtfully. I still couldn't remember just what had happened to me but I had a gut feeling that I hadn't injured my head. Just why would they expect me to be, in essence, a vegetable?
Both men wore the white lab jackets that were to be expected in a hospital, but I was starting to realize that I wasn't in an ordinary hospital. It was virtually silent in the place, except for my life support machines. There were no sounds of family and visitors, no nurses bustling in and out, no orderlies or even housekeepers. I noticed that the younger man was studying me intently and I frowned slightly at him.
"Maybe it isn't just reflexive." Johnson suggested. "What if the advanced state of her brain development has given her a jump start on cognizance? Sir, I could swear that she's focused on us and no infant a month old could focus that far."
Infant? Now I was starting to feel like I was in the middle of an X- Files episode. What on earth were they talking about? Any idiot could tell I'm a fully-grown woman! What did infant behavior have to do with me? They made it sound like I'd been born last week, or month, as the case may be.
"Nonsense. Her visual acuity is due do the development of her eyes, not her brain." The older man quashed the younger firmly. He glared at me fiercely, as if I was responsible for the fact that his protégé was questioning his judgment.
My frown deepened. Surely he could see that I was fully aware, so why would he ignore it? Why would it irritate him that I could think and reason? I was beginning to have paranoid suspicion that something very strange was going on...
"Dr. Walsh, I'm sure she is aware." The younger man insisted. "At east let me try to work with her. Think of how much better our results will be if she can actually interact with him. Not to mention how much easier delivery will be if she's able to exercise before the birth."
BIRTH? What the hell were they talking about? I exercised every ounce of my willpower and managed to jerk my head up a few inches before it flopped back down. No, my stomach was as flat as I had expected it to be. In fact it was considerably flatter than I could ever remember it having been. I struggled with the respirator, needing to pant from the exertion of lifting my head but the stupid machine kept the same steady rhythm.
"Damn! She's getting excited. Nurse! 5 c.c.s of Demerol." Dr. Walshordered.
I was convinced that he wanted me sedated more to make it easier to ignore the intelligence in my eyes, than for my health. I wished that the tube wasn't down my throat so that I could protest but I was beginning to suspect that I wouldn't have been heeded even if I could have spoken. I was almost positive that I heard anxiety in Walsh's voice, that my actions, my undoubted awareness, frightened him in someway. My conviction that I wasn't in a normal hospital intensified even more as I was dragged down into another period of unconsciousness by the sedative. I heard Johnson begging Walsh to let me try to breath off of the respirator the next time I was conscious but nothingness claimed me before I heard the answer.
The next time I woke up I had a throbbing headache that had been brought on by too much sleep, or by a reaction to the Demerol. I was going to stay awake longer this time, I decided, resentful of that earlier drugging, and I wanted to start moving, to begin to rebuild my wasted muscles.
I started by slowly lifting my head up from the pillow. It felt like a concrete block! I could move it from side to side, as far as the tubes let me move, without a problem, but up and down were nearly impossible. Okay, so my neck muscles needed work, what else? I commanded my right arm to lift. It took a moment of intense concentration before it finally rose into the air, shaking and trembling with the effort it took. I was amazed at how thin I'd become--almost skeletal, in fact.
What had happened to me? Why couldn't I remember? I started to feel like broken record--"what happened" being the refrain that my mind was stuck on.
My arm was no more than three inches off of the mattress before I had to lower it again. I forced myself to lower it slowly instead of letting it flop down like it wanted to. It was obvious, I told myself as I repeated the exercise on my left arm, that I'd been unconscious for a long time. I had absolutely no muscle tone at all. If I was pregnant I'd have to---
If I was pregnant...
The memory of that comment about "the birth" suddenly shot into my mind. If I was pregnant there'd be hell to pay, of that much I was sure. I knew that I'd lived like a nun since my divorce 15 years ago. Once again paranoia reared its ugly head. Was I in some secret government research facility? Was I part of some bizarre experiment?
Logic tried to intervene. Why would the government want me for a research subject? I wasn't a member of the military and there wasn't anything all that special about me. Of course I was something of a loner, so I might not be missed-----at least, not as much as someone else-----but why would they want me in the first place? And what was that nonsense about pregnancy? Would the government need to kidnap someone to have babies? I knew I was missing some important pieces of information and I resolved that I'd find them out this time before anyone drugged me again.
In the meantime, I needed to get myself in shape. Wherever I was and whatever these people wanted they were going to find that I wasn't the brainless fool they'd been expecting me to be. I'd lived with having my every move dictated to me long enough as a child and then as a wife. I hadn't spent the past 15 years forging my own life for nothing. No one was going to take over again!
I had discovered I couldn't do more with my legs that raise my knees into the air before the younger man, Johnson, reentered the room with a nurse.
I wondered if she was the same nurse who had given me the Demerol. I hadn't seen her, that first time, so I had no way of knowing, but I knew I didn't like what I was seeing now. She wore a white dress and shoes that were practically a parody of the uniform nurses wore 20 years ago. I wondered where her starched white cap was. Her short black hair was liberally streaked with gray, and her face frozen with lines of arrogance and pettiness. Come to think of it, her expression reminded me of that Walsh guy's. I didn't really think she was all that old, maybe in her early 40's, but the pinched look on her face aged her drastically.
She glared at my raised knees, apparently angered that I had taken the initiative in my recovery. Slowly, I lowered my legs again, glaring back at her as best I could through the tangle of tubes obscuring my
vision. I was really getting tired of people wanting me to be mindless!"---agreed to let me try her off of the respirator." Johnson was saying as they approached me. He was oblivious to our optical duel, being far too focused on me as a hypothetical challenge to notice me as a living human being. "If she can manage that then he might let me try to train her to perform basic daily activities."
"She may be thirty pounds underweight, but she's still as large as an adult woman. Good luck in teaching her to act like one. If you're lucky she's got the neural patterns of an infant. Most likely she's a vegetable." The nurse scoffed, her eyes locked on mine while she spoke as if she were trying to impress some message on me, but I didn't understand it.
I wondered, briefly, why she'd taken me in such dislike. She knew I could think---we'd just been exchanging glares. There was no way she hadn't understood our silent exchange. What was it with these people anyway?
"Hello, dear." Johnson crooned, lowering his face close to mine. He used the same high, singsong tones that I had used with my children when they were infants. I was tempted to smack him upside the head and see if anything rattled. Fortunately for him, I didn't have the strength and I was far more interested in having the tube out of my throat so I could get to the bottom of things. Deep inside, where I carefully didn't look, a knot of fear had started to form.
"We're going to take this tube out of your throat. Just try to relax and it'll be much easier." Behind him the nurse rolled her eyes in disgust, whether at his kindness or at his utter density in not realizing that I understood everything happening around me, I couldn't tell.
Relax my ass! I thought with my own element of disgust. This Johnson fellow seemed nice but not terribly bright. Just what did the government see in him? Then again, my son had often seemed downright stupid because he was so smart he frequently missed what was happening right under his nose while he worked out a particularly intriguing problem. Which would Johnson turn out to be, bright, and removed from the ordinary world, or was he simply an idiot?
Regardless of his intelligence or lack thereof I had no intention of simply relaxing while he pulled that tube out of my throat. I'd watched ER and Diagnosis Murder. I knew how you removed an intubation tube. I took a deep breath as he reached for the mouthpiece. As soon as he started to pull I exhaled with all of my might. As I choked and gagged and tried to inhale I decided that this was most likely the reason people chose the "Do Not Resuscitate" option. I certainly never wanted to experience the thing again.
"Did you see that, Lisa?" Johnson questioned with confusion. "She helped like a pro. I'm sure there's far more intelligence than even I suspected."
No kidding, Sherlock! I thought with what would have been withering sarcasm if it had actually been spoken. I saw the same sentiment in Lisa's eyes and we shared a short moment of female bonding before her cold mask slammed back into place.
I took a deep breath, noting that my chest ached and my throat was sore, as if the tube had scraped it on the way out, and tried to introduce myself, but I discovered I couldn't make a sound! Horror washed over me. Had the tube paralyzed my vocal chords? I dragged my right hand up to my throat and tried again. I couldn't detect even the smallest vibration but I could feel a narrow line of too smooth skin. A scar? How had that happened?
"She's trying to speak!" Johnson exclaimed excitedly.
"That's what it looks like." Lisa agreed coolly. "Why isn't there any noise? Are the vocal chords damaged?"
In answer Johnson went to a cabinet by my door and pulled out an instrument that looked distressingly like the intubation tube. My dismay must have shown on my face because he took a moment to speak to me, still treating me like a small child.
"It's okay, honey." He told me soothingly. "It won't by anywhere near as bad as the tube. I just want to get a good look down your throat. Just stay relaxed for me, okay?"
I shook my head from side to side and tried to point out the mark I knew was on my neck. Johnson's brows bunched as he tried to interpret my actions. Finally, he noticed the fluttering of my fingers on my neck and bent down to look more closely.
"I don't believe this." Johnson gasped. "There's a healed incision on her neck directly over the larynx. How on earth did that happen?"
"I ordered the vocal chords severed shortly after she was retrieved from the lab and before the pneumonia weakened her to the point that we called you in on the case." A raspy voice sounded from the door; it was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it. Johnson jumped and paled dramatically as he whirled to face the new person who had continued with his explanation.
"She moaned continuously after her removal from the chamber, unnerving those asinine technicians so much that they began making stupid errors. No vocal chords, no noise." He sounded quite pleased with himself.
Suddenly what he said penetrated efforts to place his voice. He'd had my vocal chords cut? No way! Not even the military could have gotten away with something that unwarranted, especially not just because I made a sound that bothered technicians. Who was this monster? My need to identify him took on a new urgency as a truly frightening suspicion began to gel in my mind.
Is this really happening to me? Or am I lying in a coma right now? Worse yet, am I strapped to a bed in a padded room somewhere? This has passed beyond weird right into melodrama! I concluded finally turning my head to catch a glimpse of the newcomer and promptly received the shock of my life.
The man I saw was older than Dr. Walsh, almost completely bald, with the clear tubes of an oxygen tank draped across his face. He didn't look like a monster and there was nothing obvious about his expression that would explain why he terrified me. After all, it wasn't as if he were glaring at me, like Dr. Walsh and Nurse Lisa had, and he didn't look Satan himself. On the other hand, he did look like to Dr. William Rains, one of my favorite villains from one of my favorite television programs. (And if you don't know which one then I'm certainly not going to tell you!)
How would you react to seeing a fictional character staring down on your hospital bed? Especially if you were convinced that you were nowhere near Hollywood? Me, I did what any normal person would have done. I fainted.
It wasn't the speedy process they showed on television.
I saw the man, as he looked down on me curiously, registered who he looked like, and felt suddenly like I'd been encased in a block of ice. I saw his mouth moving but I couldn't hear anything over the noise in my ears. I kept staring, straining to find a reasonable explanation for his presence with the small portion of my brain that was still functioning, as a black fog crept from the edges of my field of vision inward. It was a relief when I finally fainted. My last thought, as I embraced the darkness, was the unformed hope that life would make sense again when I woke up.
I didn't get to stay in the comfortable void long. A pungent odor, accompanied by an overpowering stinging in my nostrils and sinuses jerked me back into wakefulness. My eyes flew open, my hand flapping uselessly at the arm that held the broken vial aromatic ammonia, AKA smelling salts, under my nose, but the first face I saw was that of the Dr. Rains doppelganger.
I'd heard of the term, "my blood ran cold", but this was the first time I'd felt it. The hand waved under my nose again as the blood drained from my face, preventing a second faint. The, infinitesimally small, part of my mind that still cared about such trivialities was irritated by that action.
By God if I wanted, no needed, to faint who was this asshole to stop it? Insanity puts a strain on my normal, polite personality.
Since unconsciousness appeared to be out of the question I did the next best thing. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to block out every sensation----touch, sight, smell, all of it, and told myself it was time to wake up now.
The sensations refused to fade, and a stinging slap on my face brought my eyes back open. Rains stood over me, lowering his hand.
OK, I thought, my delusion wants me to have my eyes open. I can handle that.
Wake up, Rose! I interrupted myself desperately. It doesn't matter whatever made you lose your grip on reality, nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, in reality could be bad enough to make this hallucination seem better.
I was confident that nobody, not even a lunatic, would want to come face to face with Rains.
"You aren't real." I tried to say, making Rains smile.
"I'm more real that you are, girl." He wheezed cheerfully, reading my lips without effort.
Great, now my delusions are telling me that I'm the one that isn't real, I thought miserably. Rains' battered visage blocked out everything else as he leaned in closely to inspect my face with meticulous attention, causing me to shrink back into my pillows defensively. Visions of electroshock equipment and an adorable blond boy with big blue eyes danced through my mind in an instant, reminding me why I didn’t want to be in this particular fantasy.
"Have you been talking about me, Dr. Johnson? Nurse Lisa? She appears to be quite afraid of me." I felt a spark of anger at the undercurrent of pleasure in his voice, before taking refuge again in the thought that I was insane and none of this was real.
"So, our little Eve understands us and obviously knows how to speak. It would appear that Walsh's success wasn't in accelerated growth at all." Rains mused thoughtfully. "Get him in here. This opens up intriguing possibilities."
Eve? I questioned with dreamy detachment that wasn't a prelude to a faint but it was almost as good.
If this were real I'd find that name pretty ominous, I admitted to myself, but a comfortable cushion of numbness surrounded me now and I was able to ignore the implications. Rains noticed my state of shock and responded by pinching me, forcing the calmness to retreat.
"That's enough, girl!" He demanded impatiently. "You can faint later, right now there are questions that need answering."
Damn! That pinch had hurt! I thought sullenly, rubbing my arm gently.
The feel of pain made the situation seem more real and less a hallucination. Didn't delusional people imagine nice realities? Why would I put myself in hell? I was almost certain, that I shouldn't be able to actually feel pain while I was dreaming, which, of course, I was.
"Mr. Rains," Johnson spoke up deferentially. "Could the severing be reversed? Imagine what we could learn from her if she could speak. There's so much we need to know about her to figure out what has happened!" Well he'd certainly adapted to my cognizance quickly, after it had been pointed out to him, of course.
"No." Rains decided instantly. "All we need from her is a functioning uterus and the correct genetic material." I swallowed against sudden nausea, at the term "functioning uterus". If I'd wanted to be a surrogate mother I'd have done it long ago and gotten paid for it.
I couldn't decide which option was worse, that I was insane or that I really was in Never Never Land. Either way it seemed that I was in deep trouble.
"I imagine she knows how to write legibly, don't you?" He continued, fixing a reptilian stare on me. I shook my head frantically in desperate denial, not of my literacy, but of the entire situation. Why couldn't I wake up?
Rains gave a dry laugh, seeming to understand my confusion and fear better than I did myself. When I thought about it, it seemed reasonable. He delighted in creating confusion and fear, so who better to understand it?
"I see that this has been something of a shock for you, dear." His papery hand patted mine comfortingly. "I understand. After all, it's been a bit of a shock to us as well." He understated with a parody of encouragement that grated on my ragged nerves.
"So I'll give you the rest of today to adjust to your situation before we explore this further. But I would suggest that you adjust quickly, girl." He continued with a bland disinterest that was more frightening than an open threat would have been. "I am intrigued with the notion that you might actively assist me, but I have to time for weak fools who cannot adapt to reality, understand?"
Reality? I thought despairingly---this can’t be reality! Still I understood that he'd ordered my vocal chords cut because the sounds I made while insensible interfered with productivity. I understood that I didn't really want to know just what he would do to me if I displeased him further. Maybe this was a delusion, but until I didn’t feel pain when someone slapped me, I was going to have to behave as though it was real. It didn't matter if a person named Rains made it happen or if it was the product of my unhinged mind, I don't like pain.
Rains had moved away from my side while I was coming to that conclusion, much to my relief, and was deep into his questioning of Dr. Walsh, who'd answered his summons at last. It was only when I heard the fright in Walsh's voice that I began to listen to what was being said.
"---no way she's an accelerated growth clone." I heard Rains declare firmly. "What, precisely, happened? I want to know moment by moment."
"I-I don't know." Dr. Walsh admitted apprehensively. I didn't blame him for being afraid. Rains had terrified me the moment I realized who he was and I still wasn't even convinced he was really there!
"The only thing that happened differently was the power surge we received from the explosion on SL-19. But I don't see how that could have altered my experiment."
His words roused cloudy memories in my mind. The storm---lightning, right on top of the house---was the transformer hit? I wondered, trying to clear the fuzzy images. All I could bring up was a rainbow of colors and the pain. In my rapidly tiring state just the memory of it made me ache all over. I dragged myself back to the present, blocking out the recollection as best I could. Maybe, I speculated, I died when that transformer blew. Maybe this was my punishment for my many sins---although it didn't really fit in to my religious philosophy. At this point it was easier to believe I was in hell than it was to believe that I was delusional.
"It would appear that we have a mystery on our hands." Rains' scratchy voice snaked its way through my reflections. "At least we now know why you haven't been able to repeat your only success. You'll report to SL- 19 and debrief with Professor Allen." Rains dismissed Walsh with a casual wave of his hand.
"You, Johnson." He gestured the younger man over. "Make sure to get fingerprints, retinal patterns and DNA. I want to know she has no record, no people to come looking for her. If she is what I suspect then we may have uncovered an unlimited source of risk-free test subjects."
Ice flowed through my veins at the satisfaction in his voice, my cursedly vivid imagination bringing up the picture of assembly line rows of faceless people suffering unknown agonies at Rains' hands.
"I also want to know if she's got the genetic structure we aimed for. If everything is as expected we'll proceed to stage three. In the meantime---get her a physical therapist, just in case. Even if the genetics are wrong we could always use her for the Gemini project. One way or the other we want our little girl to be up and about, don't we, dear?" Rains brushed a knuckle across my cheek in a travesty of affection that had me flinching back before I even knew what I meant to do.
He chuckled cheerfully as he dragged his tank away to return to God only knew what atrocity.
I was thankful for the mind dulling exhaustion that swept over me the moment Rains had exited and my adrenaline levels subsided. I absently noted that Johnson had already started collecting the requested samples, but was unable to muster the strength to care. Instead, I prayed, holding complete oblivion for a few extra moments, that I would awaken in my reality. I liked watching the show but I certainly didn't want to be a part of it!
"C'mon, Eve." A gentle slapping on my cheeks brought me around. The gentle consideration fooled me---I didn't realize at first that the person rousing me had used the wrong name.
"Time to wake up-your therapist is here."
This time I recognized Johnson's kind voice and my heart sank as I realized I was still trapped in the nightmare. I'd clutched the hope that I'd regain consciousness in a normal hospital, even if it was a
psych ward, with so much energy that I'd almost convinced myself I was back to reality. The only positive that I could take from this awakening was that I was already feeling stronger, that my mind was clearer, but then I'd always been a fast healer."She won't be able to move from the bed for a while." The therapist explained to Johnson, as she moved my arms and legs to assess my muscle tone---what there was of it. Her voice and manner were cold and forbidding, just like everyone else I'd seen so far, except Johnson. I wondered if a nasty attitude was a qualification listed in the employment ads for the Centre.
"By this time next week I expect I'll be able to move her to the pool." She continued, beginning to flex my arms and legs as she spoke. "I'll have her on her feet within the month but it will be at least three months before she reaches optimum muscle tone."
I kept my face impassive. I hated being spoken of as if I weren't present, and I loathed having my future decided without so much as a by your leave, but the Rains incident had unnerved me. I wasn't about to make waves until I had a handle on my situation. Besides, I suspected that the new player in my life would have enjoyed any excuse to make my life more miserable. She didn't strike me as the tender, nurturing
type.I was soaked with sweat an hour later when she left. I'd never suspected that moving my arms and legs and head could be so difficult! But, then, I’d never spent more than 48 hours in a hospital before either.
Johnson took over as soon as the door closed behind the therapist. He’d apparently decided to give me the nurturing the others around me weren’t interested in. Or maybe he just felt responsible for relieving some of the discomfort this situation gave me. I’d noticed him watching me intently during the session, maybe he’d seen some of the dirty looks I’d been giving the woman when her back was turned.
"Lisa, help me get this catheter out." He ordered the nurse briskly. As soon as that tube had been removed and the IV needle withdrawn, Johnson lifted me gently out of the bed and deposited me in a nearby wheelchair. I really hadn’t suspected that he’d have the strength to lift me, underweight or not!
"Change her bedding." He commanded the nurse, wheeling me to a door that I had earlier surmised led to the bathroom. I hoped I was right. I needed a hot bath, not just because the workout had left me sweaty, but also because this whole situation made me feel vaguely unclean. I was being treated like a prize cow and it gnawed at my self-esteem.
"Feel better now?" Johnson whispered as he toweled my limp body dry. He wasn't experienced at nursing. He'd lost his grip on me several times during the bath and I knew I was going to have several spectacular bruises by the time the physical therapist returned the next day. He meant well, though, and I was pathetically grateful for his kindness.
I realized, on one level, that I should be feeling embarrassed by my nakedness, but it was impossible to muster any modesty. How could I when there was no way I could believe he looked at me as a woman? I was skeletally thin, voiceless, and had already been relegated to the position of property by Rains. I managed a smile and a nod for him and worked at keeping my head erect while he toweled my hair dry.
The bathroom had no mirror, naturally, but I could tell by the feel of the towel against my scalp that my hair was little more than a downy fuzz. I mourned the loss of my waist length, thick tresses. It had taken me three years to grow it that long! Had I'd lost it in whatever process had brought me to this place? Somehow I found it easier to pretend I wasn't in hell if I focused on trivialities.
"Now, before you go back to sleep, Eve," Johnson fumbled a clean hospital gown onto me while he spoke. "I want you to eat some breakfast for me. Take just a few bites of these scrambled eggs." He coaxed encouragingly when I tried to refuse.
I didn't feel up to the task of chewing and swallowing, even if eggs are soft, but I found myself cooperating anyway. Not only was I hesitant to hurt Johnson's feelings, I was also afraid of alienating the only kind person in this place. And it was a distraction from thinking about the name Rains had given me; that Johnson kept calling me by.
Eve. I didn't like the sound of it. Mother to an entire race? God forbid! I suppressed a shudder of dread, not wanting to upset Johnson. He didn't strike me as the type to have hidden depths of personal strength. In fact, he struck me as the stereotypical wimpy scientific whiz kid. He'd probably come to work at the Centre because he thought it would be a good place to hide from reality. I knew that my arrival, at least, had to have ripped some impressive holes into his shield of ignorance, but he was the sort to turn a blind eye to what didn't suit his carefully constructed illusions.
I strongly suspected that when the time came that Johnson could no longer hide his head in the sand about the atrocities the Center perpetuated that he'd break completely. But I didn't see any reason why I should hurry that day along. He wasn't a bad man, just stupid, in a brilliant sort of way.
"Now, go ahead and get some rest." I realized with surprise that I'd actually eaten the tiny breakfast while I was brooding. "I'll return this afternoon, okay? I thought I could start teaching you some sign language."
I nodded absently, still caught up in my thoughts. Johnson obviously felt guilty about my situation and wanted soothe his conscience about me. He had to know that what Rains planned for me was repugnant, to say the least. He also had to know that my cognizance wouldn't change Rains plans in the least. His conscience insisted that he needed to do something, so he settled for trying to help me communicate.
I didn't care a fig about communicating; I just wanted out of this place, preferably by waking up safe and sound in my tiny little apartment. I knew that if there were no record of my existence on this world, as was probable, that I was entirely at the mercy of Rains and his team. Mercy, unfortunately, was not a term that could be applied to the bogeyman of the Centre.
I had accepted, finally, that I really was in the Centre and I wasn't going to wake up in my sagging, beat up bed, or even in a padded room. Admittedly, I didn't know a whole lot about insanity, but I was pretty confident that even the strongest delusion would have had some cracks by now. No, the physical sensations were too strong to deny. Somehow I had left my reality and now resided in another.
I was slightly surprised, in the part of me that lived in the corner of my mind and observed the world, that I accepted my situation so easily. After all, it really was impossible. On the other hand, I'm a survivor. I really don't worry overmuch about what is or is not possible; I just worry about what is. Right now, reality was demanding that I carefully watch my caregivers, obey, and avoid inciting the displeasure of those who had power over me. It was the mindset I’d grown up with and it was frighteningly easy to return to it.
Once I stopped worrying about was or was not real and started focusing on survival, the days passed more quickly than I believed they could. I supplemented my twice-daily physical therapy appointments with exercises. At first it was nothing more than clenching and relaxing my weakened muscles while I lay in bed. Soon it had progressed to walks around my tiny room. Finally, I was starting my mornings with a series of Katas that I'd learned the martial arts classes I had taken since my divorce.
Johnson never returned for the sign language courses, not that I was surprised. Since his daily visits were suffused with apologies and renewed promises to make time I assumed that Rains was deliberately finding problems to keep Johnson busy. I supposed that if I were a sadistic, power hungry monster that wanted unlimited influence over a subject that I'd try to keep them trapped in silence too. I had to wonder just what had occurred in Rains’ life that made him enjoy the suffering of others so much.
Ms. Weldon, the therapist, drove me like the fate of nations rested on my recovery and attempted to take all the credit for my speedy return to fitness. She had to have known that I was supplementing our sessions, but apparently she didn't realize that Rains almost certainly knew as well. I never doubted that I was under constant surveillance, probably via hidden cameras in the room.
I was present when Rains cut her down to size, purposely, I suspected. Rains wanted me to see that he dealt with a minor infraction harshly so I could imagine the increased consequences of a major error. He’d convinced me that he wanted my cooperation for something, but I really couldn't think of what I could do for him that someone else couldn’t do better.
"It would appear that the patient has exceeded expectations." Rains stated, as close to praise as he was ever likely to come.
"I experimented with some new techniques." Weldon claimed, eyes lowered with false modesty.
"Interesting." Rains raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "And here I thought it was all due to her extra workouts after you left." Weldon flushed angrily but Rains ignored her, more interested in seeing my reaction to his revelation that I'd been observed when I should have thought I was alone. Since it was hardly a shock to me it was easy to remain impassive but that, appeared to interest him even more.
"You and I, Eve, are going to have a long talk today." He promised me quietly, raising fear in my heart, even though there was no hint of threat in his voice. "I am intrigued by your unexpected understanding of Centre procedures. I can hardly wait to find out where they originate."
I returned Rains' gaze as calmly as I could, knowing better than to reveal my unease by dropping my gaze, but I was sure he saw through my facade. He was, after all, well experienced in intimidation and, like all bullies, he knew exactly what to look for in his victim. I salved my pride by refusing to show lower my eyes anyway and kept my sigh of relief inside as he turned his attention back to Weldon.
"Your services are no longer necessary." He told her coolly. "Collect your final check from personnel and remove your belongings from the premises. The Centre does not employ liars."
More accurately, I thought to myself, the Centre didn't employ people who lied to Rains and got caught. You probably couldn’t swing a cat in the Centre without hitting a liar.
"Johnson." Rains quiet voice drew Johnson's attention from where he stood at the foot of my bed studying my chart intently in a pathetic attempt to hide his interest in what was happening.
"Is she fit?"
Johnson apparently suspected that Rains had more than a simple update of my status in mind because he hedged a little with his answer.
"She's still considerably underweight." He answered nervously.
"Is she healthy otherwise?" Rains wanted to know.
Johnson reluctantly admitted that I was. I could tell that he wanted some excuse to say I needed to remain under his care--- probably he knew that my recovery would be compromised under Rains' undivided attention, but there was no medical reason for me to remain under his constant supervision. I gave him an understanding, and forgiving, smile. He’d tried to protect me, it just wasn’t possible when Rains had plans for a person.
"In that case, your services are no longer needed here. You will return to your interrupted research. Your assistants have had no luck in continuing work on the enhanced memory agent and your genius has been wasted on this relatively trivial medical issue far too long."
Johnson clearly didn't agree but even he wasn't stupid enough to think he could argue with Rains. He ducked his head submissively, gave me a quick, troubled look, and left the room, setting my chart down on the bed before he left.