The
room was cold and dark when Sevenah awoke. It was most likely her mother’s
fault for leaving a window cracked open in the house again. The nights were
getting too chilly to do that anymore. Her head felt heavy trying to raise up. She
let it fall back, swirling with muddled thoughts indicative of oversleeping. It
was a strange sensation, like emerging from a ghostly pit of disconnected
dreams. She was eager to shake it off and head outside to exercise Paka. Then,
after a quick breakfast, Ian would meet her at the front gate for school.
As
the grogginess started to dissipate, strange and frightful images took clearer
shape in the forefront of her mind. “What a nightmare,” she yawned, assuming it
could be nothing more.
Her
hand went to brush stray hairs from her eyes, but failed. It seemed oddly
unwilling, as if weighed down with numbness from lack of circulation during the
night. No, no, that wasn’t right. She tried again, able to wiggle her elbow,
but her wrist remained fixed. Panic set in as she struggled unsuccessfully to
lift either arm—something snug and abrasive held her wrists firmly beside her. She
tugged defiantly against the restraints, discovering both ankles secured as
well. Her legs fought fiercely, tugging and yanking, unable to break free. This
didn’t make any sense, unless….
The
nightmare was real.
An
avalanche of events rushed back to her memory: Dr. Tracy’s betrayal, the lying
x-rays, the frightful abduction, Dr. Braxton’s implausible claims, the unmarked
jet….
She couldn’t recall getting on the plane or how she
had ended up wherever she was now. Her final memory played out as a moment of
terror—a strong hand pressed over her nose and mouth, smothering her. They must
have knocked her out with something. A drug or chemical fumes.
Her
body shivered uncomfortably in the dark. There was little she hated more than
the cold, and it was goose-bump chilly in this place. Silence permeated the
room, excepting a low and steady mechanical hum that murmured in the blackness.
A dim light flashed tiny, red numbers, blinking on and off and on in a constant
rhythm. More than one line flashed its scarlet readings on the wall, their
faint glow providing the only source of light.
Sevenah
continued to fight her restraints, desperate to slip free. Friction marked her
skin where it rubbed repeatedly against abrasive bands, and soon both wrists
stung as if chafed by rug burns. She gave up, deterred by the pain. Despair wet
her cheeks in the form of tears.
“I
can’t even scratch my stupid nose!” she bawled into the darkness. “Where are
you Ian? Where are you?” Why had he not come to meet up with her at the clinic?
He was always with her—always! Why not this time?
Moisture
streamed along her temples, damping her hair and the cushion beneath. She
couldn’t wipe her eyes and thus had to suffer the swamping moisture. Each
shallow gasp that escaped her throat echoed off the surrounding walls, every
sob sounding forlorn and miserable. No one responded to the weeping. Perhaps
she had been abandoned. Perhaps her misery was simply being ignored. Eventually,
the grieving waned and she slipped back into calm unconsciousness.
It
was impossible to tell the duration of her sleep when murmuring voices woke
her. This time the restraints and the darkness came as no shock. Crying had
done some good, easing earlier feelings of distress and despair. Such
devastating emotions were now replaced by determination to escape her
situation. She was her father’s girl, and he had never been one to give up
without a fight. Neither would she.
The
buzz of conversation grew increasingly louder outside the room. It was easy to
pick out two distinct tones in the dialogue. One was female, loud and prominent
with a troubled quality about it. The other she recognized as Dr. Braxton’s
smug responses. Bits of the conversation were audible from Sevenah’s location,
and she strained to hear what they were saying.
“You
have no idea what effect……..you’re not being reasonable….”
Too
much competing noise from humming machines drowned out every lowly-spoken word.
Sevenah strained harder to listen as the discussion drew progressively closer. It
seemed to stop and linger just beyond the door.
“I
know they want answers; I’m aware of their pressure tactics. But to take
unnecessary risks simply to appease a self-serving mob of paranoid politicians
is foolish! The procedure you’re proposing has never been tolerably tested, not
to mention the fact that we don’t know enough about her biology to safely
attempt this.”
It
was Dr. Braxton’s voice to contend. “We’ve performed sufficient examinations
and gathered analyses that suggests it’s worth the relatively minor risks.”
“Minor!”
exclaimed the female.
“We
have six highly-competent doctors on staff ready to jump in at the slightest
sign of a problem, Stefanie, and I have full confidence…”
“What
if you kill her? Tell me, what good will her death do our research?”
This
last comment hit Sevenah hard. Intuitively, she understood their argument was
about her. Mention of some risky procedure conjured up awful imagery; still,
Dr. Braxton’s next remark was even more terrifying.
“Quite
frankly, an autopsy might prove enlightening.”
“I
cannot believe you just said that!”
Sevenah
felt the blood drain from her face as she sided whole-heartedly with the woman.
“She’s
not human, Stefanie. Keep your perspective here.”
“She’s
no lab rat either.”
The
door swung open and Sevenah twisted her neck to stare into the blue eyes of her
lady advocate. Dr. Braxton appeared from behind. The two were identically
dressed in white lab coats with identification badges clipped to their front
pockets. They stopped and gawked at the young woman as though shocked to find
her awake. Sevenah wondered exactly how long she had been unconscious. Apparently,
long enough for some extensive exams to take place. Luckily, her body still
seemed to be in one piece.
The
woman approached, and Sevenah read the badge on her jacket: Dr. Stefanie Mikiska, M.D. The lady smiled—a genuinely warm gesture. She was tall and as thin as
a twig, with long dark hair clipped in a loose bun behind her head. Her blue
eyes were the color of forget-me-nots framed by rectangular glasses that
slipped gradually down her gently-sloped nose. An index finger pushed the
frames back into place every so often. Olive-toned features were naturally
highlighted with very little makeup. Sevenah caught the subtle scent of vanilla
perfume. It was enough to stir her empty stomach.
Dr.
Mikiska greeted her patient with a cheerful “Good morning.”
“Morning,”
Sevenah rasped. It was shocking how weak her voice sounded. She swallowed at
the rawness in her throat.
“I’m
actually glad to find you awake. I’ve been anxious to talk to you.” The doctor
pulled up a metal stool and retrieved a pen and a small notebook from the
inside pocket of her lab coat.
“I’m
thirsty,” Sevenah complained. She tried to clear her throat, but the dryness
burned. “I’m hungry too.”
Dr.
Mikiska smiled pleasantly, resituating her glasses. “I understand you’re
hungry, and I promise you’ll get something to eat and drink soon. But first, I
want to ask you a few questions, okay?”
Sevenah
gave a whispered consent. It was impossible not to like this woman; her
presence was naturally pacifying. Perhaps it was her gentle voice, or the warm
and friendly smile, or possibly the sweet smell of vanilla that lingered in her
presence. Or maybe it was just the fact that she had acted so protectively
while contending with Dr. Braxton.
“Good,
good. Alright, let’s begin. Will you tell me why you’re here?”
“Because
you won’t let me go.” The obvious reply was less sarcastic than honest.
“No,
no, I mean, why are you here on our planet? Are there others living among us
like you?”
Sevenah
screwed up her face, confused by the question.
The
doctor tried again. “How did you get here? Did you come to Earth alone? Are you
the last of your kind?”
“I
was born here. I’m the same as you—only I’m starving.” She swallowed again,
wishing for something to soothe her irritated throat.
The
lady doctor pursed her lips. “Look, Sevenah, we know you’re not like the rest
of us. You do realize your anatomy differs from that of any human being.” Dr. Mikiska
raised one eyebrow and held her palm open as if everyone in the world
understood this.
“I
was born here,” Sevenah insisted. “Ask Dr. Tracy, he knows.” She was still
clinging to the reasonable conclusion this was a dreadful mistake. How could
she possibly be what they were suggesting without being aware of it herself?
“Okay,
okay. Let’s try something else.” The tip of a pen tapped against the doctor’s
lips as she stared out over the rim of her glasses, thinking. “Alright,
Sevenah. What is the earliest thing you can recall from childhood? Think hard. How
far back do you remember?”
That
was easy. She was often haunted by a frightening incident from her youth. It
was a recurring nightmare that seemed to evolve over the years.
“I
was little,” Sevenah started. “I remember sitting on the ground, in the dirt. There
were trees all around…..and snakes.”
“Snakes?”
“Um-hm.”
She cleared her throat before continuing. “I was scared of the snakes. They
covered the ground. I don’t know where they came from, but I couldn’t get away
from them. I called for my mom, but she never….” Her eyebrows pulled tight, straining
to bring the past to mind. “I don’t know why my mother never came. I can’t
remember anything else.” Then she quickly added, “No, no, wait—there was a boy.
He was young, but older than me. I think he was with me, trying to help me.”
The
doctor’s face tangled up uncertainly. “Are you sure this is a memory?”
Sevenah
nodded.
“Could
it have been a dream? Or a story you heard as a child?”
She
shook her head. “I’m sure it happened; I know it did.”
“Huh.
Can you recall how old you were?”
“I
think I was five or six.”
“Okay,
then. Try to remember something before that. Can you recall an event when you
were four? Or even three?”
Sevenah
sighed heavily, “No.”
“Try.”
The interrogation
was getting annoying. What did memories have to do with anything? “I can’t. I
was a baby, I don’t remember that.”
“You
can at least try. People recall events as far back as two years of age,
sometimes even earlier. I remember the songs my mother use to sing to me when I
was a toddler. I have fond recollections of a yellow blanket I took naps with
when I was two, three, four years old. It’s common to have simple memories of
younger experiences. Now think. Concentrate. Can you recall anything at all? Even
a trivial piece of information—like a color? A familiar smell? A favorite toy?”
“No,
nothing! Why are you doing this to me? Why won’t you let me go home?” She was
through with the pointless questioning. Her stomach felt knotted and queasy and
tight with anxiety.
Silence
took over for a long moment.
“I’m
so thirsty,” the girl whispered.
The
ink pen went back to resting on Dr. Mikiska’s lips, her blue eyes lost in
thought. Sevenah wondered what the woman was thinking.
A
glance in the background found Dr. Braxton planted at a corner desk ignoring
the interrogation. A writing utensil in his stubby fingers bobbed back and
forth, scribbling on the clipboard that seemed his constant companion. Sevenah
felt a sickly stir of hatred towards the man. She wished for a fat venomous
rattler from her nightmare to slither over and sink its fangs into his calf.
Dr.
Mikiska finally gave in. “I’ll go get you some breakfast. Please, concentrate
on your childhood while I’m gone. Maybe you’ll remember something more. I’ll be
right back.”
“Thank
you.”
Sevenah
watched the woman leave, observing how her I.D. badge was swiped through a
scanner beside the exit before the lock released. It appeared the badges were
literal keys to getting around the facility. Most likely it was the same
procedure coming and going. She noticed how the door never completely closed
but pushed open again, allowing another white coat to enter the room. This one
was worn by a short, wiry female carting a box of medical supplies. The woman
stopped at a table to rummage through the contents of the box. It made Sevenah
nervous.
“I’ve
got to get out of here soon,” she worried.
Her
attention returned to Dr. Braxton who continued to pay her no mind. And why
would he when in his opinion she ranked lower than the animals? Sevenah took
note of how he disregarded the new attendant, not even casting a glance in her
direction. It crossed Sevenah’s mind that if by some fantastical chance she was
actually……not human……then at least she wouldn’t be related to that rude,
heartless excuse for a person. Thank goodness for Dr. Mikiska and her civility.
Recollecting
Dr. Braxton’s earlier remarks sparked a sense of urgency for Sevenah to find a
way out of her predicament. Her parents and Ian were probably worried sick, having
no idea what had happened—why a simple trip to the clinic had resulted in her
complete disappearance. Unless………unless Dr. Braxton had fed them some
convincing lie, like a horror story of her demise.
Oh
crud! If such was the case, then no one would be looking for her!
She
needed to call home; there had to be a way. If her parents were to hear her
voice over the phone for even a second they would know the truth, that she was
alive and in trouble. Then they would search for her!
Twisting
her neck to look over her shoulder, Sevenah scanned what was visible within the
room. No windows divided the walls, and nothing resembling a telephone stood
out. Large cardboard boxes, canisters of medical instruments, plastic
containers marked with supplies, and a collection of cylindrical tanks stacked
the shelves behind her. White, printed labels were too small to read clearly. Nothing
but noisy electronics lined the adjacent wall.
Preoccupied
with her task, Sevenah didn’t notice when the new visitor approached her bedside.
It was startling sensing a looming presence. With wide eyes Sevenah gasped, but
the lady calmly shushed her.
“It’s
okay, it’s okay. I’m just here to check your vitals.”
Sevenah
exhaled raggedly, and her jarred pulse settled. She didn’t resist a blood
pressure cuff tucked beneath her arm. Glancing at a pocket badge, she read the
printed name: Leisha Morroway, LPN. The woman was a nurse. That explained Dr. Braxton
ignoring her presence. He was the kind of conceited jerk who wouldn’t give
anyone the time of day unless he considered the person an equal.
The
nurse went about her task, swabbing a cold, clear liquid over the natural
crease in her patient’s arm. Short, black waves fringed her high cheekbones,
framing brown eyes that sparkled with unfitting enthusiasm. Her tomboy
mannerisms had been evident upon entering the room, but those rough and
confident gestures didn’t diminish her natural beauty in the least.
Sevenah
envisioned the woman as a Roman warrior with strong, pronounced facial features
and an athletic body. She wasn’t as tall as Dr. Mikiska, but stood sturdy and
confident nonetheless. It seemed a sure bet that Nurse Morroway could hold her
own with any condescending doctor.
A
hushed question interrupted Sevenah’s thoughts. “Are you feeling alright?”
Noticing
how the nurse had her back turned to Dr. Braxton, the girl whispered a reply in
case they weren’t supposed to be talking.
“I
feel weak. My throat hurts.”
“I
know. I’m so sorry.” Leisha’s brown eyes expressed their own apology as she moved
in a little closer to Sevenah’s ear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen to you. I
promise you won’t be here much longer. We’ll have you out soon.” She winked,
and that sparkle of enthusiasm flashed again.
Sevenah
was stunned by both the nurse’s behavior and her words. Had she heard
correctly? Her heart pounded a little faster, hopeful yet puzzled.
“Who
are you?”
Leisha
smiled, a sign of reassurance. “Don’t worry, we’re taking you home. You’ll be
fine, and you’ll feel better soon.” Then she grabbed her gear and headed for
the door.
“Wait!”
Sevenah called out wanting to know more.
This
outburst caused Dr. Braxton to finally look up from his paperwork. He watched
the nurse step toward the exit. Then his beady gaze shifted to Sevenah.
Thinking
quickly, she announced aloud, “No one listens to me.”
Dr.
Braxton returned to his work without a hint of concern.
Sevenah
let her head fall back as thoughts of the whispered conversation consumed her. Was
this too good to hope for? Someone was actually on her side and plotting
to help her escape! There was nothing she wanted more than to shed the
immobilizing bands—to be free and headed home. Her pulse thundered at the
prospect of evading the arrogant and pitiless Dr. Braxton who couldn’t care
less if she lived or died.
As
hope swelled in her heart despite no known motive, it occurred to her she was
already experiencing renewed vigor—a substantial wave of strength and well-being
that was more than the result of good news. Nurse Morroway had never taken her
blood pressure, having left the cuff on the bed, unused, as a cold liquid was
rubbed on Sevenah’s inner arm. This had all transpired during their brief
verbal exchange. Whatever drug the liquid consisted of, it was working wonders
on her aches and nausea.
Breakfast
arrived moments later with Dr. Mikiska. A warm serving tray was set on
Sevenah’s lap before the constrictive wrist bands were unlatched. It was hard
to decide which was better, the chance to feed her griping stomach or the
simple opportunity to freely move her arms once again.
The
food smelled heavenly: eggs, toast, bacon, a small carton of milk, and a cup of
water. She went for the paper cup first, discarding the provided straw to gulp
down every last drop of soothing liquid. Under her present circumstances she
had expected a meager offering of bread and water—rations for which she would
have been grateful.
“Thank
you,” she uttered at the end of what seemed like the tastiest meal of her life.
“You’re
welcome,” Dr. Mikiska replied. The woman had patiently sat by, watching every
crumb disappear.
Sevenah
brought both hands up to her cold nose and cheeks, taking advantage of the
chance to warm her face. It was humbling to feel gratitude for such a small
thing.
“Would
you like to take a walk, Sevenah?” The question received an immediate answer.
“Yes!
Yes, please!”
Dr.
Mikiska stood up from her stool, grinning at such eagerness. “Well then, let me
get your legs down. One……and two… and here we go.” Repositioning her glasses,
Dr. Mikiska moved toward the door, gesturing for her patient to follow.
This
irregularity in protocol grabbed Dr. Braxton’s full attention. The man with no
real expression other than sheer disgust appeared baffled for the first time.
“What
in the world do you think you’re doing, Stefanie?” he asked.
“Don’t
worry, we won’t go far. It’s healthy to get a little exercise—keeps the muscles
from wasting away.” With perked eyebrows she extended her colleague an
invitation. “Feel free to accompany us if you’re concerned.”
Dr.
Braxton’s features contorted with skepticism. “You ought to have her on a tight
leash.” He shook his stubby finger in warning. “If it were anyone else, I’d
never allow this.”
“Well
then, shall we?” Dr. Mikiska swung open the door and waited for her patient to
step outside. She flashed a big grin at Dr. Braxton before exiting.
It
seemed unwise to attempt an escape without a plan. Chances of success were
minimal, and any consequences might prove disastrous. It was a blessing in and
of itself to simply be on her feet, free to maneuver. Sevenah decided to
concentrate on scoping out the place, or at least every inch she could observe
on this impromptu stroll.
The
hallway was nothing much—rectangular and bare and seemingly endless in length. Dim
lighting fell from above in a florescent blue that turned their skin and the
white walls a dingy gray. It didn’t feel as if the halls were heated.
Keeping
in step with her guide, Sevenah’s thoughts naturally returned to the curious
encounter with Nurse Morroway. It seemed possible that Dr. Mikiska might be a
collaborator with the nurse. She did come across as a caring enough person. Sevenah
dared imagine the possibility, but wouldn’t mention it at the risk of giving
away a potential rescuer. With the tomboy nurse dominating her thoughts, she
asked a vague enough question.
“Do
you know everyone who works at this place?”
The
doctor shook her head. “No. I’m familiar with a number of people here, mostly
physicians. But too many others come and go.”
“What
about the nursing staff? Are you acquainted with them?”
The
doctor shrugged. “Only a handful.”
Sevenah
tempted her with a name. “Leisha Morroway?”
Dr.
Mikiska looked sideways at the young enquirer. Her blue eyes squinted as she
considered the name. “No, I don’t believe I’ve met a Ms. Morroway. Why do you
ask?”
“No
reason.” Sevenah tried to dismiss the matter, but the doctor pressed for a
better answer.
“Where
did you pick up that name?”
“Oh….the
nurse took my vitals earlier. She reminded me of you…..very kind. And she
smelled good.”
Dr.
Mikiska appeared flattered.
Sevenah
quickly asked a personal question to change the subject. “How did you end up
here—working in a place like this?”
“Oh…..well,
I suppose you could say it was my reward for years of hard study and
persistence. I was actually a student of Dr. Braxton’s for several years. As a
graduate student, he challenged me with a variety of difficult and strange
medical puzzles to solve. I spent a great deal of time assisting him, but never
made much sense of the things we were doing. Of course I asked questions; he
didn’t readily offer information. I was intrigued with the work, though, so I
struggled to solve the mysteries he presented to me. Finally, one day, my hard
work paid off. Dr. Braxton brought me here.” Dr. Mikiska held up her hand gesturing
at the facility they were in. “I was astounded by the things accomplished
here—incredible breakthroughs in science, technology, and medicine. It’s
remarkable the advancements that have come to light in this place. Wonders I
never dreamt I’d see. Few people are aware of this facility and what goes on
inside these walls. It’s highly confidential and tightly monitored. I’m
fortunate to be a part of it all.”
“It
sounds like you and Dr. Braxton spend a lot of time together.” Sevenah dared a
very personal question. “Are you a couple?”
“Oh
dear, no!” the doctor chuckled. Her cheeks flushed a rosy shade of red. “No,
no, we’re just colleagues. We’ve worked together for years, yes, but there
could never be anything between us.” She smiled at an amusing thought. “I’d
hate to have to compete with that precious clipboard of his. I don’t think I’d
win.”
Sevenah
grinned at that. “What exactly do you do?”
“I
can’t tell you—top secret, you know.” The doctor looked over the rim of her
glasses, a slight smirk on her lips. “I will say that you are the most interesting subject I’ve yet encountered. I sure
wish I knew your purpose for being here.”
Sevenah
dropped her gaze to the floor. What good would it do to repeat the same
answers? No one believed her.
The
appearance of larger vents caught her attention while looking downward, and she
wondered if a smaller person might manage to squeeze through an opening. The
complete absence of windows was also noted, leaving no means to glimpse at the
outdoors, not that there was any sign the world outside even existed. An eerie
absence of familiar sounds—no patter of raindrops, no whistling wind, no
chirping birds, not even the hum of traffic or the roar of passing planes—made
the silence palpable. She wondered how far from civilization they were or if
the facility was buried underground.
The
hallway remained empty as their footfall tapped lightly against shiny, gray
tiles arranged like crossword puzzles. Periodically, a fire extinguisher
appeared at waist height, hung behind glass. These red canisters provided the
only color. Every metal door was positioned yards away from the next and had a
matching I.D. scanner mounted beside it. Sevenah suspected no room ever
remained unlocked.
Eventually,
their path came to a ‘T’ and Dr. Mikiska turned left. A set of stairs led
further down another dreary hallway.
“How
big is this place?” Sevenah asked.
“Oh,
it’s sizable. You’d get lost rather quickly if you didn’t know your way around.
Every hallway resembles the next one.”
Sevenah
frowned at this news. Curious about their distance from civilization, she
asked, “Do you live here or do you go home every night?”
“I
stay for weeks, if not months, at a time. Usually, I’m so preoccupied with a
project there’s really no sense in leaving. Besides, I haven’t much to go home
to anyway.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t
be. I enjoy my work immensely. You can’t imagine the things I’ve seen or the
brilliant people I’ve been privileged to work with. I’m spoiled actually. I’ve
had access to the greatest technologies and the most interesting projects you
could dream of.”
The
slightly condescending manner in which Dr. Mikiska spoke caused Sevenah to
glance up, catching a hint of defensiveness in the doctor’s eyes. She wondered
if the woman considered her anything more than an interesting project.
Their
walk came to a halt beside a gray door that looked exactly like a dozen other
metal doors they had passed. Dr. Mikiska swiped her I.D. badge through the
scanner. As the latch gave, Sevenah took an anxious step backwards. Her
instincts warned against placing much trust in anyone, despite a show of
kindness. Entering another locked room just seemed like a bad idea.
“Why
have we stopped? What’s in there? I thought we were just going for a walk.”
Dr.
Mikiska continued to hold open the door, smiling pleasantly enough. She
motioned for her patient to step inside. “It’s fine. Go on in; we won’t be
staying long.”
Believing
she had no choice, Sevenah followed the doctor’s orders and entered. What she
found inside made her want to turn and run, but the click of a locked door
resounded behind her, declaring it was too late.
“What’s
going on? What are they doing here?”
Sevenah
pointed a nervous finger at the same two thugs who had not-so-gently carted her
out of Dr. Tracy’s office at the onset of what was now her living nightmare. She
backed away from everyone, keeping a close eye on the men positioned against
the far wall.
This
new room was half the size of the other. Cupboards lined one end, mounted above
a double sink. A computer, a large flat-screen monitor, and a variety of
plastic boxes were scattered across a low counter. The longest wall held the
same kind of machines that hummed in the previous room, only fewer. Center
floor stood a medical chair, a stool, and a silver sliding table that supported
a handful of instruments. Sevenah noticed an item in particular—a needle. The
sight of it made her shudder. Whatever they had planned, she would not
cooperate.
Dr.
Mikiska didn’t act surprised by the observed reaction. “I suppose you could
call these fellows my ‘tight leash.’”
The
frightened girl narrowed her eyes. “You’re no better than Dr. Braxton. I should
never have thought otherwise.”
“Now,
now, Sevenah. You may not believe me, but I’m doing this for your benefit.”
A
nervous laugh echoed in the room. “Forgive me if I don’t appear grateful!”
The
doctor acted earnest as she tried to explain. “Listen to me. Dr. Braxton has
far worse plans in store for you. What I’m attempting to do is prove that those
other measures aren’t necessary. I’m doing this for you.”
“None
of this is for me! If you want to help me, let me go home!” Sevenah made her
desires known keeping as far from everyone as possible. “I want to go back to
my parents and my friends! I want my normal, regular, human life again! Let
me go home! Please, just let me go home!”
“You
know I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but there’s no way to be certain you’re not a
threat to humanity.”
The
girl’s eyes widened with disbelief. She pointed down at herself as though
visual proof should suffice. “Do you honestly believe I could be any sort of
threat?”
“Are
you?” the doctor asked, poising her eyebrows in question.
“No!”
Sevenah shrieked.
Dr.
Mikiska looked like she wanted to believe the girl, but faith alone wasn’t
enough.
A
pair of latex gloves slid easily over the doctor’s thin fingers before she
picked up a syringe filled with clear liquid. Sevenah stared at the tip of a
needle, terrified.
“What
is it you people think I’m going to do?” she asked. Her voice shook with fear,
growing increasingly defensive. “I’ve lived here for seventeen years! I haven’t
caused any problems—not one! If I were a real threat to humanity, don’t you
think I would have done something by now?” Her whole being wanted to explode—to
shake someone until they believed she was telling the truth.
Fueled
by a desire for self-preservation, she made a desperate attempt at escape. In
one swift move, she lunged at Dr. Mikiska and ripped the badge from her front
pocket. The needle fell to the floor. Sevenah hit the scanner, swiped the
badge, and jerked the metal door open. Ducking through the opening, her skinny
body was yanked back in, arms grasped by the men who had reacted as quickly as
she had. Once again, her feet were lifted off the floor as they carried her to
an empty, waiting chair.
“Nooooo!”
Sevenah screamed. “Let me go! Don’t do this! LET ME GO!”
She
kicked and fought with every ounce of strength, but her captors were too powerful.
The baldheaded man grabbed her by the waist, slamming her down in the chair. The
other man kept a secure hold on her arms, attempting to prevent any scratching.
Her limbs were secured within a couple minutes, but not before she dug a heel
into someone. She noticed how the bald man rubbed at his hip when he backed
away.
Sevenah
twisted her wrists, tugging against cuffs she knew were impossible to escape. Her
only option now was to plead.
“Stefanie,
please, please don’t do this to me, please!”
“That’s
Dr. Mikiska to you,” the woman huffed, pushing her rectangular frames back into
place. “You’ve left me no choice, Sevenah. Our government wants answers that you
haven’t provided. They want to know who you are, where you came from, if there
are more like you roaming about our world. They want to know what kind of
threat your race poses. You’ve told us nothing. And, if you are a threat
to humanity I would expect you to tell us nothing.”
“I’ve told you the truth, I swear! I’ve always lived
here just like everyone else! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Then
apparently, you need these answers as much as we do, which is all the more
reason to continue. I can help you remember who you are.”
“There’s
nothing to remember!” Sevenah insisted.
“On
the contrary, there are five early years you don’t seem to recall, aside from
one unclear, nightmarish incident. Whatever we can dig up before that might
give us the answers we’re all seeking.”
Sevenah
eyed the syringe being tapped by the doctor’s finger. “And how are you planning
to do this?”
“It’s
painless, I assure you. I’ll put you to sleep with a light sedative and then…”
“No!”
Sevenah objected. “No needles; I hate needles. Can’t I stay awake?”
“The
process works much better if you’re asleep. You’ll be fine. Do you see the
screen over there to your left?”
Sevenah
turned her head. There was a flat-screen monitor powered up, but the display
showed only pepper and fuzz.
Dr.
Mikiska went into an explanation. “I’ll be using a memory marker to unbury
subconscious memories.” She held up a C-shaped metallic device and turned it
over. “This is an amazingly useful apparatus. I’ll place it over your ear and
it will adhere to the side of your head. A few thin needles extend from this
device and slowly push their way through to the brain where a chemical is
released that stimulates memories. These memories as you see them will be
displayed on that monitor, transferred from this device to the computer. Basically,
we see what you picture in your mind’s eye. It’s absolutely incredible. The
only difficult part is piecing the random images together to make reasonable
sense of them. But despite the drawbacks, we’ve been able to attain a great
deal of useful information using this procedure on a few other individuals.”
“But
you claim I’m not like you. How do you know this will work on me?”
“It’s
true your chemistry is somewhat different, but so far the tests we’ve performed
show that you have a high tolerance for our medicines. I’m ninety-nine percent
sure this will be a walk in the park for you.”
“What
if you’re wrong? What if something bad happens? What then?”
“Listen,
Sevenah. The procedure Dr. Braxton has proposed is much riskier, and it’s still
in its theoretical stages—never having been tested on a living subject. He
plans to perform open-brain surgery, probing for information using electric
shock and chemical treatment to rouse your memories. You’ll be conscious for
the entire operation. He believes he can activate the parts of your brain that
will force truthfulness. Plus, the memories will show up on his monitor,
transferred by the device he’ll be probing with. Basically, he’ll steal your
memories, and under his influence you’ll answer his questions with complete and
total honesty. He believes this process will guarantee the answers we
seek.”
“I
swear I’ve told you the truth,” Sevenah whined, desperate for someone to believe
her.
“Perhaps,”
the doctor sighed, “but Dr. Braxton doesn’t think so. He’s determined to go
through with this. I personally feel he wants to test his procedure on you specifically for a couple of
reasons. First, to find his answers without having to decipher memory images,
and secondly, he knows that since you aren’t human, you have no legal rights. Using
you as a test subject won’t interfere with ethical guidelines. If it doesn’t
work, he’s lost nothing. But you, on the other hand, will be awake for the
whole painful operation. If something goes awry, you run the risk of suffering
brain damage or worse……death. Not to mention the fact that you’ll lose all your
pretty red hair. I’ve tried to tell him it’s risky and unnecessary, but I can’t
get him to listen to me.”
Sevenah
felt cold and numb. The weight of utter helplessness pressed on her chest as
she realized how dire her situation was. Her eyes fell closed wishing the
nightmare would end and her world would return to normal. All she wanted was to
sit beneath her willow tree and watch the sunset with Paka and Ian again. She
had never asked for any of this. She had never wished to be different.
“Sevenah.
I’m honestly trying to help you, please believe me. If I can piece together how
you came here, why you’re here, then perhaps I can convince the rest of the
board that further, riskier procedures aren’t necessary.”
Sevenah
lifted her lids and stared into Dr. Mikiska’s blue eyes. She nodded as if her
permission were required. Maybe, she thought, there were memories she had
forgotten. Maybe this would work. Exhaling nervously, she tried to relax.
“You’ll
feel a little sting, but that should be all you feel. Now count with me……ten,
nine, eight….”
Sevenah
let her head fall back. Her eyelids dropped. She was out by seven.
She
was dreaming again. It was the same nightmare she had suffered all her life. Sometimes
it altered slightly, but it always started out the same.
She
was five. Her reddish-brown hair was long for a five-year-old, braided and
secured with a pink ribbon. A spirit of dread accompanied the dream, looming
over her childish form. Naturally, she wished for her mother, but she wasn’t
alone. Someone else was with her, an unclear personage off to the side. He was
a boy; she was certain of that. A young boy, maybe ten or eleven. She couldn’t
make out his face but accepted him as a friend. He had been with her entering
the forest. Yes, that’s right—the boy had brought her with him.
They
were running and had already traveled deep into the woods, sprinting long and
hard. The little girl began to drag her feet, wishing to rest. The boy allowed
it. She sat on the forest floor while he backtracked to check on something. In
his absence, a circle of crooked trees appeared to hunch over, huddling around
the girl, darkening an already gloomy environment. It was eerie the way their
limbs reached, some dropping low to the ground, disturbed by every gust. The
wind flitted the spindliest twigs, giving the illusion of grabbing fingers.
That’s
when the snakes came. From every direction they pushed up through the soil,
slithering and writhing as they made their way toward the girl. She cried out
for help.
“Mommy!
Mommy!”
The
snakes slid across her skin, wrapping around her arms, around her legs. They
were too strong to deter.
“Mommy!
Mommy!” she cried. But her mother didn’t come. Only the boy responded. She
reached for him, and his fingers grasped tightly around hers, tugging against
the pull of coiled snakes.
She
screamed as the creatures ripped her fingers from the boy.
That’s
when she blacked out.