The woman crossing the threshold of the clinic looked impossibly old. She was wheeled in by a younger woman, certainly not young herself, but young in contrast to the ancient, hunched creature seated in the wheelchair. Arthur’s heart raced as he watched them slowly make their way across the reception room of the newly-opened clinic. The Sunday morning sunlight was streaming in through the windows, casting long shadows across the mostly-empty room. The four figures cast in relief on the floor looked grotesquely disproportionate compared to the living, breathing men and women they mirrored.
Before Arthur could say anything in greeting, Jude’s voice boomed out from beside him. “Ms. le Fay. Ms. Gotlieb. Thank you again for coming in today. I hope your trip was pleasant.”
“Pleasant enough,” Ms. Gotlieb replied, still pushing the wheelchair.
“I’m Jude Pierucci, and this is my mentor and co-founder, Dr. Arthur DeLeon.”
Yuppie. Can’t get him get too big of a head. He hasn’t even started medical school yet.
Jude extended a hand to the two women. Jackie le Fay, seated in her chair, hardly seemed to notice him—hardly seemed to notice anything—and Fanny Gotlieb, still pushing the wheelchair, didn’t have a hand to spare. The young man waited a moment before withdrawing his hand, clearly embarrassed.
“Yes, well, right this way. Thank you again for coming. The chance to study a mind as unique as Ms. le Fay’s only comes once in a lifetime.”
Jude began to lead the group down the clinic’s main hallway and into one of the newly-installed MentaLink Suites.
“She’s still a person, you know.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say? I must have misheard you.”
“I said, ‘She’s still a person, you know.’ Don’t go getting so worked up about your new-fangled gadgetry that you forget that. She’s got a heart and a mind and a soul, and though they’re sometimes hard to find, what with the way she acts and all, she’s still in there. Been hiding in there for decades, and every so often we get a glimpse of the woman she used to be.”
Jude seemed to be floundering, unsure of how to respond to this gentle critique. Arthur stepped in, placing a hand on Ms. Gotlieb’s shoulder.
“You’re a good friend to her, Fanny.”
“I’m a better friend to her than she ever was to me, that’s for darn sure.”
After getting the two women settled—Jackie in the orthodontic chair and Fanny in an armchair beside her—Arthur gently set the electrode net over what remained of Ms. le Fay’s carefully-coiffed white hair. Time had been cruel to her, robbing her of the beauty she’d so valued in her youth.
The computer whirred to life in the corner, and Arthur had hardly started up the program when Ms. le Fay began howling from her seat in the chair. Arthur gulped down a yelp of surprise and quickly glanced towards her to double-check that he’d fastened the restraints.
This certainly wasn’t what they’d been expecting.
When they opened the door to the simulation chamber, all three gasped. The room was black, almost pitch black, except for two figures. One, a man, looked grotesquely disproportionate. His arms were too long, legs too short, eyes too wide. The other, a woman, beautiful in a flapper sort of way. The two seemed caught in an endless dance, twirling and circling round one another. For a brief moment, the woman’s face turned toward the observers, her expression one of grief and horror.1
Fanny let out a chilling shriek as her knees buckled under her.
Dr. Pierucci caught her just before she collapsed onto the ground.
“Ms. Gotlieb, what is it?”
“That… that’s Jackie’s face. That’s her. Down to the last detail. The day she… changed. I could never forget the way she looked that day.”
As they watched, other figures began to materialize:
A group of young men in the traditional garb of South American natives, dancing in chaotic formation. Their voices, deep and hearty, shook the room in a chant:
Chaos has chosen a form
Pure darkness
fills an ethereal frame.
One haunting name
embodies endless terror.2
A young woman in a 19th century field hospital uniform, leading a legion of battered and broken young men. She whispered desperately as she walked:
Allow me to ease their suffering. That’s why I’m here.3
A man in a khaki suit, his hair buzzed almost down to the skin along the side of his head, revealing dark, curled scar tissue where his ears should have been. His voice was crystal clear, in spite of his wounds, as he sounded off an old marching song:
One step, two step, embrace The Suff.4
The chants and songs and whispers grew in intensity, overlapping and contrasting and drowning one another out in turn. The dance became more chaotic, losing all semblance of order and beginning to resemble a ghostly carnival ride. From the center of it all, the gray-robed man stared with his large, vacant eyes. A hiss began to emanate from him.
And then the door to the simulation chamber slammed shut. Startled, Arthur realized that frail Ms. Gotlieb had shut the door, although where she’d found the strength to do so, he wasn’t sure.
“That’s quite enough of that,” she said definitively.
Jude countered. “You know this is just a simulation, ma’am. Just a picture of what’s going on in Ms. le Fay’s mind. It can’t hurt us.”
Fanny’s eyes shot daggers at the impertinent young man. “That’s quite enough of that.”
Her tone left no room for discussion. A few minutes later, she wheeled her old friend back across the threshold of the clinic and helped her into the van in which they’d arrived.
Arthur glanced at his watch. “Well, Jude, don’t stay too late. I’ve got to get home—Kiara is going to be wondering where I’m off to, and I’ll miss Val’s bedtime if I don’t hurry.”
“Of course. See you tomorrow, sir.”
“That’s Dr. DeLeon to you.”
As Arthur eased his car out of the parking lot and onto the street, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d chosen the right partner to bring his vision to life. Jude was brilliant, beyond brilliant, even… but there was something unsettling about him, too.
The following morning, an unsuspecting technician powered on a console and was confused to find that a program was already running. Per Institute protocol, when the program ended, he downloaded the summary—a cutting-edge Microsoft Word 1.0 file—and sent it via e-mail to the record-keeping staff down the hall. They would print out a copy and file it both physically and electronically.
Seeing as how he didn’t have another appointment for a while, he pulled out his Walkman and slipped the headphones into his ears. A blues song he didn’t recognize was playing already, as if it had started before he’d pressed “play”.
There’s a train, a darken’d spirit
Gonna take away our souls
Gonna trap us in our sorrow
Gotta have, he’s gotta hold5
No matter how many times he tried to skip the song, the Walkman continued to play the crooning voice of the blues musician.
Fantastic! Love that you've linked the Suff Lore together. Ms. Gotlieb is a good friend, if only we could all be so blessed.
I got nostalgic and chilled and impressed all at once! Well done you!
(I used to have a Walkman way back when. Good times.)