arrival. Her people didn’t just object to Slade’s new directive to “put people in a deprivation tank and stop their heart.” With the exception of her and Sergei, they resigned en masse and demanded to be returned to the mainland immediately. Whenever she feels guilty for staying, she thinks of her mom and others like her, but it’s a small consolation.
Besides, she’s pretty sure Slade wouldn’t let her leave regardless.
Jee-woon has flown inland to find personnel for the medical team and new engineers to build the deprivation tank, leaving Helena alone on the rig with Slade and a skeleton crew.
Out here on the platform, it’s like the world is screaming in her ear.
Lifting her face to the sky, she screams back.
Day 598
Someone is knocking at her door. Reaching out in the darkness, she turns on the lamp and climbs out of bed in pajama bottoms and a black tank top. The alarm clock on her desk shows 9:50 a.m.
She moves into the living room and toward the door, hitting the button on the wall to raise the blackout curtains.
Slade is standing in the corridor in jeans and a hoodie—first time she’s laid eyes on him in weeks.
He says, “Shit, I woke you.”
She squints at him under the glare of the light panels in the ceiling.
“Mind if I come in?” he asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Please, Helena.”
She takes a step back and lets him enter, following him down the short entryway, past the powder room, and into the main living space.
“What do you want?” she asks.
He takes a seat on the ottoman of an oversize chair, beside the windows that look out into a world of infinite sea.
He says, “They tell me you aren’t eating or exercising. That you haven’t spoken to anyone or gone outside in days.”
“Why won’t you let me talk to my parents? Why won’t you let me leave?”
“You aren’t well, Helena. You’re in no state of mind to protect the secrecy of this place.”
“I told you I wanted out. My mom’s in a facility. I don’t know how she’s doing. My dad hasn’t heard my voice in a month. I’m sure he’s worried—”
“I know you can’t see it right now, but I am saving you from yourself.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“You checked out, because you disagreed with the direction I was taking this project. All I’ve been doing is giving you time to reconsider throwing everything away.”
“It was my project.”
“It’s my money.”
Her hands tremble. With fear. With rage.
She says, “I don’t want to do this anymore. You have ruined my dream. You have blocked me from trying to help my mom and others. I want to go home. Are you going to continue keeping me here against my will?”
“Of course not.”
“So I can leave?”
“Do you remember what I asked you the first day you got here?”
She shakes her head, tears coming.
“I asked if you wanted to change the world with me. We are standing on the shoulders of all the brilliant work you’ve done, and I came here this morning to tell you that we’re almost there. Forget everything that’s happened in the past. Let’s cross the finish line together.”
She stares at him across the coffee table, tears gliding down her face.
“What are you feeling?” he asks. “Talk to me.”
“Like you stole this thing away from me.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth. I stepped in when your vision flagged. That’s what partners do. Today is the biggest day of my life and yours. It’s everything we’ve been working toward. That’s why I came up here. The deprivation tank is ready. The reactivation apparatus has been retrofitted to work inside. We’re running a new test in ten minutes, and this is the big one.”
“Who’s the test subject?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“Just a guy getting paid twenty grand a week to make the ultimate sacrifice for science.”
“And you told him how dangerous this research is?”
“He’s fully aware of the risks. Look, if you want to go home, pack your bags and be at the helipad at noon.”
“What about my contract?”
“You promised me three years. You’ll be in breach. You’ll forfeit your compensation, profit participation, everything. You knew the ground rules going in. But if you want to finish what we started, come down to the lab with me right now. It’s going to be a day for the record books.”
BARRYNovember 6, 2018
Strapped into a chair in a waking nightmare, Barry says, “It was October twenty-fifth. Eleven years ago.”
“What’s the first thing you remember when you think of it?” the man asks. “The most potent image or feeling?”
Barry is caught in the strangest juxtaposition of emotion. He wants to break this man in half, but the thought of Meghan that night is on the verge of breaking him.
He answers in monotone, “Finding her body.”
“I’m sorry if I wasn’t clear. Not after she was gone. Before.”
“The last time I spoke to her.”
“That’s what I want you to talk about.”
Barry stares across the room, gritting his teeth.
“Please continue, Detective Sutton.”
“I’m sitting in my chair in my living room, watching the World Series.”
“Do you remember who was playing?”
“Red Sox and Rockies. Game two. The Sox had won the first game. They would take the series in four straight.”
“Who were you rooting for?”
“I didn’t really care. I guess I wanted to see the Rockies tie it up, keep the series interesting. Why are you doing this to me? What purpose does—”
“So you’re sitting in your chair . . .”
“I’m probably drinking a beer.”
“Would Julia have been watching with you?”
Jesus. He knows her name.
“No. I think she was watching TV in our bedroom. We’d already eaten dinner.”
“As a family?”
“I don’t remember. Probably.” Barry is suddenly aware of a pressure in his chest, the intensity of which is nearly crushing. He says, “I haven’t talked about that night in years.”
The man just sits there on his stool, running his fingers through his beard and coolly studying him, waiting for Barry to push on.
“I see Meghan coming out of the hallway. I don’t remember for sure what she was wearing, but for some reason, I see her in this pair of jeans and a turquoise sweater she always wore.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“Ten days shy of sixteen. And she stops in front of the coffee table—I know this happened for sure—and she’s standing between me and the television with her hands on her hips and this quasi-severe look on her face.”
Tears fill in at the edges of his eyes.
“It’s still incredibly emotional for you,” the man says. “This is good.”
“Please,” Barry says. “Don’t make me do this.”
“Continue.”
Barry takes a breath, blindly groping for some handhold of emotional balance.
He says finally, “It was the last time I would look into my daughter’s eyes. And I didn’t know it. I kept trying to look around her to see the television.”
He doesn’t want to cry in front of this man. Jesus, anything but that.
“Continue.”
“She asked if she could go to DQ. She usually went there a couple of nights a week to do her homework, hang out with friends. I went through the standard questioning. Did your mother say it was OK? No, she had come to me instead. Is your homework finished? No, but part of the reason she wanted to go was to meet up with Mindy, her lab partner in biology, to discuss a project they were working on. Who else was going to be there? A list of names, most of which I knew. I remember checking my watch—it was eight thirty and still in the early innings of the game—and I told her she could go, but that I wanted her home no later than ten. She made her arguments for eleven. I said, ‘No, it’s a school night, you know your curfew,’ and then she let it go and headed for the door.
“I remember calling out to her just before she left, telling her I loved her.”
Tears release, his body shaking with emotion, but the straps hold him tight against the chair.
Barry says, “The truth is, I don’t know if I called out to her. I think probably I didn’t, that I simply went back to watching the game and didn’t think of her again until ten p.m. had come and gone, and I wondered why she wasn’t home yet.”
The man says, “Computer, stop session.” And then: “Thank you, Barry.”
He leans forward and wipes the tears from Barry’s face with the back of his hand.
“What was the point of all that?” Barry asks, broken. “That was worse than any physical torture.”