. . .

“Our findings are accurate and undeniable. The people in the program remember who they are. They’re having memories of this world, while they’re living in that one. It’s having a real psychological impact on them. Most are coming out with split personalities; some have to be sent straight to the psych ward as soon as they wake up. About eighty-five percent of the people in there are showing adverse effects in one way or another. I suggest we shut it down until it’s been fixed.” The young man hands the file over to his superior, taking a minute to see if what he said had any impact.

“The program works, Mitch. Your one study doesn’t change that fact. Besides, what would you have us do? Open the jails back up, instill the death penalty again? Those people deserve a second chance at life and the program affords them that opportunity.” The older gentleman hands the file back to Mitch and turns to walk away. Mitch grabs his arm to halt his exit.

“There are volunteers in there, Sir that chose the no out option. They thought it was just gonna be a few hours, but some of them have been in there for years. Shouldn’t they be pulled out at least? They paid with their own money for Christ’s sake.” Mitch looks up at his superior, hoping that at least this suggestion would be taken to heart.

“I see no reason to pull them out. They did pay extra for that option, Mitch. How do you think they’d feel if we pulled them out before they got what they paid for? No, I think the program is going to stay exactly as it is.” The older gentleman looks pointedly at Mitch before he turns and walks away.

He was never gonna listen anyway. Mitch puts the folder under his arm and walks back to his work station. He pulls out the business card that he’d been handed awhile ago and looks at the name on the front: Sara G. Josem, Ph.D. I should have listened to you in the first place, Sara. He pulls out his phone and dials her cell. No response. Looking at the card, he sees a second number and dials that.

“Hello? Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m trying to get a hold of Sara, is she available?”

“Sara is out of the office currently; can I take a message for you?”

“I am one of the programmers here at the Bauyer institute. She recently gave me her card and said to call her if I needed anything.”

“Sara’s not here, but her husband is. Unfortunately he doesn’t like to do things over the phone, but he would be happy to speak with you this afternoon, if you could stop by around… four?”

“Would Sara be back at that time? I really need to speak with her.”

“Um, I’m not sure, she could be. But if you’re calling about their current research, her husband’s been working very closely on the same project and would be more then capable of answering any questions you may have.”

Mitch pauses a moment to weigh his options. If Sara’s husband is working on the same project, then he must know why Mitch is trying to contact her. Right now, Mitch just needs someone to confirm his findings, and maybe help him get the word out. He knows Sara is willing, but, would her husband be? He decides that the information is too important not to take a chance. “I can make it by four. What is Mr. Josem’s first name if you would be so kind?”

“Michael, Michael Josem.”

Sara and Michael. Why did he feel these names were so important?

Ok, ya got me. More, more, more! Loving this story.

Sara was trapped. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn't make it out. Something was always the blocking the way, a wall, a door, it was a puzzel with no solution. And it was getting harder and harder for her to remain conscious. After hours, she finally slumps down on the floor defeated.

Pretty soon she would be nothing but a fond memory of Jessica’s childhood. An imaginary friend that she had when she grew up or a dull ache in the back of her head when she thought about it a little too much, nothing more than that active imagination she had during her adolescence years.

Sara just let go and started to cry. Huge, wet tears slid down her face and she couldn’t help but let a cry of despair slip through her lips. Her body convulsed with the strength of the emotion. Wave after wave ripped through her until after several hours, she was left limp and lifeless on the floor of the hall, like a rag doll that a child had thrown carelessly into the corner. She was nothing, she was no more, and she couldn’t win.

All she wanted to do was get back to Michael, all she wanted was for him to hold her tight and tell her it would be o.k. But none of that mattered now because Jessica was winning, and when she was done, there would be no more Sara.

***

Jessica woke up with tears running down her face. She felt so alone and afraid, yet had no idea why. Never had she been this sad before, she just wanted to sit and cry all day. She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. Her eyes hurt because of all the crying, and her body ached like it did a couple of days after a ballet class. All she knew is she couldn't handle being around anyone today, she was just too sad.

She calls out to her mom and waits for her to come see what’s wrong. “Mommy, can I stay home from school today? I don’t feel well.”

“Well, that depends, little one, on what's hurting you. Can you tell mommy what’s hurting you?” Her mom instinctively sits down on the corner of her bed and touches Jessica’s forehead with the back of her hand. “You don’t have a fever, you’re not coughing and you don’t have a runny nose. Is there something else wrong?"

“My tummy hurts and I feel like I am going to throw up.” Right as she says it, huge, wet tears fall from her eyes and slide down her face and no matter what she does, she can't stop crying.
She grabs her mother by the waist, buries her head into her stomach and lets out a cry of despair.

Her mom holds her tight and just lets her work through it. After a few minutes, Jessica’s mom decides that it would probably be better if she did stay home today. She makes a mental note to call Jessica’s psychiatrist and make an appointment for later this week.