The Program -- Part II

Part I

Part II:

. . .

Sara is running. Her head is shifting from left to right as she searches for her memories. The long corridor is filled with boxes stacked from floor to ceiling, each marked with what’s inside. Single bulbs hanging every ten feet or so dimly light the way. Cobwebs and dust cover almost everything as she reaches the oldest part of Jessica’s mind. She reads the boxes quickly as she runs by. First Word, First Step, I have to be getting close now. She hears a noise behind her and glances back as she continues to run. Hurry, you’re almost there. Her eyes are stinging from salty drops of sweat as they slide down her face, making her vision blurred. Her heart is beating a mile a minute. She finally comes to the end of the hall and frantically looks around for her box.

In the deepest corner of my mind, that’s where I put them. Finally Sara sees the door. Makes sense that a lifetime of memories would need a room, not a box. She reaches out and turns the knob.

Bright light illuminates the hall as she pulls the door wide. A dark figure stands in the doorway, his hand stretched out, blocking her path. Sara falls to her knees and starts to scream.

“It’s o.k. baby, it was just a bad dream, that’s all it was.” Jessica’s mom scoops her up and holds her tight against her chest. “You were screaming so loud, I swear you woke up everyone on the block.”

Jessica eyes are burning from the sweat dripping down her face. Her heart is beating a mile a minute. “Mama, can I sleep with you tonight? I don’t wanna sleep in here anymore. There’s a man in my closet.”

Jessica’s mom walks over to the closet and pulls open the door. She turns on the light and steps inside. “See? There’s no one here.” After a moment she walks to the bed, pulls the covers back, and tucks Jessica a second time. “You gotta be a big girl and sleep in your own room, sweetie. But if you want, I’ll leave the hallway light on and crack the door a bit.” A quick kiss on the forehead and she leaves the room.

The light from the hallway is dim. It makes everything look dark and dirty, and Jessica sees cobwebs in the corner. It all seems eerily familiar to her and she just wants it to go away. She grabs Oscar, her favorite teddy, and pulls the covers over her head. Finally, after what seems like hours, she falls asleep.

. . .

Jessica dives into the pool. Swimming down to sit on the bottom, she looks around to see what underwater activity is taking place. She comes up for air, pauses a moment to see what her mom is doing, than dives under again. Just when she reaches the bottom, she remembers.

The girl is sitting at the edge of the pool, her feet dangling into the water. Her head is hanging down and she looks as though she is deep in thought. She moves her feet back and forth, creating small ripples on the surface. A young man sneaks up behind her and pushes her in. As she falls, her head hits the side of the pool. She feels a sharp pain, then another, and then blackness. She sinks to the bottom, and just before she blacks out totally she feels strong hands grab her, pulling her back up.

Jessica feels strong hands grab her arms and pull her back up. Lifting her out of the water, they lay her down on the side of the pool. She looks around and sees her mom standing over her. She feels a sharp pain in her head, then another, and then blackness.

. . .

. . .

“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.