Veil

by Aaron Overfield

  She moved the mouse from the first recording to the third, which she saved as “MURDERER.” The cursor momentarily hovered over the second recording. The images of what was contained in the second video, what she witnessed happen to her Jin, flashed in her memory each time she moved the cursor from the first to the third recording. Each time, the images were as disturbingly clear as the day she first saw them. She didn’t need to see it again. She couldn’t see it again. Her only job was to keep the evidence safe.

  She moved the cursor the rest of the way over and double-clicked on the third video. In that recording, she witnessed the white male enter the other elevator from the 13th floor, approximately three hours after Jin was murdered. The initial elevator was shut down while the hospital and police investigated and cleaned up the remains of her husband, which splattered inside when he was shot.

  Suren watched the man ride the elevator to the lobby. The bastard who shot her husband rocked back and forth on his feet and appeared careless and unbothered. She watched the doors open at the lobby and saw him walk out of the elevator. Suren watched until she couldn’t see one more pixel of him in the frame. She restarted the recording and watched him enter the elevator again and again and again. She studied his face with the same burning intensity as she did the day before and the day before that and the day before that.

  Every night, after she investigated Jin’s death all day and obsessively scrutinized those video clips all evening, Suren chose one of the notebooks that contained the daily morning greetings she and Jin exchanged. Each night, Suren would choose a different notebook. She had several dozen to choose from and to keep her busy. She would read it and memorize every one of Jin’s tender notes, until she eventually fell asleep with the book on her chest.

  That night was different.

  Three months to the day, Suren had enough.

  If she couldn’t get justice, she would settle for vengeance.

  Three months after Jin’s life was ripped from him—and from her—Suren Tsay picked up her purse and took out her cellphone.

  2

  CURRENTS

  “Ken. Hello Ken.”

  “Suren?”

  Why would Suren be calling me now? Ah shit, did I miss Jin’s birthday?

  “I need you to come here. Jin’s dead, Ken. They’ve killed my Jin.”

  “What! Who? Who killed Jin? What?”

  “I need you to come here. I need your help. They’ve killed my Jin, and you’re the only one. You’re the only one, Ken.”

  “I’m the only one? I’m the only one what, Suren?”

  She didn’t respond. He couldn’t hear her on the other end, so he wasn’t sure if the connection was dropped, or if she simply stopped talking.

  If I missed his birthday or something and this is a joke … ummm that’s kinda pushin’ it lady.

  Ken knew something was wrong, though. Something had to be wrong. Suren was by no means as uptight as her other half—from whose rear-end they might have extracted the Hope Diamond—but she wasn’t the type Ken or anyone else would consider a prankster.

  “I need your help, Ken.”

  Suren wasn’t crying. She wasn’t sobbing or screaming. Her tone was lifeless and eerie; it was the exact opposite of any Suren that Ken ever knew.

  “What do you need? Suren, I don’t understand. Please. I’m starting to worry. This isn’t like you.”

  “I’m sending you a file. Go to a computer.”

  “Send it. I can try to open it with my phone.”

  Suren opened Jin’s email program, began to type Ken’s name, and chose his address from the selections that appeared. She clicked the paperclip icon, navigated to the recording marked “JIN,” attached it to the email, and sent it.

  No subject, nothing in the body of the email.

  Send this message without a subject or text in the body? the program asked.

  Yes.

  After a few seconds, Suren heard the sound produced by Ken’s phone when it vibrated.

  He’d gotten it.

  He’s going to see it. I’m so sorry, Ken. But, you have to see it. You have to see what they did to our Jin.

  “Oops. Just a second, hold on,” he murmured.

  In the moments of silence, Suren couldn’t help but recall what Ken was seeing for the first time. She didn’t want to remember it, but she couldn’t help herself. Ken was seeing one of those things that could never be unseen.

  Suddenly, “Oh!” Followed seconds later by, “Oh God. Oh God—oh my God. Oh my fucking God.” Followed by a gasp. After some silence, when Ken remembered there was someone on the phone, he spoke again. “I’ll leave tonight. I’ll be in D.C. tomorrow morning. I’ll call you when I arrive. Best to meet somewhere.”

  “Yes,” Suren agreed.

  “I will call when I land. Answer your phone. If you don’t answer the first time, I’m calling the police.”

  “I’ll answer,” Suren whispered and ended the call.

  As Ken bought his ticket and tried to unsee what was in that video, Suren realized how badly she needed Ken. For the rest of the night, Suren was increasingly hard on herself for not calling Ken sooner.

  After Ken purchased his ticket, he was conflicted and increasingly hard on himself while he packed. He was hard on himself with regret over the fact that he did not stay by Jin’s side. He was hard on himself with guilt over the fact that he was suddenly extra relieved he did not stay by Jin’s side. Ken drank on the plane to D.C.

  Dr. Kenneth Wise didn’t consider himself bitter. He wasn’t jealous, either. He and Jin simply parted ways. As in a divorce, Jin kept the fruits of their labor, while Ken moved on to build his own life and start something fresh. It wasn’t like they could divvy up their research, and the research became Jin’s baby anyway. Ken knew that. Ken’s heart was in it, but he knew without Jin, none of it would’ve ever been possible. However, without Ken, Jin would’ve made the same discoveries and breakthroughs, although perhaps not as quickly.

  Ken fully understood the theory and information behind all their work. He and Jin were equaled in that regard, even if he couldn’t recite all the formulas and equations in his sleep, as Jin probably could. Ken always thought of himself as the heart behind the research and Jin as the mind. It felt good to think of it that way once he left because in the scientific community being the heart came in second to being the mind. Considering that, Ken felt his leaving made more sense than if Jin had left. For the most part, Ken didn’t feel inferior to Jin, although he did recognize that, when it came to thinking, Jin was much better at it.

  To Ken, being a better thinker was no different than being a stronger swimmer than someone, or a more talented singer. To Ken, one’s ability meant nothing about one’s value or worth. Still, when it came right down to it, Ken wasn’t sure most people would want to work day in and day out while partnered with someone they knew was better at the job. Ken assumed it would’ve been far too much for a lesser man to handle. Ken felt he handled it pretty well, and he would’ve stayed if not for the offer.

  When the offer came, it didn’t feel right to Ken. That was really all it was. They made it as far as they could with their thesis, and real life was calling. They were no longer young grad schoolers who could continue to shirk their responsibilities in order to stay in the lab for a little longer. They needed funding, or they needed real jobs, quickly and badly. Jin was married by then and as much of a godsend as Suren might’ve been, she couldn’t simply support Jin so he could stay in the lab and tinker forever. Besides, Jin wouldn’t have had it that way.

  At the time, interest in the exploration of brainwaves and the brain’s electrochemical signals was marginal, to say the least. Shoring up funding to support their research proved to be a greater challenge than either of them expected. Plus, not only did they need to fund their research, they needed to fund their lives. It would’ve been an understatement to say they truly expected their search for funding to be brief and to be a cinch.

  Maybe they�
��d been in denial. Or maybe, as Ken believed, the world of academia that so encouraged their scientific curiosity also shielded them from too much of the real world. Perhaps it filled them with an unrealistic optimism that anyone other than the two of them would ever care about what they were trying to achieve. The only comment Jin made about their predicament was to say he couldn’t work and conduct his research; his work had to be their research or their research was dead.

  The only real interest came from fringe new-age groups that lacked the financial means to support research; most of them lacked the financial means to support a publication of their own. They would offer praise about the “implications” of his and Jin’s work and how “promising” their research sounded; however, in terms of what the two actually needed, they would merely get wished the best. Most of the other responses, if responses were received, were of a ‘thanks-but-no-thanks, there’s nothing more to be learned from your field’ kind. It seemed everyone with money was more interested in things like the Human Genome Project or Hadron Colliders. Much larger, bigger-picture type projects.

  It was Jin’s idea to appeal to the government. The drastic change of direction came on the heels of two discoveries: one by Ken and the other by Jin.

  Ken was always intrigued by what he considered the brain’s “background noise.” There was an electrical buzzing underneath the brainwaves and it occurred at all times, although the brain’s “electricity” wasn’t what most people pictured when they thought about electricity. It wasn’t the same as the current they plugged their TVs into for power; it was much more complicated, not to mention electrochemical. Still, the constant background noise told Ken there was more going on behind the scenes, and he decided it meant something.

  Ken focused on what he deduced was an entire “neuroelectrical network,” which was expressed through brainwaves. Although the brain’s electrical current was different than normal electricity, it was still a current, and he realized it was a network. It proved to be an actual, unified network of neuroelectrical currents whose oscillations and vibrations stimulated the brain, tied all its functions together, and created a person.

  He explained to Jin how the network functioned not unlike the lungs. The same way the lungs received and oxygenated blood cells before they were returned to the heart and body, the neuroelectrical network received and organized the synaptic signals before they were returned to the brain and nerves. Because a person’s entire existence traversed the current, it would’ve seen everything about a person pass through it, so Ken coined the neuroelectrical network “The Witness.”

  However, it simply wasn’t enough for Ken and Jin to discover an entire unified neuroelectrical network. They couldn’t merely point it out; they had to do something with it or to it. Everyone was already aware that the brain’s functioning was a complicated byproduct of electrochemicals, electrical impulses of neurons through synapses. It wasn’t breaking news to anyone. It wasn’t a major discovery or a game changer. Nobody would care about The Witness if it didn’t do anything or if nothing could be done with it.

  Ken and Jin had to learn more about The Witness. So, they did. Well, Jin did.

  Jin decided they should focus on interpreting the vibrations of The Witness, since maybe they would elucidate the brain’s methodology. Maybe dissecting the vibrations of The Witness would compel the brain to confess how communication within it actually occurred—how the brain actually made a person a person. Maybe the neuroelectrical vibrations of The Witness would lead them to what every conscious, insightful person wondered: What makes us tick? What makes us us?

  “Like that dude on Oprah always says,” Ken quipped. “You want to find the seat of the soul.”

  Jin didn’t get the joke. Jin seemed perturbed Ken knew what anyone on Oprah ever said in the entire history of Oprah. Why would Ken watch Oprah? Well, that was what it looked like Jin was thinking. That was how it looked to Ken.

  Jin firmly decided the pair could find what they were looking for if they examined the current of The Witness closely enough. Jin firmly decided that if they could decode The Witness, they could translate the very language of the brain.

  They didn’t do either of those things.

  However, Jin did discover something.

  Looking back, Ken realized that Jin, besides that something, also discovered how to get a bullet put through his brain.

  God Jin, what did they do to you?

  Long before the bullet, Jin discovered how, as The Witness vibrated to stimulate the brain into producing information, the neuroelectrical vibrations of The Witness rippled outward. As the current spread outward, it continued to vibrate, even if very faintly. The rippling and vibrating continued until the person entered a sleep cycle, at which time all neuroelectrical vibrations of The Witness would slow down into delta brainwaves, until the ripples and vibrations eventually diffused into nonexistence. For Jin, the discovery was a complete game changer. Jin firmly believed it meant that, since traces of those vibrations remained, their stimulation of the brain could be repeated.

  The information generated in the brain by those neuroelectrical vibrations could be recreated.

  Experience itself could be replicated.

  Up to that point, they only focused on how the neuroelectrical currents in the brain acted as one large network. They only studied what The Witness did. They only researched how that network could possibly be tapped into in order to understand how all the different parts of the brain worked together to form a single person with awareness, consciousness, and a unique personality. Tapping into the neuroelectrical network was quite a lofty goal and would’ve forged a perfectly acceptable legacy for them.

  Following Jin’s discovery that the vibrations of The Witness lingered, the partners shifted their focus. They studied what The Witness contained. Their shift in focus quickly ushered in the staggering realization that, with the correct methodology, the information and experience generated by the vibrations of The Witness could somehow be replicated and accessed. Perhaps using a computer or other technology. If they understood the nature of The Witness, they could learn how to, with the right amount of time and funding, artificially duplicate, access, and interpret experience using every available rippling neuroelectrical vibration of The Witness.

  Essentially, right there in front of them was the potential to break open the human mind: to read someone’s thoughts, absorb someone’s emotions, and possibly access someone’s memory. Prior to Jin’s discovery, The Witness was but a stream of water they could only watch flow by and maybe dip their fingers in. Suddenly, they had access to an entire ocean of consciousness, which they had time to swim around in and explore.

  All they had to say to the government was “read thoughts” or “access memory,” and they had everyone at full attention. Jin lacked Ken’s ability to communicate and Ken wasn’t paralyzed with social anxiety, so it made sense for him to present their proposal. So, he did—reluctantly. Ken didn’t trust the government, and he wasn’t sure it was the right path for him and/or his friend. However, Ken being Ken, he wanted to explore all available options.

  Ken attempted another joke, in a long friendship of failed but persistent jokes, about how he could use the planetary neural network of Pandora in Avatar as an example when trying to convey their theory of The Witness. But alas, seeing as how it was such a heavy-handed anti-military movie, perhaps it was a bad idea.

  Once again, Ken’s wit was met with a blank stare. Not even a slight, perfunctory chuckle.

  “You haven’t seen Avatar, have you?”

  “Never heard.”

  Well, at least he didn’t give Ken the same look as he did with the Oprah joke. Or was he?

  Are you giving me that look again? Don’t judge me, butthead.

  Ken never did grow accustomed to Jin’s blank stare.

  Moments like those reminded Ken how different their lives were, for the most part. They spent hours upon hours every day in the lab working side-by-side and spent time toge
ther—many times with Suren—outside of work. Nevertheless, when it came down to it, they didn’t have much in common other than their interest in the brain and, eventually, its neuroelectrical network. Still, they managed to remain not only colleagues but also friends since college.

  After being presented with “The Ken and Jin Show,” the government didn’t waste any time. The two were presented with a civilian/military research contract, in order to develop their findings into usable techniques. The military wanted what Ken described. The military wanted it very much.

  According its verbiage, the contract would, “grant the United States Departments of Defense and Homeland Security unrestricted access to the research to utilize it in any way seen fit, in order to protect our citizens and ensure National Security.”

  The pair was informed that once they signed the contract, they would want for nothing. They would be provided any equipment necessary for their research and development. They would be provided a considerable salary and benefits. All they needed to do was sign the contract and relocate to Washington, D.C. Everything else would be taken care of for them.

  The offer didn’t feel right to Ken. That was really all it was.

  Ken tried to sway Jin to give their search for funding a little longer and to exhaust all options before handing their work over to the government. Ken didn’t trust the government. Granted, Ken didn’t trust much but, come on … the government?

  Ken knew—without a doubt—if he and Jin produced results the military deemed the slightest bit useful, they would take it from them and use it however they wanted. Ken repeatedly stressed that the government’s usage would most likely be totally opposite of how the partners ever intended any of their research to be used. Ken’s argument hinged on one, simple, irrefutable opinion/fact.