“But this is the one that’s been doing the killing, right?”
Elizabeth hesitated. She didn’t know for sure who had killed the fraternity brothers, and she didn’t want to cast suspicion on any of the savants, especially since nothing that happened had been their fault. She decided, as she suspected Roy had, that it was best for Gil to carry all the blame. He had killed, and there was no way to punish a computer program, or a ghost for that matter. But blaming Gil put a terrible responsibility on her. Now she had to make sure Frankie never killed again. “Yes, Gil’s the killer.”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t get loose again. I want to talk to Dr. Birnbaum. He might have some ideas on how to keep him under control long-term, or at least through a trial. This is one time I think even the liberals will be happy Oregon has a death penalty.”
Elizabeth had always thought death sentences barbaric, but now she found her feelings mixed. Gil had shown no regard for human life and she couldn’t imagine what kind of prison could hold him.
She left the police to call Wes and let him know what had happened. “It worked,” she told him. “Gil is Frankie now. I’ve talked to her. Gil did a lot of damage, but they’ve got him in the hospital now. He’s restrained and they have his eyes covered.”
“I’m glad, but it doesn’t make sense. The integration is set up so that Daphne has the hearing, and yet you talked to Frankie. From here we weren’t sure the integration was working at all. The only reason we let the integration run was because the brain-wave pattern resembled Frankie’s, but we got no response here. Whatever power Gil has seems to override our integration. When Frankie’s integrated she seems to put the savants together in her own way.”
“Wes, there might be another problem. Officer Winston mentioned Gil’s powers in front of Frankie. Is there any chance she can access them?”
“I don’t know. She seems to be accessing other parts of his mind we didn’t intend, but that could be because the integration is incomplete. Without Luis there may be more flexibility for Frankie to work with.”
“Could you set the parameters to isolate Gil’s powers so he couldn’t use them? That way he would be safe in a prison population.”
“He’d have to wear an EET helmet all the time,” Wes said doubtfully. Then, after a long pause, “I didn’t develop this to use it for mind control. Don’t you know that by now, Elizabeth?”
“I didn’t mean it like it sounds. I was worried about the police and guards. I should have known you would hate to have it used that way.”
“If it’s absolutely necessary, we could work on the problem—”
“It’s not feasible—sorry I even suggested it.”
“I understand,” Wes said.
“What about Frankie? Can we keep her from getting to Gil’s powers?”
“We can try to localize Shamita’s wave, but even if we set it outside the parameters Frankie is hard to keep penned. I’ll talk it over with Shamita. You better warn the police, we’re going to end the integration soon.”
Elizabeth told Roy but he seemed uninterested. Whether the man on the bed called himself Gil or Frankie, made little difference to him. Elizabeth knew the difference was critical, and maybe deadly.
Gil woke confused. There was pain in his shoulder, and his arms were tied down so he couldn’t reach his face to uncover his eyes. He listened hard, hearing distant sounds, and he smelled the air. He wriggled his body, discovering a needle in his arm and a catheter in his penis. He was in a hospital.
He remembered being wrapped in Ralph’s arms—that stupid retard who’d ruined his plans. He vowed then and there to kill him no matter what risk—with a gun if he had to. He wriggled again, making his shoulder throb. It hurt, but he could still move his arm. He was alive and in good shape, but they knew his Achilles’ heel—his eyes were covered. Gil opened his eyes under the bandages. He could see light shining through, and, he realized, he could see the inside of the bandage. He pictured a finger, then gently pushed at the gauze. It bulged slightly, snapping back against his eyes, stinging him. His eyes watered, and he waited, letting them clear before he tried again. Now the door opened. Turning at the sound, he heard the voice of the policeman.
“So you’re awake. Are you Gil, or Frankie?”
Frankie had taken him again, he realized, he hadn’t fainted. What must I do to be rid of you’? Then, to the policeman, “Who’s Frankie?”
“Fine, be Gil! I don’t give a damn. You can be both for all I care. You can keep each other company in your cell.”
“Why are my eyes covered?”
“You know why! They’ll stay covered too.”
Gil decided to play innocent, blaming everything on Wes’s experiment. It was what the policeman wanted to believe anyway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do anything. Ever since I took part in Dr. Martin’s experiment I’ve been having blackouts.”
“Really. So you don’t remember killing anyone? You don’t remember wrecking the Seven-Eleven? Nothing?”
“I couldn’t have done that. I would remember, wouldn’t I. What did they do to me? Elizabeth—Ms. Foxworth—assured me it was a harmless experiment.”
“They tell a different story.”
“They’re blaming all this on me? It’s just too horrible.” Worried he was laying it on too thick, Gil changed direction. “Can’t you uncover my eyes so I can see you?”
“Never.”
“I have rights, you can’t keep me like this.”
“I can try. Anyway, soon you won’t be my problem. Tomorrow you’re going to be transferred to the state prison. They’ve got a hospital there.”
Now worried, Gil thought about the layers of security he’d have to break through to get out of a prison. No, his best chance was here.
“You interested in the body count?” the policeman asked.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“What was that retarded kid’s name? Luis. Do you remember killing him?”
“I loved Luis.”
“How many others did you kill before you came to Oregon? Was Dr. Birnbaum one of your victims?”
Startled, Gil twisted his head at the sound of Birnbaum’s name.
“Yeah, Dr. Birnbaum’s here. He’s anxious to see you. He thinks you might be the same one that tried to kill him.”
Dr. Birnbaum would surely identify him, and once they made that connection they might trace him to other programs and other deaths. He’d left a trail of false names, but eventually they would uncover it all.
“Nothing to say? You can try the insanity plea, but when a jury sees the video we have on you in action they won’t dare set you free.”
Gil heard him walk to the door and open it; then he spoke again.
“Don’t even think of trying to escape. Every cop on the force thinks the world would be a better place with you dead. I agree. There will be an armed guard outside your door at all times.”
Then the door closed, and locked. Gil was alone, and scared. He had to get away! Once they transferred him they would take his picture and those would be splashed all over the country, making it hard for him to disappear. Court might be the easiest place to break out of, but by then the pictures would have been taken. Prison was clearly the worst place to break out of, so it had to be sooner. He could wait until they had him in the ambulance on the way to the prison but they would be sure to have guards in the ambulance, and following in a car. Even injured, now was his best chance to get free.
He worked up righteous indignation, then turned it into anger and opened his eyes again. Imagining a finger he pointed it at an angle and pushed. The bandage moved, up and then down. Pointing the imaginary finger at a sharper angle, he pushed again. The bandage was tight around his head and the push lifted his head off the pillow. With more angle he pushed three quick times in succession. This time the bandage moved up his forehead slightly. Confidence filled him, and his anger at being captured by “average people” built. H
e pushed three quick times in succession and the bandage moved again. Now he knew he could do it, but it was too soon. He would wait until night, then he would be free again.
Ralph was treated as a hero at home and got to choose dinner. He picked pizza, which pleased Archie and Yu, and they ate greasy slices of pepperoni pizza while watching his favorite video, Bambi. Daphne remained morose, nibbling her pizza, then going to her room. The others ate silently in the kitchen, saddened by the death and destruction that surrounded them. Karla Birnbaum insisted on acting as waitress, getting up and down, and serving the others. Embarrassed, Wes reminded her she was a guest, and she should be waited on, but Elizabeth flashed him a look that told him Karla needed to be busy.
When they were finished, they cleaned up, then sat drinking coffee, listening to the rain. Finally, Elizabeth turned to Dr. Birnbaum.
“Officer Winston thought you might know of a way to stop Gil.”
“Kill him. Blind him. A modified lobotomy—if we could localize the source of his ability.”
“If it’s like most brain function, it could be too widespread to remove,” Wes said. “At least not without killing him. But maybe that’s a win-win choice.”
They sat quietly again until Elizabeth thought about Ralph’s immunity.
“How do you explain Gil’s power? And what about the way Ralph was unaffected? Did you know he can hear Gil’s thoughts?”
Everyone waited for Dr. Birnbaum, the expert.
“I’ve been thinking about that. Where did the power come from? Genetic mutation? Evolution? Gil wasn’t the first to have the power, just the first to have it at this level—maybe you enhanced it with your experiment. I think that’s likely. Maybe it’s a power we all have in some way. His ability to plant thoughts in people’s minds, for example. Why are some people more persuasive than others? What do we mean by a ‘forceful personality’? Perhaps some people have always had this ability. Perhaps a few cells, deep in their hypothalamus, give them just a little power over the rest of us. Elizabeth, you seem to dominate the people around you; perhaps you have the power. Perhaps Gil has the same hypothalamic cells as you but they are much larger. Say also that whatever you did with your experiment magnified that power; then you get someone like Gil.
“You don’t mind if I continue to use you as an example, do you, Elizabeth? Now, Elizabeth, I said you were dominating—assertive if you prefer—but people tend to see things your way. But I notice that Wes doesn’t respond the same way as the others. I suspect you and he get into it now and then. Perhaps Wes and Ralph are alike in some way.”
Karon and Shamita snickered, and Wes tried to hide his discomfort.
“I said something funny? Anyway, if we dissected your brain, Wes, and Ralph’s, would we find something special in your hypothalamus? Perhaps your own special set of cells that make you resistant to these forces?”
“But Gil used his power on me.”
“It’s just an example. Ralph can be considered to be like Gil, with an extraordinary ability. Fortunately for us, Ralph’s ability is resistance to PK.”
Momentarily silent, Wes was thinking about the experiment. “Dr. Birnbaum, what do you think of Frankie? What’s the connection with the hidden room downstairs?”
Dr. Birnbaum rotated his chair so he could look Wes straight in the eye. “That, at least, is clear. Your synthesized consciousness is the host for the spirit of the young woman that was entombed in the basement.”
Wes was uncomfortable, wanting a different explanation. “A ghost? It can’t be—”
“Why not? Possession has been long recognized by a wide range of cultures and throughout history. One person’s soul possesses another person’s body, and the result is usually devastating—mental and physical disability—as two souls fight for the same body and mind. It can’t work and the person is tormented, confused, and labeled insane. But what you have created with your marvelous machines is ideal for possession. A new mind comes into existence without a soul, just waiting to be possessed. All that is needed is a soul looking for a host and you have a match made in heaven—perhaps literally. It’s a shame Frankie can’t exist permanently. There’s no way to sustain the integration without the donors, is there? I didn’t think so. What a pity. I wish I could meet this Frankie.”
“The experiment’s over!” Wes said, but then he saw Elizabeth shaking her head.
“It’s not over until the spontaneous integration stops. Frankie is coming together without us.” Then she turned to Dr. Birnbaum. “If we knew how Frankie can integrate without our help, it would help us stop it from happening.”
Dr. Birnbaum pursed his lips, rubbing them with his fingers. “Most likely it’s an extension of Gil’s ability to suggest thoughts to people. He can enter their minds and insert his own thoughts. Blending Gil with the others made them receptive to his powers. Perhaps they even share his power to a degree. As to what triggers it, I don’t know.”
Wes leaned forward, getting Dr. Birnbaum’s attention. “You’re saying that today when Frankie took over, her soul was part of the mind we synthesized.”
“The New Testament says to love God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind. You’re not a whole person unless you have all three, but if you have to get by with two, you’d be closer to personhood with a soul and a mind, than with a mind and a body. Because of your experiment Frankie gets all three—at least temporarily.”
Wes rocked back, letting it sink in. The explanation came hard to an empiricist, someone who worshiped the rational. Wes had never had much use for the emotional side of life, which he saw as inextricably linked to the spiritual. Now, face-to-face with it, he was uncomfortable. Ironically, his rational side now pushed him to accept a nonrational truth. Frankie’s animation had surprised him from the first time it appeared, but his ego had fooled him into thinking it was his cleverness that made Frankie what she was. A humbler man might have seen the truth, and perhaps saved lives.
“If that was Frankie’s soul in Gil’s body, then what if Gil had been killed?” Wes asked. “Would Frankie’s soul be released?”
“I love these philosophical questions—I haven’t been this happy since before the accident,” Dr. Birnbaum said, waving his good arm in the air.
Dr. Birnbaum’s excitement cheered the morose group, brightening the kitchen.
“It’s a fascinating question, Wes. It might be that both souls are lost if Gil dies. But if the soul is linked to the mind, then if Gil had died Frankie would have only lost part of her mind. I suspect the soul would have lived on. Frankie would have the lives of a cat, living as long as each of the donor minds lives. Only when all the minds went—each piece killed—could you be sure the soul from the basement would be set free.”
“Nancy,” Elizabeth said forcefully.
“Excuse me,” Dr. Birnbaum said.
“The soul we’re talking about is from a young woman who suffered greatly. Her name was Nancy Watson.”
“Of course,” Dr. Birnbaum said. “The soul of Nancy Watson. Elizabeth, you remind me of something else. Nancy Watson died once already. Perhaps it’s her suffering that kept her here—that would be consistent with other similar phenomena—but if so, then there may be no way to send her soul on its way. Not until she’s ready to go.”
34
BREAKOUT
The muffled hospital sounds were gone now, except for an occasional tap of footsteps down the hall. It was night routine in the hospital—time to begin.
Gil opened his eyes, focusing on the inside of the gauze, then angled a push. He tried several angles until he had the knack again, then push . . . push . . . push. Slowly the gauze worked its way up his face onto his forehead. Looking down, he saw movement—it was his feet under the sheet. He wiggled them again, watching the sheet ripple. Through the slit he looked around the dark room, making sure he was alone. He craned his neck, checking the ceiling corners, and the walls. There were no cameras—not in this hick town.
He worked the
blindfold until he could see clearly, but left his eyes partially covered, fearing the guard would peek in. Freeing his hands was more difficult. He studied the cuffs but they were tempered steel and he’d rip his hand off before the chain linking the cuffs would give. Instead he studied the bedrail, feeling the steel tubing, running his hand along until it met a joint. It would bend if he hit it hard enough, but he feared the noise would bring the guard. Instead, Gil decided to explore the limits of his power.
Thinking of being captured by inferior beings, he rekindled his anger, fanning the flames with images of Ralph and the cop who captured him. Then he pictured a chisel held against the rail and pushed slowly and evenly. Nothing. Frustrated, he felt his anger swell. He pushed again, but too hard, and the steel tube was crushed, groaning loudly. Flopping back, Gil lay motionless, listening hard. No guard came to check.
Patience! he reminded himself. He had to be gone by morning but he had time to be careful. Starting over, this time at the joint, he pushed softly at first, then built slowly, stoking his anger gradually. He thought of being held captive, of being chained like an animal. Then he pictured that big policeman and the girl cop who helped him, and his anger swelled a notch. The steel tube dented. Then he thought of Wes and Elizabeth, and the other so-called scientists, and the way they thought of him as an inferior, ordering him around. His anger notched up again and the dimple in the tube spread. Then he thought of Ralph and his hatred reached its zenith. The tube slowly flattened. He continued to push, bending the flattened tube until it folded in half, pulling out of the joint.
Elated, Gil slid the handcuff off the tube. You can’t hold me—you can’t stop me! he wanted to scream in defiance, but instead he turned the emotion to anger and went to work on the other rail.
Daphne had no crutch—the sounds of the piano no longer filled her, ordering her thoughts, bringing structure. The imaginary piano did no better, and she was at the mercy of the swirling thoughts in her head. But the confusion of the swirl was nothing compared to the horror that was the eye of her mental hurricane. Having long feared being swept up in the buzzing confusion in her mind, she longed to be carried away by it. Anything was better than what waited at the core.
Fragments Page 36