All I needed was just enough strength to go through with this. But that was so very much to ask of myself.
The acceptance letter was folded in my purse. My ticket to a possible new life. I’d been told to bring it—and two pieces of identification.
As I turned off the Camry’s engine my cell phone rang. I jumped. How tense my muscles were. I steadied myself, then picked up the cell. Sherry’s name filled the display. “Hi.”
“Hey, you! Wanna come over for dinner? Jay’s got a meeting, so it’s just me and the kids.”
Kids. Such an easy word to slip from your mouth when you had them. My funny friend Sherry had a girl and a boy, ages seven and two. Rebecca and J.T. I loved them dearly, though I hadn’t seen them in months. I’d lacked the energy.
“Oh, and I’m making my finest-this-side-of-Italy spaghetti.”
Memories hit. Eating Sherry’s spaghetti at her house. Ryan next to me, laughing with her husband, Jay. I winced and closed my eyes. “Wish I could. But I just got to my appointment. At Cognoscenti.”
“Oh.”
The silence vibrated.
“I haven’t said yes, you know. This is my meeting to decide.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
A hesitant tone. For some reason I resented it, which wasn’t fair. Sherry was a great friend, had been ever since we met at an office party for the investment company where Jay and I worked. After Ryan’s death, then the attack, she’d often carried me. Goodness knows I’d been a dead weight.
“Lisa, I hear those cogs in your head. Stop it.”
“Okay.”
“I’m just afraid for you.”
“I know.”
So much was at stake. The operation could go badly. I could get the placebo. Even if everything went perfectly I’d still need to build my future without Ryan. “That’ll still be hard,” Sherry had warned me. “It’s not like this operation will erase all your troubles.”
Yes. But what if I didn’t do this? Even Sherry had no idea what my life had been like. No one could possibly know.
“So, okay.” Sherry’s voice lightened. “Miss the best spaghetti on the planet. Just let me know what happens. And whatever you decide, you know I’m with you.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
A man stepped out of the building, heading for the parking lot. Even in daylight I pressed back in my seat and checked the door locks. Was he an employee? A trial participant? I watched him approach a blue sedan some distance away and open the door. My body relaxed a little, but my heart pinched. Ryan’s car had been that color.
“Lisa. Promise you’ll call me.”
“Promise.”
I clicked off the line and dropped the phone in my purse.
The building loomed before me. The air seemed suddenly heavy. Was that an omen?
I glanced around and saw no one. The frail promise of safety in a parking lot. Purse in hand, I slid from the car.
The building’s glass-plated door was huge. I forced it back and edged inside to a white-walled lobby with shiny tile floor. Across from me sat an imposing U-shaped desk and behind it—a security guard. He looked in his fifties. Thick gray hair, a jowly face. His name badge read Richard Mair.
He allowed a half smile. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Lisa Newberry, with a 5:30 appointment to see Jerry Sterne.”
My eyes landed on a row of monitors to the security guard’s right. Six in all. One for each floor? They displayed fish-eyed views of elevators and hallways, skewed forms moving across black and white screens. On one monitor—me, looking small and vacant.
I glanced up at the ceiling. There sat a tiny camera, mounted against the corner.
“May I see two pieces of identification?”
Security cameras in a company like this made sense, but they unsettled me, all the same.
I pulled out my driver’s license and credit card. Why did they even need to see them? Surely they had a picture of me in my file. But that must be upstairs with Sterne.
Mair checked them over, then gazed at me. He handed the items back. “Thank you.”
I put them away.
“Here’s your visitor’s pass, Ms. Newberry.” Mair printed my name and the date on a white square and slid it into a clear-covered badge with a long loop. He also asked me to sign my name and the time into a logbook. “Hang this badge around your neck. Return it when you leave. You can have a seat over there.” He nodded toward two plush sofas facing each other, a magazine-laden table between them. “I’ll let Mr. Sterne know you’re here.”
On weak legs I crossed to a couch and sat. Gazed at the magazines of all colors and sizes. So much life promised on their covers. Did such a world still exist?
Oh, Ryan. He’d be so disappointed in my desperation. He’d worked so hard to fill me up emotionally, especially after my miscarriages. My failures. His faith in me was a steady pour. I’d been a leaky pan.
“Ms. Newberry?”
I jerked up to see a man on my right. “Hi. Sorry, I was. . .” I stood.
He held out his hand. “Jerry Sterne, research director for the Empowerment Chip trials.”
Midforties, maybe? A friendly face and chocolate brown eyes. Receding dark hair. He was built like Ryan, tall and slim.
The familiar pain needled my gut.
I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“This way, please.” Mr. Sterne gestured toward the elevator.
We stopped at floor three. In his office, a sitting area held four armchairs, in one of them a severe-looking woman with gray hair slicked into a bun. Not a wrinkle on her skin, and her ice-blue business suit matched her eyes. She stood as we entered. Her lips curved, but the smile didn’t reach the rest of her face.
“Ms. Newberry.”
She held out her hand, and I took it. As expected, it was cold.
“I’m Clair Saxton, second research director for the trials. Jerry and I are teaming this one. So nice to meet you.” Her voice had a polished edge. Like steel.
“Nice to meet you. Please call me Lisa.”
“And we’re Jerry and Clair.” Jerry Sterne indicated a chair. “Would you like tea or coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
He settled next to Ice Queen, the two of them facing me. On a table near Jerry sat a folder with my name on it, two pens, and a small wooden box. I crossed my ankles, hoping they wouldn’t tremble.
Jerry spread his hands. “Welcome, and congratulations on being accepted into the trial. We wanted to meet with you today to go over any questions you might have. I know you’ve had numerous explanations before, but this is your chance to tie up any loose ends in your mind. Also, due to the proprietary nature of our trial, our people who interviewed you could not be as forthcoming about all aspects up to this point.”
“I know.”
Jerry rose to pick up two business cards from his desk and handed them to me. “Keep these and call either of us anytime if you need to.”
I slipped them into my purse. “Thank you.”
He resettled in the chair. “So, first—do you have questions for us?”
Only a million. “I want to hear more about how this works. And what the side effects could be.”
“Sure, common questions. As you know this is a double-blind, placebo-controlled trial. Until it’s completed you won’t know whether you’ve been given a viable chip or the placebo, and neither will we. That way neither you nor we are subconsciously biased as to the results we observe.”
“I can’t get the placebo. I need this too much.”
“I understand it’s hard. But we can’t guarantee that. People undergo trials like this to test new products in the hope they’ll get the real thing—which is likely to benefit them. In our case, this is our third round of trials, and we’ve seen some wonderful results. At the same time, the power of suggestion is a strong force. In trials like this, a fair percentage of people claim improvements even from the placebo. That’s taken into account when results are revi
ewed. The tested item—here, a chip rather than medication—must prove positive results above those from the placebo.”
“You’re telling me I could feel better just for having the procedure?”
“It’s possible.”
I studied my lap. If the power of suggestion was that strong, why couldn’t I overcome this depression on my own? Why was I dying a slow death, when I wanted to live?
“How does it work, then? The real chip.”
Clair jumped in, her chilly eyes gleaming. “A little background might help. Cognoscenti isn’t the first to research brain implants. But we’re definitely the best. For example, some patients with depression or Parkinson’s have been successfully treated with implants. Also Darpa, a science unit of the U.S. military, has been part of a project funded a few years ago that involves numerous universities, including Stanford. They’ve been concerned about the number of soldiers coming home from Iraq and Afghanistan with brain injuries. They’re working on repairing those injuries through a new technique called optogenetics, which involves emitting light pulses to trigger precise neural activity in a certain area of the brain.” She waved a hand. “We surpassed them long ago by developing a tiny chip made of electrodes that send out similar pulses. Our chip’s energy is renewed through motion of the patient, much like a no-wind quartz watch. So there’s no replacement of batteries needed. And we place our chip on a different part of the brain—amazingly close to the surface, not deep inside. These two points of our technology alone are far advanced over anyone else. In fact, many researchers told us neither one of them could be done. Yet we’ve done them both—and on the same chip. As a result of our placement technique, our procedure is as minimally invasive as it can possibly be.”
I nodded, trying to take it all in.
“Regarding our focus, it’s not been on physical brain injuries, like Darpa is doing, but on emotional issues such as depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. How to stop the trauma without erasing actual memories. The result is a person who knows his past and can learn from it but is no longer tortured by it. With the Empowerment Chip, we’ve seen this happen immediately.”
Immediately. My life—changed. Energy renewed. The terror gone. My fingers curled into my palms. It was too much to hope for. Like wanting to steal a piece of the sun. Could this amazing thing happen to me?
Jerry held up a finger. “Of course we need to remind you that the chip isn’t a cure-all. It does help people deal with past trauma and grief, but beyond that, the emotional strength you use in dealing with life comes from you.”
“Yes. I understand that.” One of the screening people I’d seen previously described depression as trying to run with a broken foot. Healed bones wouldn’t make that person a bionic runner. It would simply return him to his own normal ability.
I took a breath. “What about side effects?”
“Well, of course there are the chances taken with any surgery.” He went down the list.
“But can the chip itself hurt me?”
“Not that we’ve seen. You might experience some tingling in your hands. We’re not sure why that occurs. A small percentage in the first trial reported memory loss.”
My head drew back. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to harm your memory.”
“It isn’t. And it usually doesn’t. The reported cases had to do with insignificant recollections, not major ones.”
I focused out the window. I didn’t want to forget Ryan. My incredible husband. He didn’t deserve that.
Jerry shifted in his seat.
“Why me?” The question popped out of my mouth. “Why am I a good candidate?”
Surely I’d shown severe signs of depression and grief. Paranoia and fear. Was that why? Because I needed the chip so badly?
“You’re physically healthy, for one,” Jerry said. “You’ve shown a strong desire to proceed, and we think you’re someone who could possibly benefit very highly.”
In other words, yes, I desperately needed it.
“But, Lisa, you don’t have to continue. It’s your choice.”
I looked from Jerry to Ice Queen. “How long do I have to decide?”
She raised her thin eyebrows. “A day.”
“One day?”
She nodded. “Jerry and I are meeting with candidates until nine o’clock tonight. Tomorrow we start another thirteen-hour day. Many people are excited about this opportunity, and many more qualify than we can accommodate. If you decide not to go forward, someone will quickly fill your place.”
I focused on the floor. One day—for such a decision? That was impossible. I could spend an entire day just trying to get out of bed.
This was beyond me. I couldn’t do it. Why had I even come here?
Why had God let Ryan die? Why did He do this to me?
Jerry tapped the arm of his chair. “Before you decide, we’d like to go over the actual procedure with you.”
And the babies I lost—why did they have to die? And why was I attacked?
“Lisa?”
Years ago in Sunday school I’d memorized verses from Psalm 139: “Where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there. If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there . . .” God had once been a sustaining part of my life. He was always there for me, a comfort and a strength. But I hadn’t felt His presence in a long time. That absence was like falling into a deep well. I’d lost everything. And now even God didn’t care.
“Ms. Newberry?”
I blinked. “Sorry. I’m listening.”
For the next ten minutes Jerry went over the rest of the important information. The procedure would take place at Hillsdale Hospital in Palo Alto—at the full expense of Cognoscenti. The doctors would drill a small hole in my skull and attach the chip to the cerebral cortex—the outer sheet of neural tissue covering the cerebrum. A two-inch patch of hair would need to be shaved on the top left side of my head. The procedure would take place on Friday morning. I’d stay in the hospital two nights.
Two nights? After that I’d have to go home. Alone. Then . . . what? Would I be renewed? Or implanted with a placebo and worse off than ever?
“If I get the real chip, you say I’ll start to feel better right away?”
Ice Queen nodded. “The light pulses work immediately. If the chip proves beneficial to you, yes, you should feel the difference quickly.”
My chest fluttered. The very thought of that . . . I had to have it. It had to come true.
I folded my arms, chilled, and stared at the table.
Jerry paused. “Any other questions?”
I nearly laughed. I had questions that could keep us in that office all night—most of which no human being could answer. So many unknowns crowded my mind that I couldn’t articulate a single one.
My gaze landed on the box. I gestured toward it with my chin. “What’s in there?”
“Ah, thought you’d never ask.” Jerry leaned forward. “Want to see what the chip looks like?”
Oh! “Is one in there?”
With an almost reverent air, Jerry opened the box and handed it to me. “This is a replica of the EC.”
Gingerly I took the box and held it close to my face. There, against a white fabric bottom, rested a dark chip. This could be my salvation? I didn’t want to breathe on it for fear I’d whisk it away. “It’s so small.”
“Yes.”
“Can I pick it up?”
“Sure.”
I lowered my forefinger into the box until it touched on the chip. Then turned the box upside down and lifted it away. The EC sat on the tip of my finger.
I gaped at it. How tiny it was. This little thing could alter an entire life? My life?
This had to be the most important invention on earth. Computers, the Internet, cell phones—all the latest technology amounted to nothing compared to what this chip could do. Just think how many emotionally crippled people it might cure. They would go on to lead productive lives. Not to mention the millions of dol
lars saved from their medical bills.
This chip could change the world.
I gazed at it a minute longer, not wanting to part with it, even though I knew it was only a replica. Finally I replaced the chip in its box with care. Set it on the table. “Thank you.” The words were a mere whisper.
I stood, unable to say anything more.
Jerry and Clair rose also. Jerry held out his hand. “Thanks for coming in, Lisa. Remember, we need to hear from you by 5:30 tomorrow. Should you decide to proceed, we’ll need you back here to sign the necessary papers.”
“Okay.”
“Hope to see you again.” Ice Queen tried to smile.
I picked up my purse, mind still spinning. “No need to see me out. I know the way.”
Numbly, I walked out of the office. I reached the elevator and stared at the down button. My finger wouldn’t rise to push it.
Out of nowhere my mother’s voice rose from childhood. My haunting, oldest failure: “A picture for me? Here’s how you can make it better . . .”
Would the Empowerment Chip save me from the painful memories of my mother too?
I tried again to lift my hand—and couldn’t. I could only stare at the gray elevator door, thinking of the shaft behind it. Empty, like my life.
Once I got home I knew what would happen. The fear would descend, and I’d be paralyzed. My twenty-four-hour deadline would seep away. The promise of that chip I’d held in my hand would be gone to me forever. A lifelong regret. Then what would my future look like? Tomorrow, next week, next year? I was drowning here.
The Empowerment Chip was a thrown lifeline.
But what if I got the placebo? My last dare to hope—dashed.
My thoughts fisted. I heard myself breathe. For a long, quivering moment I hung there.
Something beyond me turned my feet from the elevator. The next thing I knew, I was standing at Jerry’s closed office door. Voices drifted from inside. My hand knocked on it, and the conversation stilled. Footsteps . . . and the door to a possible incredible new life opened.
Even as my voice trembled, I looked Jerry in the eye. “Where are the papers I need to sign?”
FRIDAY, MARCH 9—SATURDAY, MARCH 10
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