Soul Suites

by Hulden Morse

  “Don’t know. But it could lead us to the roof or to the exterior wall of the building. We could then hack away at the inside of the wall and get outside. Hopefully.”

  In all actuality, the CEO hadn’t a clue if his hastily constructed idea would work. He was unaware of how the building was constructed or if they could even fit within the walls. All he knew was that they had no choice but to trust the author of the letter and hope they could at least chisel undetected, giving them the time to further develop the plan when they had more information.

  “Alright. Let’s do it,” Damian said. “I can start now. Ya got the chisel?”

  Charles tucked the object into the waistline of his pants and then climbed down to the bottom bunk, sitting next to his roommate before carefully passing him the tool out of the camera’s view. The scrawny man paused with the chisel in his hand beneath the sheet, mustering the courage to saunter toward the bathroom and begin the excruciating process of burrowing through a wall.

  “Where should we hide it?” Damian asked.

  “We can keep it in our beds. We can’t carry it when we go to trials. That’s too risky. It has to stay here.”

  “Okay. That works. Ya know, this could end bad. Real bad.”

  “I know. But it could also end well. We have to try.”

  Both men, absorbed in their conversation, jumped when they heard the jingle of keys coming from the hallway. Charles instinctively stood and waited for the door to open while Damian tucked the chisel into his sock and buried himself beneath the bedsheets. Dr. Raymond entered the room without the accompaniment of guards. He looked to the CEO and motioned for him to follow.

  Charles gave his roommate a nervous look, glancing briefly at the bed to assure himself the tool was not visible, and then followed the doctor into the hallway. No words were exchanged as they meandered past the many doors with terrified subjects held prisoner behind them. Charles looked at each door and wondered what it was that all those people were thinking. Perhaps some of them had just arrived and were content with their new surroundings, seeing the facility as a kind of rehab center like Damian had. Or maybe some of them were nearing the end of their regretful stay here, hoping that the next trial would be their last.

  His mind then grabbed hold of another thought that he had spent days trying to avoid. Charles’s wife and children skipped playfully into his brain, wreaking havoc on the fortress he had constructed in order to maintain a sense of control over his emotions. Those conniving intruders brought their husband and father away from the current moment and thrust him into a torrent of memories that swirled the plan-driven man amongst endless distractions. Charles thought of his son playing in the sandbox that he had built. He pictured his daughter putting on her mother’s makeup for the first time and making an absolute mess of the bathroom. He imagined his wife crawling into their bed and lying on top of him, kissing her devoted spouse on the nose and reminding him how much she loved the man she married.

  The subject tried to push those painful recollections from his head in order to focus on the more pressing task of extorting information from the doctor, though his family was like a drug. They were a drug he didn’t want to stop using. He loved them with all his being and knew that he could not live without them, though in order to break free of that facility he would have to fight through the withdrawal of giving up his drug and focus only on what needed to be done.

  What got Dr. Raymond kicked out of the clinic? he wondered again, trying to bring his mind fully into the present. What did this guy do? Did he kill a bunch of people?

  Before he had time to ponder those questions, the two men entered the doctor’s office and sat down at his desk. Charles realized that he hadn’t been given a tray of food for lunch and was going to ask about his meal when Dr. Raymond pulled out two deli sandwiches from the refrigerator.

  “Turkey or ham?” the man asked his guest.

  “Uh, turkey.”

  “You alright with all the fixings? Lettuce, tomato, pickle, all that stuff?”

  “Um, sure. Yeah. Thanks.”

  Charles was then offered a choice of beverage, and he took a bottle of water from his generous host. That was what irked the CEO about the man who controlled his entire world; he maintained a kind and professional demeanor while abusing everyone around him. The subject would rather interact with a complete jerk that cursed and screamed and verbally harassed everyone because those traits would make it easier to hate the man and do whatever it took to bring him down. That was not the case.

  Dr. Raymond went about his business as if he were an engineer testing everyday objects, not performing dangerous experiments on helpless prisoners. The man operated as if he were doing nothing wrong and did not come across as presumptuous. He would ask Charles for embarrassing, painful information about his past and then cut him off when it became too emotional, followed quickly by holding up his end of the bargain. The CEO continued to make deals with the doctor and was frequently not disappointed, which made him want to please the man even more. He did not understand such a bizarre sensation and was worried that he was becoming subservient to his host—a Stockholm Syndrome effect—and so he made it a point to be firm with Dr. Raymond and not give in to the man’s dangerous charm.

  “Pearson, I have got a question for you.”

  “What?” Charles said coldly.

  “Why did you start Reaching Dreams?”

  “Why would you be interested in my company? I help people. Something you wouldn’t understand,” Charles said.

  Dr. Raymond laughed. “I have a very strong interest in your company. You have done wonders for my research.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Oh, come on. You know. You’re just in denial.”

  “I would never help you,” Charles said defiantly. “Ever!”

  “Maybe not directly,” the doctor sneered. “But you would be amazed by how we are connected. Now, please tell me about your company. What made you want to help people?”

  The CEO paused as he worked through the thought of how Reaching Dreams could be aiding the facility, though he decided that such a concern would have to be worked out later.

  “A philanthropist came to the orphanage to talk to us. Something some of the caregivers organized for PR. She talked about motivation and how good it felt to help others, and it stuck with me. That’s when I decided that I was going to give my life to others. Now, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, Pearson. What is it?” The doctor smiled as if they were playing a game and he was enjoying their friendly sport.

  “Do you just kill people and revive them all day?”

  “It is a little more complicated than that.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, we need to record what people see in order to better understand how all of this works. All kinds of stuff can happen. The soul can float above the body, people may see loved ones, hear things, or see the infamous bright light. It is our job to organize this data and figure out what is real and what is false.”

  “But isn’t it all real?” Charles asked curiously. “These things are occurring while the person is dead. Isn’t that technically the afterlife?”

  Leaning back in his chair, Dr. Raymond smiled at his guest and pointed a teasing finger toward him. “You see? You are getting into it. This stuff is addicting, isn’t it?”

  “You know what? That’s bullshit.” Charles threw his sandwich on the desk and stood up from the chair.

  “Whoa, whoa. Take it easy, Pearson. I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “This is murder we’re talking about. Don’t belittle the shit you’re doing.”

  “Now, now. Relax. Have a seat. Let us finish our lunch. I am sorry for what I said.”

  The CEO hesitantly sat back down and glared at the doctor, wanting to ensure that his message was clearly received from across the desk.


  “Look,” he continued, “it is part of human nature to be curious. And, honestly, what has been a larger mystery to solve than what happens after death? Do not be upset for being human. Now, you ask a very good question. Would you like me to answer it?”

  Charles nodded, folding his arms in front of his chest.

  “Right. I take every response from a subject with a grain of salt. Not everything everyone says is going to be true. Some people lie because they cannot help it, others lie because they think it is what we want to hear and that they will benefit in some way by giving certain answers. But, even if only 10% of subjects are telling the truth, the trends in the data are significant given the large sample size.”

  “But how do you know who’s lying and who’s not?”

  “We do not. But we have ways of increasing the odds that we are told the truth. You cannot assume anything in research. Any results must be proven. One way to do that is to remove any variables that we can.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for instance, there is a theory that the white light people see is their brain firing electrical impulses as it is depleted of oxygen. I have hooked up EEGs to some subjects to prove that there is a spike in brain activity right after they die. Therefore, they are not actually seeing something, as in, their eyes are not sending information to their brains. It is the brain that is creating this information and misconstruing it as a physical image.”

  “But you can’t prove that. It’s in the brain. Can you map thoughts?”

  “Not really. At least not well enough to know what the thoughts are. But by removing variables, we are able to eliminate one of those options.”

  The doctor sneered at Charles as a look of understanding and horror began to take over the subject’s face. The sudden realization of Dr. Raymond’s underlying message was more than he could bear. The CEO shook his head slowly, imagining what someone free of regulations and fueled by endless funding could do with a group of malleable, complacent individuals.

  “No. You didn’t.”

  “I have been doing this research for four years, Mr. Pearson. I do it all the time.”

  “You’re a fuckin’ monster.”

  “In fact, I performed what I call a double orbital exenteration just yesterday. It went well. I believe my lovely subject is recovering nicely as we speak.”

  Charles glared at his host as he stood from the chair and walked out of the office. Two guards were standing outside, and they looked at the CEO as if he had appeared out of nowhere. They then glanced into the office to ensure everything was okay with the doctor.

  “Get me out of here. Please. Take me to my room.”

  When the guards saw their boss laughing whole-heartedly in his chair, they closed the office door and guided Charles away from the administrative area and into the hallway of subjects. They did not talk to the man. They knew better than that. The doctor had a way of getting under people’s skin, this was widely understood, and the best reaction to such an encounter was to act like nothing had ever happened. Showing weakness was like dangling a piece of meat in front of a starving tiger.

  Chapter 42

  They were enclosed by a physical barrier in the form of a dormitory room, designed to be a cage for humans. The barrier could not be breached by those who were trapped within it, as the walls had no windows and the door was locked and unlocked only by those who guarded it from the hallway. Yet Mr. Munich found a way to exert his presence beyond the walls of his room, his supposedly impenetrable cage. He pressed his body against the plaster and called out to his friend, happy to have a second person with whom he could socialize.

  “Ariana. You there?”

  There was a moment of silence before the man heard someone fumble against the wall and then say, “Mr. Munich. Hello.”

  “Hi, Ariana! How are you?”

  “I’m scared. I still can’t see. I keep hitting things. I knocked over my juice this morning.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Well, you can sit here and talk to me!”

  “Okay. That sounds nice. Thank you.”

  There was a flush from the bathroom and then the sound of running water, causing Mr. Munich to look toward the closed door to his right. Jake then came out of the bathroom and asked his roommate if he was talking to that woman again.

  “Yeah! It’s Ariana! We’re talkin’.”

  “That’s great, Mr. Munich. Glad you’re having fun.”

  The older man then sat on his bed and stared at the wall, as if unsure of what to do with himself, a constant dilemma while confined to that room.

  “That was Jake,” Mr. Munich said. “He’s real nice. We take care of us.”

  “That’s nice. I’m glad you have someone there with you. It can get lonely in here.”

  “Oh yeah. You don’t have a roommate.”

  A torrent of emotion fell over the black man. He could imagine his newest friend sitting, eating, and sleeping in solitude, hoping that someone would walk through the door to give her some company. He could imagine this because that was his life after Henry had left. Being locked away from the world, denied any contact with other beings, was one of the worst tortures Mr. Munich could imagine. And now, Ariana was going through that same brutality!

  The saddened black man thought back to his time with Henry. Though they had spent only a day together, the man had been someone with whom Mr. Munich could interact. They had been paired together after the first trial, seeking comfort in each other’s company and sharing a mutual confusion about their surroundings and their predicament. Their time together was too short. The morning of their second day in the facility had brought tragedy for both men.

  Already weak from a life of drugs and malnourishment, Henry’s heart had given out over breakfast. The man had clutched his chest suddenly, moaning in pain, before falling to the floor. Mr. Munich was horrified as several strangers barged into the room and began pounding on his friend’s chest. Before long and after much shouting among the intruders, the remaining subject had been left in isolation as his motionless roommate was wheeled into the hallway on a gurney. Mr. Munich had sat in a chair by the door for hours, waiting for his roommate to return, though he had been incinerated shortly after being pronounced dead. Mr. Munich didn’t know about that, though, and no one had thought to tell him.

  Following the incident at breakfast, the young black man was alone for no more than a day, but it had been one of the worst days of his life. He had felt utterly abandoned, and so he latched on to the next person to walk through the door. Jake, who had recently been recruited into the experiment, had been placed in room 38 where he met Mr. Munich for the first time, giving the young, hopeless man exactly what he wanted and so desperately needed.

  And now, as he spoke with his new friend, Mr. Munich felt Ariana’s pain, wishing that he could somehow move through the wall in order to be with her. To rescue her as Jake had rescued him. The three of them could stay together, for the rest of their lives, and all would be right in the world.

  Ariana sat down with her back against the wall, listening to the depths of quiet in her room. She wished to see, longed to rip off those bandages and regain her sight, though at the same time she was afraid of looking upon that empty room and realizing how alone she truly was.

  “I don’t like being by myself in here,” she said solemnly.

  “Well, you don’t hafta be alone now,” Mr. Munich said to his friend. “I’ll always be here.”

  “Thank you. That’s real kind of ya. I just wish I could see.”

  “Oh. You have those things on your head.”

  “Yeah. They told me that I need to keep ‘em on. But I feel fine.”

  “Well, you can take them off. An’ if somethin’ happens, then I’m here to help.”

  “What could you do?” she said a bit harshly.

  “I’m real good at helpin’. I can
do somethin’.”

  Ariana knew there was nothing that man could do from the other room, though he was sweet enough to try to make her feel better. And he did. She felt as if someone actually cared about her well-being. With newfound courage, she decided to remove the bandages from her head and deal with the consequences. If she started to bleed from whatever wound the doctor had created, then technicians would be in there to quickly assist her. At the very least, she could at last discover what the procedure was that she had undergone.

  “Okay. I’m going to take them off.”

  “Great!” Mr. Munich said excitedly. “Ya should do it fast. That’s what my momma told me. When you take off a bandage, you do it fast. That way it hurts less.”

  The woman reached up to the wrap and found an edge, putting her finger beneath it in order to create leverage. In her head, she counted to three and then pulled strongly on the dressing until it fell away from her face. But she still couldn’t see.

  “Are the lights out?” Ariana asked her neighbor.

  “No. Mine’s on. It dark there?”

  “Yeah. I still can’t see. Maybe my eyes just need to adjust.”

  She reached up to rub her eyes, hoping that such an action would stimulate her sight, which had gone unused for so long. Yet when her hands reached her face, her fingers were not met by the resistance of an eyeball. Instead, they touched what felt like soft cotton that was slightly crusty and damp in places. That material then fell away and her fingers plunged into two deep holes within her face, touching a moist interior.

  “You okay?” Mr. Munich asked through the wall.

  Ariana’s hands began to shake violently. She continued to touch the holes, praying that her senses were deceiving her in some cruel way, yet no matter how much the woman searched she could not locate her eyes.

  “Did you do it?”

  She let out a panic-infused scream. Her door was flung open, and several guards came bounding inside, grabbing the screeching woman in their arms and holding her hands still behind her back, ensuring that she did not damage the open wounds.