“We need to stop for the day, darling.” Maybe there was a touch of sadness in his eyes too, as if he was also remembering the days long past.
“Please, Daddy, please, I don't want to go back there. I can't, I hate it, Daddy, I hate it, Daddy, please.”
She felt the panic building inside her, and at the same time, felt the buzz and swirl of warm air, but this time without the music. Her father seemed to notice something in the room as well, and a flash of fear crossed his face.
“Honey, you need to calm down, this is for your own ...”
Her father hesitated, as if not quite knowing what to say, and she was afraid that it was a lie.
“It's for your own safety,” he said finally, “and for the safety of the others here. We just want to help you, and to do that, we all need to be safe. Your mom and I love you very much.
She was crying now.
“Please just let me stay out a minute longer, we can talk, Daddy please.”
He shook his head, gently but firmly.
“I'm afraid,” she said softly, ashamed to admit it.
“What are you afraid of?”
“Of the nothing,” Mae whispered. He considered this.
“Have you tried to think of other things, like that picture book you used to love, the one with the purple flowers?”
Shaking her head, she said, “I can't. Whenever I start to think, the nothingness just comes in and fills my head, and everything is white.”
“Well, let's try an experiment,” he said, and for the first time since he'd come into the room after she'd listened to that song on her iPod, he smiled. He stood up from the table and went to the door, with Mae watching expectantly.
Her dad was tall and broad shouldered, and she loved him so much, but she missed how things had been, before. She missed sitting alone with him in her room, reading stories from an old, tattered copy of “Grimm's Fairy Tales,” giggling and laughing at the tales of far off places, and shivering in quiet terror at some of the monsters that lurked in the woods. Always, he would be there to comfort her, and her mom would be there too, just outside her bedroom door, making sure the stories were not too scary.
He came back to the table with a single sheet of paper and a black fountain pen. He uncapped the pen and held it out to her, sliding the crisp, white sheet in front of her.
“You can't take those pictures of France and other places in with you, why?”
“Well, the pictures would get wet.”
He laughed, “Well, yes, of course, but you said something before that gave me an idea.”
She didn't answer him, enjoying this moment of undivided attention from her father. It was like when he used to explain difficult math problems or help her through complicated topics from her physics homework. His voice was soft, and he only wanted to help her understand.
“You said that when you thought of those pictures, everything turned to white.”
“Yes,” she said, and then was shaken from her memories of before. She thought of the tank, of being lowered into the tank and not feeling anything. That nothingness would slowly invade her mind and no matter how hard she pushed to hang onto her images of things and places and people she could touch and smell and see, the nothingness would seep into her mind, and wash it clean. Everything was white in the tank, everything was nothing, and she hated it.
“So, let's try an experiment,” her father said. “I want you to imagine that the whiteness in your mind is actually a blank piece of paper. White, and free of everything and anything, ready to be filled.”
“Okay,” she said, a little incredulously.
“So, the nothingness is a white sheet of paper, your mind is fresh and clear, ready for your thoughts and memories and imaginings. You take the pen, the black ink, you cut across the page, just a line at first. You cut through that whiteness, and you cut through it with your ink. Paper and ink, and you create your own world.”
Mae took the fountain pen and touched the tip of the pen to the page, leaving a small black mark. She lifted the pen, closing her eyes and opening her mind, allowing the paper to transfer to her imagination. Then, with her eyes closed, she touched the tip of the pen to the blank sheet of paper once again and drew her hand toward her, leaving a shining trail of ink on the white page.
“Paper and ink,” she said, her eyes still closed, imagining the black line cutting through the whiteness in her mind. From the black line, the whiteness split, opening onto the tree in their backyard, an old tire swinging lazily in the soft breeze. She smiled, smelling the honeysuckle and lilacs, watching the tufts of cotton from cottonwood trees float and shimmer in the sunlight like dust mites on a quiet, Sunday afternoon. She giggled, rushing forward to the swing, remembering the cool feel of the grass on her feet, the rush of wind as she swung high into the trees.
“And the world opens,” her father said. “You don't need to take the pictures of places and people and things with you into the tank, you only need your mind and the tools to create.”
“Paper and ink,” her voice was soft, almost trance-like, “and the world opens.”
“You see?” he asked, and took her hands in his again, kissing her fingers. She opened her eyes and smiled back at him.
“Please don't leave me for long,” she said, but it was more of a plea. Of course, there was no way to know how long she would be in the tank, as there was no sense of being inside, no senses at all.
“Not long,” he said. “Don't you worry about that, baby girl.”
“And you and Mom will be there when I come out again?”
“Of course, love.”
“I love you too, Daddy,” she said, and stood up.
“Paper and ink, remember.”
“I will.”
“Where are you going to go first?” he asked.
Mae thought for a moment, thinking of the beach. They'd been only once since arriving in Miami, but that hadn't exactly been fun in the sun. As she sat in the sand, or splashed in the water, men in suits stood along the beach, stationed every 50 meters for a mile and half. She couldn't see the men with the guns, but she knew they were there, probably in black cars with tinted windows, or maybe disguised as normal people, ready to spring into action at a second’s notice.
“I'd like to go to the beach,” she said, smirking a little as she spoke. Her dad put his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Well then, you have a good time, and stay away from any sharks or jelly fish. I hear they're out in swarms this time of year.”
Chapter Three
Moments later, Mae was in a room surrounded by people in white lab coats. She was stripped to her underwear, made of thin, gauzy material that felt almost non-existent. In the tank, enveloped in the thick fluid that matched her body temperature perfectly, Mae wouldn't feel anything.
She watched the people bustle about, attaching probes to her forehead, chest and back. A nurse with short blonde hair stuck an IV into her wrist and taped the slack in the clear plastic tubing to her forearm. The tape was made of the same light material as her underwear, the only difference being the adhesive, which would withstand the environment in the tank.
“Intravenous check,” the nurse said, and Mae's wrist suddenly felt cool as liquid was fed into her veins. The cooling sensation would also fade, replaced with the same nothingness that existed for all of her senses.
Mae's heart thudded, and the anxiety she felt was almost too much to bear. She breathed faster and faster, and she felt lightheaded and dizzy.
“I don't want to go in,” she said between her rapid breathing. “I need to lie down, for just a moment.”
“We've got an increase in brain activity, a rapid increase,” someone called, but Mae couldn't see who had said it. She felt a warm buzzing in her mind, the feeling of air gathering, and a fluttering in her stomach.
“She's piquing!” another called, and the flurry of activity suddenly intensified. Piquing was the word the scientists and doctors used to describe her abilit
ies. Her strange power.
“We need a sedative,” the nurse said, “20 CCs, full.”
Mae didn't understand what the woman was saying, but the buzzing in her mind was increasing, and from the corner of her eye, she could see another person in a white coat, shooting a pinkish liquid from a syringe into the tube that entered her arm. She raised her arms to protest, and people from each side converged to hold her arms to her side.
“I'm serious, I really just need to lie down.” Mae felt the panic growing inside. “I'll go, just please don't put that stuff in me. Please just let me have a second.”
The nurse who'd connected the IV checked that the pinkish fluid was mixing with the saline solution already dripping into her veins, and when convinced that it was working correctly, she went about her business, checking monitors and connecting equipment.
They don't care about me, they don't care, Mae thought. Just a lab rat, a rat to analyze and view from behind glass containers.
Mae's hyperventilating leveled off, and then her breathing and heartbeat cycles slowed. Her eyes drooped, and the people around her seemed to move slowly. Someone entered the room but stayed by the door. It was a woman, and her hand was covering her mouth. Through the increasing haze in her vision, Mae thought it was her mom, watching but making no move to stop what was happening to her.
“Mom!” she called, but her words felt slurred. Mae thought she heard a soft cry, and the woman by the door turned away from her, then she was fading fast.
No! her mind screamed, knowing that if she gave in to the sedative she'd been given, she would wake up in the tank, and it would be impossible to get her bearings. She would not know the difference between being awake and asleep. She had to stay conscious long enough to be lowered into the tank, to have a clear dividing line, for as long as possible, between the time before the tank, when she could feel and smell and see, and floating in nothingness.
“Please, Mom!” She tried to shout, but no sound came out. She was slipping away, and that comforting buzz in her mind, the gathering energy, was fading away. Blackness edged at her consciousness, and then there was nothing to do but allow the blackness to seep into her mind.
First, it was blackness, and then, much later, everything was white.
Paper and ink, she thought desperately, trying to grasp at anything. She imagined the white sheet of paper, but it seemed to be upside down. But that's silly, she thought, the paper couldn't be upside down, as there was no way to tell if it was right side up. She wondered if she was going insane.
Finally, Mae reached out and touched the crisp sheet of paper in her mind, the whiteness there, and turned it around until it was no longer upside down. She took the ink, no longer needing a fountain pen to open the world, only the ink. She drew a straight line down the page and smelled the salty air of the beach, heard a bird in the distance and smiled. She continued the line down the page, the black ink sleek and shiny and new, and she cut into the reality of her mind.
A moment later, she felt the cool water rush over her toes, and then dug her toes deep into the wet sand.
I think I'll draw a crab, scurrying in the surf, she thought, and there was the crab. The sun was bright today, and the sound of the ocean was calming.
A moment later, Mae was completely gone from the tank with no feeling, the tank where they kept her prisoner. For now, she was free.
Paper and ink, and the world opened.
Chapter Four
“What is happening to her?” Lilly screamed, tears running down her face as she watched her daughter convulsing and seizing. Mechanical arms were in the tank with her, submerged in the thick, clear liquid, wrapping a harness around her torso. Each time the harness touched her skin or the mechanical arms brushed her arms or shoulder, she jerked away. The sudden, violent movement away from the touch of anything but the liquid served only to emphasize the erratic convulsions.
“Appears her reflexes are still intact,” the doctor said. His name was Norman Whaler. He was short and overweight, with thinning hair combed over the bald spot on the top of his head. Thin-rimmed glasses were perched precariously on the tip of his nose, and Lilly wanted to punch him.
“You're killing her!” Mae heard her mother screaming for them to stop, but her world was a void, filled with blackness.
“Lilly, she's fine. The shock of waking in her current state is causing her body to convulse, but she's fine. We'll get her out of there, and she'll be okay.”
“What is going on?” Lilly felt the fear now, felt it rising. She watched in horror as her daughter's mouth opened in a silent scream. Mae's eyes opened a moment later, blurred by the thick liquid, but they were opened wide.
“She's realized the paradox between the mind and her body, and the fantasy that her mind is fixated on,” Doctor Whaler said.
“So, she's dreaming.”
The doctor hesitated, and then nodded. “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. At this point, she is like an infant, waking herself up from something she thinks is real, but is not. Her body tells her that it cannot be real, but her mind insists.”
“Like a dream where you feel like you've tripped and fallen, and the sudden sensation of falling startles you awake,” Lilly said.
“Precisely like that. When you have a dream like that, you're not really falling, but your subconscious mind is telling your body that you're falling. The power of the subconscious is rather incredible, Ms. Edwards.”
“You're forcing this on her,” she said.
“No,” the doctor said, “we are protecting her.”
The doctor returned to studying the brain scan monitor closely, the pulsing lines on the screen an arbitrary jumble. He touched the point of his pen to the center of the scan and moved outward in a slow spiraling motion, as if tracing something.
“All systems intact, but she seems to be piquing now,” Whaler said, making a note on his chart.
“We need additional sedation before she's out!” a nurse called.
The mechanical arm brushed against Mae again, and she pushed away from it, knocking into the side of the glass tank with a thud. The plastic IV tube wrapped around the mechanical arm and was ripped from her arm as she jerked away. Droplets of blood leaked from the stent in her wrist, not dissolving in the clear liquid, but just hanging there. The sight reminded Lilly of movies she'd seen in which drops of liquid floated in suspended animation in outer space.
The convulsions worsened, and more sensors and probes were ripped from Mae's body.
“We've lost the IV!” the nurse shouted, and the monitors began to beep and blink furiously.
“Should we leave her in, until she calms down?” another nurse asked, and Whaler shook his head.
“If we leave her much longer, we'll risk cardiac arrest.” His voice was calm amidst the growing anxiety and noise in the room. “Be ready to manually inject the sedative when she is removed from the tank. Get an orderly to hold her still while the sedative is administered!”
A nurse called for help, and two large men entered the room. They were wearing lab coats, but looked as though they spent most of their time in the gym, lifting weights.
“But why now?” Mae's mother screamed at the doctor. “It doesn't make sense that this is happening!”
“You've got to remember, Lilly,” Whaler said in a firm, lecturing tone, “that your daughter has been submerged in the tank for 96 days. It's the longest anyone has ever been kept continuously in an environment without sensation. She can neither feel, nor smell, nor see, nor sense anything. Her consciousness is in dispute with reality. She knows she exists, but there is no way to prove that fact.”
“Then why is she kept in the tank?” she screamed at the doctor, and he eyed a nurse near the door. The nurse left without a word as the doctor tried to explain.
“Lilly, your daughter is kept in the tank to keep her and all of us safe.”
Lilly watched her little girl’s body shudder with each convulsion, watched the muscles constrict violently ov
er and over again, and she turned to the doctor.
“You're killing her, and you know it,” she said, and he looked as though he'd been slapped. A second later, the nurse who'd left the room returned with Mae's father, Lilly's husband.
Lilly rushed to him, nearly collapsing in his arms. He held her tightly.
“They're killing her,” she said, crying. He watched the mechanical arms clip the last pieces of the harness in place around her thrashing body, and the hydraulic lift began to pull her from the thick fluid. The two orderlies stood nearby, ready to grab and hold her, and the nurse was ready with the long syringe.
“Steady, boys,” Whaler said from his place near the monitors, and Lilly looked back at her daughter. The top of her head broke the surface, her blonde hair matted, and when her face finally lifted from the fluid, she coughed on the tube running into her throat. She began to choke and writhed to be free of the tubes.
“My baby, “ Lilly said, and rushed forward.
Mae reached up with her arms, moving as if in slow motion, and yanked on the tubes, trying to pull them from her throat and choking.
“She can't breath!” Lilly screamed. “She's choking!”
“Hold her!” Whaler shouted over Lilly, and the two orderlies grabbed her arms and held them by her sides as she was lifted from the tank. When her legs were free, the two men took the girl in their arms and lowered her to the floor near the tank as the nurse rushed forward to inject the sedative into her bloodstream.
Mae screamed through the plastic tubing in her throat, her eyes wild, and then a shock wave of energy exploded out from her body, destroying everything in its path.
Chapter Five
The building in which Mae was kept was 40 stories high, and her tank was kept on the sixth floor, with observation rooms and laboratories on the fifth and seventh floors. Most of the building was filled with investment groups, real estate companies, and law firms, and the day was just winding down for most of those companies.
The Snow Swept Trilogy Page 25