The Coffer

The alarm is obnoxious. The flashing red lights of the room, along with the high pitched wail, makes me want to hide under the pillows and try to drown out everything. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I wanted to pretend this place was a dream. The whole of yesterday just some giant nightmare of kidnapping, drugging and odd companions. I am, of course, wrong. The tattoo on my wrist is itching, the redness not as bad as yesterday but still obvious on my dark skin. Something is thrown on me, and I let out a groan in response.

“Get the fuck up or this will keep going. Don’t make me rip you out of that bed, Princess.” Kait. Of course it’s Kait. I already can feel that she and I are not going to get along, which makes me wonder why on earth anyone would want to put us in the same room together. I pull the blanket off over my head and let out a sigh. The lights go back to their sunlight setting, and the alarms stop. All of us are awake.

“Sorry,” that’s all I can think of saying. I don’t have a real reason for sleeping as long as I had, I don’t have anything to say to Kait, I have nothing. I feel like nothing. The only thing I can really feel is a hard rock in the center of my stomach, dragging me down. “Is anyone using the shower?”

Sara, sorry, Liz is the one to respond, “No, most of us woke a while ago and already showered.” I haven’t looked up, but I can feel her arms around me in a gentle hug. She leans in close to my ear, “I found a secret spot with lots of good shampoos and soaps, I’ll show you where it is.” I nod at her, and let her lead me to the bathroom to show me what she had found. I can hear Toni, er...Mark, say something to Kait as we leave the main room, though I can’t understand what was said.

“You have to press this one, right here,” Liz says as she pushes on a tile in the shower. A chunk of tiles spin, showing an array of small bottles. Shampoos, conditioners, soaps, lotion, and oils were on a small Lazy Susan in the wall. I stare at it, wondering what else might be hidden in this place. “I slipped earlier, and when I hit my hand on the wall this spun. Funny how we find good things after bad things happen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” I pick up a bottle, it’s a shampoo for people who have coarse hair. Like me. I continue to go through the bottles, some are masculine and some are feminine in their make. Did whoever bring us here make sure we would have things we like? As the question passes through my mind I see a set of shampoo and conditioner meant specifically for coarse hair, like my own. Not even hotels or hospitals think of getting the kinds that are useful for me. “Which did you use, Liz? I want to make sure to not use it so you can have something just for you here.”

She smiles at me and pulls a bottle out of the pocket of her pants. “Already thought of that, thank you though. This one reminds me of when I was little and my Momma was still around, it smells like her rose garden.” Gingerly, she puts it back and shifts the fabric around to hide the bottle.

Nodding, I pick a few of the bottles for myself and turn the water on. “It’s good that you have found something that makes you happy, thank you for showing me this.” Liz bounces a little, her eyes sparkling again, and hugs me before leaving me to my shower.

The water doesn't get hot, but it does get pleasantly warm, and the pressure feels amazing on my muscles. Showering has always been a way for me to clear my head, it has really been the only way I have known to get time to myself. I try to remember everything that has happened over the last few months, trying to make some connection to how I might have ended up here.

The previous months have really been repetitive and monotonous: bills paid, Dayna growing but still not doing much, long nights to her waking up and crying, Jonathan coming home later and later from work, errands being run, and sometimes getting a bite to eat for myself. Nothing exciting, just a few emails being sent out to potential jobs or other little things to make a few extra dollars. I never heard back from any of them though, so it’s highly doubtful that I emailed someone from this place. I haven’t had much time for friends since Dayna had been born, no real time to go out and do things for myself, so I know it isn't someone I had met recently. Memories continue to process through my mind, trying to find some clue, some hint...anything.

A burning sensation on my wrist brings me back to right now. Soap suds are on the tattoo, causing it to hurt again. And what about this? What does it mean and why was I given it? Running my arm under the water, I wince, the mark stinging worse from the water pressure. I feel branded, less than human. I didn't ask to be marked, and here I am with something so permanent on me. Hopefully the pain isn't permanent, too. Staring at the image on my skin, I will it to give me answers.

Moments pass and nothing comes to mind, though I am beginning to think I have seen a design like this somewhere. Maybe one of the millions of ads I see on the computer? The water is starting to get cold, making my skin prickle in goosebumps. I sigh and finish cleaning off, the towels we have been given are soft and soak the water off my body quickly. The lotion I picked out smells faintly of lilacs and violets, and it feels amazing soaking into me. I make sure to put extra on the tattoo, it looks like it might be drying out and I really don’t want any more problems with it. I realize I hadn't grabbed any clean clothing, and just put back on the white outfit I was wearing before. I wonder if I can request something more my style, this white is rather tiring to look at.

Once out of the bathroom I can smell the leftovers of what the others have eaten, my stomach rolls violently as a reminder I didn't eat anything yesterday. Mark and Liz have turned their beds into chairs and they are talking to each other, she looks happy and is very animated in their conversation. Chris is over by the screen, looks like he is trying to request something and getting error messages. My stomach growls angrily again, almost painfully, pushing me toward the fridge to feed it. The fridge has an assortment of fresh vegetables, fruits, eggs and cheeses. In the door of it there is milk, orange juice, apple juice and bottles of water. I grab eggs, cheese, green onions, milk, and a few peppers.The cabinets are a bit of a pain to navigate through, but I find the necessary pans and spices to make my omelet. I keep to myself as I get a breakfast going, still walking through things in my head.

Breakfast done, I sit in silence, and start trying to understand the others I am living with. If I can’t figure out why I’m here, I should at least figure out more about the people here. Kait is relaxing, reading a new book. All I know about her is I don’t like her, and it feels like something is a little off. Mark seems very laid back, and is talking to Liz like they have known each other for years. Hell, maybe he has known her for years, I wouldn't have the first clue about that. Liz has most likely been abused at some point, and I am basing that off how she reacted to us being in here where we can’t contact our family. And Chris seems just like any other country kid. I sigh and finish eating, this is going to be a very taxing period with these guys.

One of the chairs scraping against the floor brings me back into focus on my surroundings. Mark sits in it, and crosses his arms on the table. “So, sweet stuff, why you all mopey quiet over here when you could be chatting with Dollie and me?”

I almost drop the food that is on my fork when I look up at him, “Dollie?”

“Yes, ‘Dollie’. She looks like one of those old dolls, when you think about it.” I do think about it, and I look at her closely. I can see the resemblance to a porcelain doll. Liz’s skin is pale, with thin little scars down her arms and across her face, they’re so light they look almost like cracks. Her eyes are bright, shining blue, and look similar to glass. Even though her hair is a bit of a mess, she does look quite a bit like a doll.

“Guess you’re right.” I go to get up to put my dishes away, this place is set up nice as it has a dishwasher. Mark stops me.

“Seriously, relax a little. We are only here a few weeks, nothin’ too crazy. Maybe we’ll even get paid for this. Don’t let the fact we’re all strangers get to you, and Kait over there will probably eventually lighten up. We’re set here. We got food, we got company and we have great views of the outside via a computer. Don't get too hung up on the fact this is totally something we have been just thrown into.” He gets up and shrugs, “Who knows, maybe this isn't as bad as it seems.”

“Maybe.” I want to relax, but I keep getting the nagging thoughts that this is extremely off. Before I can get too far into my head though, the screen we watched the video on starts to flash.

“Attention, Coffer Residents, please come to the kitchen to watch an important video on your stay here. Attention, Coffer Residents, please come to the kitchen to watch an important video on your stay here. Thank you.” This voice is considerably firmer than the robotic one from yesterday, it is still feminine but also definitely human. Kait grumbles from the other side of the place, and Liz almost skips over here.

The screen lights up and flashes a few times, no noise coming from it. Kait begins bouncing her leg, noticeably agitated for having to be removed from her book, she grumbles something under her breath. Rolling my eyes, I look back at the screen, wondering what they could possibly want to tell us that's so important on the second day.

“Thank you, Residents, for coming quickly and without delay,” the human voice said, and an image of a woman appears on the screen. She is relatively attractive, she has shoulder length red hair and pale green eyes. Looks between early to mid 40s, with a lab coat and a simple necklace on. “You may be wondering about your new abode, and I will gladly talk to you about it. I see that Kait is in a hurry to get back to reading, so I will do what I can to keep this short.” Kait stops bouncing, and we are all a little taken aback. I wish I can say I’m surprised by them watching us, but at the look of this place I can’t say that I am.

“You five are part of a very important experiment, however I cannot give all the details otherwise you may alter your behaviors. Please understand that you will be staying with us for exactly one month, and then returning home to your families. They have been notified that you are here, and are being compensated appropriately.” Liz raises her hand sheepishly. “Yes, Elizabeth?”

“Did you tell my Papa where I am? I would rather he didn't know and wasn't compensated for my absence.” She looks a little scared, her eyes wider than usual and her body trying to draw in on itself.

“You were a special exception, so no. Your father was not contacted nor shall he be unless you desire for him to.” Liz shakes her head in response, already relaxing. So this is live, it isn't a recording. I keep my mouth shut, wary of this person on the screen.

“I am certain all of you have many questions, and I am willing to answer them. Each day you will get to go into a room that is only able to be opened by me, this is called the Pros Room. In there we will discuss how you are doing, your thoughts, questions, concerns, and if there are any special instructions for you. You are required to go through with any and all instructions. If they are refused, for any reason, then a consequence will be enforced.” She pauses, letting that sink into our heads. What the ever living fuck is this place? Consequences?

“So, wait up there, pretty lady. What kind of instructions would we be ‘required’ to do?” Mark’s voice is laced with irritation, though he does well in keeping it held back.

“My name is Doctor Mariah Strin, not ‘pretty lady’,” Her eyes narrow at him briefly and she regains her composure, “and the possible instructions can include things such as making a specific meal or an interaction between one of you and another. I hope that is a satisfactory answer.” She pauses and stares directly at Mark, almost daring him to speak up again. She's rather stern for trying to make this a discussion. If she didn't want us to ask questions why did she say she'd answer them? I keep my thoughts to myself. “We have given each of you a tattoo, which was agreed to prior to your stay via the emails you had each filled out. The tattoos themselves are significant in that they monitor your heart rate, blood pressure, blood sugar, and other vitals. There is nanotechnology in them that lets me see even your stress levels.”

I raise my hand a little, just wanting to get her attention without interrupting her. She nods at me, letting me speak. “This nanotechnology you are speaking of, what materials is it made out of?”

“Various metals, plastics and wires. Why do you ask, Angela?”

“I have an allergy to both titanium and chromium, do you know if either of those metals are present? I have been reacting poorly to the tattoo,” I turn my wrist for her to see, the discoloration around it prominent.

She gives a nod, “A salve and a medical prescription will be given to you to help counter your allergy. I do apologize for that, those are uncommon allergies and were not part of the questionnaire you filled out. I will take note of that for the future so this will not happen again.”

“Thank you,” I put my hand back into my lap and trace the ink that is starting to peel. The allergy tends to not come up often, I can wear cheap metals so it has never been a problem. If this salve and prescription works then I’ll be fine, if not then there can be some serious complications. The worst it has ever gotten has been when I wore a necklace I liked, the irritation from the allergy had swollen my throat so much I actually had lost consciousness. Dr. Strin’s voice brings me back to the present and to my current situation.

“I would appreciate it now if questions wait until the end, as I really have intended to make this quick. The most I can give you about what you are doing is that this is a social experiment, therefore we need you all to interact with each other. This isn't a place where you need to fear anything, everything is being monitored and there are cameras located throughout the area. Rest assured that they are located only in areas that allow privacy in the bathroom, as we do need to make sure that nobody tries to harm themselves or others in there. There are none in the shower, and none over the toilet. However, there is one outside of the shower, facing the frosted glass door to make sure that nobody gets harmed there. In the case of someone getting harmed, the experiment will stop and everyone will be sent home after rigorous questioning.

“The Coffer is your temporary home, please remember this and treat it the way you would treat your own place. There are no rules here, other than to complete your instructions and come to the Pros Room when requested. Now, what are your questions if you have any?”

Kait opens her mouth to speak, then appears to change her mind. Chris coughs and looks at the screen. “Ma’m, I would like to know if there's any way we can actually go outside? It's rather odd not seeing the sun, at least for me. Or maybe get an animal or somethin’ in here?” He looks hopeful, almost like a child asking for a cookie.

“I’m sorry, Chris, but I cannot do that. For the sake of the experiment you five must remain indoors. There are options for different types of locations for the screens on the walls, I hope that helps satiate you, even a little. As for the animal, I don’t think that’s allowed but I can talk to those who are in more control of your specific experiment. If the answer is that you can have one, I will talk with you specifically during our Pros Room appointments.”

“So, what you’re saying, is that we filled out some sort of email on the internet? How is that possible for those of us who don’t have the internet?” Kait asks her question with venom, challenging Dr. Strin.

Dr. Strin, however, seems completely unfazed by the brashness of Kait, “Ah, I see you must have forgotten, Kaitlyn, which is perfectly acceptable. For anyone who doesn’t remember filling out our forms or sending the video we had asked for, we can go over that during your time with me. So, Kaitlyn, we can take care of that immediately after this video call is over, how does that sound?” She grins at Kaitlyn, but the grin isn’t one of pleasantry or happiness. It’s more the grin of a cheshire cat, one who knows things that it won’t tell.

Kait seems to realize that something is being hidden from her, and she isn't reacting well to it. I watch her dig her nails into her arms, the pressure causing her skin to turn stark white. She smiles back at Dr. Strin, her teeth shining bright white. “Sounds bloody fantastic, Doc.” The forced grin stays on her face and her nails dig in slightly deeper before letting go. Little crescent red marks where her nails had been are already visible on her skin, and little dots of blood are in the centers of some of them.

Dr. Strin looks back to the rest of us, “Are there any more questions?” She pauses and waits. Both Mark and Chris shift, and Chris opens his mouth a few times, but sits back in his chair. Mark, on the other hand, starts talking.

“So, okay, let me get this straight. You’re telling us that we are stuck in here for a month, and that we are going to have to follow some crazy instructions. That’s all good and all, but what do we do about privacy if we need it? It's really not cool if one of us locks ourselves in the bathroom when we need it, so what is the solution?”

“That is a very good question, Marcus,” he gives a noticeable wince at the use of his full name, “however there is no privacy given here. If it is something you need, you can always request it and we will see if there is a way to accommodate you. The chances of that, though, are highly unlikely.” She seems a bit smug when she tells us this, a small smile is tugging on the corners of her lips.

Mark just shrugs, and doesn't show any sign of emotion toward what she has said. Dr. Strin’s eyes narrow just a smidge before she addresses all of us again. “If there are no other questions I would like to see Miss Kaitlyn Hatho in the Pros Room.” The screen goes black, Dr. Strin not waiting for a response from anyone else. Goosebumps make the hair on my arms stand up stick straight, their source coming from a cool breeze as a spot in the bed area opens up.

In the corner between where Mark’s bed and Kait’s bed is, the wall has opened. It shocks me, the wall had seemed seamless before. I can feel a few loose strands of hair move from the shift in air currents, and I tuck them behind my ear. I cannot make out what is beyond the doorway, as it is quite small and rather dark. Kait grumbles, and as I turn to look at her I notice she looks different than I have seen her thus far.

Her eyes are wide, the greens of her iris completely visible, and she is twisting strands of her short, red-gold hair between her fingers. She looks at each of us and takes a tentative step forward before stopping. Shaking her head she moves quickly into the room and the door shuts behind her.

There are no time keeping items in this place, nothing to let us know how long she has been gone. What I do know is there was enough time for us to have lunch, for Chris to have requested a deck of cards for us to play, and for us to have finished four games of Poker, two games of Go Fish, and three games of Bullshit. Chris took a shower and Mark had requested a movie, it was a horror movie and wasn't very good. Chris had gotten out of the shower and Mark had gone in, and by that time we were hungry again.

By the time Mark leaves the shower, the door in the corner of the room opens up again, and out comes Kait. I wish I could say how long she has been in there, it would be a great way to know how long we would also be seen. Kait comes out pale, shaking, and stumbling from the door. I watch her press herself against the wall and try to keep her balance as she starts to fall over. Liz is up in a flash and rushes to Kait’s side, gingerly moving one of Kait’s arms to help keep her steady. Mark is up and helping not long after, and I go get a glass of water.

Up close, I can see sweat dripping down her face and tears running from her eyes like little streams. Liz is running her fingers through Kait’s hair, and murmuring to her. I offer the glass to Kait, and she takes it. Her hands are shaking so violently that the water sloshes from the glass. She doesn't seem to notice how the water is getting on her, and she takes a small sip of it.

“What happened in there?” Mark asked his question quietly, barely above a whisper, and started stroking Kait's back.

She shakes her head, “Honestly, can’t remember much. The crazy bitch on the screen asked me a bunch of questions, and I was told to lay down on this weird ass looking table and then I was covered in sweat and told my session with her was done.” She takes a deep breathe and looks over to me. “She asked for you next, Princess.” Her voice isn’t laced with the already familiar venom, instead it is shaking and worried. Her gaze goes to the ground, “Be careful in there.”

The way she looks at me, with her eyes wide and slightly glassed over, and her tone causes goosebumps to dance down my skin. I look back over to the hole in the wall, the doorway I am suppose to willingly walk through. The others are silent as I get up and move my way toward it. Each step is how I imagine walking through quicksand must be; heavy, strained, and like something is trying to keep me on the ground.

When I get inside the room the door closes slowly behind me. It's dark in here, with little blue lights farther off inside. There is a hiss, and I look back, the door is shut behind me. Lights turn on, blinding my vision and making the world spin from its suddenness.

“Hello, Angela, I am glad to see you made it in here promptly. I hope Kaitlyn’s disposition didn't scare you, the first couple sessions in here can be quite draining.” I look around, trying to regain clear vision through the vibrant dots speckling my sight. Down the far end of the room was a screen, and Dr. Strin was on it. Stumbling, I make my way to her, and by the time I get there the dots have vanished and I can see the room clearly.

It's almost like it comes from how people would envision futuristic science, clean edges, glass, and small amounts of metal decorated the room. There is a large chair, which looks squishy and comfortable, that was colored to look like metal so it matched the room and is facing the screen Dr. Strin is on. A small, round table sits next to it, with a book and pen resting on it. I don’t have a chance to look around more before Dr. Strin continues.

“Please, take a seat. I will be having you fill out some forms and answering questions for the first part of our session.” She waits while I go to sit, and I almost trip on another table I hadn't seen. I glance up at the screen and see the video has shrunk so that it doesn't strain my eyes. “In front of you are three forms, I need your signature on each. The first is explaining how you had volunteered to be here and that whatever happens during the time is not the fault of the experiment. In order to help prevent accidents and incidents we have precautionary measures in place. Please sign and agree to that this has been explained to you.” I try to read through the paper, but the language it is written in is hard to understand and uses a lot of medical jargon.

I don’t want to just take her word on what is said, but there doesn't seem to be a lot of options so I sign. “Wonderful. The second form is explaining how your health was when you arrived and your vitals. It also explains that we will be monitoring your vitals and health throughout your stay and again when you leave. Please sign on the back by the X and print your name underneath.” There are images on this form, a picture of a body with little lines coming from it and numbers. Some I recognize, like my heart rate, blood pressure, height, weight, hair color, and such. There are some I do not, that are coming from where the tattoo is on me and different parts coming from the head.

“Dr. Strin, before I sign I would like to ask a question about this.” I look up at her and see she is forcing a smile, and she nods. “The lines coming from the tattoo and the head, what are those monitoring?”

“Those are monitoring the nanobytes inside of you, we are measuring mood and stress levels with them in a way that won’t effect your day to day living. We will also monitor brain function and brain wave activity.” The smile is no longer forced, she seems genuinely enthused by speaking about this. “I know you have noticed that the tattoos are similar, but different. Each one is so we can know who is who without having to check our videos. The nanobytes inside of you have a frequency that show us the same image that is on your wrist. After your time with us the tattoo should fade, and within a month of leaving it should be gone completely. I hope that has answered your question?”

I nod at her and sign the page. It is very helpful to know that the tattoo is going to fade off, and is only used for this experiment. I do wonder, though, if she isn’t fully telling me the truth. That moment of her not seeming genuine has doubt and worry tossing in the back of my head. I rub the back of my neck and release a sigh, still questioning the first document I have signed.

“Good. The final document is your standard health agreement stating that we will keep your medical information anonymous. Your health is yours, we will not sell it or give it out to anyone without your express consent.” I look it over, and see the paper is what she says it is. It looks just like every privacy agreement I have signed when I go to the doctor’s office, so I sign it and lean back in the chair.

“Perfect. Now, in the notebook next to you I want you to write out your thoughts and feelings about your first day here. I know we didn't give you much information about this, but that was mostly the point. We wanted to have as pure of an experience as possible for all of you to meet each other.”

I look over at the notebook and grab it, it is soft in my hands and feels well worn. Opening it, I see it is written in and flip through to where there is a blank page. When I find it, about halfway through, I mark it with my finger and flip back until I see the start of the previous handwriting. My assumption is is that it’s Kait’s and I want to know what she has said. Dr. Strin’s voice comes at me sharp and annoyed.

“Please start writing on the first available page, the previous writings are not for your eyes and can cause problems to the experiment.” I take in the large writing on the page I was going to read and flip back to the blank page. “FUCKING LIARS” is brightly lit in my head as I recount my thoughts and feelings from yesterday. Kait feels they are lying to us, and I want to know why.

I finish the recounting rather quickly, and before I set the pen down and close the book I decide to ask the doctor a question. “You said we could see our interview video before, right?” I look up at the screen to try to make the best eye contact I can.

“That is correct, Ms. Evans, are you requesting to see yours?”

“Yes. I don’t remember doing one, and I would like to make sure it is me in it. Is there a way to be able to see our original emails with you as well?” I am trying to get my mind to relax on thinking that Kait is right. Her behavior in general makes it hard to believe anything she might say, but there is a twinge in the back of my head telling me that something isn’t quite right.

“I am quite sorry, but we will be unable to give you that. All we have on immediate file is the video. I can, however, talk to my superiors and see if they would be willing to have them sent to you, if that would be helpful?”

“It would, thank you.” Dr. Strinseems helpful and willing to show us that we actually have agreed to be here. There is nothing to worry about, she's open about us being here and willing to show us that we agreed. Kait is probably just a drama queen. This is sort of like one of those reality shows, in a way, when I really think about it. That thought makes me want to giggle, but I manage to suppress it and just smile instead. Dr. Strin must have seen that as a good sign toward her.

“Lovely. At the end our session I will show you the video, until then I have some other tasks for us to complete. If you would, please go lay down on the table behind you. We are going to do some tests on your brainwave activity and do a psychological evaluation.” I just nod, and get up. The table lowers from the ceiling, and a coldness spreads from center to my toes. For a reason I cannot figure out, I start to see Kait and how she looked drained and weak after being here. I wonder if it was because of this she seemed so off.

It stops being lowered just a few feet from the ground. Cables as thick as my wrists are holding it, the metal glistening from the artificial lights, and it sways slightly. I touch it gingerly, and feel it is made of a very solid plastic. It's clear, with metal coils coming up slightly from it in the shape of a person. The coils themselves seem almost like veins, thin and crossing each other in strange patterns. My heart is racing, and I have darkness edging around my vision, starting to cloud everything around me. Something is wrong. Memories of pain, sharp and electric, start flowing from my head down my arms. And just as suddenly as it came, the memory stops, and I am left wondering if I am going slightly mad.

Dr. Strin’s voice rings from the monitor, “I know we briefly talked about your allergy, and therefore we have created a thin blanket that will allow us to still monitor you properly without having to have the coils touch your skin directly. I will open the hatch where it is, and when I do please place it on the table and lay down on it. My sincerest apologies for not having mentioned it before this, I realize the idea of having that much metal touching you must have been a bit jarring. Your heart rate went through the roof for a few moments, are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah….yeah, I’ll be fine.” My voice is shaking, and I hear the compartment opening that she talked about. As I get the sheet of fabric, I am thinking of what just happened, and why it happened. This place, it's strange. I don’t fully understand what is going on with me, I am usually far more composed than this. The blanket it thin, and feels almost like silk when I grab it. It’s actually quite difficult to carry, as it is trying to slip through my fingers like a liquid, but I manage to get it to the table and lay it down. It is transparent like the table, but manages to look almost like there is a thin sheen of oil over it, with colors mixing and melding depending on where I stand or look.

I must be standing too long, because I hear Dr. Strin’s voice cut through the silence of the room. “Angela, please lie down on the table and try to relax. This won’t take long.”

Getting on the table is difficult, it sways when I try to climb on it and I struggle until I decide to sit on it like I would a swing. I grab a hold of the cables, which are surprisingly warm, and lift myself up to sit. The fabric that touches my skin is cold, and feels less like fabric and more like a thin layer of oil or grease. I lay back and feel unsteady as the table rocks and swings, and it takes a moment before I let go of the cables.

“Please make sure you are resting over the markings, in order to be able to monitor your body’s reactions we need you to be on them.” My body’s reactions to what? I wonder to myself as I listen to her. The raised areas are hardly noticeable, and it takes me a few tries to get on them the way she wants me to. When I do, she continues. “The first thing we are going to do is ask some basic questions so we know what your baseline is. Think of it like a lie detector test, nothing major. The first question is, what is your full name?”

“Angela Tamara Evans.” She wasn't kidding on basic questions.

“Do you have any children?”

“Just one, her name is Dayna.” It feels like a weight is dropped over my chest as I say her name.

“How old is she?”

“She is just under 6 months.” More weight on my chest, it’s getting difficult to breathe and tears are starting to form in my eyes. I blink them back. Just a month. I will be home again in a month.

“Are you married, divorced or single, Ms. Evans?”

“Married.”

“Is it your first marriage?” She sounds like she is reading the questions off of a clipboard. They are one right after the other.

“Yes, and I plan on it being my only marriage.” Now I am picturing Jonathan and Dayna both, and my vision blurs. Blinking, I try to keep the tears at bay, but I am failing and can feel them sliding down the sides of my face. I am hoping that she stops asking about them soon, it’s too painful to keep having to think of them.

“Are you straight, bisexual, gay, or asexual?”

The question startles me out of the painful thoughts and I blink the tears away. “Straight.”

“Are you being honest with me, Mrs. Evans?” She sounds amused. “Your vitals are telling me that this isn't completely true, I need to have you give me honest answers.”

“I’ve never been with a woman before, Doctor. So yes, I am being honest.” I have also never had thoughts of a woman or any interest in my gender at all. Why her machines would tell her I’m not being honest, I have no idea.

“I see. Well, then we will just mark this as a faulty result in our database.” She continues to ask me questions, some have a similar issue where it looks like I am not telling the truth. Questions about my love life, my past, my heritage, diseases I have had, and possible traumas I could have gone through. I’ve answered so many of her questions that my throat is sore and dry. My pain doesn't matter, we press on through what seems like hundred more questions.

After what feels like ages she stops. “Are we through now, Doctor?” I ask, hoping I can get off this uncomfortable table and get a drink.

“With that part, yes. I need you to lie as still as you can, and do not move no matter what.” Her voice is stern and commanding. I don’t even nod in response, just lay there with the metal pressing into me through the fabric. Everything gets hot very quickly inside of me, the pain so strong I cannot even make a sound. Involuntarily, my body arches, trying to rise from the table, but is unable to make it off. It feels like fire running through my veins, and my mind is screaming at me to get off this torturous table.

The pain stops, and Dr. Strin’s voice booms in my head. “I said do not move, Mrs. Evans. We will have to do this again.” I open my mouth to protest, but the fire comes through again before I have the chance. Sweat is dripping down my body, soaking through my clothes. I can’t think, I can only feel. My body starts to arch again, wanting to get away from the pain, and I try to hold myself down. I fail. Again the pain stops and Dr. Strin tells me we are going to do it again and again until I can do it right.

I count ten times of going through this hellish agony before I decide to stop counting. The pain is making my head spin, and I can’t think straight. I know Dr. Strin is talking to me, reprimanding me for failing her test, but I can no longer hear her. All I can hear is the rushing sound of electricity and the screams that are inside my head. The moments between being burned on the inside are unnoticeable, as the fire slowly feels more permanent in my body. Eventually there is darkness, nothingness, and silence.

“Mrs. Evans, it is time to wake up now, we have more tests to do.” The doctor’s voice is calm, and sounds almost caring through the darkness. The pain has gone away, and I feel stiff. I don’t even try to move other than to open my eyes. “That’s a good girl, you did splendid earlier. I need you to do me a favor now, and grab the headpiece that is above you. You need to put it on and after this you will be almost done.”

I whimper softly and hesitate on grabbing the strange thing above me. It looks almost like a helmet, but with many wires coming out and little lights all around. My hesitation must not be pleasing her, as the heat from earlier slowly warms inside me. I reach and grab the helmet and quickly put it on, not wanting to feel as if I am roasting in hell again.

“Good. Now, I need you to close your eyes and think of the happiest memory you have.” This is simple, I think of when I first got to hold my little Dayna in my arms. How her little hands were closed so tight and she wriggled around until she was tight up against me. Dr. Strin interrupts my memory, “I need you to hold onto the feeling you have right now, do everything you can to not let it slip.”

I continue to remember those first few minutes, feeling her soft skin and listening to her tiny cries. The smells of the hospital room become almost realistic, and I can actually feel Dayna in my arms. Tears start falling down my cheeks, though I don’t know if this is in the memory or if I am crying in the present. I can even feel the stiffness of the air in the hospital room, and hear Jonathan moving around to take pictures of Dayna and me. The memory flashes, a swift wave of grief and illness overtakes me, but then Dayna is back to making little baby coos. Jonathan is talking, though I can barely hear him. It’s almost like there’s cotton in my ears, muffling out everything that isn’t Dayna or Dr. Strin.

Nausea is starting to build up in my throat, and I try to hold back the sickness. Dayna starts fussing, crying and thrashing with her little face scrunched and red. Nurses and doctors start scrambling around, and machines start beeping out of control. I look up, and everything is back to normal again. No beeping, and Dayna is snuggling against my breast.

“Keep holding onto it, Mrs. Evans, you’re doing marvelous.” Dr. Strin’s voice comes from the doctor in the room. The memory is confusing, as things are happening that I don’t recall. I look at the bundle in my arms, and see Dayna isn’t moving. The room’s lights start flashing red, and the wail of an alarm is going off. The nurses are trying to take Dayna away from me, trying to take my little piece of starlight. I’m crying, in the memory or in the present I do not know, and fighting away the nurses. I want to keep Dayna close to me, nobody can take her away. The nurse goes to put her hands on Dayna’s little body, and then the memory shifts again to normal lighting. The nurse that was going to grab at Dayna is now wiping away some of the cottage cheese like substance that is still on her little face instead. The way the memory keeps changing is disorienting, and I feel it starting to slip away.

“Fantastic, Mrs. Evans, you did marvelous. You may get up, though I suggest you do so slowly as to not fall. We do not want you to get hurt.” I just nod, the strange device on my head bobbed a bit, making me feel a little unstable. My fingers brush against the metal, now warm from whatever electric things it has been doing while I have been deep in my own head. Once off, it just bounces a little in the air and goes back up to where it came.

My body is stiff from having stayed still for so long, and I groan quietly as I stretch my limbs. Sitting up I can feel a blood rush from my head, causing the world to spin a bit and my balance to waver. The table sways, only adding to the disorienting experience, and I almost fall. The spinning starts to slow and I slip off the table and get myself back to standing on the ground.

“If you don’t mind, Dr. Strin, I have a question about what just happened.” I pull stray hairs from my face and straighten my clothes, making sure I didn't look too much a mess. Always keep appearances, Angela, appearances are important. On the screen I see her shuffling some papers and not look up to see me.

“Of course, Mrs. Evans, what can I do for you? Also, please have Mark come in next.”

“What happened with my memory? I was seeing things in there that I don't remember actually happening.” I still feel a bit shaken at seeing the nurse rush toward me, the monitors going off, and the confusion that all those things had brought to me.

Dr. Strin looks up, interest written all over her face and a pen in her hand. “Please, explain what was different and tell me why you believe those are things that didn't happen.”

“I was remembering my daughter’s birth, but it wasn't quite like how I remembered it in some parts. I was holding her and sometimes things changed from the peacefulness and happiness I remembered into chaos, and nurses running around, and alarms going off and it just felt wrong…” I stop and take a breath. “Dayna was perfect when she was born, there weren’t any complications.”

Dr. Strin had been writing this whole time, and when I stop talking she looks up at me. She places the end of her pen against the corner of her lip and squints her eyes for a moment, then sets the pen down. “Perhaps, Mrs. Evans, you are remembering something wrong? Your assignment is going to be to ponder on your memories and to write down everything you can in explicit detail. That way, when we do this again, we will have a better idea on what you remembered before the memory portion of our time together. “

I nod in response, though I am quite certain that something was off. However, I am starting to believe there is nothing I can say or do to make her believe me. With nothing else to say, I walk out. I don’t say anything to the others, other than to tell Mark he is wanted next, and I go to the screen and request a notebook and pen. A drawer opened under the screen and they were there. I don’t have any energy to write any memories at the moment, so I go to my bed and promptly pass out.