Black Box

"Mary had a little cam,

She put on quite a show,

And everywhere that Mary bent,

The cam was sure to go."

The voice came from a baby monitor on the coffee table, followed by laughter.

Greta stood at the foot of the stairs, a hand on the banister, staring at the little plastic box glowing green in the dark. Its airy static picked up random chatter.

Ping.

Greta jumped at the sound.

A notification.

Ping. Another.

Then another.

The green light on the monitor turned blinking red.

A woman sat there in the center of the living room. Her head bowed. Her lips quivering. Her mouth working threw chewed words Greta could not hear.

What's she saying?

Greta remembered her now. From somewhere.

Another dream. That's it. The sight of her made Greta's skin crawl. Her body jerked in quick spasms. Crimson splotched on her clothes and portions of her skin.

She always finds her.

How does she always find her?

Greta took the steps. Slowly. Controlling her weight.

She just needed to make it upstairs to her room. The whispering woman can't follow her there.

Ping.

The woman's head twitched.

Ping.

Her lips stopped moving.

Oh no....

The monitor hissed. Then the woman's voice parted the static like sheer drapes.

"Dread..."

Greta's fingers tightened on the banister.

"Dread..."

The woman began to sway.

"The woman in red.

She knows your name,

before it's said.

She'll steal it from you.

Wear it instead.

And leave you hollow,

inside your head."

The whispering woman's head ticked toward Greta.

No, no, no, no....

Then a voice, abnormal and warped, came from the woman's mouth and the monitor at once. "Greta. We need to talk." She dropped down on all fours.

Greta's face contorted, her mouth opened wide. Silence.

Ping.

She ran up the winding staircase. Behind her, the baby monitor groaned and shrieked. Greta's hand slid along the banister, slick with something warm and viscous that stuck to her fingers in wiry cords.

The steps curled higher and higher. Narrower and off kilter.

She looked up. And there it was....the red door.

Greta tried to press forward and suddenly couldn't.

She could see the staircase ahead but, for some reason, she couldn't continue.

"Greta," the woman called from below.

Greta stepped back, panicked. A circle tracing the air with the word "Loading" appeared. No..

The gangly woman crawled slowly around the bend.

Greta fell back on her hands. Eyes large.

"Greta! You can't keep..."

"....Repeating the same lessons."

Greta lifted her head. The air smelled of chalk dust. And something pine scented.

"Focus, is the key to meaningful retention," The professor said, addressing the class.

Greta knew this room. She knew the faded poster above the blackboard.

TOMORROW IS AN EXCUSE. TODAY IS AN OPPORTUNITY.

The clock that always ran as slow as it needed to in order to make class an eternity while no one was watching. The oddly dark ceiling tile above the projector.

She knew the desk in the second row beside the window.

Marilyn's desk.

Greta made effort to breathe. No. Then she pushed against her skull. No, no, no.

A girl sat there with one knee tucked under her, red cardigan hanging off one shoulder, pen in her mouth as she sketched something in a textbook. Her hair was short. A face young and bright. Not yet marred by what Greta would do to it.

Marilyn looked up and smiled. "Hey," she said. "You're Greta, right?"

The room zoomed and slanted.

Greta stared at her.

Marilyn's smile evened out. "You okay?"

Greta opened her mouth. No sound escaped.

The professor tapped the attendance sheet against the podium. "Greta Jane," he called.

Every head turned.

Greta lowered herself. Twenty pairs of eyes converged solely on her.

The professor looked over his glasses. "You're late."

"I'm not," Greta said. Her voice came out distorted. Like she was underwater.

The students laughed.

Marilyn watched Greta with concern. Genuine concern.

That was the worst part. Greta remembered that look. She remembered how much she missed it.

The professor lifted the attendance sheet. "First day and already making an entrance."

The class laughed again.

Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

LOL!

Greta looked toward the door. It was black, except for a small red dot in the center.

Ping.

The sound came from inside someone's backpack.

Ping.

Marilyn frowned and reached down beside her chair.

"No," Greta whispered.

Marilyn unzipped her bag.

"Don't."

She pulled out a baby monitor. Small. White. Plastic. Its red light blinking steadily. She fumbled with it. "Is it yours?"

The professor cleared his throat. "Greta, we need to talk about participation."

The words felt weighted. Like suffocating pressure.

"Participation?" Marilyn asked.

The whole classroom answered. "Participation."

Then, the clicking strokes of chalk. Words appeared on the board.

MARY HAD A LITTLE CAM.

Greta wagged her head. "No."

The phrase erased itself.

SHE PUT ON QUITE A SHOW.

Greta stood up from her desk, nearly toppling backward. The lights dimmed. Every student held a phone. All pointed at her. Marilyn's face changed. It was burned badly and scarred.

"Greta," she said.

The room went quiet. Hissing static filled the air.

"What is this?"

Greta's eyes wandered. She wanted to disappear. Where was the door? "I don't know."

The red light in the doorway began to pulse. The projector screen lit up the blackboard.

Ping.

A payment notification appeared.

Again.

And again.

Until they stacked too fast to read.

The professor turned toward the screen. "Class, what do we call a private thing once it has been sold?"

Hands rose around the room. Fingers wiggling.

Marilyn rose from her seat slowly. "What did you do?"

"I-I didn't," Greta said.

Marilyn took a step into the aisle. "What did you do?" The monitor crackled in her palms.

Greta walked backward. "It wasn't like that."

The students in the classroom leaned forward.

The professor smiled. "Then tell us what it was like."

The image on the projection screen changed. Usernames. Tens of them. Hundreds of them.

"You sold me." Marilyn's voice cracked.

Greta looked up. The girl in the red cardigan was gone. A woman stood in the isle. Her cardigan hung damp and dark from her shoulders. Her hair stuck to her face. Her head twitched up at Greta. "You sold me."

Greta's mouth opened. No sound.

The woman lifted the baby monitor to her lips. "Greta," she whispered through the speaker. "We need to talk."

The bell rang. But it sounded like a horn. Long and blasting. The red door finally appeared in the center of the classroom. Greta turned to run. The desks buckled around her. The white tile darkened beneath her feet.

Greta's shoulder knocked into the driver-side door. Rain beat against the windshield. The sound was massive. Marilyn was beside her in the passenger seat. Alive. Furious. The baby monitor tucked in her lap like evidence. Greta's hands rubbed around the steering wheel. She looked at them and felt sick.

Marilyn just stared at her. The red cardigan folded around her shoulders. Her hair tied back with her favorite glitter band. Greta remembered that tie. It was the one she borrowed, without permission. And never gave back.

"Pull over," Marilyn said.

Greta kept driving. The streaking sweep of the wipers couldn't clear the rain or the air. Each pass had a vision of a better world. Each pass hoped.

"Pull over, Greta."

"I can explain."

"Don't."

"I said I can explain, Mary."

"I don't need you to explain what's already clear, Greta."

Greta's hands opened. Closed. The baby monitor sizzled.

Ping. A payment notification appeared on the small screen.

Ping. NEW SUBSCRIBER.

"You're still making money."

"I'm not," Greta said.

Marilyn turned the screen toward her. "Then what is this?"

"I deleted it."

"You deleted a folder."

"I deleted everything I had."

"You uploaded me, Greta. What do you mean 'everything?'"

The windshield wipers worked overtime.

"I didn't show your face."

Marilyn paused, with awe. "Are you being serious?"

"I'm saying nobody knows it's you."

"I know it's me."

The rain poured. Harder. Low visibility became no visibility.

Greta wanted to escape. She wanted to change things. She wanted this day surgically removed and replaced with an implant. One with better lighting and different choices.

"What did you do with the money?" Marilyn asked.

"Nothing."

"Greta."

"I needed it."

"For what?"

Greta fidgeted.

"For what?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"You're right," Marilyn nodded. "I wouldn't understand selling the privacy of someone who trusted me."

Greta fired. "You make everything sound like it's the end of the world." Tears welled beneath her eyes. She wished she could gather the words and take them back.

The baby monitor hissed. A cheerful voice came through.

Mary had a little cam,

She put on quite a show--

"Stop," Greta said.

And everywhere that Mary bent--

Greta reached for the monitor. Marilyn pulled it away.

"Give it to me."

"No. I'm taking it to the police."

"Mary, give it to me."

"No."

The road curved.

"Shit!"

"Greta!"

Squealing breaks. Weightlessness. Sky.

Road.

Sky. Glass.

Road.

Tree.

Greta woke. Hanging sideways in her seat belt.

(Black)

At first she thought she was underwater. Rain fell down the cracked windshield in watery strings.

(Black)

Greta dropped from her seat belt and hit the roof. She crawled out through the broken glass of the driver-side window. She coughed out dark smoke.

Marilyn was pinned. Greta could see her. Reaching out. She needed help.

(Black)

Greta looked at the baby monitor, blinking red in the road.

The car was on fire.

"Greta," Marilyn whispered through the speaker. "We need to talk."

Greta crawled to the monitor and clutched it tight to her chest. Rain streaming over her face. The red door appeared a short distance from her feet. The copper of blood in her mouth.

She lifted the monitor. "My name is Greta Jane," she said.

"I hid a camera in Mary's room."

The door darkened.

"I sold the footage on the dark web."

The rain softened.

"I told myself it didn't matter because no one would know who she was."

Greta closed her eyes. "I crashed the car because she found out. And I left her at the scene."

Her voice choked. "I chose to destroy the evidence instead of choosing to save her."

The red door disappeared. Greta moved the monitor closer to her mouth. "Mary needs help," she said. "Someone please help Mary."

Static.

Greta's eyes peeled open. Blurred shapes resolved themselves. A woman in blue scrubs stood over her, removing taped sensors from her forehead. Her badge read:

CLEAR WATER CORRECTIONAL FACILITY

STRUCTURAL MEMORY TECHNICIAN

M. MARZ

Greta tried to speak. Her throat was a desert.

The technician studied the readout of a wheeled monitor with a blinking red light. "Session forty-four complete."

"Wh-What happens now? Is Mary alive?"

The technician remained poised and focused on documentation. "Subject reached the point of incident."

Greta looked around the room. The padded walls. The multiple cameras. A familiar dread returned.

"Subject demonstrated sustained accountability at point of incident. Unlike the previous forty-three procedures, subject did not choose avoidance. Neural pattern isolated and registered."

The door unlocked and opened. Two officers stepped into the room.

"What's happening?"

The technician tapped the monitor screen. "Your sealed disclosure has been transmitted to the review board."

"My what?"

"Your confession."

Greta tried to move her hands. They were strapped down.

"You confirmed awareness after impact. You confirmed Marilyn Ines Carlyle was still alive when you fled the scene. You confirmed suppression of emergency contact for the purpose of destroying evidence."

Greta shook her head. "No-no-no, I was dreaming."

"Yes," the technician said. "And we were recording."