Tunnel Vision Page 17

  The door’s stuck shut. I shove at it with my shoulder, again, again, even though I’m too small to budge it. Suddenly it opens from inside and I fall in, stumbling across the room. Dedushka—the Dedushka of 1998, with his still-mostly-black hair and short beard—catches me by the arm, wordlessly turns me toward Dad’s desk.

  Dad is lying across the length of the desk, in uniform, eyes closed, EEG wires stuck all over his head. They’re attached to a machine in the corner that’s beeping, flashing a red light.

  “No!” I cry, clinging to Dedushka’s arm.

  He turns me back to face him, kneels down so we’re face-to-face, and places one finger to his lips. “He is sleeping. Now listen close, malchik. Sushchestvuet ne stydno ne znat, stydno ne lezhit v vyasnit.”

  I stare at him, eyes big.

  He grips my shoulders and repeats it impatiently, louder. “Sushchestvuet ne stydno ne znat, stydno ne lezhit v vyasnit.”

  “I don’t understand,” I whisper, in my child’s voice. “I don’t speak Russian.”

  He sighs. He stands, strides over to Dad, and tugs the air force ring right off his finger. Dad’s hand flops off the table, blue, stiff, and I bite back another cry.

  Dedushka carries the ring back to me and presses it into my hand. It’s cold and hard. I can feel the raised mold of the eagle against my palm like it’s branded there. “There is no shame in not knowing, malchik,” he says, blue eyes close to mine. He speaks slowly, clearly. “The shame lies in not finding out.”

  I jolt awake into the dark of my solitary room, his words pounding in my head.

  It almost feels like he’s with me, like he was talking to me. Find out all that’s going on here. Yes, Dedushka. That’s exactly what I intend to do.

  * * *

  Friday. Everything starts with me sitting in my room, waiting. This time it feels like there are jumping beans inside my belly.

  I have to be careful. Maybe the cameras aren’t on, but Liesel must be listening somehow. If I fail at trying to get the pen, and they realize what I really can do, what I already have done …

  It isn’t hard to imagine myself forced to make faraway people do despicable things, without any pretense of helping anyone. If they threaten Mom and Myka, I probably would do whatever they wanted. I’d have to. I don’t know if Liesel and her bosses would stoop that low, if they really are desperate enough. But I can’t risk it.

  I can’t fuck this up.

  No pressure.

  I play Halo to keep my hands busy, the volume as high as it’ll go. It helps to blow things up, have the crash of explosions and gunfire and music surround me. When Dr. Tenney comes in I don’t even notice for a few seconds, until he walks into my line of sight, waves.

  Here we go.

  I save and quit the game before I turn to him. “Hey.”

  “Hello, Jake. Would you prefer to sit here, while we talk? I could bring over a chair…”

  Panic snatches at me—the plan crumbling under a simple change—but I don’t show it. “Nah. The table’s fine.”

  We get settled, and I meet his eyes. We blink at each other for a minute, waiting for the other to start.

  I win. “Tell me how you are, Jake.”

  “I am so good, Dr. T. Excellent.”

  He makes a note. “You’re using sarcasm as a shield again. I thought we were past that.”

  “Maybe I’m regressing.”

  He sighs. “Very well. Let’s talk about your family today.”

  “I miss my family.” I say it fervently, with undeniable truth, and he lifts his eyebrows in surprise, crinkling the skin on his head.

  “Let’s work with that.”

  “What is there to say?” I ask. “I miss them. I can’t ever see them again, because they think I’m dead. What does talking do?”

  “I think you’re progressing, actually, Jake. You’re facing reality. This is good.”

  I sigh. “Great. Can we just skip this bullshit for once, and get to the tunneling?”

  So I can get that pen.

  He tries again. He wants to please Liesel. “I was thinking first we could talk about your grandfather, for a bit. We’ve never explored…”

  I shake my head. “Not today.”

  He caps his pen—not the pen, unfortunately; I’ll have to work harder than that—and lays it on the table. “What do you want to do today, Jake?”

  Steal your stolen object. “Tunnel.”

  “Really. On Wednesday you clearly didn’t want to—”

  “I changed my mind.” I fidget with my hands. “See, I think I figured out how to do it—the controlling thing—and I’ve been waiting to try it again.”

  His wet dream, a willing subject who can do what he most wants. His whole body language changes. He leans in, practically drooling, and his drawl deepens. “Truly?”

  I nod. God help me, I’m getting good at lying, pretending, manipulating.

  He pulls a bag out of his briefcase, passes it across to me.

  It’s the small silver key again, the poor fool sitting in an office waiting for me. I go to him for a few seconds, silently, to get a quick glimpse, then I back out without showing it. I list off the details in that deep voice, like I’m still there, narrating.

  Don’t fuck it up.

  Mike Holmes, average in every way. Hair muddy brown, cropped short. Location: Arlington, Virginia. DARPA headquarters. 3701 North Fairfax Drive, fourth floor, room 420. The room is empty except for Mike, a camera, and the table where he sits, arms laid out in front of him.

  There’s a pen and a pad on the table, one near each hand. He could reach them with an easy stretch of his fingers. He waits. Pretty damn weird assignment, sit here a couple times in a week motionless for an hour.

  I go quiet, stick my other hand in my pocket—I specially chose the cargo shorts today for their deep pockets—and grasp Dr. Tenney’s notebook. I dive into him instead, silently. Skim past the description, location. Straight into him, as deep as I can fling myself.

  He’s worrying about what I’m doing, why I’m silent. He doesn’t want to interrupt, in case it’s part of this new process. He waits for word in his ear that the subject is moving.

  But first, I tell him he needs to get that pen out. He needs it to be on the table. It’s lucky. Hadn’t it been lucky, how he’d taken it? It would be lucky for this tunnel too. This critical tunnel, that’ll show his success to them all. But only if he can see the pen.

  He needs Liesel’s pen to be on the table. What is the Tunnel doing, quiet so long?

  I nudge him to lean to the side, drop his hand into the briefcase, find the pen. I know he’s superstitious. The tunnel won’t work if it isn’t there, in plain sight. It’s lucky.

  He finds the pen with his fingers, relaxes. It’s lucky. He brings it up and puts it on the table.

  I pull away, open my eyes, frowning. “Something’s wrong.” I press on my forehead hard with the heel of my hand.

  Concern creases the wrinkles around his eyes. “Are you all right, Jake?”

  “Let me try again. I almost had it…”

  I grip the key in one hand, the notebook in the other. Dive back into him. It’s faster this time.

  Look away, I tell him. You hear something at the door. You don’t want to be interrupted. Look, just over your shoulder, there.

  Is there someone at the door? He turns, looks over his shoulder.

  Thank God the cameras are off. I come out, grab the pen with the key hand, stuff it into my other pocket, and have my hand back on the table by the time he turns around.

  Showtime.

  I fling the key and scream, like I’ve heard myself scream before. Keep screaming, my throat raw with it. I fall across the table, knocking everything onto the floor. Press my hands to the sides of my head and drop, moaning. Until he scrabbles in his bag for the medicine, and I feel his fingers in my mouth, the too-sweet, strawberry taste.

  Everything goes slow, distant. Even Dr. Tenney’s voice, as he helps me up, sounds f
ar away, his drawl exaggerated. “There we go,” he says. “You’re all right now.”

  It sounds like “Yooooouwww awwwl riiiight naow.”

  I gape at him. Why is he talking like that?

  Stay sane, Jake.

  All I have to do is remember to hide the pen and the notebook when he’s gone, when it’s dark. The hard part’s over. That’s all I have to remember.

  I start to drift as he gets me to the bed. I’m on a boat, swells lifting and dropping my feet. I laugh, trying to keep my balance. Up, down, up, down. I keep almost falling, because I can’t judge the swells right.

  But it’s only a few steps, and we make it. I’m lying on the bed looking at the white ceiling, and he’s gathering his things. He takes a long time to gather his things. I close my eyes.

  What was I supposed to remember?

  The lights are out now, so he must have been gone a while. I’ve been floating, happy, on the waves. But there was something I was supposed to …

  The pen. It’s still there, in my pocket. Like pushing through honey, I manage to pull it out, slide my hand down the side, between the mattresses, and stuff the pen in the gap.

  I rest. Rising, falling. Like being on Grandma and Grandpa Marden’s boat when I was small. I bet Grandma and I could catch some excellent trout later. Fry it up for Mom and Dad as a surprise.

  Notebook. I take it out of my left pocket, pass it underneath my back … slow … and tuck it in beside the pen. Safe. Done. I smile to myself.

  I can’t go to her now. I’m too out of it. But I did it. And nobody’s come charging in here to lock me down, so they didn’t realize what I did. The beauty is even if Dr. Tenney realizes the pen is missing, he’ll never think I did it, and he can’t report it to Liesel. I can relax.

  I close my eyes and drift off with the tide.

  * * *

  Myka comes to see me later.

  I hear her when I’m sleeping, her voice, this annoying song she always used to sing in my ear to wake me up.

  “Good morning, good morning, it’s great to stay up late. Good morning, good morning to you.”

  I sit up, blinking, and the lights come on. I don’t know how long it’s been, but I’m still loopy from the pill, so for a minute I just stare at her. She smiles happily, and starts braiding her hair.

  “Myka?” I manage finally, squinting. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

  She makes a face. “Duh. I walked in.” She points. The glass door is open, the hallway empty beyond it. “Why are you hiding in here, anyway? You have to take me to school.” She frowns. “And why are you so skinny?”

  I shove the covers back and stand, my eyes on the open door. “Follow me. We have to leave. Right now.”

  “Okay,” she says, exasperated. She drops her arms, and her hair falls out of the braid, slowly unraveling. “I told you so. I have to get to school. I’ll be late.”

  I grab her hand—warm, real—and launch us toward the door.

  I come up hard against it, crashing my nose into the shatterproof glass. “What the—” I turn, but Myka isn’t there. There’s no one there. Just my empty room with the lights on.

  I sit down on the bed bewildered. I’d seen her, talked to her. It was like a dream. A realistic, detailed dream.

  Except I wasn’t asleep.

  25

  “Games” by LaFran

  Liesel’s away all weekend. Monday it’s finally time to do something again, to go to her at last. I just have to make it through sessions with Eric and Dr. Tenney first.

  But when Eric comes in, he doesn’t have a metal box. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and has a black duffel bag in his hand. He bounces on his heels, clearly pleased with himself.

  “I managed to swing you some R&R … if you’re willing to leave your little den.”

  Oh, hell yes. “Outside?”

  His smile fades. “Not that far, but out of this room. Only problem is … there are conditions. This isn’t our facility, right? You can’t know how we get there.” He takes something out of the bag and holds it up for me to see. It looks like a half hood. Or a weird, ugly hat. It’s black stretchy cloth, with thick patches where the eyes and ears would go. But it doesn’t cover the nose or mouth. A muffling hood.

  I raise my eyebrows. “DARPA technology?”

  His nose scrunches. “Better than knocking you out and dragging you. Especially since I want you in good form when we get there.” He holds up some handcuffs. “These are for security. I had to agree to that too.”

  I make a noise in the back of my throat. “I don’t think—I don’t think I can do that.”

  He meets my eyes. “Sure you can. You’ve done worse. It’ll only be for a little while. And the reward’ll be worth it, I promise. Trust me?”

  I don’t trust him, not really. But I want so badly to go—wherever it is, as long as it’s not this cell—so I let him pull the hood over my head. Instantly there’s no sound, no light at all. I can hear my own breath, my heartbeat, but that’s it. My hands are pulled together behind me, and I feel the snap of metal over my wrists. Then a hand on my shoulder, steering me.

  They probably use this on terrorists, don’t they?

  We walk, turn, go up stairs, walk more, go down stairs, walk, then up again. I wonder if he’s doing the random tour to confuse me. He doesn’t have to. Without any sensory input, with my hands useless, I’m completely disoriented. If he let me go I’d probably fall over, or bump into a wall. Or just stand there helpless until somebody moved me.

  It’s crippling, the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced. Like that, I am utterly powerless. It makes me crave to get out of this place like nothing else has.

  Finally we stop. After a few more dark moments, Eric tugs the hood off. I blink, dazed, as he undoes the cuffs.

  It’s a tennis court.

  An improvised court, in a huge warehouse-type room that obviously wasn’t meant for it. But there’s a regulation net, a padded floor marked off with chalk, and two cans of balls. Wilson tour rackets just like we used at school.

  I look at it all, rubbing my wrists. “Thank you.” My voice is scratchy. “I never—”

  I never expected to play again.

  Eric hands me a ball can. It’s just him and me, no other guards, no cameras I can see. “You do the honors.”

  I rip off the silver tab and hold the can to my nose, inhaling the perfect fresh rubber scent of tennis balls. Then I pile my pockets full and take one of the rackets, spinning it in my palms.

  “You’re on.”

  It comes back, faster than I would’ve thought considering it’s been a few months, and I’m completely out of shape. Of course maybe Eric hasn’t played either and we both suck equally, or maybe he’s holding back. I don’t care. The first set I barely pull out, after a deuce we’re stuck in forever. The second one he wins, but just as close. We’re both soaked in sweat.

  After the second set he takes some Subway sandwiches, Cheetos, and Coke out of the duffel bag. We sit against the wall, mid-court, and eat lunch. It’s the closest I’ve been to normal since I came here. It’s amazing.

  When I finish the sandwich, I crumple the wrapper and toss it in the air. Totally fail to catch it. “Can we do this every day?”

  He swallows a bite. “Sadly, no. Maybe once a week, though. If you do all right.”

  “Ah.” Always an underlying purpose. “Meaning it’s a reward I earn or don’t earn, depending on what a good boy I am?”

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t everybody like the carrot better than the stick?”

  “Everybody isn’t a freaking circus donkey.”

  He snorts. “Point taken.”

  “But it is fitting you’re the carrot, with your hair. And Liesel…” I let it hang.

  “Is the stick. You ain’t kidding, mate.”

  We’re silent again for a while, eating Cheetos, coating our hands completely with orange dust. The black bag is next to me, open. I peek in, curious. Just a cha
nge of clothes. No more surprises.

  I have to ask, in case we aren’t being watched. “Listen. Is there any way you can see if my family’s okay? Drive by, or make a phone call—”

  “Can’t.” It’s curt, and I know him well enough to wait for the rest. “You’re right, I know where we are now, and we’re nowhere near them. And I’m not allowed in that area, any more than you are. What do you think happens if somebody recognizes me?”

  He pauses, lets me think. It’d blow the cover, of course. Throwing into question whether I’m really dead too. Putting Mom and Myka in danger again.

  “Even if I could, no contact means no contact. No updates. You assume they’re well and living their lives, and let them go.”

  I swig some Coke from the can, staring at the wall. On closer inspection I think there is a camera, a small one, mounted up there. I should’ve known Liesel wouldn’t leave me unsupervised.

  “They’re safe,” he continues. “They’ll still have security on them, to make sure.”

  I snort. Yeah. I bet they do. But I’m glad about that.

  Maybe. What happens with that security if I do get out of here somehow?

  He pops another Cheeto in his mouth, talks around it. “There’s reason to believe your grandfather might be in danger, though. Is there anything else you could tell us about where he might have gone?”

  I sigh. There it is. He is Liesel’s stooge, at least that far. Well, he more than made up for it with the tennis, but I still wouldn’t talk even if I knew. I guess we’re the same that way.

  “Nope. Sorry.” I stand up, wipe my orange fingers on my pants, and pick up the racket. “Do we have time for another game?”

  * * *

  After tennis, Dr. Tenney is a letdown.

  He seems strange. Subdued, cautious. He zooms straight in on what I’d tried with the tunnel last week, and how it went wrong.

  I wonder how hard Liesel is twisting his arm.

  While I’m laying out a bullshit theory, and he’s making notes, Ana appears behind him. Just … appears, poof. She stands there, hair down, in shorts and a loose T-shirt like she had on that last night. She waves at me, bracelet dangling from her wrist.

  I stop talking and gawk at her. Ana smiles and makes a shooing motion, like she wants me to go on. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them again. She’s still there.