The Second Session
A Christmas Eve sneak peek of my sci-fi novel.
Dusk had fallen, and it was less the lengthening shadows and the red horizon as the feeling of freedom that made it apparent. The weight of the day was rolled from everyone’s shoulders and the prevailing thought was: “I am going home.” People scattered like beetles in every direction, their weariness forgotten in their eagerness to get home. I let the doors of the Ansel Corporation building close heavily behind me and joined the exodus.
Ansel was a tech company, and I knew nothing about tech. I had been hired for my skill in graphic design. I spent most of my time polishing logos, presentation visuals, and advertisement material from other departments. Why, then, did I stay until dusk, nearly an hour over my time? Only because I had nothing better to do. It was all so unutterably boring, I would surely go mad if I were not convinced that it was a temporary arrangement, a means to pay off college debt while I searched for more exciting opportunities, like working at an animation studio.
“I will not go mad,” I whispered into the evening, my voice lost in the bustle of the city. In the center of the business district, it was difficult to see anything but concrete and vacant eyes, or to feel anything but the stagnation on which madness thrived. It was Christmastime, supposedly, though one could hardly tell in this place. Until I reached the residential areas, I kept my eyes on the billboards on the streets and the posters in the metro. They were a form of art, however dismal.
There was a cold winter wind blowing, and a light fall of snow. I shivered a little, thrust my hands deep into my coat pockets and walked quickly. I got on the metro along with several other Ansel employees, most of whom I did not know. A few recognized me and nodded. The metro was crowded, as it always was at the end of the day. I stood in the aisle and had to brace myself to avoid falling into the lap of an elderly man who kept muttering to himself and tapping his finger on his knee.
Unwilling to meet the empty eyes, I fixed my gaze on a poster just above me, advertising a church Christmas service. There was a picture of some children holding candles and singing. Christmas Eve Candlelight Service. Wednesday, December 24th. 7pm. A week from today, I thought absently. The main text was written in large, red cursive letters. I strained my eyes. Was that a copyright statement at the bottom of the page? I blinked and shook my head. Too many hours spent staring at a computer screen. Ansel would make sure I’d never see anything else again when they were done with me. I glanced up. Three more stops before mine. I could still see LEDs, at least.
With nothing else to do, I thought of Cameron. She would surely find something to admire in this scene; some romance in the flurrying snow and the twinkling city lights. How did she keep her endless optimism? “It’s easier to be optimistic back home, amid the remnants of free nature,” I thought, then immediately felt ashamed of such selfishness. Cameron was optimistic because she was a special kind of person. I was not that kind of person. To me, the city lights were just another sea of vacant eyes, and the flurrying snow the only resistance nature had strength left to make. I shook myself. What a dismal train of thought! Cameron would laugh and tell me not to be so dramatic.
The train came to a stop. Two more after this, I thought. How the time drags on! A few people near me got off, and I relaxed a little. I took advantage of the opportunity to stretch my cramped arm and fingers, which had been tightly gripping the pole beside me. The doors closed and the train began to move again, then lurched to a halt just before the station was left behind. The vacant eyes suddenly lit with glimmers of curiosity and annoyance; as the stillness persisted, someone murmured, “Why have we stopped?”
I peered out the window, but the station was dark compared to the well-lit train and I could see nothing. Over the murmurs of complaints around me, however, I began to hear loud voices. They sounded strong, but not angry. Shadows darted by the windows. The doors opened, but no one entered or left. Then the intercom switched on and a woman’s robotic voice resounded through the entire car: “Miss Eva Lyon, please exit the train and proceed to your party. Miss Eva Lyon, please exit the train and proceed to your party. Miss Eva Lyon…” it droned on.
My heart began to race. What had I forgotten? Had I accidentally taken my Ansel notebook with me again? I patted my pockets frantically. No, empty. But they were calling my name, loud and clear. There was a man in a suit, also from Ansel, seated nearby. He looked up at me expectantly. “Go,” he mouthed, and nodded toward the door. I held his eyes for a moment. He looked frightened. I released my grip on the pole, my knuckles white, and slinked slowly through the crowds, wishing they would absorb me. I exited the train and the intercom shut off, mid-sentence, the instant I stepped onto the station. I strained my eyes to adjust to the new lighting. The doors shut behind me and the train pulled away.
A woman was standing under the dim lamplight, a few paces from the rail. She was tall, with light hair pulled back. Isabelle. Two men stood behind her. They were wearing plain clothes, but I recognized them from the clinic. Isabelle never picked up employees alone. Was she afraid of the city, I wondered, or of us? She would meet little resistance from me. I was new enough to still be afraid of her.
She smiled at me and spoke clearly and firmly: “You missed your session this evening, Eva.” My heart sank. It was Thursday today, not Wednesday!
Ansel had recently acquired a new technology and was running clinical trials at a nearby facility. Ansel employees were encouraged to participate in studies involving healthy subjects. (Encouraged was the word they used, but coerced was more apt.) Participants agreed to bi-weekly sessions at the clinic for two months. Tonight–Thursday–at 5pm, was supposed to be my second session. It was now 6pm. Isabelle designed the studies and oversaw the sessions. And Isabelle and her team were permitted to access and use our electronic data, including our location, at any given time during the two months of our contract. But how she managed to arrive at a location and tamper with its infrastructure–the trains and the intercom–to arrange our detainment were details to which my colleagues and I were kept ignorant.
I was beginning to feel calmer, without all the eyes around me on the train. I spoke steadily. “I apologize, Isabelle. I got my days mixed up; I don’t know why I thought it was Wednesday today.”
She didn’t acknowledge my apology. “Come along with me,” she said, “There’s a car waiting near that street corner.” “Can’t we reschedule it?” I asked pitifully, “It’s a little late…” I trailed off. “Let’s get it done tonight,” Isabelle replied, “It won’t take long.” She touched my elbow and guided me away from the station. The two men from the clinic trailed behind us. We crossed the tracks to a car with its lights on, parked by the pavement. Isabelle opened the back door for me. She sat in the front and the two men got in after me. I didn’t recognize the driver.
I tried to read the faces of my companions through the glimmer of the streetlights, but they were as vacant as the faces on the train. The emptiness was unsettling, so I didn’t look long. We spent the drive in silence, and I was content to stare out the window until we arrived at the clinic ten minutes later. The driver dropped us off at the entrance and sped away.
Once inside, the two men disappeared down the hallway without a word to Isabelle or me. Their work for the evening was done, apparently. The receptionist looked up as we entered. “The room’s unlocked,” she said, “Nicholas is already in there.” Isabelle nodded. I followed her down the hallway to the second door on the right. “Put your stuff on that chair,” she commanded, and I obeyed. It was a small room with a computer desk and a workbench with medical supplies, and some chairs lined along the wall. Nicholas was bent over the computer, typing something, but turned when we entered. He smiled, sort of sympathetically, but didn’t say anything. Isabelle pulled a chair up next to the computer desk. “Take your hair tie out and sit down,” she commanded. I obeyed. She put an electrode cap over my head and fussed with the hardware a little. “Is it ready, Nicholas?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied, and I heard the click of his mouse. I couldn’t see the computer screen from where I was sitting.
Isabelle pulled another chair over and sat down a few feet away, facing me. “Can you tell me what you did today?” she asked. Same questions as last time, I thought absently. “I went to work at 8am, I left work at 5:30pm. I got on the metro to go home and then I came here.” I didn’t feel like elaborating.
“Why did you stay late at work?”
I shrugged. “Bored, I guess.” Then I quickly added: “And I forgot I had this session today.”
“Why did you forget?”
“I was sure it was Wednesday all day long,” I replied, with a laugh, “Just one of those days, I guess.”
“What did you do at work today?”
What a stupid question! Just look at the job posting on LinkedIn, for pity’s sake. My actual answer was much more polite:
“Let’s see, I updated the website. I crunched some numbers for marketing. I touched up some ad material from Anna. The colors weren’t right and the AI made some pretty obvious mistakes.” I kept talking, but my eyes were drawn to a poster on the wall behind Isabelle–the only poster on the wall, and strikingly out of place. It was the same poster I’d seen on the metro.
Christmas Eve Candlelight Service. Thursday, December 24th. 7pm.
Thursday? I was sure it had said Wednesday before.
I realized that I had stopped talking and that Isabelle was looking at me expectantly. “What is it?” she asked.
“Sorry, zoned out for a moment,” I replied, “I was thinking about Cameron, my little sister. I was supposed to call her when I got off work today.” I stopped myself, startled. Why did I lie? I looked up at the wall behind Isabelle. The poster was no longer there. I sat up straighter and stared harder. Nothing but bare wall. I glanced at Nicholas. He was staring intently at the computer screen and would not look at me. Suddenly I felt annoyed.
“I think I have a right to see what he’s doing on that computer,” I said, peevishly, “Can’t we move my chair around?”
Isabelle shook her head firmly. “That would defeat the whole purpose. We’ll tell you everything when the study is done.” I stared at her, helplessly.
“Let’s return to Cameron,” she said, “You talk about her a lot.”
“I told you, she’s my sister.”
“You two are close?”
I felt uncomfortable. “Why are we talking about her?”
“I want you to talk about the things that are important to you.”
I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. I don’t understand why you have to be so invasive.”
“Why are you upset? You agreed to this study. We asked you the same questions last time. We told you we might ask personal things.”
I put my head in my hands and groaned.
“Don’t do that!” Isabelle snapped, and Nicholas came over, made me sit up and straightened the cap on my head.
“I’m tired,” I said, “I worked late today and I want to go home. I’m hungry too.”
Isabelle pulled her chair closer. “Why did you work late today?” she asked.
“You asked me that already! I don’t know why, I just got caught up in it and didn’t have anything better to do.”
“I’m asking you again because you didn’t answer me. I want to know why you worked late and you are not telling me why. I want to know why you did not clock out exactly at your time. I want to know why you did not appear for your session at the time we agreed upon.”
“I told you I forgot it was today, I’m sorry. I don’t understand—”
“Eva,” Isabelle interrupted me firmly, “I want you to tell me the truth.”
I stared at her, utterly bewildered. I was telling her the truth, every word. Why wouldn’t she believe me? Was this some kind of test?
No, not a test. I was taking this too seriously. My colleagues who had attended several sessions were remarkably unbothered by them, because they treated it like a game. Isabelle didn’t want us to tell the truth. She wanted us to lie.
I met her eyes. They were not vacant, like the others, but icy cold. I spoke slowly. “I didn’t actually work late,” I said, “I stayed late, but I was talking to Cameron.” Isabelle liked it when I talked about Cameron. “She called me, and I don’t like to ignore her calls. I talked to her from the time I clocked out of work to the time I left the building. Almost an hour.”
Isabelle nodded approvingly. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” Keep lying, she might have said. Lie more, lie better. Something caught my eye on the wall behind Isabelle. The poster again! But now the date read: Wednesday, December 24th. 7pm.
I kept my eyes on it and continued to lie. “Cameron was telling me about home. They’re getting ready for Christmas now. She said they expect snow this year.” And the text changed the instant I blinked: Thursday, December 24th. 7pm. I sat straighter. I spoke loudly and clearly: “Cameron says she’s going to get married next year. I don’t understand why. She’s so young. Dad’s mad about it, and I’m on his side.” Wednesday, December 24th. 7pm. “I think she thinks it will help the family, because the man is rich. She’s so old-fashioned.” This was utter nonsense. My sister was sixteen and had never even had a boyfriend. But Isabelle looked as if she believed every word.
“And why did you not attend your session as we agreed?” she asked, and added sharply, “Look at me, not at the wall.”
My heart rate rose. I spoke falteringly. “Because I—I didn’t want to stop talking to Cameron. And once the time had passed and I didn’t hear from you, I thought we could reschedule.” That sounded eerily convincing. I let the words hang.
I glanced at the wall. Bare, again.
Isabelle leaned back in her chair and I heard the click of Nicholas’ mouse. “Very good,” Isabelle said, “That’s enough for today.” I looked up at Nicholas in confusion, but he smiled reassuringly. It hadn’t been more than ten or fifteen minutes. The last session had been thirty. Isabelle had been much gentler that time because I was new, but she hadn’t been happy with the results. Today, at least, she seemed satisfied.
Nicholas removed the cap from my head and I stood up, warily. “You did well, Eva,” Isabelle said, and made a frightening attempt at a smile. “Don’t worry about getting on the metro. I’ve ordered a ride for you.” The smile melted away and she spoke in an iron voice, her cold eyes fixed on mine: “Please do not miss your next session.” I nodded feebly. “You may go,” she said, and turned her back to me.
I could see the computer screen now, but it showed a blank desktop. Nicholas was careful to close everything before I got up. I grabbed my bag from the chair and backed out of the room. As I shut the door behind me, I heard Isabelle speak softly to Nicholas:
“A madman always thinks he is the only sane person in the world.”