The Barsoom Project

Chapter Fourteen

The girl on the couch was drowsy. Her head hung from an unsteady neck, and her eyes were defocused. The tranquilizing tabs Vail had placed on the skin over Michelle Sturgeon’s carotid artery had done their work.

The tiny holding room in medical central was adequate for a situation like this, but not particularly comfortable.

Vail stared at a computer screen. He cleared it, summoned up a new batch of data, cleared it again.

Griffin rapped the desk impatiently. “Well?”

“We could get sued for our lungs and kidneys.”

“To hell with that,” he growled. “Listen. For eight years her father took our money, and tucked this woman into that hospital in Salt Lake City. Then he demanded the rest of the money in a lump sum. We gave it to him. He blew it, and tucked her into a state home in Saint Paul. When Minnesota went through a recession last year, they let her go. That’s when she started using the name ‘Rivers.’ She’s still, pardon the expression, a loon.”

“I don’t understand those esoteric medical terms, Alex.”

“I’m hardly a doctor.”

“Precisely.”

“Dr. Vail.” Alex’s voice was deceptively mild. “Let’s cooperate with each other, shall we? We both made mistakes. It could be argued that yours was larger-unless you’d like me to believe a sealed file kept you from reading her Rorschach blots.”

To Alex’s immense satisfaction, Vail stammered for a beat before composing himself. “We-ah, utilize a more complex battery of tests than that, I assure you. But Michelle Sturgeon is a classic schizophrenic, and she took the test as her Eviane personality. There were, ah, no pathological symptoms.”

Vail’s voice wavered. Griffin almost felt sorry for him, but bored in relentlessly. “Oh, I’m sure she’s as right as rain. Now, Doctor, why do you think she came back here? Don’t you think she had a reason? She thinks Dream Park is the medicine she needs. I think she’s right.”

“I’m not sure you understand the significance-”

“Don’t be patronizing,” Alex said. “I’m not in your league, but I minored in psychology. You tell me if I’m remembering straight.”

Vail narrowed his eyes cautiously. “All tight. Shoot.”

“We’re talking selective amnesia and a multiple-personality disorder, brought on by a strong tendency toward dissociation, and a high hypnotic responsiveness.”

The doctor sat up straight. “That’s-actually quite perceptive. Go on, Alex.”

“Now bear with me. When Michelle Sturgeon shot three players in a Game, she subjected herself to massive guilt.”

“In essence, yes…”

“Michelle Sturgeon sees herself as a murderess, even though she was innocent. Eviane, on the other hand, is a heroine who only fought to protect her cause. Michelle is a rabid mouse, Eviane a lioness. She needs to become Eviane to live with herself.”

“You have about half of it,” Vail said, almost reluctantly. “The question is, what is she doing back here? She intends to relive that shattering moment. Do you have any idea how dangerous it would be to put her back into the Game?”

“Dangerous to her? She’s already pretty screwed up, wouldn’t you say? Could it get worse? Dangerous to us? Hell, we can put a security shield around her. We already have Marty in the Game. It won’t happen a second time. I can guarantee that.”

He leaned very close, and consciously flexed the muscles in his chest. A big man’s trick: Alex was perfectly willing to use subliminal physical intimidation if it would get him what he wanted. “And Vail, this is what it boils down to. We don’t know whether or not she can identify the killer, but the killer can’t be sure either. That’s good enough for me.”

Vail thought about it for a long moment. “If you put it like that

… ”

“I do.”

“Then it seems there is very little to lose, and much to gain.”

“Don’t get cute-I know we’re risking what’s left of her sanity. I think Eviane and Michelle would both agree with me, and approve of the cause.”

Vail tapped his fingers. He touched a few more buttons on his computer, then crooned to it softly.

“All right. I think that I may have an answer. When I was in medical school, we performed a rather interesting experiment. If modified, it may suggest a solution. The key to it is her susceptibility to hypnosis.” He looked at Griffin, face showing the traces of surprise. “By the way-how did you figure that? It’s not in her dossier.”

“She’s a Dream Park junkie,” Griffin said. “This whole place is an altered state of consciousness.” Alex paused. “You mentioned her father. What about her mother?”

“Dead. And I think you guessed it-her mother’s maiden name was Eviane Rivers.”

Michelle Sturgeon floated in a tank of water a few degrees cooler than skin temperature. Hundreds of pounds of Epsom salts were dissolved in the water. She was as buoyant as a balloon. There was no light. There was no sound. 100 mg of synthetic tranquilizer/hypnotic had left her without the urge to do anything but lie here and relax.

Without light, without sound, without a reference of physical sensation, her mind drifted in its cocoon of warmth, and her recent troubled sensations died away.

Who was she? Eviane? Yes. Eviane. Strong. Powerful.

Who else? Some part of her was far, far away, alone and miserable. As she should be. Michelle was bad. Had done something terrible. Eviane didn’t want to think about that part.

Wait, now. There were lights in the darkness!

They sparkled, and moved in rhythm across her line of sight. They were differing colors, jewel-like. She liked them.

There was sound. A heartbeat sound, one that she felt in the water, in her body, in her chest. She was getting… not sleepy. She was beyond sleepy somehow, but still awake. Her body was sleepy, her mind alert… at least, part of her mind.

It was confusing. Everything seemed to be happening so slowly. So much had happened in the past hours. It seemed like a dream.

Everything was slowing, slowing…

Eviane fought to hold on, but felt herself swirling down and down into the void, into an infinitely deep black hole rimmed with red, following the steady pulse of the light, the rhythmic beat of the sound, the gentle lapping of the warm water. Down and down and down and dark.

Out of the dark came light. She was in a place she knew, a beach, a place from her past.

The surf rolled in, and she sat in the warm sand, watching passively. She was warmed and comforted by the touch of the sun, and utterly content.

A man came out of the surf, dripping water and foam, smiling at her. He was a tall man with light red hair. His smile made her feel warm.

He reached out his hands to her. They were large and broad. Had she seen him before? Could she trust him? She wasn’t sure, but she liked him.

Where was Mommy? Michelle looked for her mother, Eviane, the stern one, the protecting one, and didn’t see her. Her hand stole nervously into the hand of the stranger, and he held it warmly.

They smiled at each other for a time, shared the sun and the warm, hissing surf. “Michelle,” he said, “you’re a very good girl. I’ve heard that from everyone. You’re a wonderful girl.”

Michelle liked hearing that. Her heart opened to the stranger.

“Can you remember all of the times you knew that you were good, had done something good, were told that you were good?”

She nodded her head.

“Good. Remember those times.” He paused, and a deep wave of warmth and positive feelings swept her. He nodded. “That’s right. Now. Do you know that sometimes good people can be tricked into doing bad things?”

The beach suddenly wavered. The water crashing against the sand became icy, and something rose thrashing from the foam.

“Look at me!” he commanded. “Look at me.”

She did as he said, breathing steadily, slowly. The thing in the surf began to dissolve.

“Good. Good.”

She liked the feel of his arms around her, and pressed close. Their heartbeats seemed to merge.

“Sometimes, good people can be tricked into doing bad things, by bad people. They try to hurt little girls. And then the little girls need their mommies. They need Eviane. And Eviane is here to help you whenever you need her. But right now I need to talk to Michelle.”

She trembled, and clung to him, and examined his words. He held her without judging. His arms were strong, and his voice soft. And he promised that Mommy could come back.

Frightened, but relaxing into trust, she pulled back and gazed into his face.

“Yes,” she said. “I know.”

“Will Michelle help me?”

“Yes, Michelle will help you.”

“Good. Thank you.” The big man with the rough face smiled and touched her nose softly. “I want you to tell Eviane that she is going back to her friends. Magic will take her back. Her friends need her. They will find her in the land of the dead, and then everything will be as it was. She will remember nothing once her friends find her.”

Michelle nodded, without comprehending.

“But listen,” he added, urgently. “All the time that Eviane is with her friends, fighting and helping them, Michelle will hide behind her mommy and watch. Michelle will learn. And when Michelle learns what she came here to learn, she will find a way to let us know. In her own way, in her own time. But she will let us know. Will you help us?”

“Mommy doesn’t have to go away?”

“No,” and the big man’s arms were warm around her. “Mommy doesn’t have to go away.” He stopped, and added, “But neither does Michelle.”

Griffin watched as a heavy-lidded Michelle Sturgeon was led from the executive Total Environment room. He wiped his brow with a moist, shaking hand. He hadn’t realized what a drain it would be playing out that role.

Vail opened the door and peered at Griffin with amusement.

“That was rather well done, Alex. Maybe you went into the wrong career?”

“I just figured that Dream Park has something that none of the doctors have.”

“What was that?”

“We have what she wants: a shot at the son of a bitch who screwed her up. I’d say we can ride that rascal all the way home.”

A video window opened in the wall, and Alex watched Michelle Sturgeon enter the frame. Numbly, without protest or eagerness, Michelle slipped back into the isolation tank for additional work.

“Say another two hours prep and she should be ready. Alex, have you looked into the Game? Do you know what a tornrait is?”

“A ghost. A helpful ghost. Why?”

“We’re going to give Michelle-excuse me, we can give Eviane an excuse for remembering the future.” Vail glanced at his watch. “You know, I could be making more money in private practice, Alex, but goddamn, where would I find cases like this?”

“Write it up,” Alex sighed. He sniffed at his collar. The Epsom salts were still moist upon it. Mixed in it was another fragrance. The scent of a delicate young woman, cruelly used; and something else, something feral.