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NIGHTMARE REALITY
* 4 *
But Drew doesn't move from the bed he's been lying in for weeks now. He just cries as his eyes blink open and he sees the familiar holey ceiling. Each hole like a black hole hungry for his soul, all of them fighting each other for the chance to suck his essence up into them. For the life of him he cannot believe he still wants to fight off their advances A face comes into view, blinking it's gray-irised blood-shot eyes at him.
The bottom of the face moves, and this movement produces sounds. "How are you doing, Drew?"
He cried some more, and then said, "she's still dead."
"Shade?"
"Yes, my TV, Shade. The timer's broke and, and, and you never know how much time you have to watch her!"
Dave didn't know what to say. He wanted to cry himself, he hated this job. What the government was doing to these poor people! He had to go talk to Dr. Simpson. The concoction he had created to end Drew's dreams in this life falls out of his hand and back into his pocket. First he'll talk to the Dr., then he'll make the final decision. Now was the time to end it, but he wimped out. A hidden part of him now screams this out to him as clear as water in a tall glass, but it is too late to speak now. Still his feet stop even as his heart jumps beneath his ribs like a caged animal as his hand once again closes upon the bottle of poison. Looking over at Drew, the tears drying on the man's face as he slides back down into the abyss of eternal dreams, he tries to blink away his own coming eye-streams. He practically runs out of the room like a devastated jilted lover.
Control comes upon him once again, quickly out of long-practiced and ingrained habit. What was witnessed in that room now gets pushed behind the hazy shower-curtain-esque veil of his subconscious. Oh, he will not forget it -- he will just sanitize it for now. Walking far faster than usual as he regained better control over his inner deep waters, he makes his way down the long hallway full of other Drew's and living Shade's; he finally arrives in front of Dr. Simpson's office. Knocking on the door, he heard a grunt and entered.
"Yes, Dr. Brach?"
"We have another failure."
"Who?"
"Drummond Frenzie"
"Oh my God. Has the cancer returned?"
"No, he has remained disease-free, it's--"
"Something on the TV has upset him?"
"There's nothing on the TV to upset him, there hasn't been anything of interest on the TV for the past three years (I don't even know why people keep watching), and it doesn't seem about to change, but--"
"It's his emotions for his girlfriend, isn't it? The one who died here last week? Lot # 312-85-9334?"
"Her NAME is Shade Raive, Sir! These are people, you know."
The doctor pauses so slightly at the other Doctor's taboo use of former names, Brach's subconscious latches onto it like a pit bull onto an ankle. "I know, but this is still a double blind study and--"
"I know we're blind, goddammit! I know because it seems that I am the only fucking one who can see!"
"Don't raise your voice to me, and don't curse. Where has your professional manor gone? Just tell me what is wrong with him."
Dave managed to restrain himself from jumping over the table and letting his fist bludgeon the Doc. Instead, he tried to explain the situation. "Don't you see, Dr. Simpson; disease is no longer a problem, and with this lasting peace and technology, we have no worries about anything anymore. This project, as we all know, is trying to find a way to get rid of the only thing left worrying us -- death. We have yet to come up with eternal life, but here, in this wing, we are working on a drug to lessen the effect on us when someone close to us dies, and every other worry left over in our lives. We have figured out that in dreaming we slow down time, jump out of the constraints of space, live other lives, inhabit other consciousnesses of people and objects alike and stay sane longer."
"Uh huh, and?"
A flicker of anger at his cool condescending manner almost relit the fighting flame, but he was a professional. "AND, now with nothing to worry about, Drew--"
"Lot # 566-26-5004?"
He just had to put that in, but Drew is a cool one too. "Yes, that's Drew's Lot #, anyway he has suffered from hallucinations and--"
"I thought they were supposed to be hallucinating."
"Yes, but only mildly, when the drug senses the mind is about to worry about something. But something is wrong. His hallucinations have become stronger, all-encompassing and very complex."
Simpson just nodded.
"He remembers them, too. So much so that he is confused about what is really real."
"And what is real, anyway? You know, Dr., we humans don't know the first thing about reality. Some people believe that this is all just a hologram, everything. It's all just a kind of chaotic vibration that our clever brains bring into order. A place where the whole image is separated into copies of itself throughout every part. But, don't you see? We are doing the greatest experiment here! We are attempting to glimpse the true reality. Through these patients we can destroy this illusion, bring the vision of the truth to us all. Through their endless dreaming, we hope to show that away from these illusory surroundings we can live behind the wizard's curtain, live in the realm of the Gods! It seems to me that this is just part of the project, just find a patient that's doing better, and change Lot # 566-26-5004's doses if it will make you feel better. On second thought, don't do that."
"What?"
"Yes, I believe we are on the verge of a breakthrough. Increase this Lot's dosage by , oh let's try 50 milligrams. I think he's almost there; he can show us the way! Just keep up the observations, and then we'll apply the findings on him to the other patients. This is all part of the scientific process. This is such great news, I knew we were close!"
"Don't you see this is killing him? Killing his mind, his spirit? With nothing to worry about, he hallucinates and dreams to keep his mind occupied. Just as we go nuts if we never dream, could it be too far from the truth that we will do the same if we don't get periods away from the dreaming? Don't you understand, it is only a panacea, it is really making him go insane!"
"What is the real difference between sane and insane? When we are "sane" we see someone and judge them to be "insane"; but when we are "insane" we accept this as how things should be. Believe me, the insane man believes himself to be just as sane as the sane man believes he is not insane. It is the same as dreaming. When we are in the dream, we do not believe we are dreaming, often when the dream takes some obvious illogical turns -- like being able to switch to another view point or surrounding -- we go on believing it is really happening."
"You don't feel that this project has gone terribly wrong? You don't feel bad for these poor bastards."
"This is just how we expected you to react."
"You-huh?" His prior bit of clever thinking of a really direct and hard-hitting insulting insight into the doctor's psyche jumped out of him like a soul at the time of death.
"Don't you see? Every experiment has to have a control subject."
Dave wanted to say something, but his brain couldn't decide on any appropriate words, so it ordered the mouth to close again. He could feel his heart running it's cup back and forth his bars like a prisoner demanding to be let free. His ears open, his eyes widen, his breath is a spring coiling and uncoiling.
"You are the control, Dr. Brach. The only one not given even one milligram of the drug cocktail, the only one that doesn't have the implanted electronics to accept the signals coming from the TV."
"But what about you?"
"Me? I am one of their other near successes; like your friend Lot # 566-26-5004. I have been watching your extraordinary care of him and was intrigued by your progress, so I copied whatever you did to Drew Frenzie in step. Now, I will become the first to go on over the mountain, to see what is on the other side. Drew will be there by my side."
"What do you mean? Don't you suffer any ill-effects?"
"Yes, but only in my dreams."
"Only in your dreams? What are you saying, man! You hallucinate, too! How do you know this isn't a dream."
"It has ceased to matter."
"What?! How can you say that? You sound like a machine!" And then Drew watches in horror as the Doctor brings his arm up and flops it on the table. He has something clutched in his hand until his hand relaxes and it falls out. It is a SIM -- Subdural Injection Mechanism. Dr. Brach is muted with derision when he realizes it is the drug cocktail they've been using -- 50 milligrams of it. So, he stands there shaking, he breath coming in and out of him in raspy random jolts, as Dr. Simpson continues to speak.
"It doesn't matter who I am anymore. For all I know, I could be me AND you at the same time. In fact, that is what is occurring at this very moment. I understand you, I can not hate you for disagreeing. This is the New Age, these are acceptable tradeoffs, don't you see? Humans have wanted this for so long, we are here -- at our pinnacle! We have everything we have always wanted!"
Somehow finding a voice Dr. Brach speaks on autopilot, thinking and speaking at the same time now: "But at what cost?"
"Well, to me and the rest of the staff, none. We are free to dream, and dream to be free. We are much happier now … now that we are free from space, time, and almost all illusions."
"Bullshit, those are the drugs talking! Don't you know what's happening here? Can't you see?"
He is met with silence.
"Of course not. You aren't even sure if this conversation is even taking place, are you?"
"No." It is a long drawn out word, full of the smile he is wearing.
"And you don't care. That's why you don't call anybody by their first name, not even the staff. That's why I'm the only one who does care. You poor man, you poor pathetic shell of a man. Don't you know what you've done? You've sold your soul for a life of safety. Don't you still have nightmares?"
"All the time, son. But, I can just-"
"Detach yourself, I know. Let me talk to the rest of them."
"Rest of who?"
This time there was no restraining him. He had dreamed about doing this several times, but fear and ethics had prior to this successfully held him back. Now he springs forward like a hungry panther upon the hunter. He runs around the sheltering dead wood hulk of a desk as if it wasn't even there and grabbed Simpson's lapels and yelled red-faced into his face: "The other controls, you idiot, I want to talk to them!" All he felt was straight-forward rushing rage, and the euphoria of unleashing the animal he had kept chained up for so long. He feels truly alive for the first time in his entire existence.
"You can't."
"What?"
"Is that your favorite word, or what?" A slippery smile slides up and down across his mouth like an ocean wave. "You are the only control left. Well, unless you count the countless multitudes beyond our gates, that is. But soon we will all be in the same boat."
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said. My superiors have enjoyed my reports of the validity of our experiments so much so that they will soon start the whole country on this prescription. The whole world, actually."
"How the Hate can you do that? My God, your hallucinations HAVE made you mad. You're a megalomaniac."
"No, son. It's very simple, really. It's already started. Like you said, with no more worries, people are already coming to us. They WANT us to help them. So, we will do just that. We will start the dosage tonight, en mass."
"How--oh no. No, no no no no. I know how you're going to do it! There is only one way to start everybody on this path at the same time, without trying to get past their suspicions. You just do it without them even knowing it, you do it subliminally, don't you."
The slippery smile returns with a small giggle.
"You're going to do it through the TV."
Outright maniacal laughter this time. "No homeless anymore, everybody has an EVC, although I don't know why you continue to call it by it's ancient name. With only one broadcasting place now, conveniently located in the government building right next to this one, it's so simple to do."
"No, you can't do this!"
But Simpson's eyes start to roll up in his head as he begins to change dreams like a DVD changes tracks. "'The Whole World is Watching.'"
"Simpson, you can't do this, we have to stop this!"
"'The Revolution Will Be Televised.'"
Meanwhile, the two burly men walk briskly towards the Doctor's office, heeding the call of the buzzer he pushed.
"Viva la Nouveau Monde!" The words of this last sentence are yelled out in a booming rising voice, the last syllable rises up in pitch and ends in in a weird series of phonemes that scared Dr. Brach more than anything before. The devil could face him now in all his awful glory and try to convince him that he was there to receive his payment and he would not flinch. He would just walk away laughing, because what the doctor has just done is far worse; but now he is at the very opposite extreme to laughing.
Dave's heart wants to jump out of his mouth, slide down his sweat-slicked skin, and follow his racing breath around the corner. Dave knows there is only one thing he can do. He can still feel fear, he can still feel the reality of the situation pressing into his skull, he can still worry. He turns and runs out the door. His only hope is that security is not tight for dreamers. He can only trust he can run better than he can in his nightmares. He can only pray that this is all just a dream as Burly Man #1 makes a dive for him. As he waits to see if he has missed him in the sudden sickeningly slowing of time, a phrase he heard from the last nightmare keeps repeating in his mind:
AND THIS IS WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO US ALL, VERY SOON.
END
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