Tunnel Vision (6 page)

She brings out the box, the red light on the camera goes on. Here we go.

*   *   *

I don’t realize there’s a problem until I’ve done three more objects, and my temples start to pulse. I don’t say anything. It’s a headache. I figure it’s normal to get a headache after this much tunneling. It’s a lot of mental effort, right? Like studying for a test, multiplied by a zillion.

I don’t realize it’s a serious problem until I do two more, and my head explodes with pain. At that point I don’t have to tell anybody. My screaming probably alerts them just fine.

I’m going to die. Pain burrows into my head, then swells to take over every inch. It hammers from the inside of my skull, trying to break free. Throbbing, sizzling pain. I can’t think, can’t move. Nothing in the world but pain, and my screams, over and over.

Make it stop
.
Please. Make it
stop.

Liesel is there, and Dr. Milkovich and Eric and some other people. I can hear them, shouting orders, running. I can’t see them, because I can’t open my eyes. There is only pain.

I
want
to die. It would make it stop, and that would be better.

Someone pries my mouth open, thrusts something—things—under my tongue. They taste like Froot Loops.

Within a minute or two the headache is completely gone. A sense of peace, calm, seeps into me.

I open my eyes. There are six or seven people staring at me. I breathe, slowly, staring back.

“Are you all right?” Liesel leans over the bed, her badge tapping against my arm. Tap. Tap. In rhythm. A good rhythm. I tap my fingers to it. Tap. Tap.

I smile at all of them. “Hello.”

“The medicine will give him intense calm and a feeling of well-being, like incredible pot,” a man in a doctor’s coat says blandly. “He’ll be like that for a couple hours; he will likely sleep. The pain should be gone by the time it fades.”

“Hi,” I say. “You have nice teeth,” I say to Liesel. “White.”

She sighs. “Okay, everybody but my team can go. Thank you for responding so quickly.”

There is bustling, but I don’t mind. It sounds good, friendly. It makes me happy. I’m floating, I think. Floating away somewhere nice. Like marshmallows.

“Oh, and Dr. Johnson?” Liesel says. “I’ll need a good supply of that drug. Thanks.”

Yes. A good supply of that drug. Excellent.

I smile at everybody. Then I fall asleep.

*   *   *

When I wake up Liesel’s the only one there, sitting in a chair by the bed. “Hello,” she says, fake bright. “It looks like you’ve had enough for the day.”

I sit up, rubbing at my head. I’ve been de-suction-cupped, and the camera is off. “What happened?”

“Your brain did some interesting gymnastics. It’s a good thing we had you on the EEG, or we would’ve had no idea what was going on. Are you okay now?”

I shrug. There’s no pain, no calm. Normal. “My head isn’t going to fall off. That was quite a high, though. What the hell did you give me?”

She smiles, proud. “It’s a new experimental drug for soldiers, called T-680. It induces theta level activity, to increase calm in battle. We gave you a rather large dose, hence the significant mood-altering. Aren’t you glad you’re working with DARPA?”

If I weren’t working with DARPA I wouldn’t have had the blinding headache in the first place. So, I have mixed feelings. “That’s not enough for me,” I say. “Thetas, gymnastics? What did the EEG tell you?”

I see her consider whether she should tell me. She nods. “Okay, let me try. It reported abnormal readings of delta waves during the … activity. Delta waves at any level are usually present only in deep sleep, but we’ve never seen delta waves quite like this.”

Dad was right. Again.

She has her scientist on now, full teaching mode. “When you finished an object, there was a period of theta wave activity followed by normal alpha and beta activity. But after the last one, your brain transitioned directly from delta to beta without theta transition. The T-680 put your brain back into theta, giving you a chance to transition.” She clasps her hands together. “We don’t know why it caused pain—”

“Extreme pain,” I add.

“—or why it happened. But if we hadn’t had the T-680 on hand, I don’t know quite how we would’ve stopped it.”

Great. As if the tunneling weren’t enough, now I have my own personal side effect to watch out for.

“Have you ever had anything like that headache happen before? Did you know that could happen?”

I shake my head. “I’ve never tunneled more than a couple times in a row before.”

“Tunneled? That’s what you call it?” She’s intense again.

“Yeah.” I pause, not really wanting to talk to her about it, but I’m in deep enough already. “That’s what it’s like. Like the object makes a tunnel to the person, and I just move through it to wherever they are.”

She purses her lips. “Tunneling. I like it. I think that’s what we’ll call this project: The Tunnel. Now. If you’re up to it, it’s time we discuss the details of our arrangement.”

God, she has the ability to just whip me in and out of emotions. I dive straight back into
tense
. “Okay.”

“I was right—you are extremely valuable. And accurate. You got every single one right, down to the room. That’s incredible.” She waits, like I’m going to say thank you or something. I’m silent. “Thanks to your work today, the project has been approved to be fully funded, under DARPA control. The difficult part, as I said, was getting permission to work from the field. But I got it.” Her smile this time is so wide I can see her back teeth. “You can continue to live at home, finish high school. We will post a security team for you, and we will work with you through them. For the most part, you won’t even have to come to our facilities. We don’t want anyone noticing anything out of the ordinary, so we’ll keep to your normal schedule as much as possible.”

It’s scary as hell. Work with them on what? I’ve already agreed to full, willing cooperation, so it could be anything. Anytime. But after the past two days, the pseudonormality she’s dangling is a relief, something I can live with. “And the people who were following me?” I ask. “The ‘private’ people?”

“We’ll deal with them, I promise. You’ll be protected. Oh, and I do think you should be rewarded for your time, Jacob. I believe in our first talk, you mentioned colleges you applied to? We can assist with that. If you help us fully, I can guarantee you’ll be accepted to whatever college you want. Full ride.”

“Stanford,” I say, without a second thought. “History major. Public History / Public Service.”

She nods, pleased. “Stanford it is. Look for your early acceptance in the mail.”

God. Stanford. Just like that. I’ve wanted Stanford since … ever.

I’m not naïve. I see it for what it is: a deal with the devil. She has the stick, the carrot, the vague description of what I’ll have to do for them with “full cooperation.” But the carrot—my life, family, friends, future—I can’t pass up. Maybe I should want to get into Stanford only on my own, but this is like having a connection. It opens the door so I can prove I’m worthy to be there.

And the stick I can’t even think about.

“Fine,” I say, “You have a deal.” I thrust my hand out. She shakes it, her grip dry, firm.

“Excellent.” She stands, brushes off her skirt. “Now let’s get you home.”

7

“Home” by Marc Broussard

Liesel’s true to her word: I’m home in time for dinner. A car follows me from Starbucks, but it’s a silver minivan—not Liesel and not the Durango. I figure it’s my new “security,” courtesy of DARPA. This is going to take some getting used to.

It’s such a relief to have the familiar weight of my phone in my pocket, Dad’s watch on my wrist. It makes me feel almost normal again. But the best, the moment that makes it worth it, is when I open the door to the smell of Mom’s spaghetti sauce, and see Myk at the table, head bent, working on her usual mound of homework.

I stand in the doorway and blink hard for a second. “Hey! I’m back.”

“Hey,” Myk says, without looking up from
Principles of Chemistry
. As it should be.

In the kitchen, Mom’s dumping hot pasta into a strainer. “Hi, sweetie.” She smiles, briefly, as steam clouds billow up around her face. For a second she looks otherworldly, like a witch over a cauldron. “How was skiing?”

I have to remember they’ve had a normal day.
I’ve
had a normal day. It’s time to activate Operation Massive Lies. To protect them.

“Good,” I say. “The snow was kinda icy. But good. Can I help?”

“You can get your sister to clear the table.
Myka
!” she hollers, even though the dining room is ten feet away. “Can you get your books off the table
now
please? I’ve asked you three times. And set it, both of you. I’m serving up.”

Myk grumbles, but I help her shift the books onto a pile on the floor, ready to pick up again after dinner. Genius School homework never ends, even on Saturday. We set the table team style, like usual: me, plates and glasses, her, napkins and silverware. In the middle of laying down Mom’s fork, she stops and looks up at me, serious.

I don’t want that look on me for long. She might burn through my skull or something.

“We should talk later,” she says, low. “You know, about yesterday. Figure out what’s going on. I have a couple ideas…”

I’ve had time to consider this—all those hours in the chair—and thought of a way to explain it that makes sense, as far as I can see. Operation Massive Lies part 2.

“Oh, yeah. I found out what that was.” I straighten the napkin she set out for me, line up the fork with the edge. Look up. “Some of Chris’s idiot drama geek friends were playing a trick on me. That creepy guy’s a theater major at Georgetown. Pretended to be a hit man and freak me out, see what I’d do. Nice, huh?”

She blinks, narrows her eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I shrug and pick up a couple of glasses to go get ice, escape. “I’m sorry it scared you. Don’t tell Mom, though, okay? She’d be mad you got tangled up in it. I’m gonna kick that guy’s ass, if I see him again.”

I sure as hell want to. I probably couldn’t—okay, I couldn’t. But I want to.

Her face lightens, and I let out my breath. “Good,” she says. “You should. That was a douchy thing to do.”

When did
douchy
become part of her vocabulary?

Mom comes in with the bowl of spaghetti, and we finish our jobs, and it all snaps back to normal.

It isn’t till we’re almost done eating that I’m reminded of my new reality.

Mom’s drinking a glass of red wine, a sure sign that she’s missing Dad. She does on weekends. Being alone, having to do all the things he used to do—I guess it’s still hard on her. She seems relieved when it’s time to go back to work on Monday. She fills her glass again and strokes the stem with her fingers, absently.

“So,” she says. She clears her throat. “I have a family situation we need to discuss.”

I put down my fork. Myk was ripping apart a fourth piece of bread—the girl eats like a ravenous beast—but she sets it down, with a glance at me. The last time we heard that phrase, it was followed by “your father’s been in an accident.”

Mom circles one finger around the rim of the wineglass. “I’m getting more responsibility at work. It looks like I’m going to have a lot of travel coming up, some of it extended. That’s great, for the job. It’s more money, and we could use it. But I’m already having a hard time keeping up with the house, and meals…” She meets my eyes. “And I know you’re both plenty old enough, but I don’t like leaving you alone all the time. I could use some help around here.”

“Mooooooomm,” Myk says, long, drawn out. “We’re
fine
.” She nudges me with her foot, under the table. “Jake, say we’re fine.”

I don’t say anything. I wait. That’s just the lead-in.

“I know we’re fine.” Mom sighs. “But we could be better. And this opportunity dropped in my lap. My boss’s sister is moving, and they have this fabulous housekeeper they can’t take with them. A live-in housekeeper, the finest references you’ve ever seen. She needs a place right away, and I really think we could use the help.” She looks at us, one after the other. “And we have the spare room. It’s perfect.”

Myk and I are silent, for different reasons. Then Myk breaks it.

“A housekeeper?
Living
here with us? Like a
babysitter
?” There she goes, the first steps on the road to a major freak out. It’s been happening more often lately.

I focus on Mom. Trying to be rational, make sure I have this straight. “Your boss recommended you take a live-in housekeeper?” Her boss, the deputy secretary of state. I smell DARPA. “When?”

I try to say it casually, but it comes out too loud.

She raises her eyebrows. “He called this morning.” She sips her wine. “And really, I wasn’t interested, and I said so, but he e-mailed me her résumé, her references. Jake, she sounds
perfect
. And he said since they were giving me the extra travel assignments, work would pay for it.” She smiles at both of us hesitantly. “It’s a no-brainer, really. As long as you kids are okay with it. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

I set my hands flat on the table, for balance. It is DARPA. Planting security in my
house
. Through my
mother
. The same damn day I made the deal.

Myk plows ahead into full-on outrage, how this is a strike against her independence and she isn’t a child and she doesn’t need a babysitter, thank you.

I don’t really listen. It isn’t Myk who’s getting a babysitter. It’s me. There’s going to be an agent with my family, living in my house, watching me. All the time. Right there to
take me in
if they ever choose to. I knew there’d be security, but I didn’t think it would be like this.

Liesel is fast. And more powerful than I realized. Somehow it all feels a lot more real. I want to tell Mom no way in hell, not let this anywhere near them.

And yet I know what Liesel would say. It’s for my protection, and theirs. I also
just
agreed to cooperate with everything.