The Australia Project

Waiting in the neat, bright room that they had provided for him somehow felt worse than waiting in the decrepit cell before the final day of his trial months prior. That dark, small space outfitted with barely rusted bars and cold, damp floors hadn’t felt nearly as terrifying as this room where he was now planted in a corner with his knees firmly against his chest. Likely, it was only the implication of what was to come next that terrified him so, and not the vase of yellow roses. Back then in that cell, he had thought he would only be going to prison, something he had been resigned to the moment he confessed to his crimes. Not once had this possibility, what was now increasingly becoming his reality, crossed his mind. 

Should he pretend to be remorseful? No, no one would believe him, as he had a distinct lack of anything even related to feelings of guilt throughout the trial. Should he become violent with the guards before they send him up? Perhaps it would be better to die on Earth. Of course, he technically had no reason to believe that he would die up there. Following the pattern that the project had taken, each prisoner was sent for about one year, so it didn’t seem unlikely that the same procedure would be implored for him. Though the exact wording of his sentence was “until measurable progress can be determined.” He wondered what sort of measured progress the others had shown

or pretended to show, he thought might be more accurate

to get them sent back so soon. 

The project was still in its beginning stages, so only one person was permitted to be sent at a time. Affectionately dubbed the Australia Project, something that he figured the country didn’t quite appreciate, the program sent criminals away, much like how Great Britain had sent its criminals and rejects to live in the land down under centuries ago. The glaring difference in this case was the location that he was to be sent to. 

Gene Todd was certainly not under the impression that he was a good man by any conventional definition of the title. But to be rocketed to the moon, against his will, he would add to anyone who would listen, seemed cruel and unusual. To his dismay, the judge had disagreed. 

The whole concept of the project seemed ridiculous to Gene. How complete isolation from anyone and anything could possibly have a chance to rehabilitate him, an already prolific serial murderer, was beyond his understanding of things. Maybe they just wanted him to be some place where they wouldn’t have to think about him for a while. Though rotting in a cell seemed as good of a place as any to accomplish that, so again, the potential gains to be drawn from this project were thoroughly mysterious to him. 

The door opened carefully and two men appeared, both adorned with handcuffs and batons, in case things happened to get dicey, he assumed. He hadn’t realized he was shaking until he attempted to untangle himself from the ball he had been positioned in for hours. 

Without so much as a word, he was led from the waiting room.

He didn’t know why it had to be so dark in the rocket. He had assumed there would be all kinds of lit up buttons and gauges and just general lighting. Instead, he was placed in a cramped space, inside of an even more cramped space suit, with a noticeable lack of visual stimuli. 

“Do these idiots think they can reform me by giving me a taste of my own medicine or something?” he hissed to himself indignantly, but clearly trying to hide his fear from even himself. 

He couldn’t stop his mind from remembering the loud creak from opening the hatch door to a small crawl space, where Adriana Gardner blinked up at him, struggling to adjust to the light. He remembered the bags under her eyes, the nest of hair atop her head, the malnourished state of her frame. Most notably, he remembered the look in her eyes and the way that they shifted, for a moment thinking that the door had been opened by her savior only to realize that it was him, again. He had once relished in the look of despair in those eyes, and the eyes of so many others. Bree Wells. Hannah Prescott. Gianna Mundy. Caroline Luther. 28 others. He had seen the same look in all of their eyes, and he had only wished he had taken pictures. 

But at that moment? If he could see it, he was sure that same look could be identified in his own. 

When he felt the movement of the rocket, he suddenly realized that he had completely tuned out the countdown. He was glad there weren’t any windows in the space he was in, as he was sure he would either vomit or pass out from seeing how high he was climbing. He tried not to imagine the ground getting farther away, the clouds ending up below him, the sky turning from blue to black. But of course, trying not to think about something is the exact act of thinking about it.

So he closed his eyes, not that the action changed anything, and focused on his breathing. 

“How is Mr. Todd doing?” 

The brunette looked up at his superior, but not before clicking a few more keys at a lightning pace. 

“He’s about to leave Earth’s gravity, and his course is following the established path.” The clicking of heels grew louder until her dainty hand landed on the back of his chair, peering over at the computer.

“But how is 

 His mood, his behavior?” she asked. Henry couldn’t care less about the feelings of the evil man they were carting to the middle of nowhere. 

“He hasn’t done anything. He’s just kept his eyes closed and hasn’t said a thing.” 

“Hm, so he’s in a more docile state at the moment. That’s perfect. Start the gas then; there isn’t any reason to wait for him to land. He might even become agitated, so it’s probably best to do it now.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” He saw no reason to argue.  

It suddenly became clear to Gene that the prisoners were sent into space so no one could hear them scream. What was at first only a vague fogginess in his mind and body slowly morphed into the white hot agony that had his toes curling and chest heaving uncontrollably. The pain was so loud that there wasn’t any chance of being able to think about anything else. When he thought it might finally stop, it didn’t, until it felt as though the pain had started years ago. 

When the rocket touched down on something solid, he wasn’t in the frame of mind to be able to notice, so when a door popped open to another part of the rocket fitted with windows around most of the perimeter, his scream filled the room. The only sound to come from him in three days. 

Upon stumbling from the tight room in which he had felt trapped, the pain swiftly subsided. Arms and legs splayed out all around him, Gene laid on the floor of the new room, sweating profusely, but hardly caring. He almost couldn’t even feel the relief because of how exhausted he was. Almost instantly, he fell asleep on the cold, metal floor. 

“Gene Todd,” he heard a high, feminine voice call out. He didn’t open his eyes, hoping whoever it was would eventually leave him alone. Maybe he could play dead. 

But he was alone up here. Who was talking to him?

He forced himself to open his eyes to find what was once windows had turned into a screen, where he saw the face of the blonde woman who had seen him off as he was strapped into the rocket three days before. Rage suddenly boiled over upon seeing her, as his mind decided to put all of the blame from his situation onto her. 

“What did you do to me?” he spat, not bothering to even lift his head to address her. 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. Was there some kind of complication? I was just checking on you.” Her voice floated around the room, but there was something about the sickly sweet sound that didn’t sit right with him. She knew something. He decided he wouldn’t give her any satisfaction from whatever sick game she was pulling. But how was this any different from what he had done to those girls? He wouldn’t let himself think about that. 

“Never mind. Checking on me, huh? I’m fine.” He stood from the floor and took in his surroundings for the first time. When he noticed a chair, he immediately bee-lined for it, trying not to seem too frantic in his pursuit to get off of his feet. 

“That’s good to hear. As you know, every day you will have check ins with our psychiatrist, and now is that time. So you will be patched through to Dr. Watkins in just a moment. Do you have any questions or concerns?”

He internally groaned and had half a mind to tell her to piss off, but he had to keep his composure. Whatever game they were playing, he was determined to win it. 

“I don’t.” She grinned and just as suddenly as she had appeared, she disappeared. 

He took a deep breath before another woman appeared on the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Todd. I’m Dr. Watkins.”

“Hello.” He didn’t have the energy to offer meaningless pleasantries. 

“Today, I only have two questions. Here is the first: Do you have any feelings of remorse for what you have done?” He held back his impulse to scoff at her question. Something he had been asked many, many times. 

“No.” She wrote something down. 

“Who is the most important person to you?” That one threw him for a loop. He hadn’t expected to be asked something like that; he figured all of the questions would be related to his past indiscretions. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer the question. 

At his hesitation, the doctor wrote something down and looked back up at him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Todd. I will see you at this time tomorrow.” Her face disappeared from the screen and he was alone again. 

Every day, Dr. Watkins asked the same two questions. And every day, he felt the pain again, but as if it were on a schedule. For thirty minutes a day at the same time, his brain fogged over and his body felt as though needles were piercing through each fiber of muscle he possessed. He decidedly did not mention it to anyone. 

“Do you feel remorse for what you have done?” Each day, his hesitation grew with this question. He couldn’t understand why. He didn’t regret a thing! He felt firmly would do it all over again. But for some reason the words had a hard time reaching his mouth until he felt as though he couldn’t even answer anymore. 

At his silence, she wrote something down. 

“Who is the most important person to you?” 

“My mother.” His jaw almost dropped at his own declaration. His mother? He hadn’t seen his mother in decades. He was sure she hated his guts. He didn’t even particularly like the woman. Yet somehow, the worlds flew from his mouth.

Dr. Watkins smiled as she wrote something down and disappeared from the screen. She stopped asking the second question after that. 

As he was etching the 113th tally mark on the wall, Dr. Watkins came onto the screen once again. At this point, pleasantries weren’t even exchanged anymore. 

“Do you feel remorse for what you have done?” 

“I don’t know,” he said simply. The words felt wrong, but he said them. 

She disappeared from the screen, just as she always did. 

It was about that time of day again, and he braced himself with his back pressed against his mattress and a cloth between his teeth. When his brain began to fog, his world turned black as he clenched his eyes shut. 

But the pain never came. Instead, it was an almost pleasant sensation, one of feeling disconnected from the worries of the world and of yourself. 

He opened his eyes to see the blonde woman on the screen across the room. 

“Mr. Todd, I thought it was high time for me to do a check in with you. I’m so sorry to have neglected you all this time.” He sat up and regarded the woman with a suspicious gaze. 

“Hello, Ms. Skinner,” he said politely.

“I see you’ve finally been rewarded, for maybe the first time, it seems?” His brows furrowed, but she didn’t seem at all perturbed by his confusion. “I’m glad to hear it. Your treatment seems to be going smoothly.”

He wanted to bite back that she could shove her treatment up a certain hole, but the words wouldn’t surface. He said nothing instead. 

“Well, how are you?” she said, as if she were addressing an old friend. 

“I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it.” She paused, to see if he would offer anything else. When it was clear that he wouldn’t, she smiled. “If that’s all, then I’ll leave you to it. Goodbye, Mr. Todd.” Just like that, she was gone. 

“Mr. Todd, hello. Do you feel remorse for what you have done?”

“Yes.” It was the 362nd day, the 91st day that he had answered that question thusly, and the day he was to be sent home. 

“Mr. Todd, please enter the launch room and strap yourself in. You are being sent back to Earth now.” Her image left the screen, and he followed the direction without question. 

“Welcome home, Mr. Todd.” Ms. Skinner extended a hand toward him. He quickly noticed that, unlike the last time he had seen her, she was not surrounded by bodyguards.

“Thank you,” he said, taking her hand in the first human contact he had for a year.  

“You will now be transported to the city prison, where you will serve the rest of your sentence. You will have the chance of parole after serving two years.”

He almost wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly. Two years? For killing 33 girls? He wanted to question why that decision had been made, but as he had felt many times at that point, the words wouldn’t come. 

“I am confident that you will no longer be acting on any of your impulses. The prison sentence is more a formality. There is a car out front waiting for you, go on ahead now.” 

He found himself walking to that car, guided by no one, and being driven to the facility. 

Jennifer Sanchez. She fit his M.O. perfectly. So why couldn’t he go about his business with her? Why couldn’t he allow himself to follow her? Why couldn’t he make contact? Why couldn’t he steal her away and stash her in the crawl space like all of the others? 

He knew why. It was the gas. And the stupid moon.