In for a penny

As my cab reached the strange building, the drum solo in my heart intensified. I took one last look at the flyer, screaming $1000 for participation! I sighed and opened the door.

A chill ran down my spine when the glass doors opened to reveal what appeared to be a hospital waiting room.

“For all you know, they could be calling you in to run Nazi experiments on you,” Lana’s voice echoed in my head.

“Hello,” said a cool female voice to my right. I glanced over, seeing nothing but an amplifier.

“Please fill out the forms provided and wait for your number to be called,” the amplifier crackled. “Thank you.” A tray below the amp spit out a booklet and a pen.

For a second, I just stood there. Surely a human would give me further instructions.

“You’ve got to fill them out,” called someone. I looked up, and for the first time, noticed that there was one person sitting in the row of plastic chairs.

“Uh, okay, thanks,” I said. I picked up the contents of the tray and walked over to a seat across from him.

“First time?” he asked. He looked to be about my age, maybe a couple years younger.

I nodded. “I’m not quite sure what to expect,” I said.

“Don’t sweat it,” he said, grinning. “I’ve been doing this for years. They’ll take you into a room, give you a couple pills and see if you pass out.”

“That- sounds kind of creepy.”

He waved me off. “It’s no big deal. If you pass out, you don’t come back. They still give you your money for today.”

I let out a wry laugh. “Dare I ask what happens if you don’t pass out?”

“They’ll ask you to do a bunch of tests, and see how much you’re able to resist. Usually takes about two hours. Then next time, they’ll make you do them all again, to see if you’ve built up a tolerance. That’s it, really.”

“What are the tests like?”

He shrugged. “I’m not entirely sure. My memory of the tests themselves is always kind of hazy.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’ve never been hurt, I promise.”

“That’s a low bar, man. What about mental damage? Do they traumatise you into repressing the memory?”

“Look, I’m sure you’re overreacting. I’ve been doing this since I was sixteen and nothing has ever happened to me, otherwise the people in my life would have noticed.”

“Okay,” I said.

He extended his hand. “I’m Toby, by the way.”

Before I had a chance to respond, the amplifier came back to life. “Number 73, please head into the room,” it boomed.

“That’s me,” he said, standing up. “Will you be okay?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “Guess I don’t have much choice.”

He flashed me a thumbs up and went inside.

Left alone, I picked up the pen and started filling out the form. Most of it was pretty standard hospital-esque information. Then, one question made me stop in my tracks.

Has anyone in your family ever been convicted of a crime? Please explain in detail the crime committed and whether the person convicted was guilty.

My mind flashed back to the summer before. Police sirens constantly wailing by my house. A hoard of reporters camping out in the park across the street for a glimpse of the broken family. The blood seeping out of my dad’s skull as a result of police brutality.

Hands shaking, I recorded the details in the form.

“Number 91, please head into the room.”

“Well, this is it,” I said to myself.

I opened the door, and found the room to be empty except for a bed and a table. The table had a cup with two pills inside, just as the man had said.

I sat and downed the pills. Nothing happened. Was this some kind of joke?

“It’s not a joke.” I looked up to see a woman in her forties enter the room. She wore a lab coat. “Now that we’ve established a baseline level of resistance, let’s get started.”

“Who are you? And what exactly are we starting?” I asked, silently debating whether I could take her in a fight.

“My name is Dr. Bana,” she said. She cocked her head as if listening for something, then chuckled. “Don’t worry, I won’t attack you.”

“How can you read my mind?”

“You’ll be able to, too, if you succeed in the testing process.”

My eyes narrowed. “That didn’t answer my question.”

She let out another laugh, and I had a feeling she was taunting me. “Let’s get started,” she said again.

I sighed. “Okay.”

“Please take off your shirt.”

My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“I need to ensure that you don’t have any wounds on your torso.”

“I- Alright, then.” I started unbuttoning my top, and out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her take something out of her pocket. Before I could process what was happening, she plunged a needle into my bicep.

***

When I came to, I was standing outside my childhood home.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re taking a look at one of your worst regrets,” said Dr. Bana. “I want to see what you do differently when you’re placed in the same circumstances.” She gestured to the front door. “Go ahead.”

“Can I opt out? I’d very much rather not relive this.” The feeling of dread was building up inside me like nausea.

“Sorry, love, but when you filled this out,” here the woman waved her form, “you gave up your rights to opt out unless you fall unconscious or get violently sick.”

I crossed my arms. “Fine. Let’s get on with it, then.” I walked up to the house and rapped on the door. Glancing over my shoulder, I found that the lady was gone.

“Really, Caitlin, what took you so long?” Lana grabbed me by the hand and pulled me into the house. “They found Dad,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said, then bit my tongue as she shot me a quizzical look. “I mean, I figured from the lack of reporters. They’re probably all at the jailhouse right now.”

“Yeah, well, Mum’s a mess. Thinks it’s her fault.”

“What? How?” I said, just as I had three years ago.

“He called her last night, mumbling about how he’d made a mistake, and she told him to go to hell.”

I knew this was my chance. “Can I see her?”

She raised an eyebrow but waved me forward. “Go ahead.”

I knocked on the door but didn’t wait for a response before I barged in, knowing what I’d find. “Lana! Call 911!” I called as I struggled to restrain her.

I managed to get the knife out of her hand, but not before she managed to slice my hand open and cut one of her own eyes out of its socket, the blood dripping onto the pristine carpet.

All the blood loss meant that my mom still didn’t make it, which I’d figured before this whole exercise started, but I’d done my part as the good daughter who checked on her mentally unstable mother in the midst of a family emergency. Re-experiencing her suicidal attack shook me though. I didn’t understand why I was being subjected to this.

The scene disappeared, and I found myself back in the room where I started. Dr. Bana was frowning at a clipboard in her hand. “That was kind of anticlimactic,” she said.

“What did you expect to happen?” I said, tears stinging at my eyes. I glanced at the gauze that was still wrapped around my palm. “And wasn’t this supposed to be a simulation? Why is my hand still hurt?”

“The damage you incur in the simulation is real,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m going to have you do one of our simulations instead.”

Before I could respond, I was thrust onto the side of a traffic-filled road.

“What’s going on?” I yelled over the noise.

Calm and collected, Dr. Bana pointed one finger straight ahead. Seeing only a blur of pedestrians on the other side, I waited for her to explain.

“Do you see the woman sitting on the park bench with a little boy?”

Squinting, I spotted them. The woman, dressed in a pinstripe suit, was talking into her cell phone. The boy was swinging his legs absently. Then, the woman started pacing, the conversation evidently getting heated.

“That boy is going to trip over his oversized raincoat and fall into the street in about three minutes,” said Dr. Bana. I opened my mouth to respond, but she cut me off. “Do you see the man on the ladder next to you?”

I glanced over and nodded.

“He’s about to lose his balance and slip.”

“Is this about how well I do in saving others?”

“Let me finish. If you attempt to help the man on the ladder, the ladder will fall on you. If you attempt to save the little boy, you will be crushed by the pickup truck that was supposed to hit him instead. And remember what I said about simulation injuries-”

“And if I don’t do anything?” I interrupted.

She flashed me a nasty smile. “Then you’re ours for the taking.”

I thought for a second, then asked, “How long till he falls off the ladder?”

Dr. Bana shrugged. “Maybe a minute.”

I strolled over to the man. “Good morning,” I called. He smiled down at me, responded in kind, and slipped, catching himself in the nick of time.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

He nodded, clearly a bit shaken. “That could’ve been a lot worse,” he said. Climbing down, he gave me another smile. “You have yourself a great day, miss.”

“You too,” I said. Dr. Bana was right behind me with pursed lips. “That wasn’t how I pictured that going,” she said.

I waved her off. “How much time?” I asked, jabbing my thumb towards the boy.

She checked her watch. “Two minutes.”

My eyes darted around me, trying to find something useful. They landed on a small rock in the grass.

I picked it up, and, praying that my aim had miraculously improved in however long I’d been here, whipped it across the street at the woman.

Her phone clanked to the ground, and she glared at me. “Hey, watch it!” She knelt down to pick it up, and started going off on me. “You idiot! My fucking phone is smashed! Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost to replace? Some of us actually work hard to earn our living.”

I pointed at her kid, but she was too caught up in her rage to notice. Then, just as Dr. Bana had predicted, the boy’s foot caught on his raincoat, and he tripped onto the road.

Before the woman even had a chance to notice, a black pickup truck flew past, crushing the little boy in the process.

“Michael, let’s go,” she said. She put her hand out, waiting for him to take it. When he didn’t, she turned around, and her eyes fell on the bloodied raincoat in the leftmost lane.

The woman dropped to her knees. Dr. Bana stepped next to me, and said, “I think that’ll be enough.” She snapped her fingers, and the world faded to black.

***

“How’d she do?” Toby asked, glancing at their sleeping patient.

Dr. Bana shook her head, frowning. “It’s always the same results. She refuses to let them die.”

“Cheer up, doc. I’m sure she’ll get there eventually.”

The doctor sighed. “I hope so. It’s key to her recovery that she does.”

“I’ll take off her restraints and go back to the waiting room,” Toby said after a beat. “We can try again next week.”

Dr. Bana nodded, and filled the injection with serum. “Here’s to your ten-year-anniversary as my patient,” she whispered, releasing it into the girl’s bicep. “May there be not too many more to come.”

Caitlin awoke with a gasp. “Are you going to do tests on me?” she asked, eyeing the doctor.

“No use,” Dr. Bana replied. “You passed out after we gave you the pill. You can try again next week if you’d like.”

“No, thank you,” the girl said. “My sister was right; I shouldn’t have even come here today. I don’t know what I was thinking. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

The doctor gave her a knowing smile. “I understand.” She handed Caitlin a cheque. “Here. Your participation money.”

The girl nodded, pocketing it. She walked out without a goodbye or backward glance.

As Caitlin approached the waiting room, Toby stood up. “Hey, I didn’t know you were still here,” he said, walking with her to the entrance. “How was it?”

She shuddered. “Never again,” she said. She pulled out her phone to call a cab, but one rolled right up.

“Where you headed?” Toby asked.

She named her street, and he smiled. “I live just around the corner from there,” he said. “Would you like to split a cab?”

Caitlin shrugged. “Why not?”

He held the door open for her, and checked his pocket just to be sure that he wasn’t missing it before getting in. “Good,” he thought, his fingers closing around the tranquilizer. “It’s still here.”

“Where would you like to go?” asked the cabbie.

“Oh, it’s-”

“London Asylum for the Insane, please,” Toby interrupted.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “An asylum? Why? I thought-”

Before she could continue, Toby sank the dart into her thigh.

“Yes, the asylum sounds lovely,” she murmured, leaning into him.

As the cab drove away, Toby looked up at the second-floor window, where he knew Dr. Bana was still standing behind the curtain. He gave her a nod. “Until next week,” he said.