Authors: Abigail Collins
The room is divided into at least a dozen sections, each of which is surrounded by desks with computer monitors on top of them and keyboards jutting out of their fronts. The same device that was used to make me imagine the deaths of my family members is duplicated in each of the stations, with blue lights coming up from the floor inside of every occupied circle.
Each station has one person in its center and one Digit seated in front of a computer on the outside. There is also a line of people pressed against the wall nearest to the door, waiting, I assume, for their turns inside of the simulation. I wonder if any of them know what they are really waiting for. Their worst fears are about to come to life in front of their eyes, and some of them don’t look any more nervous than they did standing in line in the cafeteria for breakfast.
Dori leads me and Holden to the end of the line and leans back on the wall, his arms crossed at his chest. Holden settles his wheelchair in the space next to him, and I am last in line. Even though we are late in arriving, no one looks twice at us when we enter.
I glance around at the rest of the people in the room, taking in several familiar faces from yesterday. The small girl who was with me on the train yesterday is inside of one of the circles, with a glowing band around her head and tears streaked down both of her cheeks. She’s near enough to me that I would be able to hear any noise she made, but she is completely silent. I wish I could see what she’s seeing right now; I don’t know why, but I get the feeling that it would give me some kind of peace with my own nightmares.
A couple of other young people from the train are standing just ahead of me in line, but if they recognize me, they don’t show it. I also notice a few elderly people who look feeble enough to topple over at the mere
thought
of their greatest fears, and two adults with physical handicaps – one, a middle-aged woman in a wheelchair just like Holden’s, and the other, a balding man with only air where his left arm should be.
I feel so out of place here. I can feel sweat beading along my hairline and I clench my hands together tightly so no one else can see how badly they’re shaking. The memory of my last experience with the Digits’ simulations still haunts me – not only in my dreams, but when I’m awake, too. Can I really handle another dose of that?
I watch the faces of the people ahead of me in line as they are each assigned a section and take their place inside of their own circle. I take in each expression that crosses their faces and try to imagine what scene in their mind is causing it. Some of them look sad, others angry, but most of them just look frightened. There are even a few who are able to keep their composure, and even manage to look
content
. Those are the kind of people I expect would want to come to a place like this – not people like Holden.
The line inches forward slowly, my nerves building with each passing minute, until it is Dori’s turn. A Digit I don’t recognize at the front of the line asks for his name and date of birth, both of which Dori gives up with the hint of a smile still on his face. He winks at Holden and jumps into the nearest circle with a buzz of excited energy. It doesn’t last long, though.
It’s not long after he slips the metal band around his head that his face begins to contort in pain. First, he squeezes his eyes shut so tightly I can see the veins around them popping underneath his skin. Then, he bites his lip and twists his fingertips around the hem of his shirt. Finally, a noise escapes him – a piteous whimper that sends chills down my spine. I look to my right, and see that Holden is gripping the wheels of his chair so hard the skin on his knuckles is stretched thin and bleeding white.
Holden bears the pain much more successfully than Dori did, but he is also unable to endure the entire simulation without making a sound. I learn that when he cries, it is soft and low and sounds kind of like music. He keeps his eyes on Dori for as long as he can, and it seems to help him to remain calm.
But then, midway through his simulation, Dori rips his headband off and throws it at the Digit behind the computer nearest to him. He shouts out a few curse words I don’t think even Crissy would dare use and storms out of the room with tears in his eyes and his hands balled into fists at his sides. I wonder if that’s how I looked to the Digits who tested me, when I couldn’t handle my own fears, either.
Holden doesn’t look surprised by Dori’s sudden exit, but he seems to have a lot more trouble maintaining his emotions on his own. At one point, I think he might even try to run out after Dori, but his hands pause on the rim of his headband and he lets them drop without a sound.
After what feels like hours – and probably actually
is
– it is finally my turn. I wish more than anything that it wasn’t, but I am also anxious to get this whole thing over with. The sooner I can complete whatever tasks the Digits have planned for me, the sooner I can leave this place and go back home to Fray and Crissy and everyone else that I love.
Tesla is nowhere to be seen, but the Digit in charge of the section I am directed to is one I recognize from the train ride here. He has high cheekbones and wild blond hair, and I distinctly remember the way he pointed his gun at each of us as we entered the compound and didn’t stop until we reached the central building.
This time, there are no trigger words said to me to make the horrific images enter my mind; as soon as the band touches my forehead, they begin to appear. I wonder why the Digits aren’t speaking this time. How do they already know what will frighten me the most?
At first, the pictures in my head are fairly tame: my first day of school; my pet fish dying; the time I accidentally wet my bed and had to wake my mother up in the middle of the night to help me change my sheets. These things were terrifying when I experienced them, but time has dulled my feelings towards them. Even as vividly as they are being presented to me now, they do not scare me.
But, gradually, they twist into the shapes of things that genuinely
do
scare me. I am able to – barely – handle the thought of my home burning down; I can cope – mostly – with the still-too-fresh memory of Crissy’s eye cut and bleeding. But then I am watching my father being thrown into a wall and pinned down, and my mother throwing herself in front of a bullet to protect her family.
And then there is Fray. The device around my forehead seems to recognize that my little brother’s death is my current greatest fear, and so it manipulates the pictures in my head until I’m left with just scenes of Fray being tortured and killed in the worst ways I can imagine. Each vignette is more vivid and horrifying than the last, until I can barely even tell where my brother is through the haze of blood in front of my eyes.
I realize I am crying when the first few tears drop into my hands. My eyes are closed, and I don’t even want to think about what I must look like to the other people in the room.
Though the temptation to remove the band and storm out of the room like Dori did is strong, I am somehow able to resist it. Maybe it’s because I know that there is no point in me even trying to fight the wishes of the Digits when I have no chance of winning. Or maybe it’s because I know – though I hate to admit it – that my presence here will somehow bring me closer to learning about my mother’s past, and why my family was attacked for it. Tesla has answers that I need, and staying here and cooperating with her demands is the only way that I can get to them.
So I grit my teeth and hold my hands at my sides. My whole body feels hot, and I can’t seem to hear or see anything past the images that I know exist only in my mind. I swear, at one point, that I can even
smell
Fray’s blood, and I am sure that if I let myself touch him I would feel it, too. But I stand still and keep my focus as far away as possible. If I concentrate enough on the details of my surroundings in the simulation, I almost cannot even tell that the body in front of me belongs to my brother.
Eventually, the images begin to blur together until I’m not even sure what I’m seeing anymore. I feel more disgust than fear in the pit of my stomach. The simulation slows to a stop, but the last picture takes the longest to fade; it stays burned underneath my eyelids and it takes me a moment to realize that it’s over.
I crack my eyes open slowly, blinking away moisture that has settled on my lashes, and look around the room. There are only two other people in here with me; it seems that the others have all finished and left. I am crouched on the floor in an uncomfortable kneeling position with my hands clenched stiffly at my sides; my fingernails have left indentations in my palms that are already beginning to turn purple.
“You’re done for the day,” the Digit sitting behind a desk in my section says promptly. “You may leave now.”
My legs shake as I attempt to stand, but I force myself not to reach out for support. Holding my arms out, I test my weight out on each of my feet and manage to find my balance. My fingers fumble on the band around my forehead, and it takes me several tries before I am able to remove it.
I don’t look back as I leave. I am almost afraid that if I do, I will see my little brother’s mangled body on the floor inside of the circle I just stepped out of, and I will never be able to shake the image out of my head.
Chapter sixteen
There is a cluster of people in various stages of grief waiting by the cafeteria doors when I exit through the hallway. It must be lunchtime. I wonder if I should be more concerned that the simulations took nearly half a day, or that these people are still able to eat after what they just saw.
My stomach lurches at the thought of food, and I quickly walk past the staircase and out the front door. The fresh air burns my nostrils, and I drink it in greedily, coughing as my lungs expand and contrast too rapidly. Every part of my body aches. The sunlight beating down feels like it’s burning me alive.
Why am I
here
? What is the point in making us all live out our worst nightmares so vividly? What could the Digits possibly have to gain from torturing us all?
They want us to be compliant. I’ve never felt
less
compliant than I do right now. This entire experience just serves to fuel my hatred of the Digits. If I didn’t have a reason to cooperate with them, nothing they did could stop me from escaping right now. And if I died trying, then at least it would be worth it.
I kneel down with my palms pressed against my kneecaps and suck in breaths until I am finally able to breathe without gasping. Every time I blink, I see stains of red blotted against my eyelids.
I want to run – to let out all of my anger and sadness until I collapse – but I know that I am being watched and have nowhere to go. So instead, I amble back to my cabin, praying that my nightmares let me rest for at least a little while.
I hear Dori before I see him. His sobs are soft, but they echo in the empty air.
At first I’m not sure if I should go in; maybe he wants to be left alone. But I also know that this is his first experience with a fear simulation, and when I was in the same situation as he is right now the last thing I wanted was to be alone. Fear thrives on loneliness.
When I push open the cabin door and quietly slip inside, I half-expect to see Holden, sitting beside Dori and trying to comfort him. But Dori is alone, sprawled out face-down on his bed with his nose pressed into his pillow. I notice that the blanket I saw the first time we met has been thrown to the floor, along with what looks to be at least a third of the contents of his suitcase.
It takes me a moment to figure out what to say to him. Asking him if he’s okay seems a bit redundant, since he clearly
isn’t
. But I also don’t know enough about him to comfort him; we’re still practically strangers, even if we are roommates now.
I walk to the edge of my bed and sit down, facing the back of Dori’s head. Up close, I can see that his hair is cut in uneven layers, and I wonder if maybe he did it himself.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me before I can even find my own words to say.
“I wanted to check on you. Make sure you were alright.”
He pauses, his voice muffled into his pillow. “Why?”
I am confused by his question. Is he asking me why I wanted to see if he was okay? Why
wouldn’t
I? He was clearly badly shaken by the effects of the experiment. Who
wouldn’t
be concerned about him after seeing the way he reacted?
The Digits wouldn’t. They aren’t worried. They’re the ones who made him – made
all of us
– feel like this in the first place.
“Because,” I say after a beat of silence, “I remember the first time I had to face my fears like that. I saw my entire family die in front of me, and I saw it again just this morning. And the first time it happened, I reacted exactly the same way you did. It took everything I had not to run out this time, too.”