Binary, page 3
It was a lot to take in. Terrifying even. I already knew I was going to say yes, but it was going to scare the hell out of me to take a leap of blind faith. She left me no choice.
“Okay,” I said. “I just want to know—”
“If you’re in,” she interrupted, “you’re to join us with no questions asked.”
I hashed it over. Fears arose regarding whether I would see anybody I knew again for a while and how hard it may, or may not be, to reach Father in the future. He was raison d’etre to me. I would not leave him to worry.
“Listen,” I said, “Professor Platz is someone I can’t just up and walk out on without at least letting him know how long I’ll be and—”
“Six months,” interrupted Dr. Crane. “That’s how long we’ll need you before you can leave the compound. Six months and you’ll walk away with two hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
I did not answer. Not right away. My lips parted and breaths became shallow as I contemplated.
“Alexis,” she continued, “if you’ll do this... If you’ll help us, when your time’s up, we’ll see if we can help you regain your memories before you leave.”
That was it. She had me. The itch to find out what they were up to and be part of it entangled with the opportunity of possibly remembering my parents counter-balanced any concerns I had. Money was the icing on the cake.
“Yes,” I said. “My answer is yes. I want to be part of The Project, but you never answered my question.”
“What question was that?” asked Dr, Crane.
“Why me?”
“Let’s talk about that when you get here,” she said. “Just accept the fact that your expertise with mental gymnastics led you here and brace yourself for Wonderland.”
I stood to pace my room. “When will I get the package?”
“First thing tomorrow morning,” answered Dr. Crane. “Follow the instructions and we’ll be seeing you soon. Goodbye, Alexis.”
The phone clicked, leaving Sparky and a dial tone to keep me company.
“Alexis,” called Father.
“Coming,” I answered.
I was unsure what to tell him. He needed to know, but I wanted to wait.
There was room for one last supper together before telling him I was going to take off on a capricious escapade, and I wanted to have it without seeing him worry. I owed him something for all he had done for me, something meaningful, and I had the perfect surprise planned for him in the morning.
Chapter 5
Accepting the package
I DID NOT SLEEP THAT night and the boredom of time’s crawl was killing me. To pass it, I showered, exercised, bathed, and ate. It was odd for me, but there were too many thoughts gyrating upstairs for a peaceful slumber to take hold.
The sun took its time rising into the blue. Thoughts formed without mercy as I awaited Mother Nature to shed the night sky and light her new day. I could not stop questioning what they were doing at the compound, why those involved would have at any point been in danger, and if they could help me remember my parents.
The night passed before I knew it. Father’s alarm was close to sounding out, and I knew it was going to take time to prep his surprise. I had to make haste.
5-2
Father’s surprise
I scurried into the kitchen to cook a breakfast worthy of kings while trying to keep noise at a minimum. I did not want to alert Father of my actions. After all, he did not know I could cook.
Father had prepared my meals for as long as I had lived there. I never had a reason to learn. The thought of educating myself in the culinary arts did not cross my mind until last semester, when it sunk in that I would be on my own someday. That is when I started learning through books and talking to friends at The Institute about family recipes.
I put my gathered knowledge of cookery to practice that morning in grand fashion: I made strawberry-filled red velvet crepes, caramel apple cinnamon rolls, blueberry walnut pancakes, mouthwatering macaroon baked eggs, stuffed French toast, and breakfast taquitos. I even had regular coffee snuggled between a stein of cappuccino and a small pot of home-brewed breakfast tea.
“What’s that smell?” called Father from the rear of the house.
“Come and see for yourself,” I said, bursting with excitement.
My bottom lip curled under my top teeth, awaiting him with nervous excitement. I knew he was going to be surprised. He had never seen me boil an egg.
Father entered and stopped in his tracks. Time ticked. His eyes sparkled.
His stalled mien said he was having trouble grasping the adorned table. Maybe it was the food, or perhaps the smell in the air or the fact I was wearing the cutest apron money could buy. Maybe it was my smile.
The way he looked at me was something I will never forget. His eyes gleamed over his cheeks, wrinkling their outer corners to make room for an ear-to-ear grin. It was honest. Pure.
“Did you do all this yourself?” asked Father.
“For you,” I answered.
“But...” He paused as if it were not happening. “Wow. When did you learn to...? I mean...”
Father moved to his favorite chair and took a seat, scooting himself closer to the table as I grabbed a plate—one I had crafted weeks ago for the occasion.
He stopped breathing when I sat it in front of him. “Oh, Alexis...”
The plate was beau idéal. It had a picture of me and him on it taken back when I was only twelve, the year I started my studies at The Institute—a photo priceless to him. The inscribed lettering on it was simple:
‘To the greatest man I’ve ever known. With untold love, Alexis...’
It enraptured him, the least I could do before terrifying him with the announcement of the job I accepted.
“It’s beautiful,” said Father. “You’re beautiful, Alexis.”
The plate was still warm to the touch when I took it from him to prep. He watched as if he had seen a unicorn. At least one of us was not preoccupied. Me? I was already contemplating the conversation ahead as I piled my dish and sat to join him.
“This is too much,” said Father.
“I’m sure you can handle it,” I said with a backhand. “I’ve seen you eat.”
“Yes.” He chuckled. “I guess you have.”
He was not overweight, but when Father ate, he did it with gusto. When he was busy organizing and planning stuff for The Institute, he would go long periods with nothing to sustain him. By the time he was hungry, he was starving.
Father lived off coffee the first two-thirds of the day, then had one large, healthy meal at night. An unintentional intermediate faster. I used to worry about it until I researched to discover it is healthy for on fast.
“This is amazing,” said Father. “It really is.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You’re not just saying that?”
He licked his lips. “No, but when did you learn to cook?”
“During the last semester,” I answered. “Figured it was time for me to return a few years of favors.”
“Well, you certainly did that.”
We were half through our food before I brought it up. Holding it in the air would not change the subject to come. I contemplated.
“Something on your mind?” asked Father.
I inhaled and dared not lock eyes with him. “I took that job. The one Mr. Whitlow talked with us about yesterday after my graduation speech.”
“What?” he asked, his voice a little strained. “What do you mean, you took it?
“I did everything Mr. Whitlow said to do,” I answered. “I got on the site, mounted the WebCam, and entered the password.”
“And?” asked Father.
“And then I got a call from a lady named Dr. Crane,” I answered.
Father put his fork to rest and leaned back in his chair. “And what did this lady tell you?”
“The same things Mr. Whitlow did,” I answered, “but with a little more detail.”
Father set down his fork. “Like?”
“It sounded like fringe science,” I continued. “She wouldn’t get into details, but I know it’s what I’ve been looking for... what I’ve been waiting for over the last few years.”
“Not to sound repetitive.” Father paused for effect. “But you don’t know that.”
“I know you’re worried about me,” I said, “but I’ve already accepted the offer.”
He was speechless at my comment, confused. His eyes squinted as he tried to rationalize it, to no avail. I was not trying to make his hairs stand on end. There were reasons for concern, sure, but I did not want him troubling over a decision I had made on my own.
“It’s only six months,” I said.
“Six months where?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t know yet.”
His head shook in return. “How do you not know?”
“She wouldn’t say,” I answered. “It’s an off the radar project involving some pretty radical experiments from what I’m gathering.”
“Then how are you planning on getting somewhere you don’t know the location of?” asked Father. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“They’re providing me with all the information this morning,” I answered, “sending me a package with everything I need in it.”
“I don’t know, Alexis.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t know.” He stared at his plate for a second and shook his head. “Something doesn’t sound right.”
“What if they can help me?” I pointed at the diagonal scar on my forehead running from my hairline to my right eyebrow. “Do you know what it’s like to look in the mirror every day and see this? It’s in my face every time I take a shower, go to the bathroom, or walk past something reflective, reminding me there’s a decade of my life missing. People that once loved me, that I’m sure I loved in return... I’ve forgotten them. I want those memories back.”
“They said they might help you, Alexis,” said Father. “Not that they could.”
I looked at Father. Pausing. Connecting. “But if there’s even a two percent chance they can do it...”
Father lowered his head for a moment and looked back up, his inflection defeated and accepting. “Your mind’s already made up, isn’t it?”
I nodded. There was nothing else needed. He knew me. I knew him, each like the back of the other’s hands.
The doorbell rang and my heartbeat fell into cumbersome rhythms as I looked into Father’s eyes. I knew why it was ringing. It had to be the package.
I stood from the table. “I’ll get it.”
He watched as I walked from the kitchen, burning a hole in the back of my head. It was piercing, and the pins and needles poking the conversation were still drawing blood.
5-3
Pope
The silhouette next to the front door had Sparky barking like. I picked him up to comfort and opened it. My chubby little guardian was licking me when I saw who it was.
The man standing at the door was six feet tall. He was in his late forties with a stern face holding aged eyes outlined with crow’s feet. His head and face shaved clean. The light-skinned man was of mixed race. His uniform was unfamiliar: black, military. He was not a standard courier. A small metal name tag rested under his left shoulder in all caps:
‘POPE’
A soldier-like stiffness poured from the aura around his eyes.
“Alexis?” he asked.
“And you are?” I asked in return.
“Pope,” he answered.
“That a first name or a last?”
“Last. You are Alexis, aren’t you? This is the address I was given.”
“Yeah.”
He reached out to hand me a box. I did not take it.
“And your first name is?” I asked.
His jaw clinched, unamused to be engaged in idle conversation.
“Desmond,” he answered.
“Desmond Pope.” I reached for the shelf beside the front door for a pen. “One second.”
I turned back to give him my signature. He produced a small device and raised it to my face, causing me to flinch.
“Facial recognition,” explained Pope. “I can’t release the package without providing them with a scan. They need to be sure it’s released to the right person.”
I did not respond.
“It’s going to match the scan they took from the WebCam last night,” continued the so-called Desmond Pope. “We’ve all had to do it, including me.”
I suppressed my paranoia long enough to ease into position and let him scan me. I swallowed dread. What if I suffered a lapse in time like the night before?
“There we go.” Pope handed me the package. “Have a nice day, Alexis.”
He turned to walk away. I zeroed in on his posture. It was stiff with tension under a head held high. His right arm did not move the way his left did as he stepped. It stayed at his side—a gunslinger’s walk.
I latched the door, walked straight to my room, slid the package under the bed, and went back to the kitchen. Father did not need to be cleaning the galley when I made everything for him as a surprise in the first place, and I knew he would do such a thing. I was about to interrupt him washing dishes.
5-4
Arthritis
He was still sitting in his chair when I returned. Deep in thought.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I’m fine,” said Father. “I’m just worried about you is all.”
To lighten the mood, I smiled and bobbed my head. “I love you too.”
“Was that the package you were talking about?” asked Father.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Care to share it?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to follow their protocols and they asked me to remain silent about everything.”
“I see.” He sighed. “Then go look at your package. I’ll stay here and clean up.”
“I’ll get it,” I said. “I want you to relax this morning.”
“I did.” He took a last bite of French toast and set down his fork. “And now I’m done relaxing.”
“It’s just going to make your hands feel worse if you—”
“Go on now,” interrupted Father. “Seriously. I’m not that crippled.”
He was. He dealt with it well, but his hands were no longer nimble. Especially his left.
“I know you’re excited about this,” he continued. “I’m just being a worried old fart. You get in there and check out whatever it is they sent you. I’m going to stay here and do this.”
“But—”
“No buts about it,” interrupted Father, as usual. “It’ll help me relax and not worry so much.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Yeah.”
I eyed his hands with concern for a moment before heading back to my room. I did not bother to say anything else. Father was hard to win an argument with.
5-5
Instructions
I moved back to my bedroom and seized the package from under my bed to place it on the computer desk, then grabbed the gold-plated letter opener I borrowed from Father last year and... kind of kept. The tape was sturdy. It took time to open.
My gaze crept its contents: Styrofoam popcorn, bubble wrap, and a small vial of liquid. Below it, hid another small box with detailed instructions:
‘1. Do not open this box until 6:00 p.m.
2. The device within it will power up upon opening.
3. The battery’s lifespan is one hour. This should be long enough to follow the rest of the instructions within the second box before the battery’s cell dies.
4. Failure to complete the instructions before the battery dies will result in the immediate termination of our agreement regarding you and The Project, and we will make no further efforts to contact you.’
Chapter 6
Six o’clock
TIME IS NOT SOMETHING I had ever been apprehensive about before, not even on exams. That moment was unique. An indefinite chance awaited me.
I had already packed a small suitcase of clothing inspired by Albert Einstein’s wardrobe, the modesty, that is: seven outfits, including the one I was wearing, that did not take up too much space. They all went well together, looked professional, and would not leave me feeling like I was dressing me in rags.
Father was in the living room, ogling the grandfather clock. An attempt to discontinue its advance. Perhaps it was working. The pendulum swung crawlingly, teasing us both, inching less for him than me.
I tried not to think about it. I was nervous enough without counting down the minutes to a shadowy grand design. To do so would have driven me to becoming a bedlamite.
Sparky sensed my impatience and followed me with sad little steps I had not seen him take since we rescued him from the pound.
“Come on, Sparky,” I said. “Let’s have a goodbye treat together.”
Bacon Bits were unhealthy for dogs and the reason he was fat, but he adored them. I lobbed one into the air and he jumped after it. A successful catch with a failed landing plopped him square on his backside.
I laughed, momentarily forgetting about things to come.
“Poor, non-athletic, fat little Sparky,” I said in the biggest baby voice I could muster. “Are you okay?”
He always became excited when he fell, as if he were embarrassed and sought redemption from those around him. That’s what happened when he snagged the Bacon Bit and landed on his little rump: his toenails tapped a drumroll on the hardwood floor, his body twisted around like a worm on a hot sidewalk, and he, for reasons I could never understand, bounced up and down without direction while snorting. Then he tried to nip me again.
“Really?” I picked him up, held him on his back, and tickled his belly while he tried to catch me with playful bites. “This is what you get for being a little—”
A high-pitched beeping sound filled the room and my world shifted stagnantly. I checked my phone:
