Double Blind (2 page)

Desperate people make desperate choices.

In my kitchen I took one look at the envelope in the stack of mail and dropped it like burning metal. It landed askew on the counter, the gold Cognoscenti logo pulsing up at me.

If I had known, I would have trashed it right then and there.

Nine months before The Letter arrived, my husband had been killed in a car accident. Ryan, with his lanky body and loving touch, that dimple in his right cheek. His quirky smile and teasing way. He'd been only thirty-five—six years older than I. Four months after his funeral a robber attacked me in a mall parking lot and nearly choked me to death before a security guard happened by. My attacker got away. He's still out there somewhere, walking the streets. And during the two years before Ryan's death? I'd had three miscarriages.

Five traumatic events in a row. I was bent, near broken. A wind-battered sapling. Abandoned by God.

Have you ever battled depression? That black, biting maw that devours you whole and turns your world to darkness? Your life becomes unlivable. You become . . . nothing. One day you're a speck in the universe, blown here and there. Trod underfoot. The next you're weighted and shackled, the chains too heavy to lift.

The envelope looked thin, maybe one sheet of paper inside. A single piece of paper that could alter the very core of me.

One last hope.

My fumbling hands picked up the envelope. I slid a finger under the flap and edged it open. Pulled out the answer on which I'd hung my future.

Dear Lisa Newberry,

It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted into the medical trial for Cognoscenti's new Empowerment Chip. Please call our research director at your earliest convenience to set up an appointment so we may proceed. The number is below.

Dr. William Hilderbrand, President and CEO

Oh.
Oh
.

Weakness rushed me. I leaned against the tile, relief exploding in my chest. Heat blew through my limbs. This was
it
. I was in. I could be whole. My mind could hardly contain the thought.

Not until that moment had I realized the true depth of my despair. If this had been a
No
, who knows what I would have done.

My next thought was of Ryan.
I know you would want this for me.

And then—it all blitzed away. The euphoria melted as quickly as it had come. In its place, the inevitable pessimism of depression. No way could I be so fortunate. Surely I'd read the letter wrong.

I read it again. A third time, daring the answer to change, knowing it would. But no. The word
accepted
burned from the page.

Excitement rose again, propelling my hand to the phone, sitting next to me on the counter. I picked it up and called Sherry Grubacker, my one friend in the Bay Area. The news trembled on my tongue, ready to jump as soon as she said hello.

Her canned voice mail kicked on. No Sherry.

Well, of course. With such incredible news as this, how could I expect to find someone to share it with?

I hung up.

Next thing I knew I was punching in my mother's number—a reckless choice in the passion of the moment. My mother had known nothing of my many screening interviews with Cognoscenti, the physical and mental workups. She'd only nagged me for my weakness in the past few months. Wasn't it time I pulled myself together? She'd had her own difficulties in her lifetime, she reminded me. Losing her husband when I was only two. But she'd managed to throw back her shoulders and move on. Raise me alone.

True. And she'd criticized me the entire time.

What was I
doing
? My finger slowed, then hovered over the last digit. My mother would never condone this decision.

I dropped the receiver back in its cradle. Then slumped over the counter, hands to my temples, adrift. The familiar ennui settled in, dragging along its chilling companion—fear.

Reality clunked in my chest, and I tried to breathe around its weight. The gleaming promise of the letter dulled before my eyes. Cognoscenti's prize had seemed so miraculous while I pursued it. But now that it was within my reach—what was I doing?

No way could I go through with this.

I wandered into the living room of my corner apartment. Gazed through the front window at the sun-strewn afternoon. Early March in Redwood City, California, and the daffodils were up, the magnolia trees in pink bloom. Spring was coming. Renewal time.

For nature, maybe. Not for me.

I pressed cold hands against my cheeks. Brain surgery.
Brain surgery, Lisa.
How could I even think of putting myself through that?

But the procedure was simple, they said. Cognoscenti's advancements in brain chip implants went far beyond any other company's research. If I got the real implant I would instantly escape my whirlpool of defeat. A short stay in the hospital, and I could be a new person. Imagine . . . nurturing all the memories of Ryan without the deadening grief. Imagine recalling my attack with head knowledge only, not the sucking, terror-drenched memory from my gut.

Who wouldn't want to turn off their pain?

But it wasn't quite that simple.

In what they called the “gold standard” of research—double-blind, placebo-controlled—I could end up with the placebo. The blank chip. The surgery done—for nothing. Amazing they would put people through such turmoil. But that's the way medical research worked.

Still, it was a chance. One little Empowerment Chip, and I could have the strength to rebuild my life. I could
feel
again. Breathe again. If I didn't try it, what future did I have?

I dropped my head in my hands. I wanted this. How very much I needed the hope. Without it I didn't know how to go on.

But what if something went wrong?

TUESDAY, MARCH 6

Chapter 2

I pulled into the Cognoscenti parking lot, a brick in
my stomach. Last night I'd hardly slept. This was the first time I'd been to these offices in Palo Alto, twenty minutes from my apartment. Previous interviews with company psychologists and doctors had been held at their medical clinic.

All I needed was just enough strength to go through with this. But that was so very much to ask of myself.

The acceptance letter was folded in my purse. My ticket to a possible new life. I'd been told to bring it—and two pieces of identification.

As I turned off the Camry's engine my cell phone rang. I jumped. How tense my muscles were. I steadied myself, then picked up the cell. Sherry's name filled the display. “Hi.”

“Hey, you! Wanna come over for dinner? Jay's got a meeting, so it's just me and the kids.”

Kids. Such an easy word to slip from your mouth when you had them. My funny friend Sherry had a girl and a boy, ages seven and two. Rebecca and J.T. I loved them dearly, though I hadn't seen them in months. I'd lacked the energy.

“Oh, and I'm making my finest-this-side-of-Italy spaghetti.”

Memories hit. Eating Sherry's spaghetti at her house. Ryan next to me, laughing with her husband, Jay. I winced and closed my eyes. “Wish I could. But I just got to my appointment. At Cognoscenti.”

“Oh.”

The silence vibrated.

“I haven't said yes, you know. This is my meeting to decide.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

A hesitant tone. For some reason I resented it, which wasn't fair. Sherry was a great friend, had been ever since we met at an office party for the investment company where Jay and I worked. After Ryan's death, then the attack, she'd often carried me. Goodness knows I'd been a dead weight.

“Lisa, I hear those cogs in your head. Stop it.”

“Okay.”

“I'm just afraid for you.”

“I know.”

So much was at stake. The operation could go badly. I could get the placebo. Even if everything went perfectly I'd still need to build my future without Ryan. “That'll still be hard,” Sherry had warned me. “It's not like this operation will erase all your troubles.”

Yes. But what if I didn't do this? Even Sherry had no idea what my life had been like. No one could possibly know.

“So, okay.” Sherry's voice lightened. “Miss the best spaghetti on the planet. Just let me know what happens. And whatever you decide, you know I'm with you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

A man stepped out of the building, heading for the parking lot. Even in daylight I pressed back in my seat and checked the door locks. Was he an employee? A trial participant? I watched him approach a blue sedan some distance away and open the door. My body relaxed a little, but my heart pinched. Ryan's car had been that color.

“Lisa. Promise you'll call me.”

“Promise.”

I clicked off the line and dropped the phone in my purse.

The building loomed before me. The air seemed suddenly heavy. Was that an omen?

I glanced around and saw no one. The frail promise of safety in a parking lot. Purse in hand, I slid from the car.

The building's glass-plated door was huge. I forced it back and edged inside to a white-walled lobby with shiny tile floor. Across from me sat an imposing U-shaped desk and behind it—a security guard. He looked in his fifties. Thick gray hair, a jowly face. His name badge read
Richard Mair.

He allowed a half smile. “Can I help you?”

“I'm Lisa Newberry, with a 5:30 appointment to see Jerry Sterne.”

My eyes landed on a row of monitors to the security guard's right. Six in all. One for each floor? They displayed fish-eyed views of elevators and hallways, skewed forms moving across black and white screens. On one monitor—me, looking small and vacant.

I glanced up at the ceiling. There sat a tiny camera, mounted against the corner.

“May I see two pieces of identification?”

Security cameras in a company like this made sense, but they unsettled me, all the same.

I pulled out my driver's license and credit card. Why did they even need to see them? Surely they had a picture of me in my file. But that must be upstairs with Sterne.

Mair checked them over, then gazed at me. He handed the items back. “Thank you.”

I put them away.

“Here's your visitor's pass, Ms. Newberry.” Mair printed my name and the date on a white square and slid it into a clear-covered badge with a long loop. He also asked me to sign my name and the time into a logbook. “Hang this badge around your neck. Return it when you leave. You can have a seat over there.” He nodded toward two plush sofas facing each other, a magazine-laden table between them. “I'll let Mr. Sterne know you're here.”

On weak legs I crossed to a couch and sat. Gazed at the magazines of all colors and sizes. So much life promised on their covers. Did such a world still exist?

Oh, Ryan.
He'd be so disappointed in my desperation. He'd worked so hard to fill me up emotionally, especially after my miscarriages. My failures. His faith in me was a steady pour. I'd been a leaky pan.

“Ms. Newberry?”

I jerked up to see a man on my right. “Hi. Sorry, I was. . .” I stood.

He held out his hand. “Jerry Sterne, research director for the Empowerment Chip trials.”

Midforties, maybe? A friendly face and chocolate brown eyes. Receding dark hair. He was built like Ryan, tall and slim.

The familiar pain needled my gut.

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“This way, please.” Mr. Sterne gestured toward the elevator.

We stopped at floor three. In his office, a sitting area held four armchairs, in one of them a severe-looking woman with gray hair slicked into a bun. Not a wrinkle on her skin, and her ice-blue business suit matched her eyes. She stood as we entered. Her lips curved, but the smile didn't reach the rest of her face.

“Ms. Newberry.”

She held out her hand, and I took it. As expected, it was cold.

“I'm Clair Saxton, second research director for the trials. Jerry and I are teaming this one. So nice to meet you.” Her voice had a polished edge. Like steel.

“Nice to meet you. Please call me Lisa.”

“And we're Jerry and Clair.” Jerry Sterne indicated a chair. “Would you like tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

He settled next to Ice Queen, the two of them facing me. On a table near Jerry sat a folder with my name on it, two pens, and a small wooden box. I crossed my ankles, hoping they wouldn't tremble.

Jerry spread his hands. “Welcome, and congratulations on being accepted into the trial. We wanted to meet with you today to go over any questions you might have. I know you've had numerous explanations before, but this is your chance to tie up any loose ends in your mind. Also, due to the proprietary nature of our trial, our people who interviewed you could not be as forthcoming about all aspects up to this point.”

“I know.”

Jerry rose to pick up two business cards from his desk and handed them to me. “Keep these and call either of us anytime if you need to.”