Double Blind (7 page)

I managed a wan smile. “I'll be fine. You saw me walk up the stairs.”

“You've just had brain surgery.”

“I've just gotten a new life.” I smiled again, wider this time.

She pushed her lips out. “Okay. Well then, guess I'll have to drag myself back to those noisy kids of mine.”

My thoughts swam. Another minute of her hanging around, and I'd break down and tell her what was happening. Then she'd get all worried and call the doctor. And they'd make me go back to the hospital . . .

“Kiss them both for me, Sherry. Tell them I'll visit them soon.”

“I will. And listen, you—call if you need me, and I'll come back over. At the very least, check in with me tonight. If you don't, I'm calling you. And you'd better answer, or I'm breaking your door down.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Sherry made a face. She did not like my mother one bit, not after the scene at Ryan's funeral. She gave me a final once-over. “Don't make me sorry I left you alone, now.”

“I won't.”

Sherry leaned down to kiss my cheek and left.

I got up to bolt the door behind her. Turned around to head toward my inviting bed—

A large black suitcase sat before me. Waiting.

I stopped. Threw wild glances around the living room. A suitcase?
Here?
Where'd it come from? It looked so real. So . . . evil.

That suitcase meant death.

What?

The man's hand—my hand—reached for the handle of the suitcase . . .

My feet backed me up against the wall. I pressed against it, shivering.
Run away from it,
my mind cried. But where? Why? I was alone in the apartment, locked in. No one could hurt me here.

He picked it up. It lifted from the floor with a soft whoosh.

A muted scream gurgled out of me. I pressed against the wall, hands before my face. The sound was
here
.

I shook harder.

No, this wasn't really happening. I just needed to calm—

The woman lay dead on the floor, blood trailing from her sagging mouth. Eyes wide and fixed.

I slid to the carpet and hugged my knees. What was
happening
to me?

The living room swelled, suddenly too big, too dangerous. I crawled to a corner and huddled there.

No, not enough! I needed to hide.

From what?

I lurched to my feet and stumbled into my bedroom. I'd jump into the closet—

What if someone was already in there? Waiting for me . . .

I stared at the closet door.

No one's in there, Lisa. Get a grip.

A long moment passed. Slowly my terror began to ebb.

I scraped up bits of courage and flung open the closet door. Pushed aside clothes.

No one hiding. No suitcase.

I sank to the floor, relieved. Spent. My breathing was ragged.

When I could get up, I locked the door to the room and fell on my bed. That gripping paranoia I'd felt—that was like the fear from my old life.

Was I regressing? Had the chip stopped working?

No way.

Sleep, that's what I needed. If I could just sleep . . .

I crawled under the covers and curled into a fetal position. Squeezed my eyes shut.

A big, black suitcase. Lying on a wooden floor. I saw myself zip it open with my right hand—the man's hand. On his fourth finger sat the dragon's head ring. The metallic whir of the zipper rang in my ears. He pulled the cover back. The bag gaped wide, ready to be filled . . .

My eyes opened, but the picture still shrieked. My body flushed with heat, then chilled. Every limb locked tight.

God, make it stop!

But the daymare wore on.

An hour passed, and still I huddled there. The visions intensified. A second hour went by. More scenes. The clock ticked slowly. Four o'clock came. The woman died again and again, choked and stabbed. Ten, twenty times the man's hand with the ring opened the suitcase. Five o'clock came. I never slept. I only saw the murder. Over and over and over. Relived every detail through the man's eyes.

My eyes.

“Why can't you stop cheating on me? You're nothing but a liar!”

“Shut up!”

Every time I saw the scenes, they cut deeper into my gut. I was awake. These weren't dreams. My mind wasn't making them up. I could practically feel these people. Taste the woman's fear, smell the death. Even so I tried and tried to convince myself it was just my imagination run wild. But I knew that wasn't true. These events weren't stories.

They were real.

But that couldn't be right. It wasn't even possible.

Then how do you explain this, Lisa?

I'd just had surgery, with anesthesia and drugs, that's how. Maybe the combination had caused my mind to make up a terrible story. Now it was obsessed. These were more hallucinations, that was all. They would pass.

They didn't.

Six o'clock. The pictures screamed at me.

Seven.

By 8:00 my muscles were so cramped I could barely move. The killing wouldn't stop. And I was going flat-out insane. Every bit of energy had drained away. Blaming the drugs no longer worked. This was Sunday night. I hadn't taken any meds since Friday morning. They were long out of my system. This wasn't medication or anesthesia. And it wasn't my old fears rising up.

It wasn't
me
at all.

“You'll be okay, you will, you will,” I chanted to myself through clenched teeth. But I wasn't okay. Because if these visions weren't from me, they were from something else. And that could be only one thing: the Empowerment Chip.

My fingers fisted. I pressed them against my face. No. Not something wrong with the chip. Not some foreign, awful
thing
in my own head. The chip was
good
. It had
helped
me.

How could a few electrical circuits even do this?

“I don't want a broken one.”

Why had I said that to the nurse? Was it a premonition?

But Deb Smith had insisted the chips were fine. So had Jerry and Ice Queen.

It couldn't be the chip. These visions
weren't
coming from there.

At 8:30 Sherry called. I almost didn't answer—until I remembered her promise to break down my door if I didn't. I picked up the bedroom phone.

“Hi.” My voice croaked.

She gasped. “You sound
terrible
.”

“Thanks.”

“What's wrong? Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don't sound fine.”

“I was sleeping.”

“Oh, sorry. When you didn't call I got so worried.”

The man's hands clinched around the woman's neck. I heard her gurgling, choking.

I closed my eyes. Smacked a palm against my temple.

“Lisa?”

My throat convulsed. I really wanted to tell Sherry. I needed her right now. But then what? She'd fly over here—and . . . ? She couldn't help me. Couldn't make the visions go away. How would I even explain what was happening? I'd turned into some man who kept killing the same woman? Sherry would panic and rush me to a psych ward.

“I need to go back to sleep now.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“You need to get some nutrition in you.”

“Yes, Mom.”

I heard her breathe frustration over the line. “Do I need to come over and make you eat?”

“No. I just want to sleep.”

Sherry paused for a long moment. I could practically hear her calculating a reason to come anyway.

“Really, Sherry. There's nothing you can do. I just need to rest some more.”

“Okay.” She still sounded reluctant. “But I'm not happy about this.”

“It's the right thing.”

She sighed again. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“I will.”

“You
sure
you're all right?”

The words rushed to my tongue—
No, help me. Please. I'm going crazy.
But I had no energy to say them. “Yeah. I'm going now.” I ended the call.

The woman's fingers loosened from his arm. She dropped to the ground . . .

I crumpled into a ball on my bed. The visions kept coming, fierce and hard. They sliced to the very heart of me, so vivid. They were
real
. I knew it. Deep inside, I knew. They were memories. From that man. That killer. Memories on the chip inside my head.

Lisa, no.

Then where else had they come from? They'd started the very day of my surgery.

I thrashed on my bed, begging God to make them stop. And still the scenes seized me.

By 10:00 I'd run out of denials. The scenes
were
from the chip. I didn't know how or why. The Empowerment Chip had healed my grief and pain. I'd felt that—still felt it. I was different. But the procedure had left me with something new. Something even worse. An unknown terror that would crush me.

I couldn't keep living these visions. They would drive me totally mad.

Panic shook me then, until I fought to breathe. And I knew there was only one thing to do.

I had to get that chip out of my brain.

MONDAY, MARCH 12

Chapter 8

When I woke Monday morning, cotton stuffed my
throat. I couldn't have slept more than a few hours. Even when I had, the woman's murder filled my dreams. I saw the killing again and again. The man. The choking. The knife arcing down. His hands opening the suitcase. By morning the scenes had become as much a part of me as the memory of my own attack.

No way could I live through another day like this.

I showered, trembling, praying for strength. Got dressed and forced down some cereal. I could barely swallow.

As soon as the clock read 8 a.m. I pulled Jerry Sterne's business card from my purse and called his direct line. My stomach quivered as I listened to his phone ring.
Please, please answer.

The rings cut off. “Jerry Sterne.”

“H-Hi. It's Lisa Newberry.”

“Lisa. Everything all right?”

No, nothing was right. I was dying here. “I need to see you. Now.” My voice pinched. “I'm . . . seeing things. This picture of a murder plays over and over in my head. It's coming from the chip, I
know
it.”

He hesitated. “A
murder
?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever had anything like this before?”

He knew the answer already. Cognoscenti had interviewed me up, down and sideways before letting me into the trial. “No. This is so awful, I can't stand it!”

“Why do you think it's coming from the chip?”

“It started in the hospital. At first I thought it was just from the drugs, but it's not. This is real.” I let out a half-sob. “I'm so scared. You have to help me.”

“All right. Let's talk about this.”

“Now. I have to come see you
now
.”

“I have a meeting—”

“I don't care!” My fingers gripped the receiver. “You have to do something!”

“Perhaps this afternoon.”

I'd be dead by then. “I'm coming to see you
right now
!”

“Ms. Newberry, calm down. I don't want you driving—”

“I'll take a cab.” I'd walk if I had to. “I'll be there in half an hour.”

I punched off the line before he could protest.

Immediately I called a taxi.

Ten minutes later the cab showed up. I climbed in, hazy and feverish. The black suitcase throbbed in my head.

At Cognoscenti I demanded to see Jerry Sterne right away. Evidently he'd left word at the security desk that I was coming. Richard Mair phoned to tell him I'd arrived, and an assistant materialized to escort me upstairs.

I practically stumbled into Jerry's office. Right away my gaze landed on a Cognoscenti envelope lying faceup on his desk. No address, just my name written on it.

What was that?

“Please have a seat.” Jerry pointed to the same chair I'd used before.

Ice Queen hustled in behind me. Today her business suit was jet black. Same slicked hair in a bun. She took her same place, her face set.

Jerry closed his office door. “Can I get you something to drink, Lisa?”

“No.”

He sat down, paper and pen in hand. “We understand you have some concerns about the procedure. Tell us what you're feeling.”

Some concerns. Yeah, right. “You have to take the chip out of me.”

Ice Queen's eyebrows shot up.

“Okay.” Jerry held up a hand. “Let's start at the beginning. We need to know exactly what's happening.”

I took a deep breath and told them, my fingers gripping the arms of my chair. Told them how the first scene had come in the hospital when I was almost asleep, then continued the next day when I was awake. I didn't give them every detail. But I did say the visions had come all day yesterday, getting worse. And last night.