Funny how things work out that way.
constants and variables
XXIV
HIS HEAD is shaved.
His beard is shaved.
It’ll mimic an overdose. A controlled overdose, I guess you could say. We will trick your brain into believing it’s dying. For all intents and purposes, it will be dying, but it’s not a natural death, nor is it brought upon by trauma. The main drug will be propofol. Used in moderation, it’s typically the most-used drug in all of anesthesia. And when you go under anesthesia, it’s essentially a reversible coma. The difference here is in the dosage. This will not be reversible.
He grimaces when the catheter is inserted. Somehow, it hurt worse getting pulled out the first time than it does getting shoved back in.
“There,” the nurse says, voice trembling. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it.”
The body doesn’t often decide on its own to enter a coma. A coma is a deep loss of brain function. It comes from trauma. Brain injury. Stroke. Drug overdose.
He watches the sunrise, breathing in desert air.
It’s hot, even though it’s only March.
He likes the burn on his skin.
There is substantial risk here, Mr. Hughes. I won’t lie to you about that. What we’re attempting is extraordinarily dangerous. There is a fine line we have to walk between putting you under and killing you. We’re shutting down your brain while trying to keep it alive. You could die. You could go so far that you flatline and stay that way. You could be nothing but a breathing husk kept alive by the tube shoved down your throat. You would be nothing.
He reads about boys on an island.
They lost control so quickly, he thinks.
It won’t be like that in Amorea. He won’t let it.
It won’t be like you left it. We’ve talked about that before, but I don’t know if you fully understand. The people in Amorea will not remember you. None of them will. Any memories you absorbed from Mike, any part of him that you remember, will not have happened to these people. They will not have memories of you. They won’t have photographs of you. They’ll know your name, but only because we’ll plant the seed for it. To them, you are the new guy just moved to town. You have a house. You have a cat. You have a business to run. Given how dangerous this is, I cannot make you into someone new. You will remember this life, your life before Amorea.
He lies awake at night, planning.
He’s always wanted to work at a bookstore.
He’ll push himself to forget all that he knows now.
He’s come this far. He’s sure he can do almost anything.
You can’t let them know who you are. You can’t let them know about Project Amorea. You can’t let them know it’s a construct, that Amorea is governed by rules and laws that they will never understand. If there is any imbalance, if there is any hint that you have corrupted Amorea, I will pull the plug on you without hesitation. You are important, Mr. Hughes. But you are also expendable, if the greater good should call for it. I will kill you if needed.
He’ll take his time with Sean.
He’s got to be fragile still.
Those migraines sound like a bitch of a thing.
He thinks they can be happy. And if not, that’s okay too.
That’s the beauty of the island. It’s all about possibility. There are one hundred and twenty-five possibilities.
There will be a horse. You’ll see it when you begin to walk down the road. It will cross the street in front of you. You need to touch the horse. It acts to ground you in the world of Amorea. Should you not touch it and continue on, you will not survive. Amorea will become increasingly erratic, and eventually, the construct will begin to fail and you will start to go mad. You mustn’t forget to touch the horse, Mr. Hughes. It’s the only way I can protect your sanity.
The gastrostomy tube is placed back in his stomach. It’s how he’s fed nutrients while in stasis.
His body is stronger now. Oh, it’s nowhere near close to where it was before… everything. But he thinks he has an advantage this time around.