Madison said something. She wiped her face, but she wasn’t crying. There was spray on it. Madison put the gun on the foot of the bed and walked out.
“That was completely unnecessary,” Smith said.
“We needed to know if it worked.” Dr. Lisa sounded bored. Most of the observers were looking at the screen, but a few were watching the two of them and writing notes. Dr. Lisa said, “We needed to see a full range of results from that study.”
Smith stood up. Leaving behind his clipboard, he walked over to Lena and the observer. Lena opened her mouth. Shut it. Let her eyes focus on the wall behind him. “Broccoli,” she said.
Smith put a hand on her cheek, peered into her eyes. She stayed focused on the wall, ignoring his gray eyes, the pale eyebrows.
“Why do you have her here?”
“She’s walking.”
“I.” Smith sounded annoyed. “Come on, you know you shouldn’t have brought her here.”
“She’s not going to remember anything.” The woman’s voice faltered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s. Let’s just take her back to bed.”
They walked Lena through the hallways. People were talking loudly and with a lot of excitement about what had happened. It was like the end of a sporting event. People recounted the best moments—when the subject pulled the gun from the safe, when the subject shot her mother. No hesitation. Great results.
Smith said in a low tone that Lena was making excellent progress if she was already walking. She might be one hundred percent fine. He sounded relieved.
“Are you going to tell her?” the observer asked.
“She probably saw that you had this one with you,” Smith said. “She’s going to be pissed. It’s our first round with this version.”
“You’re the one who told me to do the usual procedure.”
“I know, but.”
“I can’t lose this job.”
“I know,” Smith said.
They helped Lena back into bed, tucked her in between the sheets, made sure her head and neck were supported by the pillow. Smith held a glass of water with a straw to her lips to see if she could drink. Lena took a small sip. Coughed.
“You’re going to get better,” he said.
Smith raised a hand, looked as if he wanted to touch her forehead, smooth her hair. Lena let her eyes flutter shut. She listened to Smith get settled into the chair, send the other observer away. He said she should go talk to Dr. Lisa now, apologize, and maybe it’ll be okay. This subject is fried, the odds are low she’ll remember anything in the morning. And the doctor is probably in a great mood right now, probably the best mood she’ll be in all year. He would stay and watch Lena until the night shift came.
20
Do you know what this is?” Dr. Lisa held up a picture of a fork.
“Fork.” Lena was propped up on three pillows. Several people in lab coats were in the room, taking notes and watching Lena’s face, her hands, her feet. More flash cards. CAT. STOVE. ARMCHAIR. BLENDER. They had her do math. Answer hypotheticals. They removed her cast, as if that would help her remember things. Lena’s wrist felt weaker than before, but it was a relief to be able to scratch the skin underneath. Then they had Lena walk in a straight line without help. Hop on one foot, touch her nose.
“I’m not drunk, guys,” Lena said, but no one laughed.
After two hours, Dr. Lisa said it was fine to stop. There was some soil in her hair, beneath her fingernails. Lena wondered what everyone in the office was doing, maybe it was like the Bethany situation and they were all having the day off.
An older man with a snow-white beard was standing with his arms crossed. He was giving Lena the kind of prolonged look that she equated with seeing someone with a smear of food on her chin or a chunk of oozy yellow sleep in the corner of her eyes and wondering if it was more or less embarrassing to say something. It was hard not to start feeling her own face, seek out the mess.
“Your last name is Johnson, right?”
She nodded.
He pursed his lips. “Did they feed you yet?”
Lena nodded again.
“Do you look like your mom or your grandma?”
“People say I look more like my grandma. But I think I have my mom’s facial expressions.”
The man nodded as if he knew exactly who she was talking about, not as if he was looking at her motor functions, listening to the way she spoke.
“Do you remember anything about last night?”
“I was dizzy. And I had a dream that I saw. . . .” She touched her chin. “What are those monsters? The ones that look like men, but big?”
“Centaurs?”
“Do centaurs live in mountains?”
“Oh—yetis.” The man touched his beard a lot like he was unused to having it on his face.
“Yeah. That. The yeti was driving a lawn mower. I told my grandma about him and she said I was being rude. People can’t help their faces.”
While she spoke, the man seemed not to listen. He had a look on his face like he knew her from somewhere and was trying to figure it out. Lena waited for him to ask how often she was forgetting her words. Or if she was having muscle spasms or how strong her legs felt. She noticed that no one was interrupting, their eyes were mostly on him.
“You’re close with your grandma?”
His question surprised Lena so much that her voice trailed up. “I was. She died.”
The expression on his face was genuine sadness. He took a step closer to the bed. “What was she like?”
Lena adjusted herself so she was sitting completely upright.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
The kindness in his voice made her exhale. She kept her eyes on his face as she spoke, ignored everyone else. “I think the thing I miss most is hearing her laugh. Though I guess that’s not really about her.”
“No, it tells me a lot.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Lena Johnson.”
He turned and walked out, pausing in the doorway to gesture at Dr. Lisa and say, “Let’s talk again in fifteen.”
Most of the observers began to gather their things and followed him out the door. Lena sank back into the pillows. The little girl’s bare feet on the carpet. Her small hands on the gun. The way almost everyone in the room took notes, unfazed, as this girl killed her family, murdered her own life. Lena’s brain kept clasping the image of the mother’s head right after the shot had been fired. The sleep mask, her mouth open. Pink and scarlet and gray on eggshell walls and the charcoal pillows. Lena’s eyes watered. She hoped if they noticed, they would explain that away as another side effect.
After Dr. Lisa signed off on Lena’s health, Smith drove her home. He told her to get some clothes, some books. She was going to her mother’s house.
“Do you need help going up the stairs?” Smith asked.
“My legs are tired, but I think I’m okay.” Lena coughed.
Up in her apartment, everything was cleaner than she had left it. The carpet in her bedroom had fresh vacuum lines. All her dishes were washed. The tub and bathroom sink were sparkling. The medical power of attorney form she had filled out with a small note to Tanya had been opened.