Memory

Part 3

I continued. "Kelly's uncle, Marion Danson, had ethical objections and tried to pull out with the membots. With no where to go, almost caught, he injected them into me at the station, then ran. Made it look like an accident. They cornered him at the bridge over the Potomic River. They said he jumped in, but who knows. His nephew seemed to think he may actually have to keep them from getting any residual specimen left in the container. And so they wouldn't suspect he had unloaded them into a person. Instead they would think that they were ejected into the river, rendered useless."

Dr. Fielding looked intently at me. "And where is Mr. Mullins now. Will he corroborate your story?"

"He can't," I said. "He's dead."

"Uhmm", Dr. Felding said, and leaned back in his squeaky chair.

The students glanced at each other and at Dr. Felding. Finally, their eyes rested on the clipboards in front of them.

"So, do you still believe your employer is involved in this, somehow?

I drummed my fingers on the table and swallowed hard. "I don't know... Derrek Pratt wrote about things like that. You know... paranoia. It could be just a consequence of some of his memories, or memories of his stories, ones left unpublished, or at least similar experiences overwriting my own reality. Reality was another one of his fortes. I just know that I was a mess, especially before I found out about the membots. But now, now it seems there is a reason behind my madness. So it's fucked up. But there's a cause. Not that it's any better than other truly mentally ill people, but it works for me. There's nothing you can do for me here. I'd like to leave now"

"You claim not to be suicidal, and I believe you. According to new policies I'm legally obligated to release you. What will you do if I let you go home?"

"I- I need to write. It's a therapy for me. I can speculate and ask "what if" and get away with it. I can get my job back at the lab. I'm under a medical leave currently. Other than that, I don't know what else to do. I've decided I can't force his family and friends to believe me. It'll work itself out in due time, I suppose."

Dr. Felding massaged his right temple and then let his fingers glide across his mustache. "Okay, I'm not going to keep you here, because according to your history 1: you don't respond to medicine and, 2: you're not doing yourself or your family any service by staying here. I'm sure you will get back to your job, but ..." he pointed his long, bony finger at me, "you must keep these thoughts in check. Do not act on them. Your counselor and those like my self are the ones that need to be hearing this and helping you. Extensive therapy is what you need. And please, let the NIH and the NSA be. There could be serious repercussions involved.

Promise me, Ben, that if you feel this way again, being paranoid and not sure who is siding with you or against you, talk to your counselor or if need be, you come talk to me.I'd like to hear more about this.

How about that? Acceptable? Can you do it?"

I stood up and stretched, "Yes, Dr. Felding, I know I can and will. I'll just write my enemies and worries away."

Three hours later, I was about a block away when I saw two black sedans with government plates pull into the patient drop-off. From a distance and blending in with a crowd I watched as three suits hurriedly bolted up the entrance steps and into the hospital.

"How interesting", I said and slipped into pedestrian traffic.