Threads
by Tessa Blue Jones
The pill. Tiny and hard and smooth. A pale pink football. Billy rolled it around with thumb and forefinger, then popped it into his mouth, swallowing it with a sip of water from a flimsy paper cup.
Billy clenched his hand, crumpling the cup, and with a backward snap of the wrist he tossed it into the garbage. Two points. He looked at the techs and grinned.
"Let's suit up."
"Are you sure you want to use your equipment?" The tech looked at Billy's stuff. "Ours was designed just for this study. Why don't you give it a try?"
"No way. I'm using mine. The main guy at the Campbell Center said I could. What's his name... Robert... Robert something or other. Anyway, it's calibrated to your specs. And it'll work better. So what's the prob?"
"The 'prob', Billy, is that we haven't tested your equipment. All we have is your word that it will work. And I for one have better things to do than..."
"Can it, Starke." A man almost as wide as he was tall, huffed and puffed his way across the room, hand outstretched. "Billy, it's good to meet you in person. I'm Dr. Robert Hanson."
Billy took the proffered hand. "Hi, Dr. Hanson."
"Are you ready to begin the test? Have you already taken the pill?" At Billy's nod, Dr. Hanson looked over at the technician. "Starke, is everything a go?"
"Yes, Dr. Hanson, but I still don't see why we're using Billy's equipment. We know ours works. There are too many variables to chance it on untested V.R. equipment."
Billy rolled his eyes. "C'mon, doc... can't we get started? I wanna get done before five. I'm the reigning champion on Devil's Dust, and someone is challenging my title."
"Devil's Dust?"
"Yeah, you know, the video game. V.R. Isn't that why I'm here? 'Cause I'm the best virtual reality gamer around? Well, I won't be the best if I don't get back to it. So let's get going."
Billy grabbed his virtual reality equipment and sat in the test chair, wriggled around, getting comfortable.
A nice chair. It reclined just right. The angle was perfect. If I do a good job, maybe they'll give me the chair, Billy thought. I could sit in this chair all day.
The techs hooked him up to various monitors. Then helped him hook up the V.R. equipment.
Billy slid the goggles over his eyes with a sigh. Pulled on the gloves with practiced ease. This was his world. Here he could escape the "real" world, could forget that he couldn't hold down a job or make it with girls. That he was 24 and still lived with his mom. Here he was king. And virtual reality was his kingdom. He was the best.
"Okay, Billy, the drug should be taking effect in just a few minutes. Let's go over a few things while we're waiting."
"Again? You guys already went over everything. Twice. I know it's dangerous. I know I only have 20 minutes to get in and get out. I know what to look for. I signed the paper, didn't I?"
"The release form. Yes, Billy, you did. But I just want to be sure that you understand all of the ramifications." Dr. Hanson leaned over and whispered in Billy's ear. "I promised your mother, Billy."
"You didn't go through all those possible dangers like you did with me, did you?" Geez, what an idiot. "Ah, man... now she'll be way worried. What'd you go and do that for?"
Billy remembered the parting scene this morning. He'd loaded his gear into the waiting car. Turned around to wave to his mom in the doorway. She was standing there, face lined and worried. God, she was wrinkled. When had she gotten so old?
"Come on, Billy. She's your mother. She had a right to know."
"Whatever." Billy didn't want to care. Think about the game. It's all about the game. The room suddenly felt hot, seemed to expand. Contract. Expand again. Jesus, the room was breathing. No, not the room. It was his own breathing. He was a part of the room. He was the room.
"He's going under," the tech said to Dr. Hanson.
Dr. Hanson bent down, spoke softly to Billy. "Now don't forget, Billy, you only have 20 minutes. You need to find the right neural pathway immediately."
Billy tried to say he knew that, but his tongue was thick and fuzzy. It filled his mouth, pushed up against his teeth. He knew a moment of panic. Relaxed his throat, concentrated on breathing. His V.R. goggles felt like they were embedded in the skin around his eyes. He was slipping away, out of the room, right into the brain of another human being.
No, not human. A serial killer. A different species entirely. Some guy who got his rocks off by slicing up beautiful girls into cuts of meat. Wrapped each piece in pristine white butcher paper. Froze it. Everything was neatly labeled. Flank. Rump roast. Liver. And he was supposed to fix him with his V.R. equipment? With a push of a few buttons? Blow out that pathway, create a decent human being?
Not likely.
Billy had felt so sure before. Now he felt like a gnat on an elephant. Swallowing hard, he heard Dr. Hanson's voice, soft as cotton. It swirled around his head, slipped through his ears and hung there, echoing.
"You have to be out of the pathway completely, Billy, before you destroy it. Remember what we'd talked about. You need to be as far away from it as you can."
Billy was no longer listening.
His breath caught, and with a flash of light and a tingling sensation, he was in.
Billy took a moment to get his bearings. The killer's mind was laid out like a map. A maze. Linked corridors. Pulses of light moved along the pathways, like headlights of cars.
Time to move into traffic.
Billy chose a pathway at random, slipped inside, sped through threads of commands, telling the Killer's lungs to draw in a breath, telling his heart to beat. Why didn't they just blow away the pathway that told him to breathe? Wouldn't the world be a safer place with one less lunatic running around?
Because the Campbell Center thinks they can fix him, Billy thought. Make him a productive member of society.
Maybe they knew what they were doing. Maybe. Stop thinking about it, he told himself. It's a game. The ultimate game. Go fast, dodge the obstacles, and don't get caught by the Evil Thread. Yeah, that's it. Treat it like the game it is.
Billy turned right at the next junction of threads, moved through quickly.
Well, he was closer. This pathway held memories. The pictures flashed in front of him as he sped through. Pictures, some still, some moving. Pictures of him as a baby, his first birthday. Eating cake. Wearing cake. Pictures of a kid, falling off a bike. Pictures of him with his mother. Omigod, with his mother. Little kid terror as mother holds a knife. Billy could see the "O" of the baby Killer's mouth as his mom came closer. Pain.
Billy changed course, slipped down another pathway. His mouth was dry and his skin crawled. He had to hurry. The timer in the top left corner of his goggles verified that he had precious minutes left.
A sudden left, and he found it! There. Billy could feel the hate. The pathway pulsed with it. He hurtled through, trying to reach the end, trying not to look at the pictures of women, their faces plastered to the walls of the thread. Some had died with a terrified expression on their faces, while others merely held a vague resignation. Others stared at him accusingly. Somehow their images stayed with him, like he was glue or something.
He could see the end. Feeling like the last few grains of sand in an hourglass, Billy reached it, whipped around and poised his thumb on the trigger. Just in time.
Wait. He couldn't fire if he didn't have a way out of the thread. He should have fired from the beginning, not the end. Don't panic. Get back to the beginning of the thread.
Ten, nine, eight...
Billy flat-out flew toward the head of the pathway, past the pictures of the murdered women.
Seven, six, five...
The knife. Billy could see an image of the knife in the thread. Could see the large nick in the base of the blade. The signature mark of the Killer.
He slowed down, studied the knife for a moment. The thin, flat blade, so hard and shiny. It was so close he could almost touch it.
&
nbsp; Four, three, two...
God, what are you doing, Billy? Get the hell outta there. He sped up again.
Finally. The head of the pathway. Billy whipped around and fired, not knowing if he'd hit it in time or not. Things were graying out, getting fuzzy. Then Billy was gone.
"Billy!" A hand with blessedly cool fingers tapped his face. "Billy, you with us?"
"Oh... yeah. I'm... right here." Billy felt groggy still. More than groggy. His head felt like the next day of the one time he'd ever gotten really drunk. "Oh, geez, my head."
"Side effects from the drug, Billy. Just lay quietly; it'll be gone in no time."
"Was I... did we... you know, fix him? Did it work?"
"Well, we won't know yet. It's too early to tell. But you did very well, Billy. Very well. In fact, we might have you test again."
"Huh-uh. Not me, man. Go find yourself another guinea pig. I'm not doing it anymore. That guy was a freak."
"What was it like?" Starke wanted to know.
"Come on, Starke, leave him alone. Billy, we'll get out of here for now. Let you rest. There will be a debriefing in a little over an hour."
Billy nodded, eyes already closing.
"Billy? Billy, are you okay?"
"Huh?" Billy sat up. His bed was wet with sweat. Oh, he was at home. He thought he was at the lab. No, that was... the when of it slipped quietly away, but the what remained, sharp and clear.
The knife. That thin, flat, shiny blade.
"Billy?"
"It's okay, Mom. Just a bad dream. Go back to bed."
"Are you sure, Billy? I'm worried about you. It's been a week since the lab, and you've been acting weird since..."
"I said I'm all right!" Fucking bitch. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? "Go. Back. To. Bed." He ignored the hurt look on her face as she left the room.
Billy waited until the door was shut. Opened the drawer of his nightstand and drew it out. Fingered it lovingly.
The knife. Clean and shiny and hard. He looked at the door.
Mother.