Black Magic

Prologue

The scientist didn’t consider himself evil. What distasteful things he had done, or was to do, were, of course, for the greater good.

He was a reputable scientist from a wealthy family, doing leading-edge research for the military. His research was secret, which was how he liked it.

For years the scientist’s attention had morphed from traditional quantum physics to his personal unorthodox theories. His new obsession was in full bloom when he decided he needed a new facility, one where he was in complete control. And he knew just what building he needed.

The non-descript university campus building was a worn-out, red-brick haunt that no longer contained usable classrooms or faculty offices. It was a physics building of days gone by, destined to be torn down so a modern building for the art department could occupy the valuable mid-campus real estate.

Fifty years ago, young students eager to enter the exciting field of nuclear physics had clamored to be a part of what the old building once offered. For deep within the old building’s massive basements had been a modern nuclear reactor. It was the pride of the physics department, of the university, and the whole nation. It was the source of many millions of dollars of funding and more published papers than anyone ever cared to read.

After nuclear energy fell from grace in the public’s eye, the aging reactor was dismantled and the basements renovated to be home to mundane physics experiments. A decade later, when the new physics building was built on the other side of campus, everything worth keeping was merrily moved out of the old basements and the university planners began scheduling the eagerly awaited demolition to rid their growing campus of the dusty relic.

The scientist, however, had other plans. Where others saw decay, he saw an opportunity and he wrote a lengthy proposal to the Air Force that was tentatively accepted. The demolition of the old physics building was put on hold – to the annoyance of the university planning committee. With some refinements and a more detailed timeline, the Air Force agreed to funnel some dark funds to a new project that gave new life to the building.

The topic of the scientist’s proposal was fundamental studies in large-scale, cryogenic quantum energy. Although largely pure science, there was a stated goal—for the sake of the financer—of eventually applying the research toward a new form of energy beam.

Months after submitting the proposal, the money finally arrived to fund the scheme and work started. It was all contract work, the remodeling of the basement, power transformers being installed, and plumbing being brought up to specs. The DuPont and Haliburton engineers came and did their part – other contractors installed the extensive liquid-helium system and numerous other pieces of equipment.

Construction was the labor of a year, it was all contracted, and it was all done under the supervision and instructions of one scientist. Although repeatedly inspected by the Air Force and it was all a sham – for the greater good.

Systems were checked, partial runs performed, efficiencies noted, corrections made and, at long last, the scientist knew it was time.

He had selected two subjects for his first, discrete, unofficial test. Subject qualifications: identical twins, young and in good health, not too large, accessible.

For months the scientist had noted the presence of all identical twins in the university student body, slowly refining a plan. It had to be a good plan, a perfect plan. Getting caught was a non-option, but he had the smarts and the resources – he knew he could do it.

General kidnapping ingredients: inhalable methyl-ethyl-ether general anesthetic; a key to the apartment of the twins (accomplished with a simple break-in of the manager’s office months ahead of time); a secure place to hold the subjects (in a sealed portion of the laboratory basement).

Kidnapping procedure: wait until three AM; wear black clothing to cover the face and hands; turn off the power to the subject’s apartment; slip tube from anesthesia gas cylinder under the door and empty canister contents into the apartment. Use the key to enter the apartment – make sure the twins are unconscious. Retrieve from the van the two wood boxes (painted black) and the hand truck (also black). Wheel the crates to the apartment and get to work.

To put both subjects into the transport crates only takes a few minutes, a straightforward procedure facilitated by the twin’s small stature and by practice with mannequins weeks ahead of time. Close and lock the door on the way out with the two loaded crates, and turn the electricity back on. Drive to campus, park at the loading facility of the lab, get the crates to the elevator, down to the basement, and into the secret room. Then unpack the slowly-awakening subjects into their holding cell – simple.

Basic tenants of holding human subjects: Don’t underestimate their resourcefulness under stress. Provide hope by giving them notes explaining they are being temporarily held for a psychology experiment, with the permission of their parents, and that they will be let go afterward. Don’t let them know where they are or let them see or hear you – this too gives them hope that they will be released. Provide all the non-perishable food and water they need, some light and fresh air. A sink, toilet, and a small towel are all they need to keep themselves sanitary. But be sure there is no glass, decorative trim, or any item they could use to attempt to free themselves.

And above all, do your best to not care about them – they are simply subjects, pawns, small weak individuals who are to be used to benefit all of humanity. Science is not diminishing them but instead bringing them to a higher level that they could never achieve on their own. Empathy is counterproductive.

With the two subjects secured in the hidden room, there was little room for mistakes. Restarting the process would be difficult, not to mention the inconvenience of having to dispose of the bodies. So, with the weight of time bearing down, the scientist performed his final equipment checks.

The next routine inspection by the unwitting financier was not for two months, thanks to a lengthy vacation being slipped into the stated schedule. The holding cell, a remodeled bathroom, was well concealed, never being discovered in all previous inspections. But now that it was occupied, the occupants probably had an expiration time – and having to wait months to try again was a serious complication – any delay would mean having to dispose of the subjects and procure new ones.

The cryogenic liquid hydrogen and helium were ready, the rooms of capacitors charged, and the superconducting magnets cooled. The experiment vessel was checked and rechecked.

When all was ready, including the lateness of the night, the scientist opened a valve, releasing a gas, and the subjects were forcibly anesthetized once again. One of the unconscious subjects—it didn’t matter which—was extracted and placed inside the experiment vessel.

A very important consideration is the mental state of the subject, who will be theoretically projected back in time – for it is not the body that is important, but the mind.

The mind, with all its complexities, must be as active as possible for the experiment, since it is that activity, or at least one instance of it, which is to be transported into the universe of history. Transporting a rock, animal or even a human body, would be nothing special in the physical history of our universe – these things happen naturally all the time. But sending an intact mind into our companion universe was completely different – that is the simple, yet grandiose, goal of the experiment. Activating a mind to its fullest was simple, simply make sure the frightened subject was fully awake, and fear would do the rest.

The containment vessel was cold, being made of thick stainless steel, so the scientist put the subject on a blanket and waited for it to awaken. Once the subject started coming around, smelling salts are used to accelerate the process.

The subject, cold and lying on a thin blanket in the opened containment vessel, was naturally distressed. The scientist smiled and soothed the subject’s intense anxieties, explaining that soon it would all be over and it would be released.

Already your twin has been released, he lied with a comforting smile. You’re in a cat scanner, he continued. We want to get a scan of your head before we can release you.

The young, gullible subject, desperate for any hope it could grasp, nodded and weakly replied through tears, Okay, while holding the blanket around itself.

The scientist leaned in and, in a very professional way, attached two electrodes to its forehead as he explained, Please stay calm, this is the last test. Once I close the door to the scanner, it will be dark and I will not be able to hear you and you will not hear me. I can monitor your mental activity, but that is all, understand?

The subject, with the monitoring electrodes attached to its scalp, nodded.

Good. I know it’s cold, but with luck, this won’t take long at all. As soon as I get the scan then we are done and you can go home. Okay?

He gently repeated, It will be dark, very dark. All will be fine, it won’t hurt a bit. Understand?

The weeping subject nodded again.

The thick door to the confinement vessel weighed three tons and was latched with a series of fifteen stout high-tensile bolts. The bolts were tightened all at once with attached motors. Still, the sealing and securing of the cryogenic chamber hatch took two minutes.

In a control room, far from the containment vessel and its massive super-conducting magnets, the scientist monitored the brain activity of the subject – it was clearly an active mind. He proceeded with powering up the magnets, they hummed with life. He slowly inched the current upwards, starting to pull power from the capacitors. He had the controls set to where they should not be, intending to inject into the electromagnets two orders-of-magnitude more electric current than the Air Force or university ever thought was the intent. Despite what the Air Force thought, this was exactly what the massive magnets had been built for, not particle-beam weapon research.

The monitor showed the subject’s mental activity beginning to spike, just small spikes, then a big one. The fear was climbing as the subject was realizing that not all would be fine. He waited for another mental activity spike, his hand anxious on the large red switch. He didn’t have to wait long. Another large spike started and he pulled the switch.

In a millisecond, a relay slammed shut and ten million amps of alternating current surged into the duel, superconducting magnets surrounding the chamber, oscillating at frequencies that approached the visible spectrum. Communications throughout the city were momentarily disrupted by the initial electromagnetic pulse. The old building shuddered and the rebar in the walls and foundation heated and buckled. The building’s windows shattered, and a transformer exploded outside.

The magnetic field, penetrating the containment chamber, instantly locked the subject’s molecules in place, freezing them so quickly that no ice crystals could form – virtually all chemical reactions in the body came to a sudden halt.

The next step commenced – liquid helium flooded into the containment vessel to keep the deep-cryogenic subject cold. As the capacitors drained over the next few seconds, the intense magnetic fields dropped and eventually ceased operation altogether.

The scientist stepped from the control room and entered the main room of the laboratory, which was aglow with emergency lights. Through the shadowy mist of frozen oxygen, he could see that a white layer of ice crystals already coated the super-cold containment vessel. All appeared in order.

He could see significant damage to the room, some pieces of equipment had shifted and in places, the walls were badly cracked, and rebar had popped out of the floor. It was fixable. He had nearly two months before the lab would once again have to pass inspection.

As he stood examining the hyper-chilled chamber, he contemplated the frozen mind within the chamber. If his theory was correct, part of the thought energy of a human—a complicated sentient machine—still existed, not being destroyed by the death process, but frozen in time, a part of history like every other object in the universe. Being extremely cold, it was currently locked in the same state it had been in upon the moment of the subject’s last living thoughts .

As with any very cold object, the human body in the frozen chamber, which was very much in the present, remained connected to itself that was rapidly traveling back in time, one plank distance at a time. But, as the scientist theorized, history was not static, and the further back in time an item went, the more it changed following the laws of its new universe, the new time and space dimensions.

How long should he have to wait? A billion years? He didn’t know, but all the time he had was a month. He could keep the vessel at near absolute zero—milli-kelvin—for a month, then his helium supply would be gone. Was a month far enough back in time for the mind to morph into something usable? He had no clue.

The scientist slept in the laboratory, as he had for months. He spent his days working to make the facility appear normal, patching the damage and removing unneeded equipment. The scientist cleaned the laboratory, making it look close to how the university and other financiers expected it to be. A month was a long time to keep out prying eyes, but the curious eyes were few, mostly guards who occasionally walked the old halls, testing the locked doors.

The sibling in the holding cell was surviving, spending much of its time sleeping. Of course, there was a massive police search for the missing twins, but the scientist didn’t care. He didn’t pay attention to the news, he had more important considerations – much more important considerations.

The weeks passed and when the liquid helium was nearly gone, he opened the chamber. The rigid frozen body looked surprisingly normal, having been chilled so fast ice couldn’t form. The subject was in the same position it had been in when he had pulled the switch, every strand of hair, every blood cell was as it had been. The air in the lungs had solidified, but that was of no matter. In only a few seconds the humidity in the air began to form frost over the super-cold corpse.

He had to work fast. He extracted the frozen body with a winch and cable then cut the skull open, the rock-hard brain was forcefully removed. He placed the brain in a small cryogenic vessel where it was thoroughly chopped into pieces, which were then spun in a centrifuge. The Bose-Einstein condensate began to flow from the brain, settling at the bottom of the super-cold beaker. The condensate was the prize, the portions of the subject’s brain that were most attached to something in the history-universe.

The condensate was odd – even for a Bose-Einstein condensate. It swirled and began to emit high-energy photons of an interesting blue frequency. Although the scientist didn’t understand this transference of energy, he took it as a good sign that the condensate was indeed connected to whatever the brain had morphed into, within the strange universe in temporal juxtaposition to the known universe.

The condensate began separating, and the glowing portion coagulated together, which the scientist carefully extracted and placed in a separate test tube. The harvested condensate was too bright to look at directly for more than a second. He carefully used a syringe to remove the glowing substance from the cryogenic chamber and let it warm. Much of it evaporated away, but several grams of an intensely glowing liquid remained.

The blue glowing liquid was special, it was directly connected to the first subject, whose mind had traveled a month into history. He had no idea what chemicals were in the liquid – probably mostly water he assumed, although it probably didn’t matter. What was important is that the quarks it was composed of were a direct connection to a mind that had passed into history a month earlier, perhaps enough time for that entity to take on a new life in its new universe, if it was even possible.

The still-living sibling was anesthetized and laid out on a table, then the carotid artery feeding blood to the brain was identified. The thin needle of the syringe pushed through the neck flesh and into the artery. The scientist knew he hit the artery when blood started flowing into the syringe, mixing with the mysterious blue essence. He slowly pushed the blood back into the artery, along with the glowing remnants of the dead sibling. It was a long process, injecting the fluid too fast could seriously harm the subject’s brain, ruining the experiment.

The scientist had just applied the bandage to the puncture when an unexpected knock sounded on the door. He glanced around – there was a frozen and mutilated cadaver on the floor just outside the containment vessel, another subject still alive on the bench. He decided to continue pretending he was not there, certainly, it was nothing important, just some university administrator or a passing campus cop – they would go away.

Then the hammering began – someone was trying to break the door down.

Chapter 1

Inessa Black awoke in a white, sterile hospital bed – her parents were sitting beside her, sobbing with joy upon seeing her eyes open.

Her father put a warm hand on her shoulder and with great relief asked, Inessa, how do you feel?

Inessa weakly nodded and, through her groggy disorientation, said, Okay. She closed her eyes and rested – it was over, the horror was finally over. Her only task was to recover, to tell the police how they were mistreated, and continue on with her life. She opened her eyes, anxious to see Galina. She wasn’t too worried, Galina had been released long before her, no doubt fully recovered. Her sister was probably home resting or just in the restroom down the hall. She asked with a tremble that came on its own accord from somewhere deep inside, How’s Galina?

But then there was only dreadful silence – nobody was answering her question. Inessa moved her head, hoping to see Galina right there beside her. But all she saw was the bright white wall and her weeping parents, who were not looking at her, having turned away. She’s here? Inessa asked – a terrible fear crashing upon her. Already a tear was starting to form as she recalled the last time she saw Galina.

While in the holding cell, they had read and reread the notes that explained what was happening – how they were part of a psychological experiment, doing something important for science and humanity. It was not much, but it was something they clung to. Now, the silence from her parents and the absence of Galina by her side were coming together to reveal the horrid truth, which perhaps she always knew but didn’t want to believe.

Her father, with a grimace that spoke volumes, shook his head, fresh tears starting to run down his cheek.

Inessa’s mother said in a broken voice, Rest. Don’t worry about Galina.

How could Inessa not? Their kidnapper said Galina had been released – was she alive or not? Inessa asked again from her bed, with a heart full of dread, Where is she?

Her father struggled and wept, Inessa, I’m sorry. Galina didn’t make it.

What do you mean? Inessa replied, refusing to completely cave into what her parent’s actions were implying. With a chill of dread, Inessa demanded, Where is she?

Her father shook his head, Not now. Sleep, you need your rest. He then stood, her crying mother did likewise, and they left her in the hospital bed – not knowing what to say, consumed by their own grief.

Inessa was not tired, she was stunned. She lay in the bed and cried, remembering the last hours of lying in the small cell with Galina, the horrible waiting for whatever was to happen. After Galina was taken from the cell, she was left alone for what seemed forever, without any sense of night or day, with no idea of where she was or what was going to happen.

At this very moment, if there was anything she didn’t want, it was to be alone or to sleep. She wanted her family, she wanted her sister. But all she could do was cry as she felt her insides melt away.

A nurse came in, then her parents returned, having had their cry. They told her that Galina was dead. A psychologist came in to talk to her, then the police, and the next morning she mournfully went home with her parents.

Inessa had no idea what to do with her life – completing college seemed impossible – living a normal life seemed impossible. It felt as if for the rest of her life she would only feel sorrow and anger. The only good news her tortured mind could cling to was that the kidnapper was in jail and Colorado had the death penalty.

Chapter 2

The Monster, as Inessa had come to think of him, didn’t get the death penalty, but instead was found not guilty by reason of insanity and was resting comfortably in a mental health institute. Inessa tried not to think of it, however, The Monster had become a central figure in her life. When she couldn’t turn her attention from how her life had been ripped apart, it made her so angry she couldn’t think of anything else for hours.

Inessa had seen all the photographs of Galina’s mutilated body, those too she once had to turn away from. A consulting scientist testified that Galina had died instantly – it was of little consolation. If it were in her power, if there was any way at all, she would make The Monster pay, offering a long slow painful death for what he had done. She fantasized about it, imagining the tortures she would inflict upon the beast if the opportunity was ever presented. But even these thoughts of revenge she had to push away, as they too would consume her.

Since the murder, Inessa had turned eighteen, her parents divorced, and she got a job at a tavern. It wasn’t great work but it was something. She didn’t want to live with either of her parents, they were part of her former life that was now dead. So Inessa had her own small apartment, one that was slummy enough to be affordable on a waitress’s wage.

Everyone at the tavern knew her story. When she first started, right away a coworker recognized her name from the extensive news coverage that had been headlines across the nation. It was only a matter of an hour before each employee politely offered condolences, as if they had any idea how it felt to be kidnapped for months and have your sister brutally ripped apart. Inessa would nod in acknowledgment, then got on with surviving, shallowly burying the dark currents of hate that flowed deep and strong within her.

Inessa carried a tray of drinks to a table and was distributing the order to the two customers when she noticed one of the two women was paying too much attention to her.

Often it was men looking her over, their disgusting desire obvious. However, any thought of a relationship seemed impossible, history wouldn’t allow it – the universe was not as it had been. Of course, most men wanted nothing more than a one-night stand, but she only gave them a cold frown, then her shoulder.

The woman sitting at the table, however, was different – the woman knew who she was. Inessa could guess what was coming next.

While setting the glasses on the table, the older woman hopefully asked, You’re Inessa Black, right?

Inessa coldly nodded – she had little patience for the unwanted attention. Clearly the woman was curious, wanting to talk.

I’m Cheryl Jackson, this is Allison Murdy. We’re reporters for the Post.

Inessa simply replied, So? although what the reporter wanted was obvious .

Um, I was wondering, would you like to do an interview, you know, a retrospective look at your, um, ordeal and the trial? It’s been a year and I’m sure people still care and think about it.

Inessa sighed as she walked away, saying over her shoulder, What’s to tell? I don’t think so.

A minute later she had taken another order at a table full of businessmen. As usual they gave her the usual look over, but none recognized her. Their orders were predictable, the Guinness for the older guy who was the boss, an Indian pale ale for the young man, a scotch for their client who wore a tailored suit.

Walking back to the bar she noticed the reporters glancing at her. The one who had spoken was the senior reporter, the other was a new hire. The reporter was determined. In the brief glance, Inessa saw it in the woman’s eyes – she would offer money.

The story was not important, Inessa thought darkly – nobody cared about Inessa Black except to look at her legs as she served drinks – they cared even less for Galina Black. The dead were part of the past – history. But the reporter wanted to write a human-interest piece that could draw in casual browsers. The reporter was thinking that if the story linked into Yahoo news, it was worth some bucks.

Inessa took another order, gave out two checks then went to the reporters and expressionlessly asked, How is everything? which was expected of her, part of her duty as a barmaid, although she couldn’t care less.

Fine, the reporter replied with a smile then said, Are you sure you don’t want to be interviewed?

Inessa shook her head and the woman predictably offered, How about a hundred dollars? Can that work?

Inessa easily countered, Five hundred.

The reporter frowned and offered, Three.

Inessa intoned, Five. And you don’t mention where I work. She then walked away, giving the reporter time for the monetary figure to sink in. But Inessa knew it was the woman’s highest acceptable offer. It only made sense that her boss had given her an even five hundred for the interview. After all, they knew the interview would force her to talk about a traumatic experience.

Inessa made another round through her tables and, when arriving at the reporter’s table, offered them the check for their drinks. The reporter said, Okay, five hundred.

Inessa nodded and said, I work until two in the morning. She looked out the window and said, I’ll meet you at the McDonald’s down the street tomorrow at three in the afternoon. You’ll have half an hour.

The reporter was taken aback by the firm words from the petite, sour waitress, but acknowledged, Three then.

Inessa only coldly gave the slightest of nods in reply without expression and took the reporter’s check and credit card to the register.

Chapter 3

Two weeks later the article was published – Inessa’s mother was not pleased.

Her mother ranted over the phone, How could you drag the family out like this again! Didn’t you have enough of your name smeared across the internet already! Do you think this is what I want?

Inessa, sitting in the dark in her apartment, calmly replied, You’re hardly mentioned.

Oh no? What about the part of a so-called nasty divorce and unending arguments? Do you really think that’s what I need to read about? Is that what I want my co-workers to read about?

Of course not, Mom, Inessa sighed.

Of course not! But that’s what’s there! Isn’t it!

Inessa sat on her bed as she replied to her distressed mother, Sorry Mom, I didn’t think you’d mind.

Well, I do! You talk about how traumatic it has been for yourself, struggling to keep going and all that stuff about still feeling Galina , but what about me? All you talk is about how it ripped the family apart, making me look bad! As far as I can tell you are just using Galina to get yourself back into the spotlight at my expense!

No, not at all. Look, I just needed a little cash, Inessa explained.

There was a pause before Inessa’s mother asked, How much?

Five hundred.

There was another pause before Inessa’s mother asked, We’re all part of that story, don’t you think?

Inessa sighed, Fine. How about a hundred for your share?

How about fifty-fifty? After all, you just went and started talking about me to the press, that hurts ya know!

Fine. I’ll send you a check, Inessa conceded as she peeked through the window curtains. The sun was setting – her shift would start soon. I’ll talk to you later Mom.

Inessa put away her phone, closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then rose to get ready for work.

Her phone rang again, it was her dad . She picked up the phone and accepted the call. Hi Dad, she began.

Hi, Inney. How are you?

Fine. I suppose you saw the article?

Yes, Inessa’s father calmly replied. She knew he wasn’t concerned the way her mother was.

What’d ya think? she asked.

Rather depressing. I hope when you give an interview a year from now, it’ll be significantly less so.

Inessa shook her head and said in a sigh, still looking out the window, I don’t think anyone will care in another year. Galina’s old news.

There was pause before Inessa’s father replied, Never with us. But you need to let her go a bit. I think you’re clinging to her too much. She will always be part of us. Right?

Inessa nodded, Yeah, I guess so.

Yeah, I guess so as well.

Listen, I gotta get ready for work, okay?

Sure Inney. Love you.

Love you too Dad, Inessa replied then solemnly hung up and went to take a shower.

A week later Inessa was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling as she often did, when her phone rang. Before it was done with the first ring, Inessa figured it was Bob Stalick, the trial lawyer, no doubt calling to scold her over the interview she had allowed weeks earlier.

She rolled over, reluctantly picked up the cell phone from her nightstand, flipped it open and asked, Hello?

Inessa, it’s Bob Stalick from Stalick and Associates?

Inessa closed her eyes. The painful trial had lasted months, even during the slow portions of the process there had been at least weekly meetings and still, after all they had been through, Bob felt the need to introduce himself. Perhaps it was his way of keeping the relationship formal, after all, Dad was still paying his fees. She preempted his attack by beginning, You read my interview.

Yes, the man replied. It was a very dangerous thing to do. You shouldn’t have mentioned Doctor Rasmussen. He could easily bring slander charges upon you.

I don’t care, Inessa coldly replied.

Look Inessa, you cannot afford to pick a fight with him. Your feelings are clear, but be reasonable, he’s still dangerous. He lost his career and what happened will be following him around forever.

Inessa remained coldly silent until the attorney said, I’ve received a letter from Doctor Rasmussen’s lawyers. Rasmussen wants to meet with you. I strongly advise against this, but in light of the article, he probably wants an apology from you. After a short wait, the attorney asked, Inessa? Are you still there?

Yes, Inessa darkly replied.

Interestingly, he wants a private meeting.

So?

It could mean he wants to make a deal of some sort. If he can get an apology from you over what you said in the article about him, and perhaps he could offer his apology, then he could start the process of getting released . . . Inessa?

I’m still here.

He could have you in court, do you understand? —Inessa?

It was obvious, that was what the lawyer wanted. He thought she should appease The Monster, after all he had ripped from her. After all he had ripped from Galina. She had spent a thousand hours with the image of the man burning in her mind, her hate seething. That he was still alive was a second horror.

So you think I should see him? Inessa coldly asked.

Of course not. He has no right whatsoever to ever see you. However, he’s clever and obviously knows the legal system. Inessa, I know this is hard on you, but considering the circumstances, it couldn’t hurt.

Bob was right – there was nothing more The Monster could take from her. Additional hurt was of no importance. Hurt was her life – it was who she was. The Monster could sit in his cell and flail all he wanted – it was of no consequence to her as long as he was in pain.

Those long hours of envisioning The Monster dying in a multitude of gruesome ways were like an old blanket she wore around herself. They were a part of her. She, Galina and her hate, were one.

She knew The Monster lived in the clean air-conditioned institution, wearing freshly laundered clothes and taking daily showers, none of which he deserved.

Inessa realized she didn’t know what he looked like anymore, or what his cell looked like. She had no new images to feed her hate, to plan his hell. She couldn’t plan his real punishment without knowing more.

Inessa?

What?

You know, I’ll contact Rasmussen’s attorney and tell him you won’t see him. That would be what they’re expecting anyway.

Inessa hesitated then sourly replied, I’ll go. Can you set it up?

Inessa, listen, nobody wants you to see him, it is out of the question. I was only passing along his message.

Inessa said, No. I want to see him.

Bob said, Are you sure? Nobody would fault you for refusing.

I’ll go, she repeated. Set it up.

Okay then, if you are sure. I’ll relay your approval to his attorney.

Let me know when, Inessa replied, then pushed the button to terminate the call.

Inessa set the phone down and continued to lay on her bed, looking up at the ceiling, envisioning the possible ways to torture The Monster.

The first time she had ever seen him, and all the subsequent encounters, had been in courtrooms. He was often in an orange prison jumpsuit, but during the actual trial he wore a suit and tie. During the trial The Monster’s long list of degrees and achievements were read to the jury, a process that took minutes. Still, she never thought of him as a doctor, only a murdering monster whose punishment would never suffice. Galina was never going to live her life.

Inessa once again let her mind sweep over the good times with her sister, the parties, the adventures. She and Galina had just moved away from their parents, across town, getting an apartment close to the university. For the first time they were growing up, having fun, meeting new people and going to one social event after another. There was so much to do. Then suddenly it all ended.

Inessa let a tear run down the side of her face. She could feel the weight of her dead sister pushing down on her mind, like a burden she would always carry. She had talked about it in the interview, as if somehow describing the trauma of having her sister killed would make the world realize the intense injustice of allowing The Monster to remain alive.

However, Inessa really could feel the weight. When people lose their limbs, they feel ghosts of what they lost. In just such a way, Galina was there, in her mind, a ghost that she could never adequately describe. It was not a feeling that was going away – not even with the brief happy remembrances of how it once had been, which were now only sad.

Maybe everyone was right, she should work to put the past behind her. Everyone told her the same thing – Galina wouldn’t want her to stop living her life. It was the usual generic statement that was given whenever someone got to know her – from her parents, coworkers, the state phycologist, even the damn lawyer. Self-pity was how it was described – it was not something that brought compassion from others.

But when Inessa was all alone, lying in bed with her eyes closed, Galina was there. It was not a feeling like someone being close to her, nor did it feel like she could communicate with Galina. It didn’t even feel like a presence in her mind. It was more like her own mind was perhaps not completely there, some portion of it had changed, becoming darkened.

It was Wednesday, her day off. Inessa shook the self-destructive thoughts from her head and rose to take a shower.

Inessa hated her days off. People were supposed to have fun on their free days, see a movie, hike a mountain, attend a party or indulge in a hobby. Instead Inessa walked to the store, purchasing exactly the same things she had the week before, the same simple food, some tissues, toilet paper and feminine hygiene products, as if her reproductive system was worth taking care of, which as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t.

Once home, she put away the few items then sat and stared out the window for a while. Her small apartment, a run-down dive, was on a side street, an eyesore that was best kept out of sight from the busy commuters. It was affordable. Besides, she had no reason to indulge in any luxury, and certainly Galina would never enjoy anything