A Remembered Nightmare

Audio conversion check complete. Therapist Reyn, confirming your thoughts are now being relayed loud and clear. Subject 271 has entered the simulation. Please proceed with Rehabilitation Test 16.

Understood, Command. Confirming all systems are operational. I’m on the train, we’re moving along the Connecticut coast. Thirty minutes to go before the incident. Requesting permission to engage Subject 271.

Permission granted. Go into the car. Do it quick—we were supposed to log off after ten tests. And my husband is going to kill me if I make him do bedtime again.

I’m opening the door to the car—I can see a piece of luggage has fallen off the rack. I lean down to pick it up and push it back into place. The car is quite busy, there are almost no seats available. Of course, that is why Subject 271 chose it for the attack in the first place. I’m moving along towards Seat 6B, where I know he is sitting. I pass a family playing a game of Uno. A group of office workers who all seem to be on the same video call even though they’re sitting two feet apart. An old lady is snoozing on her granddaughter’s shoulder.

I’m at row 6. I see him in front of me. He’s wearing a long coat, even though it’s already April. It’s not that cold outside. There is a bottle of water still sealed shut in the bottle holder beside him. He stares out the window, eyes hooded behind a thick pair of glasses. He seems exhausted.

Reyn, how long are you going to stare at him? Sit down.

Apologies, Command. Moving in. I sit down in the seat facing Subject 271. He shuffles his legs to make room for me and straightens up. A woman is seated across the aisle, reading a copy of Man’s Search for Meaning. It looks like it is about to fall apart. His eyes dart across the cover. Good.

“At some point, it all just becomes a remembered nightmare, doesn’t it?” he says to me. It’s a quote from the book. Perfect. I’ve got a good feeling this time, Command. He is engaging with me of his own volition. Confirming Phase 1 complete.

Good idea to insert the book into the simulation, Reyn. Proceed to Phase 2. Let’s fix this guy.

“I’m afraid I haven’t experienced anything so horrible,” I say to him carefully. The rehearsed lines come naturally. After all, I’ve said the same things to Subject 271 fifteen times already.

“You are lucky, then,” he says. Exactly as he did in the last four tests.

“Have you?” I ask, my gaze unwavering from him. I cross one knee over the other to show my nonchalance. I am not here to fight him. I am merely here to talk. To see if I can sway him from what I know he has planned. Sway him from what he has already done.

He shrugs but says nothing. That’s alright. We’ve prepared for this possibility. It means he is thinking about that darkness in his past. That it is still haunting him. Now is my chance to steer him away from thoughts of revenge. Thoughts of destruction that I know plague his mind.

Stay focused, Reyn. I know, Command. I am focused. None of the other tests have gotten this far. Uncharted waters. I know.

“What takes you to the city?” I ask.

“Business,” he replies.

“I’m adopting a dog there,” I say, pulling a photograph from my pocket. I show it to him and he looks at it—little does he know the photograph is of the dog he had as a child, slightly manipulated to look just different enough. I see his eyes widen slightly as the memories of Bingo come rushing to him. The-dog-who-is-not-Bingo is working.

Careful. I know how to do my job, Command.

“May I?” he asks, reaching out for the photograph. I nod, handing it to him. He looks at it closely, running his index finger along the edge of the photo.

“He looks just like the dog I grew up with,” he says.

“What a coincidence.”

“That it is,” he says. A hint of a smile is on his lips. He is feeling nostalgic.

“Dogs are wonderful, aren’t they?” I say, taking the photograph back and stuffing it into my pocket. “No matter what happens, they are so full of love.” He leans back in his seat thoughtfully. I glance out the window. We are approaching New Haven. The critical moment—the moment when I either succeed or abort—is just minutes away.

“They are indeed,” he says. “I miss Dingo,” he says after a moment.

“Bingo, you mean,” I say, still focused on the window, calculating the minutes till we pull into New Haven.

Reyn. Shit. I wait for a tense moment, ready to abort, but he simply nods. I let out a breath. He doesn’t seem to have noticed that this stranger on the train knew the blasted dog’s name.

You need to focus, Reyn. That was reckless. Maybe if you stopped whispering in my head, I could focus, then. Just give me a second. I have this. The train begins to slow down. Only a minute before we pull into Union Station. A boy in a Yale lacrosse sweatshirt stands up to stretch, pulling the straps of his backpack around his shoulders.

He looks up at the boy and hesitates. I wait and see what he will do. Finally, he stands. Shit. Okay, time to try one last thing.

I think we should call it, Reyn. Let’s abort. We can do Test 17 tomorrow. Wait, not yet. Just give me one minute. I stand up as well.

“I thought you were going to the city,” he says, pulling the black duffel bag from the overhead luggage rack. I look at it warily, knowing what is about to happen.

Reyn, it’s okay. Let’s abort. It’s too late. He’s not changing his mind. Would you please stop talking? This is it—this is the moment.

“Something tells me I should get off the train now,” I say. He stares at me for a moment before glancing down at the bag in his hand.

“Then get off,” he says.

“Should I tell her to get off too?” I ask, pointing at the woman reading Viktor Frankl. “What about them?” I point at the family playing Uno. The little girl has just won a hand and is giggling with delight. He looks at her.

“Why would you do that?” he says slowly.

“Once you do this, you can’t take it back,” I say. This is a breach in protocol, Reyn. You cannot tell him what is happening. Just shut up.

“You don’t have to hurt all these people just because you’ve been hurt. They’re innocent,” I say slowly, reaching my hand over to him. I place it slowly on the bag. I can feel the electronic equipment inside. He swallows.

“What’s happening?” he whispers.

“I know what you’re about to do. But you have a choice. Right now, you get to decide if you will murder all these people, or save them from yourself.” I wait, still leaning down with my hand on the bag.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m someone who knows you’re not a monster,” I say. I believe that. It’s why I do what I do. I know I can teach them to peel away the evil.

“Tell me what’s happening,” he says tersely. The train has stopped. People are getting off outside. This is working. He isn’t doing it. In just sixty seconds, the moment will have passed.

“I just want to know that you’re capable of deciding not to do this. I want you to know that you’re capable of deciding not to do this,” I say. It’s true. The moment he decides not to do it, the moment he chooses not to be a murderer—it is his ticket to freedom. The rehabilitation will be complete. He will be pardoned. The Second Chance Initiative has worked two hundred and seventy times. It will work again.

“What happens if I decide not to?” he says. I can see the confusion flitting behind his eyes. To him, this is the first time any of this is happening. He doesn’t know this is all in the past. That this is just a remembered nightmare. But it is a nightmare he can correct. He can choose to wake up and live his life again.

“You can be free,” I reply. Command, are you seeing this? Why haven’t you said anything? Why aren’t you responding?

“Are you free?” he asks. I nod. Command?

Are you? I don’t move. Command? What’s going on up there?

Answer the question. Are you free? Command, what’s happening? Why is he smiling like that? Command?

You had the chance to abort and you didn’t. It stands to reason I should follow your lead.

My blood chills. What have you done to Command?

Be calm, Reyn. Your colleague is fine—she’ll be conscious in a few minutes. But you…you’re the one who thinks you can get inside my head, aren’t you? How the tables have turned…

Stop it. Press the abort button. Someone is going to find you if you’ve hurt her.

“You were supposed to log off six tests ago, Reyn. Everyone’s gone,” he says. The voice is back in the man I’m staring at again. His lips have turned upwards into a curl that can only be called a sneer. “No one is coming,” he says, his voice lilting.

I begin to panic. He can read my thoughts. I try to calm my mind, but to no avail. He can hear me. You can hear me. You know I am scared. Please don’t hurt me. I’m trying to help you.

Do you know what happens when you experience death in a dream? Of course I know. The adrenaline spike. The blood rushing to your brain. It’s why we abort the test before the therapist is killed in the attack. Because if you die in your sleep, you won’t wake up. Please. He opens the zipper on the duffel bag and I reach forward to try and stop him. Because all I can do at this point is subdue him physically. He is taller than me, but I am agile. I can fight him. I can get the others in the car to help me. Together, we can stop him.

Sweet nightmares, Reyn. Please—

< This is an automated voice message to confirm the end of the recording >