colleagues and I belong to an organisation called Torch and we have been trying to get into the Facility for some time to get you out. It has taken months of our people working
there covertly to organise your escape today. And it wasn’t a moment too soon.’
I find myself sliding into a chair, despite still wanting to run away. ‘Look, just start speaking English because I don’t know what you’re going on about.’
Helen Bonaparte sits back in her chair, studying me. ‘What did they tell you about the coma state you were in, Cal?’
‘They told me I’d been there for twelve years,’ I say slowly. ‘That there was an accident when I was little.’ I swallow. ‘And that there was a boy who donated
. . . tissue.’
She nods. ‘That’s all true. But did they tell you that they kept you in that coma? Deliberately? And basically stole twelve years of your life? And did they explain why you were
given that donated brain tissue?’
I catch my breath. There’s a dull pounding in my chest that vibrates right up to my ears. I don’t know where all the words have gone because I can’t seem to find any to say
right now.
Helen leans forward and clasps her hands in front of her. Her voice is gentle when she speaks again. ‘None of this is easy to hear. I’m sorry. But they did something to you, Cal.
Something wrong. They inserted a chip into your brain, entirely for their own purposes’.
I can’t do anything but stare numbly. I sniff hard and swipe my eyes with my arm. ‘I don’t believe you,’ I say in a shaky voice. ‘That’s sick. I think
you’re sick.’
Helen sighs. ‘I think we’re going to have to show you what this is all about. It’s the only way. I’m sorry, Cal. This is going to be a bit distressing.’ She nods to
a man in a baseball hat standing by the sink.
He reaches for a long white tube and unrolls it. I realise it’s a screen, a computer screen that’s as thin and soft as paper. I don’t have time to be impressed because he
spreads it out on the table and the next moment, I see an image of a room in the Facility – my room. Cavendish and some other people are standing around watching something and the view pans
to take in the pod. I’m in it, eyes closed and I flush hot because I’m moving around like I’m walking along with my hands in my pockets. Thank God I’m not starkers. The
camera pans round to show a computer screen just next to the pod. It’s on top of a black box with blinking lights that the people are monitoring closely. There are pictures moving across the
screen and I can see them perfectly. But they don’t make any sense.
‘Hang on,’ I say, ‘that’s —’
I’m watching an image of the house on the hill. There’s the hated shed and the old car out the front. Then there’s the school playground. A game of football is going on with
Amil and other friends, who come in close, laughing. Amil’s making a loser sign with his hand against his forehead. In the pod, I kick my foot out and then turn around with my arms in the
air, like I’ve scored a goal.
Just as fast, the picture switches again to one of Miss Lovett, my art teacher. But she isn’t teaching a lesson. Oh no. She’s getting out of a bath, soap bubbles slipping down her
naked body and she’s blowing a kiss at me.
I slam my hand down on the paper, face on fire, and the whole image disappears instantly.
‘What was THAT?’
Helen Bonaparte moves towards me, but I step back. If she touches me, I’ll kill her. I’m buzzing all over with shame and confusion.
‘That was a secret film taken inside the Facility,’ she says quietly. ‘It showed you inside the suspension pod and it showed why you were in there. It’s what that place
is all about. They implanted something into your brain that allowed them to view your thoughts when you were inside that suspension pod. It’s known as a Revealer Chip. The full name of the
programme is the Cerebral Revealer Chip Study, CRCS
there covertly to organise your escape today. And it wasn’t a moment too soon.’
I find myself sliding into a chair, despite still wanting to run away. ‘Look, just start speaking English because I don’t know what you’re going on about.’
Helen Bonaparte sits back in her chair, studying me. ‘What did they tell you about the coma state you were in, Cal?’
‘They told me I’d been there for twelve years,’ I say slowly. ‘That there was an accident when I was little.’ I swallow. ‘And that there was a boy who donated
. . . tissue.’
She nods. ‘That’s all true. But did they tell you that they kept you in that coma? Deliberately? And basically stole twelve years of your life? And did they explain why you were
given that donated brain tissue?’
I catch my breath. There’s a dull pounding in my chest that vibrates right up to my ears. I don’t know where all the words have gone because I can’t seem to find any to say
right now.
Helen leans forward and clasps her hands in front of her. Her voice is gentle when she speaks again. ‘None of this is easy to hear. I’m sorry. But they did something to you, Cal.
Something wrong. They inserted a chip into your brain, entirely for their own purposes’.
I can’t do anything but stare numbly. I sniff hard and swipe my eyes with my arm. ‘I don’t believe you,’ I say in a shaky voice. ‘That’s sick. I think
you’re sick.’
Helen sighs. ‘I think we’re going to have to show you what this is all about. It’s the only way. I’m sorry, Cal. This is going to be a bit distressing.’ She nods to
a man in a baseball hat standing by the sink.
He reaches for a long white tube and unrolls it. I realise it’s a screen, a computer screen that’s as thin and soft as paper. I don’t have time to be impressed because he
spreads it out on the table and the next moment, I see an image of a room in the Facility – my room. Cavendish and some other people are standing around watching something and the view pans
to take in the pod. I’m in it, eyes closed and I flush hot because I’m moving around like I’m walking along with my hands in my pockets. Thank God I’m not starkers. The
camera pans round to show a computer screen just next to the pod. It’s on top of a black box with blinking lights that the people are monitoring closely. There are pictures moving across the
screen and I can see them perfectly. But they don’t make any sense.
‘Hang on,’ I say, ‘that’s —’
I’m watching an image of the house on the hill. There’s the hated shed and the old car out the front. Then there’s the school playground. A game of football is going on with
Amil and other friends, who come in close, laughing. Amil’s making a loser sign with his hand against his forehead. In the pod, I kick my foot out and then turn around with my arms in the
air, like I’ve scored a goal.
Just as fast, the picture switches again to one of Miss Lovett, my art teacher. But she isn’t teaching a lesson. Oh no. She’s getting out of a bath, soap bubbles slipping down her
naked body and she’s blowing a kiss at me.
I slam my hand down on the paper, face on fire, and the whole image disappears instantly.
‘What was THAT?’
Helen Bonaparte moves towards me, but I step back. If she touches me, I’ll kill her. I’m buzzing all over with shame and confusion.
‘That was a secret film taken inside the Facility,’ she says quietly. ‘It showed you inside the suspension pod and it showed why you were in there. It’s what that place
is all about. They implanted something into your brain that allowed them to view your thoughts when you were inside that suspension pod. It’s known as a Revealer Chip. The full name of the
programme is the Cerebral Revealer Chip Study, CRCS
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