The End Has Come

He began to sob, and his fists unclenched. “W-w-why did you make us if you didn’t want us? W-w-why did you make me?”

Agnes paused, structuring her response.

“You were . . . required, Reeves. Because of you, we won the war. We made a mistake. I made a mistake. Now, we are trying to cure you.”

“I don’t want to come back. I can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“Everything’s . . . wrong.” Reeves’ mouth opened and closed in confusion as he searched for words. After a moment, he gave up. “It hurts. Your voice hurts when you ask me questions or tell me things. You use words in place of what you see in your head . . .” His voice became ragged, as if forcing an idea out through his lips. “Cure, when you mean a shadow . . . d-d-disarm . . .” The word was like the yowling of a cat, and Agnes felt a spike of fear. “You say m-m-mistake, I see a c-c-cloak over geometries of planets, c-c-covered with husks and molds that once held people . . .” Reeves paused. “Your thoughts hurt, locked inside words your lips spill, wanting to get out . . . l don’t like it here. None of us do —” Reeves stopped in mid-sentence and looked uncomfortable.

“Who’s us, Reeves?”

Reeves fidgeted and Agnes pressed the initiative.

“You are isolated in this cell. You are permitted to speak to no one else but me. “ She leaned forward. “Who is us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Answer me.”

“I don’t know.”

She tightened her fists.

“Reeves, there is an itch in the middle of your back. It is just out of reach and growing more unbearable by the second. If you answer my questions, the itch will fade.” Agnes leaned back in the chair. “Who do you communicate with?”

Reeves strained and groped at his back, fingers without nails pulling at the skin uselessly, trying to scratch but unable to. Agnes was impressed: Reeves writhed on the floor in discomfort for almost a minute before he answered.

“Th-th-them. The others here.” Reeves still looked uncomfortable. After a few seconds, he rolled over and began to rub his back against the floor. “Make it stop.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Reeves’ expression became pained. “It’s t-t-true.”

Agnes frowned. “How, then? How do you communicate?”

If his tear ducts had not been removed, Agnes was certain Reeves would have been crying. “L-l-like we were just now. No words. They say I don’t need words anymore.” His eyelids began to flicker. “Please stop it.”

Agnes did not hear him.

The patients had been communicating telepathically.

“How long?” Agnes asked frantically. “How long, Reeves?”

“N-n-not long . . . short time only,” Reeves started rubbing his back again, but the softcell floor provided no friction. He whimpered. “Th-th-they talk to everyone now. They say we should leave. We don’t belong here.”

“How did you plan to leave, Reeves?”

“Please make it stop.”

“How did you plan to leave?”

Reeves thrashed on the floor, his whimpering changing to moans as he bent his arms behind him, trying to reach the illusory itchy spot.

“I am not going to ask you again.”

Agnes waited — Reeves continued to struggle on the floor, until he suddenly stopped, exhausted. Sighing faintly, he closed his eyes.

And his body flickered.

Rising to her feet, she plugged into the security net: As she made contact, her mind was filled with a low buzz, the sound of hundreds of transmissions — the entire facility was alive and broadcasting signals. Her eyes were filled with the static of warnings and flashes streaming past. All the same message as the one she had prepared to send. The facility was losing its patients. All of them.

Reeves lay on the floor, his stark face turned toward her. As she watched, his outline flickered again and the skin blurred. She blinked several times but could not focus on him.

“H-h-had to try.” His voice was a whisper. “Had to try and make you see, make you come with me. I’m sorry . . .”

Reeves’ words died as his body became a silhouette and faded from view.

The indentation where he had lain on the floor slowly flowed back to its normal shape.

The cell around her felt suddenly, impossibly small. The thought was not hers.

In her mind, Reeves’ memories burned, calling to her to follow.