A few weeks later, I lay in my room, contemplating life and all its intricacies. My conversation with Caleb had thrown a wrench into my rogue thought processes of detachment and anger. I wondered how he lived with himself, if he had truly found some solace in this world, and what it was like to do good things. I tried to remember the good things I had done, and what they felt like. One of my few memories was helping Joyce’s daughter, but as much as I tried, the details of that night eluded me. The memories were fragmented and incomplete. It was almost as if I had entered that night blackout drunk, so that no feelings of good were able to manifest from that memory. I began to wonder if I had ever done anything good or nice for someone. My mind began to settle on the thought that, no, I was simply a plague on this world and to everyone I encountered. Perhaps that’s who I was meant to be, like Franklin claimed.
Franklin had me doing jobs for him almost every day. My account was full, yet my fridge was still empty. His jobs were exhausting. Who knew it could be so taxing to destroy people’s lives. Even my shadow seemed to be getting its fill. It had grown much quieter. Letting it out to dispel its pain onto the world seemed to be just what it needed. I could not be more grateful for this relief from its constant encroachment on my life, but I grew weary of these jobs quickly.
With my shadow’s desires met, I looked back to the question Franklin had asked me: What did I want? I felt a void inside of me, something missing. Nothing I did filled that void. It was a hole that I just filled with more and more toxicity, only for it to grow bigger. Was there something in this world that could make me feel whole or at least more complete?
I was called to meet with Franklin that night. He had set up an appointment with me- without Caro. I was always comforted by Caro’s company, and doing anything to do with Franklin without her was unsettling to me. Although, tonight wasn’t about work, I was still nervous to be going alone. Franklin wanted me to see one of his doctors.
I peeked out the window and saw Franklin’s car out front, waiting to pick me up. I grabbed my apartment key and headed out the door.
About an hour later I found myself standing in a room much like I remembered from the institution. Unlike the institution, however, there was a bathtub full of water in the middle of the room. Most of the walls were normal for such a place, painted white with various diagnostic posters to adorn them, the only exception was that last wall made of red brick. The only thing touching the wall, or even close to it, was a large mirror propped up against it.
It was just me, Franklin, and one other man in the room. He looked like a psychiatrist with his button up shirt, pants with a crease in the middle, glasses, and the surface mask that was all compassionate eyes.
“Good evening, Danielle, I’m Dr. Graham,” he said, as he organized some tools and syringes on a metal tray, “Your employer has asked me to meet with you and see if I can help you. Please give me your arm.”
I looked over at Franklin, who nodded. The doctor lifted a syringe full of black liquid, with a needle that seemed long enough to pierce my arm through both ends. I glanced away as Dr. Graham injected a substance into me.
“What is that?”
“Just a little something to help you relax as we talk. It increases openness, will help you reach a state of calmness that will increase your memory, and allow deeper exploration. It’s similar to being slightly drunk.”
“What are you exploring?”
“We’re attempting to get to the root of your flaw and determine its power source,” he said, as he rose from his seat and walked to a drawer, removing its contents. He held up the contraption, “If you don’t mind, for our safety.”
As he displayed an extensive assortment of containments and wraps, I cringed, but nodded my head.
“What exactly are you going to do to me?”
“It’s something we call a reverse baptism. Once we have all the restraints secured, we are going to lower you into the tub. You’ll be facing this wall,” he said, pointing to the brick, “And if you would, remain focused on the mirror.
“Well, I’ve been asked to do weirder things,” I said, as they continued to fasten the restraints.
Franklin quickly flipped open his phone, pressed a button, and lifted the receiver to his ear. I could hear the ringer from the other side of the line echoing. When someone picked up the other line Franklin said, “Do it now two bird with one stone I’m sure.”
He hung up the phone and tried to return his attention to us. He held his phone in his hand looking at it for several seconds. He flipped it back open and stared at it. He shook his head, folded his phone once more and returned it to his pocket.
“Let’s begin,” he said.
They helped me step over toward the tub and simultaneously lifted me off the ground, placing me in the tub. The water was quite cold.
“Why don’t you go ahead and lie back a bit, in a comfortable position,” said the doctor, “I’m just going to dim the lights and put on some background noise to help ease your tension.”
“Okay,” I responded, as my teeth chattered together.
Franklin sat off to the side, behind me, in an observation.
The room was silent for several minutes. I listened to the background noise and gazed at the mirror on the brick wall. The recording he played was simply a series of hollow sounds that became louder and fainter in variation.
“All right. . . Danielle,
