Her project. Her book. At a standstill. By eroding her energy, devastating her sleep, filming her around-the-clock, C.A.S.A. had crushed her desire to write. All this was part of their plan, which she understood last night. She’d have to get hold of Andy, too, to tell her what she had discovered. Clarissa already knew she was not going to call her publisher. She hadn’t made enough progress. She had to get out of here first. She had to find out how. The lyrics of Toby’s favorite song, “Hotel California,” kept coming back to her: She could check out anytime she wanted, but she could never leave.
Ben was still in the bathroom, fiddling. He must have sensed her impatience, because he came out looking self-conscious. He informed her everything was in order. The test would take a while longer, he said. But she had to go through with it. Dr. Dewinter had insisted all artists should.
“Fine,” said Clarissa grimly. “I just can’t wait.”
He gawked at her again, lost.
“Good-bye, Ben,” she said icily.
He scurried out. Clarissa headed into the bathroom and faced the mirror, looking into the two small red specks.
“Hello, Clarissa,” said a mechanical male voice. “Please place your palm on the inlay.”
Clarissa obeyed. She couldn’t help noticing how gaunt she looked. She had lost weight, which was confirmed when she stepped on the scales.
“Please answer the following questions, Clarissa. Did you faint during the heat wave?”
“No,” she replied.
“Did you feel dizzy and lose your balance?”
“Yes.”
“Did you feel thirsty?”
“Yes.”
“Did your urine appear darker?”
“I didn’t pay attention.”
“Did you have any cramps?”
“Yes, in my legs.”
“Did you have any hallucinations?”
“No.”
“Please put your hand back on the inlay.”
She noticed the voice had switched from French to English. She put her hand back.
The voice repeated, “Did you have any hallucinations during the heat wave?”
There was no way she was going to admit she’d seen imps in the patterns of the wooden floor.
“No.”
“Did you feel weak?”
“Yes.”
“Did your head ache?”
“Yes.”
“Were you nauseous?”
“Yes.”
“There are eyeglasses on your left. Please put them on. Face the mirror and place your palm on the inlay.”
Ben had left glasses near the sink. She positioned them on her nose. They blurred her vision slightly. A dull whine started in her left ear.
“Please keep your eyes open, Clarissa.”
The whine became more powerful, like a mighty hum, digging deep into her head. She felt the noise spiraling into her brain like a drill.
“What is this?” she muttered.
“Please refrain from talking. Do not remove your hand. Please look at the marks in the mirror.”
How long was she going to remain docile? Was she really going to stand there, let them get on with this? What were they doing? Trying to read what she was thinking? Pilfering her brain?
The voice had gone back to French. She hardly noticed. She tried to stand straight, but the intensifying hum made her shudder and feel giddy.
“Please remain still.”
She felt convinced she knew what was going on. She had read about those scientists probing the brain’s electrical activity, trying to read into inner thoughts.
“Look into the mirror, please. Describe what you see.”
She saw her own face, as long and thin as Virginia Woolf’s. With eyes as blue as Romain Gary’s.
“I see myself.”
“What else do you see, please?”
She noticed an image had been projected within the glass. It looked like a revolving sphere.
“I see a circle.”
“Describe it, please.”
“In French or in English?”
A pause.
“They” hadn’t expected that, she thought, gloating.
“Don’t choose a language consciously. Just describe what you see, please.”
She described the glittery circle, using French and English at the same time, flawlessly switching from one to the other. Speaking very fast, still using both languages, she invented elements she did not see at all—a tree, a lake, a house. She went into detail. It was almost fun.
“Please describe what you see.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“There is no house, lake, or tree in the mirror.”
“Really? Well, I see them. You don’t?”
The humming noise was strong now, nearly unbearable. What the hell was in those glasses? Electrodes? Captors? What were “they” up to, exactly? Delving into her neurons, certainly. Resistance began to take shape within her, and she gave full force to that defiance. She watched her inner retaliation thrive; it was like a blue glow hurling itself against the humming noise, casting a screen all around, engulfing Clarissa, making the mirror and the space around her disappear. The hum could no longer get through the blue, no matter how hard it tried. Don’t give them what they want. Don’t let them see what’s inside your head. Keep all those thoughts to yourself. They can’t take thoughts from you if you don’t let them. Clarissa forced her eyes to remain open, visualizing the blue glow becoming stronger, thicker, and deeper, fighting the powerful grinding whine with every cell in her body, every pulsation of her heart. It was like a merciless battle against the demented storm raging inside her mind.
“Please relax,” said the voice.
The blue radiance became her language, neither French nor English; it became her own language, expressing complete pugnacity, and that words were no longer needed in order to clarify she was not going to let “them” into her mind. How long did the combat last? She had no idea. The whining finally decreased. She was asked to take the glasses off. She felt drained.
“Thank you, Clarissa. Medical examination completed.”
She tottered into the toilet, bolted the door; it was the only spot in the flat that remained an intimate space. She grinned at the irony of it. She slid down, back to the wall, tried to rest. To her consternation, she sensed the intense weakness she’d felt last night creep its way back into her organism. She must gain her strength back. She had to make plans. She had to act fast.
Clarissa rubbed her hands over
