Lost in La La Land(11)

I pressed the screen on the desk, bringing up the live feed of her at doggy daycare. She was wrestling and growling at another toy dog. She was such a savage. She was my savage though, so she was cute and fuzzy while being hateful.

Jonathan had hated her more than anything. She was a diva, and he had always envisioned himself with a large dog. I spun the ring on my finger, remembering the last time we argued over the dog before finally getting her. I’d told him we might not be compatible, like a fool, because we were never going to want the same things. It made me smile now. We were so opposite, we had gone full circle and ended up matching anyway.

He was my rope dropper, a trait I always thought I hated.

At any point in our relationship if I tried to have an argument or a tug of war for power, he refused to engage. He would drop the metaphorical rope and walk away. I tried so hard to fight with him, but he never participated. He laughed at me or just tolerated whatever rant was going on. He was calm and cool and loaded to the hilt with common sense. And somehow, through it all, he loved me. Me, being spicy and passionate and moderately insane like all scientists. In the end, by some small miracle, he let me win the argument over the dog.

I closed my eyes and let the story of us cloud my head.

When I woke, surprised I had slept, the door buzzer was screaming. Stretching and yawning, I sauntered to the front door to find three doctors: a woman and two men.

“Dr. Hartley, I am Dr. Williams. This is Dr. Brielle and Dr. Dalton.”

“Hello.” I opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

“We are extremely interested in the machine. We of course know of your work with brain injuries and physically disabled patients to create lucid daydreams, generating lives where they feel fulfilled and not stuck in their broken bodies. We have obviously followed that from its origins. But this—this is something far more interesting. Taking books or movies people love, works of art even, and transplanting sleeping people into them. It’s fascinating,” Dr. Williams gushed. “The last few years have been very exciting for you. And all of us in neuroengineering.”

The woman, Dr. Brielle, gave me an equally intrigued smile. “We have been petitioning to be the people who would test the machine with you since it came under fire. When the mayor started his claims against your work last year, was coincidentally the same time his wife became a frequent client of yours. We knew he would start a witch hunt against this.”

Her words made me feel a touch better. Despite the fact they couldn't fix the guilt I had over not knowing the mayor’s wife was in love with a ghost.

“Don't get us wrong though, we have to be unbiased, as hard as that will be,” the quiet man, Dr. Dalton, added with a less than pleasant demeanor.

“Of course.” I tried to be polite. I didn't want them to hate me and punish my machine for it. “What exactly would you like to see with the machine?” I hoped they would ask to enter a book so they could experience the full genius of it.

“We will of course be testing the machine to the fullest.” Dr. Brielle’s eyes widened. She looked like a kid in a candy shop. Maybe she was a true book lover. “I’d love to go first, and the book I would just about die to experience is Loving by Henry Green.” She almost sounded giddy, maybe a hair shy of it.

“I need to ask each of you the necessary questions first.” All three faces appeared confused which made me smile. “I check to ensure people trying out the machine are fit to use it.”

“Are there any dangers?” Dr. Dalton narrowed his gaze.

“No. It’s like any fun ride at a park. If you have a bad heart or a personality disorder or a drug addiction, lucid dreaming in a forced environment might not be the healthiest decision for you. Paranoia, hallucination, and even nightmares could result from any of those preexisting factors in combination with the machine.”

They all nodded, Dr. Dalton clearly less convinced than the other two doctors.

After we finished their surveys, I winced and gave Dr. Williams a look. “I’m sorry, but with your meds and prior alcohol addiction, you aren’t a prime candidate.”

He smiled softly. “Have you done tests on subjects who have addiction in their past?”

“Yes. We did a year of test studies, working with a broad spectrum of patients. We found anyone with addictions took each ride as an escape from reality but their addiction, being part of who they are, reared its ugly head in the dreamworld. Smokers crave a cigarette and don't find the sensation of smoking in the dreamworld as real. Their bodies actually enter withdrawal, the same as alcoholics and drug addicts. And past addicts come out of the machine wanting whatever it is they are addicted to. It is very much a unique experience to each individual person. We also found that people who don't like books didn't enjoy the experience. They didn't find the connection to the characters, nor pleasure in being transported into a new world or time or anything. They were bored in fact.” It was the same speech I’d given many prospective clients.

“That impresses me. I like that you’ve done the research and have done your due diligence. You didn't rush this, as you could have, and you’ve maintained a strict code of ethics as far as the machine is concerned.”

“Except with Mrs. Delacroix of course,” Dr. Dalton added.

“I never knew of a reason to refuse her. She passed all my tests, paid, liked the service, and she was an all-round pleasure to work with.” I didn’t add that she had also lied about one small detail. I didn’t want them to know I suspected tragic loss may cause an unnatural dependency.