Lost in La La Land(8)

He lifted a meaty finger, sticking it right in my face. “You better fix this, Doctor. Or I will kill you. I’m not playing around.” He turned and left the garden. His grief and anger made him sound like a mobster. He was an ass on a good day and this was not a good day.

My hands shook when I picked up Lola and carried her to the apartment. I didn't get my purse or anything else. Clutching my keys and cell phone, I turned and left.

Lana was nonresponsive?

How?

Was she stuck in the world of the novel?

Was that possible?

Could the nanocomputers have remained in her brain, attached, instead of flushing themselves from her body upon following the pied pipers down the chute?

No.

They were computers. I needed to stop making them the monsters. They didn't plot, except in horror movies. They did the one thing they were programmed to do. And she was the only person unable to move past it all after being unhooked. Everyone else who used the machine enjoyed the trip. They left smiling and peaceful, the way she used to.

Jesus, had I turned her into a zombie for real?

Was the horror movie coming true?

Had the nanobots evolved into something terrible?

Were they the monsters?

I walked out the front door, nodding at Andrew the doorman.

The mayor’s driver got the door for me, scowling like I was the devil herself. I climbed in the backseat, trying to ignore the tension and hatred being directed my way.

“How is this possible, Doctor?” the mayor asked from the dark of the car.

“I don't know.” I shook my head. “It isn’t. The program runs in a way to prevent addiction or even a bodily response. Everything is shut off and disconnected. The nanocomputers commit suicide, so to speak, when the program has run its course. It’s scientifically impossible. This is akin to coming home to find your computer has decided you’re having pizza for dinner and taken the liberty of ordering for you.”

“And yet, she is in a vegetative state. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t look around, almost like she has no control. Her eyes don't dilate. She is a corpse with a pulse.”

“Zombie,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. I need to see her to understand.”

“Your shop is going down. It’s dangerous, just like I always said it was.” He pointed his meaty finger in my face again. “You are a dangerous woman. You’re going to be shut down and your pseudoscience is going to burn.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Point that finger the other way. I didn't drive her to come to my shop every day of the week. How bad is your marriage that she needs the escape?” I regretted saying it the moment I did, but the expression on his face made it so much worse. He looked like he might strangle me so I moved closer to the door, turning away from him but keeping his movements in my peripheral.

When he finally did speak, his voice was thick with emotion, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Possibly. But I suspect we’re both carrying some of the blame.” I stared at the seat ahead of me, frightened and confused.

When we arrived at the private hospital I didn't wait for the driver. I got my own door, hurrying to the front of the building as my insides became a scrambled mess and my heart raced. I marched down the stark hallway and pressed the button for the elevator, although I didn't know where I was going. I just needed to be away from him. I pressed the button for the floor I knew the patients with brain injuries went for testing.

I hurried to the nurses’ desk. The girl at the desk glanced up at me, but she immediately focused back on the computer screen.

“Lana Delacroix, please.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Who are you?”

“Her doctor.”

She raised one eyebrow, lowering the other in disbelief. The heavy steps of the solid and angry mayor behind me vibrated through my body. I pointed a thumb in his direction. “Ask him. I’m her doctor.”

“LET HER THROUGH!”

The nurse jumped, pressing a button for a large door to open. “Room 8.”

I walked quickly, hoping to escape the wrath of the titan following me.

In Room 8, I found exactly what he had described. Lana was in a bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. I paused in the doorway, turning back. “Let me see her, alone.”

He appeared as though he might argue or throttle me right there, but he nodded once and folded his thick arms.

I turned back toward her and walked in slowly, watching to see if she moved in any way that might reveal the fact she was playing possum for her husband’s attention. I settled next to her in the chair and continued to observe her for several moments. She did not move except to breathe.

Having touched her a thousand times, the intimacy of the moment didn't hit me until afterward; I stroked her hair from her face like a mother or a sister would. “Lana, tell me what’s happened. It’s Emma.”

A tear slipped from her eye—a response, though nonverbal.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, her lips didn't move, but an emotional crisis was obviously burning its way through her. I continued to rub her dark hair from her clammy forehead. I had to know if an attachment had somehow formed for her, if she had somehow become part of her story but was unable to walk away. “Tell me what’s wrong. Do you miss Rhett?” Her eyes didn't budge. “Ashley Wilkes?” Again, she did not respond. “Have you fallen in love with something inside Gone with the Wind?”