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I match Jillian’s stance, rising to my feet. "So Layana invented anidentity disorderto explain it? Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?" Something’s wrong. Jillian won't meet my eyes and her gaze is skittering all over the room. "She doesn't know," I continue. "About my blackouts. She has no other ground to stand on. She looked me in the eyes and told me something she thinks to be true. Said that it was somethingyou told her."
I was starting to lose control. Breath was pushing out of my chest in short bursts as the pounding in my head increased. Rage, I identified. That is this emotion. It's a foreign emotion that I haven't felt in a long time and don't understand. I can feel my psyche shuddering, as I lose a layer of my control. This is inappropriate, especially with Jillian, and I blink, focusing on her, but can still hear the snarl in my voice as I step closer. “Don’t lie to me, Jillian.”
"Brant... you don't understand." She falters. "Your medicine stopped all that."
"All ofwhat? The blackouts? Or my stepping into another persona altogether?"
She holds up her hands, and I stop, realizing how close I am to her. Her eyes are wide with fear. But of what? Of me? It's a ridiculous thought. But still, just to be safe, I force my fists to relax.
"I don't know anything about another persona. All I know is that you've been doing perfectly well. Your work has never been better, your focus more crisp, your creative insight more in tune."
"Fuck the work. I'm talking about my life, the person I am when I lay my head down to sleep."
"You don't mean that.” She turns toward the large black fireplace—its flame the only source of color and life in the room and moves closer to its warmth. "Your work is everything, Brant. You and I... we're changing the world."
"We're building computers, Jill." I follow her and grab her thin shoulder, pulling on it until she is facing me, her gaze jerking erratically around the room before settling on mine. "What's going on with me? Is she right?" I am begging her, my fingers biting into her soft sweater, and in her eyes, there’s a swarm of indecision that gives her deception away.
Fury boils through me at the tell, ripping apart the veins of my composure, and I grip her other shoulder with my free hand. I shake her, and I can feel the rattle of her small bones—the bones of a woman I thought I knew. "Tell me!" I scream, the sound echoing around the tall room. "Is there someone else inside of me? Tell me!"
It feels like there is, like a monster is taking control of me—because this violence, this eruption of control is not like me. I watch, in slow motion, the snap of her chin, its wild jerk as I shake her shoulders and I should stop, should release her, should step away, but I don't. This feeling, an overwhelming hatred of the unknown, shatters every tie of self-control that I had in place, and I notice, for the first time in decades, the fracturing of my world into pieces. A dark sweep of oblivion takes my anger and dissolves it into a sea of black.
Black.
Nothing.
Maybe it is another personality taking over. Or maybe it’s the injection stabbed into my back, Jillian's eyes leaving mine for a brief second to look over my shoulder and nod her approval.
Chapter 66 - Brant
I wake up restrained. Testing my movement, my wrists and ankles have only a few inches of give. I jerk hard but the action is useless. I lift my head and can see a man in my peripheral, moving toward me. His features come into view, and despite the muddy waters of my mind, recognition immediately dawns.
"Dr. F." I let my head fall back on the pillow as he reaches forward, resting his hand on my chest, his face pinched with concern. "Where am I?"
"You're at Jillian's home. She thought this would be a better place to keep you, away from the press or public eye."
"Untie me." I try to ask with as much civility as possible but am certain he hears the anger behind my tone.
"Not yet. Jillian told me what happened... and for our safety we need to keep you restrained a little longer." He pats my arm as if he is turning down a request for a popsicle, not my right to freedom.
"Let me the fuck up. I'm not going to hurt you. I've done nothing to allow you to restrain me like an animal." I yank with all my might at the restraints, and a wave of claustrophobia swells through me.
"Brant, forget the restraints for a moment. We need to talk." He pulls up a chair and sits, withdrawing a small notepad and a pen.
I close my eyes and will my muscles to relax, to ease the friction against the restraints. I envision the motherboard of Laya, the components that connect to make it run. The pieces of nonsense that communicate to breathe life into an inanimate object.Peace. With my claustrophobia under control, I open my eyes. “What do you want to know?”
"What happened when you blacked out?"
"When?"
"Yesterday. You blacked out in Jillian's den."
That was yesterday? I realize there is sunlight streaming through the windows and wonder how long I was out for. “I didn’t blackout. I was drugged. “Where's Layana? I want to see her."I need to see her. I owe her an explanation, though I don’t have one yet.
"We don't think you should have any visitors until we figure this out."
"Excuse me?” I glare at him but it’s hard to be imposing when you’re tied to a bed and can only move your head.
"We don't think—"
