Foreverland Is Dead

remarkable. Based on what we’ve learned about Foreverland and what you said, we’re assuming that she’s operating like a host computer—an organic server, so to speak. I don’t know if you know what that means—”
    “I know what that means.”
    Her emotions boil up. She’s tired of this victim crap. She wasn’t a stupid kid.
    “Instead of watching a movie, I was in it. She created a world in her mind and the old ladies sent me there.”
    “That’s right.”
    “So that’s where the girls are, right now.”
    He’s nodding. “We believe so, yes.”
    “Why?”
    Thomas balks. Linda’s hand is on her shoulder again. “Cynthia,” she says in her softest, most supportive therapist voice, “we think they sent you there so you wouldn’t come back.”
    “Come back where?”
    Cyn knows, but she asks anyway. She doesn’t hear Linda answer. Doesn’t need to. The old women bring the destitute, the hopeless, the dregs of society out here to the middle of nowhere. Old women spend millions to sponsor a perfect young woman with a twisted mind in a healthy body.
    They don’t heal the mind. But they don’t waste the body.
    Old women unwilling to die.
    Yeah, she gets it.
    She knows why Barbara Graham brought her out here. And she hates herself even more for hoping that Barbara was nice, that maybe she was trying to help her.
    That maybe she was good.
    Not a murderer.
    “Where is she?” Cyn asks. “Where’s Patricia?”

53

    The white truck is next to the helicopter. The men are loading boxes onto it this time, presumably full of evidence for analysis in a real lab.
    The techs watch Cyn come out of the brick house. One of them smokes a cigarette. They stare. She looks right back at them, jonesing for a drag.
    Do I smoke?
    They call Thomas over. Maybe they’re talking business. Maybe not. They watch Cyn and Linda walk toward the tents while chatting.
    The wind harvesters are still turning, the solar panels following the sun as it peaks. All that energy going to the brick house, powering all that equipment, all those toys. Only a slice of it goes to the cabins, enough so that the girls don’t die. They already had a miserable life, just more of the same out here.
    That’s the point. They made it miserable to be here, which made Foreverland even more inviting. Once the girls got a taste, they wouldn’t want to leave.
    Desire. Best drug there is.
    Important people are in front of the tent on the far right, nearest the brick house. They watch Cyn and Linda approach. Popular for all the wrong reasons.
    “Dr. Mazyck.” A young lady wearing camouflage approaches. “Mr. Erickson would like to speak with you.”
    “Certainly.”
    They follow her to the third tent on the left, the one closest to the dinner house. Camouflage Lady opens the door.
    “Wait here, Cynthia,” Linda says. “I’ll be right out. If you’re hungry, you can go to the mess tent. There’s a cooler in our tent, too. Help yourself.”
    Cyn’s not hungry. Even if she was, she’s not walking closer to the important people still outside the tent. Enough with the staring and wondering.
    Cyn hears a deep voice from inside the tent. “How’s she doing?”
    A generator starts up, eating up the conversation before Linda responds. The important people point at the brick house. Thomas comes around the corner of the garden, shaking hands. They talk a bit, a few heads turning toward Cyn.
    Dammit.
    It feels like a bear is standing on her chest. A spotlight sizzling on her skin. She steps around the corner of the tent. The generator is too loud to hear anything inside. She’s not sure she wants to hear it, anyway.
    They’re discussing what they’re going to do with her—that’s what they’re doing. How’s she doing? What is she saying? What does she know? Does she remember? Does she remember?
    DOES SHE REMEMBER?
    They should be talking about the girls. Not Cyn.
    An ATV coasts out of the wood and parks behind the bunkhouse. The rider turns the key off, goes through the back door with an armful of IV bags. Time for lunch, girls.
    The voices inside the tent rise above the hum of the generator.
    “We can’t keep her here,” he says.
    “You can’t send back,” Linda says. “Not yet.”
    The voice fades into the background noise; perhaps they have realized that the walls are only fabric. They want to send her back…where?
    Home?
    The guys are finished loading the helicopter, sitting on the tailgate and talking to the pilot. It’s too