LATER THAT EVENING, when nearly everyone had left for the day, Trisha tried to get into the sleep lab. She peered through the small window on the door before trying the handle. Of course, it was locked, and, of course, she didn’t have access. Owen’s form sat hunched in the shadows. The screen continued to play the memories. Suddenly, his form jolted, and the images became frantic, full of blurred forms.
Trisha wanted to get in. She wanted to see the memories that made him move. He hadn’t moved in months, maybe over a year. She pulled on the door, frantic. Her heart pounded. Owen was in distress. She could see it. She could sense it.
A firm arm pushed her away from the door, swiped a card, and opened it.
“Hurry, before anyone sees,” Sylvia hissed. They slipped into the lab and watched in
