Soul Storm (13 page)

‘But there are more than three,’ I point out.

‘Yep, we’re set up to monitor up to four subjects at any time during working hours in the main booths, through there.’ He points. ‘But they don’t always get the
full MRI treatment. Tonight, you’re centre-stage.’ There’s a sarcastic edge to his voice, as though he doesn’t believe my brain is interesting enough to be scanned.

‘I’ve told the operator there’s no need to monitor what you’re seeing, Ali,’ Lewis explains.

‘Whatever,’ says the operator with a shrug. ‘You’re paying. You get what you ask for.’

Paying? Lewis said he’d called in a favour. I wonder how much this has cost.

‘It’s absolutely critical that no one gets to see what I see,’ I say.
If there is anything to see at all. If it’s not too late already.

‘Like I said, no skin off my nose. I’ll disconnect the lead, so whether it’s porn or the best of bloody LOLcats, whatever you’re seeing will be strictly between you and
our super-fast broadband connection. Though there’s no need to be embarrassed. We’ve monitored the effect of pretty much everything on the human brain, from snuff movies to Australian
soap operas and Viking role-play games.’

He thinks I’m
ashamed
of what I’m hoping to see? He couldn’t be more wrong.

‘Ready, Ali? We ought to get going,’ Lewis says.

I nod.

‘All right, I’ll set you up in the scanner,’ the technician tells me, his voice slightly impatient. ‘Thing to remember, it’s safe as houses. Noisy as the depths of
hell, but that’s the magnets. Forewarned is forearmed.’

He pushes open a door to the left of the monitors and it makes a swooshing noise. The pounding in my head’s much louder now, a deafening drum beat.

Lewis goes ahead of me. The door closes softly behind us. Dark, again, though those eerie green emergency lights do provide enough glow to stop us falling over each other. There’s an awful
synthetic smell like cheap carpet. My lungs are struggling to get enough air and I’m not even in the lab yet.

It’s only when the operator guy opens another door that I realise we were in an ante-room. We step into another space, and he flicks a switch.

‘Ouch.’ The strip lights blind me for a few seconds. When my eyes adjust, I’m surprised at how
medical
the room is, all white tiles and metal fixtures.

And a huge doughnut-shaped machine that’s familiar from TV medical dramas.

‘Our two-million-dollar baby,’ says the operator. The cynicism is missing. He sounds awestruck.

The operator shows me where to lie down, and how. He positions a headset with built-in microphone around my ears, puts a moulded foam cushion under my knees and then explains that the mouse and
keyboard sit on a tray on my chest, while the screen with a webcam on top is suspended over my face. ‘Please try not to move or the scanner won’t work properly.’

When I’m in the right position, he fastens some straps around the upper part of my chest and arms, pulls a strange plastic cage over my head and positions dense cushions either side of my
neck so I can’t change position.

I feel trapped.

He must see the alarm in my eyes because he smiles. ‘Nothing to worry about. More of a reminder not to move than anything else.’

‘And you’ll tell me when the machine starts up?’

I hear him laugh. ‘Oh, don’t worry, you’ll know.’

His footsteps bounce off the tiled walls and floor, making them impossibly loud. I test the straps by trying to move my arms. He’s right, they don’t feel that strong, but
they’re still unsettling.

‘Lewis? Are you still in here?’

‘Sure.’ He steps forward so I can see him close by, smiling down at me. It’s reassuring. ‘Everything OK?’

I try to smile back. ‘It’s a bit freaky. What do they
really
do here? I feel like a lab rat.’

‘Games and media research. But some of it is quite
extreme.
Not just which virtual car we most want to drive, or which gangster we most want to shoot. The scanning they do here
focuses on the areas of the brain that relate to primal emotions and experiences. Delusions. Fear. Love. Addiction.’

Those words again.

‘Do you really think that’s what it’s about?’

He shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, Ali.’ He pauses. ‘All I know is that knowledge is power, and this could unlock what’s going on.’

‘Oh. OK.’ I try to nod, but my head’s fixed in position. ‘And the guy . . . the caretaker or whatever he is. He does know what he’s doing, right?’

Lewis chuckles. ‘Ian’s not the caretaker. He’s one of the UK’s rising stars in neuroscience.’

‘Really?’

‘Only the best for my freaked-out friend.’ He hesitates. For a weird moment, I think he’s about to lean down and kiss me, but he moves a strand of hair off my face, away from
my eyes. ‘It’ll be OK, Ali. Whatever you see, or you don’t see, it’s fine. We’re getting closer to the truth. Shall we rock and roll?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good luck, Alice. I’ll be right next to you.’

And then he leaves the room too.

I’m alone.

‘Alice, give me a thumbs-up if you can hear me.’ Ian’s voice comes through the headphones. I do what he asks.

‘In a moment I’ll turn on the machine to give you a few seconds to get used to the sounds it makes. Then the platform moves you into the scanner. It’ll be noisy at first. Maybe
claustrophobic. Most people can deal with it once they’re used to it, but any time you think it’s too much, there’s a panic button by your right hand. Shaped like a
diamond.’

I can’t see it, but I grope around to feel for it. ‘Got it.’

‘Good stuff. Once you’ve been in for a minute or so, you’ll notice the blank screen above your head will be replaced by your normal PC desktop. Though only you can see it,
remember? We’ll let you surf away for as long as you need to; simply press the diamond button when you’re done. We’ll be monitoring your reactions all the way so don’t
worry, we won’t abandon you in there. You ready?’

I nod.

The rumble comes from nowhere.

What the hell? I couldn’t ever have been ready for
that
: a noise so intense that it seems to take over my body and my brain.
Whirr,
rumble,
whirr.

Breathe, Alice, breathe.

I begin to count backwards from a hundred, a trick Meggie told me she used when she had pre-show nerves.

It’s not helping.

The sound of the machinery is nightmarish. Like I’m a product in a factory on a processing line, being tested for defects, ready to be thrown on the reject pile if I don’t pass.

Focus, Alice. Maybe you’re just seconds away from all the answers.

My finger hovers over the panic button. I could so easily press it right now. This is
terrifying.

But above my face – only a few centimetres – the screen is changing already.

My desktop wallpaper.

It shows all the same icons and the background shows that familiar paradise: the Beach.
So close.

I can’t let myself sound the alarm. I must go through with this.

I take my hand away from the panic button and fumble with the unfamiliar controller, trying to select my email program. All I can hear and feel is the rumble.

As I type my password, my fingers feel disconnected. I wait.

My inbox loads.

Nothing in there but spam, these days.

I click to the bottom, and there it is: the original Beach invitation. My gateway to the place where everybody knows who I am, where I really matter.

If I’m even allowed back after what Lewis saw.

I click on the link and hold my breath.

The sounds of the Beach usually begin before the image appears. I listen out for paradise above the rumble of the machinery. I hope for birdsong, or someone strumming a
guitar.

But I can’t hear any of that. Memories of the Beach race through my head: Javier, before he left, warning me about consequences; my sister, tears running down her face when she realised
that he’d gone, that she’d lost yet another friend; Danny, his eyes blood red with terror as the storm began to rage.

My doing. I allowed Lewis to catch a glimpse of the world of the dead. Surely that can’t go unpunished, even though it wasn’t my fault. Soul Beach is not a forgiving place.

But now I think I hear . . .
something
natural. It’s higher-pitched than the mechanical roar of the scanner. Whistling?

Something’s happening on the screen, too. I wait for the white background of the email to dissolve away like morning mist, to reveal the blue sky behind, as it always does.

No!

The sky is not blue any more but a fiery red flecked with streaks of orange. And as I move the mouse, down towards the shore, I realise it’s not
my
Beach at all. It’s some
other place, a wasteland. There’s no jetty, only debris in the choppy sea. The water is a dark crimson and a slick of silver stretches the whole length of the bay, reflecting a mean slice of
sun that penetrates the clouds. It looks oddly beautiful, yes, but sinister too . . .

Oil.
I can smell it: it catches in the back of my throat, heavy and toxic.

I try to move my head but I can’t. My hand on the mouse has to do the job for me. Like Soul Beach,
this
bay is bordered by rocks and palms, but the trees here are ravaged.
Branches are strewn across the dark brown sand. The spear-like leaves are dried out and brittle.

I reach out to touch one. It turns to dust under the gentlest pressure.

The oil is making me choke.

‘Who’s there? Is
anyone
there?’ I can hardly hear my own voice above the machinery.

It’s almost impossible to think straight but a horrible realisation is dawning. This place follows the same contours and geography as
my
Beach, except with a pile of sticks where
the beach bar and huts should be.

I can’t see any sign of human life, either now or in the recent past.

That feeling of familiarity grows and, with it, fear.

But it can’t be true. I can’t possibly have the power to destroy paradise by accidentally allowing a stranger to see it.

I’m not
that
important.

Unless it was in my head all along.

I remember that Lewis and Ian are observing every click of the mouse and every eye movement. Perhaps they already have the evidence to prove that none of this is real.

‘Please? Anyone?’

Was that something moving behind me? I fight to screen out the sound of the scanner, to focus on the shore.

Wishful thinking. Maybe that’s true of everything else I’ve conjured up since we laid my poor sister to rest in her poppy-patterned dress. For these last eleven months I’ve
felt pleased with myself for being the only person who refused to give up on Meggie.

What if I’ve been lying to myself?

Please, no.

Alice.

Someone said my name.
Who?

Aaa-leese.

‘Who is that?’

‘Alice, it’s Ian here. In the control room. We wouldn’t normally interrupt but we noticed you’re crying. Are you OK for us to continue?’

I try to touch my face but the strap round my upper arm stops me. I force a smile, knowing they’re watching me. ‘Something in my eye. Can’t reach it. But it’s been washed
out now. I’m happy to carry on.’

I blink, hard. Move the mouse again. Look at my feet, sinking into the dark brown sand. Why is it that odd colour? Then I realise: it’s soaking wet. The storm that began the last time I
was on the Beach – surely it couldn’t have caused all this damage?

I walk, not knowing what else to do, but continuing for the good of the experiment if nothing else. At the waterline, where the jetty should be, are two stumps. The wood that remains is split,
as though a giant has wrenched the pillars out of the seabed in a fit of rage, yet the splinters left behind smell rotten, not fresh. You’d think that years had passed since anyone came
here.

Perhaps I should leave. This place torments me with memories, with could-have-beens and should-have-saids.

I call out, ‘Meggie, can you hear me?’

My own words bounce back at me, off the rocks. I keep walking, keep calling out.

‘Danny? I came back. I love you. If you’re here, tell me. Show me. Do
something.
’

My voice is breaking and I’m aware that the tears are really falling now, though what Ian and Lewis don’t know is that they’re tears of frustration as well as grief.

This really
is
the Beach. I can’t deny it any longer. I see the gap in the rocks ahead of me, the place where Danny and I snatched what little privacy we could. I know the
contours of those stones as well as I know the shape of his lips and the flecks of gold in his deep green eyes. I want to touch him. What if those stones are the closest I’ll ever get to
being near him again?

I clamber through that gap, scraping my shin along the sharp edge. I cry out, but part of me is ashamed.
Insane
to think I can feel pain or anything else here, when none of this can
really exist.

The stone is hot and smooth under my fingers. An illusion, but a comforting one. I sit down and close my eyes. What now? The scanner will be switched off soon, I guess. And then Lewis will
confirm I’ve imagined everything.

It’ll be the end of the Beach. Does my fight for justice end here too?

No.
Even if I’ve imagined all of this, Sahara can’t go free. I won’t allow that to happen . . .

‘You came back.’ Danny’s voice. So close that the sensation of his breath warms my skin.

I jump but I daren’t open my eyes. ‘I’m imagining you. You’re not really here.’

The lightest touch on my shoulder feels like searing pain because it’s so real. Then that sensation of falling from the sky, the fear as the desert earth gets closer and closer . . .

‘Turn around and tell me that’s what you believe, Alice. I waited for you, even when they told me I shouldn’t.’