Trauma (33 page)

“Yes, you said you were there following up on an Abington lead.”

“Yes and no,” Carrie said. “I was headed to the hospital to see Sam.”

Dr. Finley looked confused. “Sam? Heavens, why?”

Carrie said, “I wanted to know if he'd ever seen palinacousis in a DBS patient before. Specifically one of the PTSD patients.”

Dr. Finley seemed mystified. Carrie watched him mull over the word “palinacousis,” as if it was something he had heard before but could not put into any context. When it finally came to him, a surprised look came over his face. “Palinacousis? Good gracious, what on earth would make you want to ask him that?”

Carrie explained her encounter with Abington and later with Fasciani, and noted how both patients had disappeared. She also revealed her own self-doubt about causing the auditory hallucination in addition to the impaired judgment issues exhibited by both patients in their choice to leave the hospital AMA.

When she finished, Dr. Finley said, “And you thought you caused all this?” in a way that absolved Carrie of any responsibility.

“I admit my confidence was shaken when I started working here. And when they both presented with palinacousis, well, I naturally questioned my technique.”

“To be honest here, Carrie,” Dr. Finley said in an even tone, “I think you're reading symptoms that simply aren't there. Palinacousis? I've treated dozens of vets here and haven't seen a single case reported. And you watched me examine Ram
ó
n Hernandez. Did he seem off to you?”

“No,” Carrie said. “Not at all.”

Dr. Finley's puzzlement remained. “I've never seen a case of that in my whole career, and it's been a long career. But I have seen your work, and it's exemplary. There's no way you caused anything like that in these men. Impossible.”

Carrie was not ready to back off. “What about the connection between Ram
ó
n Hernandez and Steve Abington,” she said. “The two had met. I told you about the picture at Rita Abington's home.”

Dr. Finley was unmoved. “I spoke to Cal about that and he did some digging. Steve was referred to the DARPA program through other channels, so their knowing each other is just a coincidence, that's all. But you can speak to Cal on that if you'd like.”

Carrie agreed. For a moment she contemplated sharing her belief that Lee Taggart, the VA nurse, was also in the same photograph. But the evidence was not conclusive enough for her to stake that claim.

Dr. Finley leaned forward in his chair and set his hand over Carrie's in an avuncular gesture. In that moment, her convictions fell away and she felt foolish for confiding in Dr. Finley without first obtaining proof to support her claims.

If only she had found those men …

“But what about both Abington and Fasciani leaving AMA?” Carrie asked.

Dr. Finley shrugged it off. “Carrie, these men were unstable to begin with. And we exacerbate that problem by agitating them with the virtual reality.”

Carrie saw the logic, but was not quite ready to back away. “And my getting run off the road and Sam dying on the same day? You don't see any connections there?”

Dr. Finley leaned back in his chair and cast Carrie a look of shock and disgust. His expression conveyed his belief that her insinuations bordered on the absurd.

“You said yourself it was road rage. Honestly, Carrie, I'm more worried I hired a conspiracy theorist than anything else. To be candid, I see you drawing a lot of lines between events that have no logical connections.”

Carrie decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat. Dr. Finley was visibly bothered by her theory, his head shaking in disbelief. Several psychological causes explained conspiracy theorists, including anxiety disorders, paranoia, and psychosis. None of those labels would do her or her career any good.

While Carrie was not willing to abandon her search for the missing link that would connect these strange happenings in some logical manner, she would have to wait for the answers. Other questions of hers would have to wait as well. Was the jogger in the park really as harmless as he professed? Had someone other than Adam been in her room? Perhaps Dr. Finley was right, and those were unrelated events as well, but Carrie was not ready to concede. Surely the Goodwin recordings would reveal something—something that would convince Dr. Finley she was not a theorist at all.

Dr. Finley gathered his composure and stood. “So, can we put this behind us for the moment and concentrate on getting you better and getting us back to work?” he asked. “I want us to finish what Sam and I started. We're on the verge of something important here, Carrie, and I'd rather focus our energies on the patients who want our help and not those who walked away.”

“Yes,” Carrie said. “I feel better just talking it out.”

“Good,” Dr. Finley said, clapping his hands together. “Now then, let's send you to war.”

 

CHAPTER 44

Carrie's stomach knotted when Dr. Finley pushed open the conference room door. What would she see through the looking glass? Would it help her better understand Adam, give her a glimpse into his world of constant fear? She could hardly imagine how horrible the simulation must have been, how real, how visceral, to elicit such a violent and disturbed reaction in Abington.

It was ironic, Carrie thought, that before she'd joined this endeavor to cure PTSD, she'd had no profoundly disturbing memories. Nothing of real substance she could draw upon as fodder for simulation. Now she had a whole host of experiences to use.

On the long table inside the windowless conference room, Carrie saw a laptop computer and some futuristic eyewear, a cross between ski goggles and wraparound sunglasses. The eyewear was connected to the laptop via a USB port. Calvin Trent stood to greet Carrie and Dr. Finley, wearing a blue suit that fit snugly against his broad shoulders. With Trent was the bald man Carrie had seen at grand rounds.

Trent extended a hand to Carrie, warmth entering his gray eyes. “Nice to see you again,” he said. It was then he noticed Carrie's face. “Goodness, what happened to you?”

Carrie said, “Car accident.”

Trent grimaced in solidarity. “Well, I'll make sure there are no car crashes in your simulation. I can imagine you have a little PTSD already from that experience. Wouldn't want to make things worse.”

Carrie gave a little laugh. “Yeah, let's do that,” she said.

Trent turned to his companion. “This is Bob Richardson,” he said. “He's been helping with operations. Bob, this is Dr. Alistair Finley and Dr. Carrie Bryant with the VA.”

Carrie watched Dr. Finley shake hands with Richardson for what appeared to be the first time, confirming her earlier belief that he had not been introduced to her at the grand rounds simply because the two had never met before.

A related question popped into Carrie's mind. “How many people are involved with this program?” she asked.

Trent said, “I'd say with all the technicians, and medical staff and such, we're probably close to a hundred.”

“Close to a hundred,” Carrie repeated. “Where is everybody?”

“Spread out,” Trent said. “We don't have an official base of operations just yet. Believe it or not, the government is always looking to save a buck or two, so to minimize costs we utilize the workspace of our experts and consultants whenever possible.”

“I explained to Carrie that there's a lot more going on here than just neurology and neurosurgery,” Dr. Finley said.

Trent nodded in agreement. “That's correct. We have psychologists, physiologists, simulation technicians, a wide variety of specialists involved. There are even plans in the works for building a dormitory or semi-permanent housing, but for now vets in the program who come to us without a permanent residence have to settle for Motel Six, which is a lot nicer than the streets where most of them had been living. We have contracts in place with a car service to shuttle our program participants to all their various appointments.”

Richardson said, “Having everything decentralized does create some operational challenges.”

“I can't imagine driving Abington anywhere without an armed guard,” Carrie said. The memory of Abington's assault replayed in her mind.

“I heard you had a terrible experience there,” Richardson said in a sincerely apologetic tone.

Carrie said, “That's for sure.”

Trent said, “We intentionally run the simulation on the premises here at the VA to minimize travel time. Once the DBS system is installed, most of the vets are a lot more docile, I can assure you. But I'm sorry about what happened to you.”

“I'm assuming you know that he's gone,” Carrie said to Trent. “Fasciani too. Both vanished.”

Trent grimaced. “Yes, I'm aware. We're looking for both of them. Many in our program have issues with alcohol and drugs, which can lead to all sorts of erratic behavior.”

“They left AMA,” Carrie said. “We signed them out.”

Trent looked at Dr. Finley. “Yes, Alistair told me. In fact, we have a meeting scheduled with Dr. Goodwin to come up with better protocols moving forward. We don't want this to become a trend. We're too close to finishing phase three.”

“What's the next phase?” Carrie asked.

“Full deployment of the solution. Tested, validated, and FDA sanctioned. It's the game changer,” Trent said.

Bob Richardson manipulated the laptop and did something to make the screen turn black.

“We're ready whenever you are, Cal,” he said. Richardson spoke in a hard, dry voice. It was the voice of someone accustomed to commanding a crowd. He did not strike Carrie as a subordinate. Who was this guy, really?

“Are you ready, Carrie?” Trent asked.

Carrie had that funny feeling in the pit-in-her-stomach that preceded any roller coaster ride. “Sure thing,” she said.

“We're using a simulation from one of our program participants,” Richardson said. “But for privacy reasons, I'm not at liberty to tell you which one.”

Carrie smiled politely. “Of course. I understand.”

Carrie took a seat at the conference table with Richardson on her right, Trent on her left, and Dr. Finley across from her. The goggles were lightweight and fit over Carrie's head with minimum adjustments required. The earbuds slipped right into place. Through the lens Carrie could see only black.

“Are you ready?” Trent's voice was slightly muffled, but clear enough for Carrie to give him a thumbs-up sign.

Blackness gave way to light, and a desert scene unfolded in Carrie's view. A digitally rendered lone figure stood on a bridge that crossed over a sand-covered road. What appeared to be palm trees stood in the background, with a few scattered tufts of vegetation. In front of the bridge were two heavily armed and armored Humvees, and behind those vehicles were two kneeling soldiers, each holding automatic weapons.

While shadows and lighting enhanced the reality of the 3-D graphics, the scene itself still looked like something out of a video game. Adam could no longer play “Call of Duty,” but Carrie had seen him shooting up the enemy enough times to be reminded of a lightweight version of that game.

The sound of Humvee engines rumbled in Carrie's ear, and the graphics began to move. First, the kneeling soldiers stood, and then the Humvees inched ahead. Carrie turned her head from side to side, but her field of view remained unchanged. This was more like watching a computer-generated movie than the total-immersion experience she had expected.

The Humvees rolled under the bridge with the two soldiers bringing up the rear. There was movement from the figure on the bridge, and Carrie saw him using what appeared to be a cell phone. The animation was close to the natural arcs and curves of the human body, but not quite there.

In her headphones, Carrie heard the sound of an explosion, and in the next instant the ground in front of the lead Humvee became a debris field. The now-mangled Humvee lifted several feet above the virtual ground before it crash-landed hard on four tires. The graphics showed the vehicle's shock absorbers doing their job as the wheels bounced several times before they finally settled. Dust and sand kicked skyward, but it was still video game dust and sand. While the whole sequence was surprising, Carrie did not find it overly frightening or hyper-realistic.

The gunmen on foot returned fire and shot at the man on the bridge, while three burned and bleeding soldiers crawled out from the wrecked Humvee. The graphics here were well done, and Carrie could see that two of the men had lost limbs, one an arm, and the other a leg. The third solider to climb out bled profusely from a head wound.

A second explosion followed. This one swallowed one of the two soldiers on foot. When that virtual dust cleared, the sand beneath the soldier's body was colored red, and he was without limbs. The surviving soldier fired at the man on the bridge, this time striking him somewhere—torso, head, it was difficult for Carrie to tell. The dead insurgent tumbled off the bridge and landed on the desert sand with a thud.

The scene faded to black and Carrie removed her headset.

Richardson appraised Carrie as if she might need to be sedated like Abington.

“Well, I hope that wasn't too traumatic for you,” he said.

Carrie removed the earbuds and stared down at her lap for several seconds. When she looked up, Carrie's face showed signs of strain, and her composure was compromised.

“If you re-created my car accident, I'd be in tears right now,” Carrie said. “I can only imagine what the soldiers go through after seeing their own worst nightmares replayed on screen.”

Carrie glanced around the room and felt confident everyone believed her lie. She had expected so much more from the simulation, based on Abington's violent reaction.

Dr. Finley said, “The reconsolidation of the negative memory is a necessary albeit unfortunate step in the process. With the memory fresh in the mind, we can use electric stimulation to remove the emotion associated with the event. Ram
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n Hernandez can watch his virtual reality simulation now like it's the movie of the week, when before it would have sent him into a violent rage.”