Lakewood - Megan Giddings Page 0,28

Home and told Lena when he was a kid, all his friends had refused to go inside. They said it was built on an Indian burial ground and the ghosts of the people buried there haunted the entire store. The ghosts were especially interested in little white kids. They wanted to punish the ancestors of those who had wronged them. It was a weird mix, he said, of racism and historical self-awareness.

He kept talking in an obvious let’s-change-the-subject way, pointing out the Wendy’s and a chain mattress store he pretended were Lakewood originals. The Wendy’s family has lived here for seven generations, perfecting their hamburger recipe. One day, they’ll be world famous.

“I read online that people in other countries were disappearing and being forced into studies like these.”

“Lena.” Charlie’s voice was easy and smooth. “Don’t ruin this for yourself. You have to have a good reason for being here.”

“I do. I need money for school,” she said, surprising herself with the lie. She opened her bag and made herself busy rummaging around for sunglasses, pulling out mint gum. “Thanks again for the coffee.”

In the office, the observers handed out their Day 2 slips. Lena’s read Day 2: Lena. You accidentally deleted a bunch of files. You were too scared to tell Charlie (the manager). Tom (IT) helped restore the files. You forgot your lunch and split a pizza with him and Mariah (HR). Your earpiece still hurts.

Then they were given their morning assignments. Charlie and Ian were taken upstairs. Lena and Bethany were given handbooks about their jobs. They practiced taking phone calls and read theoretical situations. Lena’s book asked her what she would do if a driver was late bringing an extra-large shipment of pickles. After reading the handbook, she watched some tutorials about how to build a database.

Halfway through the day, Bethany knocked on Lena’s cubicle. “Hello, Neighbor. I’m Bethany and I live over there.” She pointed to the receptionist’s desk. They shook hands and made small talk about how annoying learning all these computer programs was and oh, wow, what a storm that was last night. Bethany was wearing a lot of blush, with her hair up in a high ponytail that looked painful.

“You see him?” Bethany nodded at the man with a large beard, Indian. The IT guy.

“Tom?”

Tom was wearing a navy polo shirt and khakis. He was sitting at a long table, taking notes, and wearing headphones. He looked as if he was on the verge of tears.

“I heard from Ian.” Bethany pointed at a desk. “That Tom is doing a solo experiment to explore the grieving process. He’s listening to audio recordings of his dead wife’s voice.”

“That’s—” Lena couldn’t choose whether to say awful, terrible, or sad.

“Romantic, right?” Bethany turned and went back to her desk.

After another hour of tutorials, an observer came over and told Lena it was her turn upstairs. Lena got excited as she took the stairs. Maybe there was a cool thing—some incredible new technology, aliens, a cool health breakthrough—she was going to get to see. The observer led her to a small room that looked like a doctor’s examination room. A sink, a counter, framed drawings of potted plants behind the examination table. Dr. Lisa was sitting on a low stool, holding a clipboard and writing something.

She took Lena’s blood pressure, her temperature. “Healthy.”

“Great,” Lena said.

The doctor had Lena hand over her cell phone. A man wearing a navy shirt stood in the doorway. “He’s going to take you to your experiment.”

Lena got in the front seat of the man’s sedan. It smelled of rental car, a scent pumped in to make the car feel new.

The man tapped the window. “Sorry, you have to get in the back.” His voice was hoarse as he asked her to lie down. “It’s policy, to help protect all of our privacy.”

He started the car. It was older, and every part of it was loud. The windows rattled on the dirt roads. Something squeaked in alarm every time the car made a left turn.

Lena could feel they were going up a hill. “It’s a nice day,” she said. The observer didn’t acknowledge what she said. He was older than the other ones; most of them seemed to be in their late twenties, early thirties.

“Do you know why the dirt here is so red?”

Another dip in the road. She could feel every pothole. Bumps and rattles. It sounded like they had gone off road.

“The air is so clean here,” she tried.

When the man parked