Screen by Aarti Patel Read Free Book Online

few
minutes…minutes…minutes…minutes.” Misha rubbed her
ear. She was suddenly having trouble hearing, echoes resounding through her
eardrums. Dr. Little’s face spread slowly into a low pitying smile, one that
seemed oddly permanent.
    Misha felt a sore throb building in her right hand and looked down to discover
a small bleeding pin prick on her palm. Nausea cascaded in waves from her eyes
to her throat, down to her stomach and then up to her head. Her vision was
becoming blurry and confusing, and she became unsure whether Dr. Little was
still in the room or not. Misha tried to speak to him
and felt panic seize her as she saw his isolated smile flash in front of her
eyes. Scraps of color and darkness swam before her like messy paper mache art right before she felt her body involuntarily
slump and fall off the table, ending up limply in front of Dr. Little’s shiny
black shoes.
    --------------------------
      Misha awoke to the sound of faint classical music, her body
aching from any trace of movement. Dr. Little was stroking her hand and she
tried unsuccessfully to pull it back from his reach. Shifting her body weight,
she discovered she was securely strapped into a chair and felt her stomach sink
into the steel floor. She was in a laboratory. About ten other people were
strapped to nearby chairs and were slowly emerging from their own drugged
stupors. Scientists and lab technicians busily swarmed the expansive floor like
an ant colony, hopping from screen to screen at shiny lab tables. Dr. Little
stepped away from Misha and toward a nearby screen,
pushing buttons and levers Misha had never seen
before. On the wall, Misha saw a silver plaque that
read in large digitally rendered letters “SciTech.” Leaning against a nearby
wall stood Tsai, her eyes averted toward Dr. Little. Poof was nowhere in sight. Misha suddenly spotted her backpack on a lab bench,
Poof’s trembling nose sticking out.
    “Don’t
worry, Misha . We’re all very nice here. We’re not
going to hurt you; in fact, we’re here to help you. How kind it was of you to
accompany your friend, Tsai, to her doctor’s appointment.” Dr. Little’s mouth
curled into an even deeper smile that conspired with his vacantly glossy eyes
as he caught Misha looking toward Tsai. “Go ahead
Tsai,” Dr. Little continued, “tell Misha how we
offered you a little notoriety in exchange for bringing in our little Misha . How you were recruited because of your past
friendship. How you assured us that Misha would trust
you even after fifteen years. We were easily able to coax out of you the
appropriate, and might I add, highly compelling, emotions that were needed for
the task. Tears, sentiments, victimhood, familiarity. You even endured the
slight discomfort of the injected neurological toxin so that your body could
truly mimic severe buzz symptoms. You were great! We couldn’t have asked for a
better performance. Bravo.”
    Tsai
looked like a little girl who felt both indescribably scared and guilty. “You
said you wouldn’t hurt her,” she whispered. Dr. Little flung his head back and
issued a fake laugh. “Don’t be so stupid. Tell Misha what you’re getting in return, Tsai. How we were planning to air your TV show
in exchange. Except we’re not. Sorry, your ideas are just dumb. I guess you
were fooled too.”
    Misha blinked back tears as her eyes met Tsai’s. It had always hurt to assume
people didn’t care, but it hurt even more to be tricked into thinking they did.
Now was not a good time to cry, she realized. “Why were you looking for me?”
she asked Dr. Little. She gestured to the small group around her. “Why were you
looking for us?” She suddenly realized who “Dr. Little” really was and why he
looked so familiar to her. He was Brent McKenna, the host of the old reality TV
singing competition called “Bring It On.”
    Brent
spread his arms wide and projected his voice so that everyone could hear.
“Welcome to SciTech, also formerly