A Picture & Some Words #1

The ship limped forward on the water, dragged along by a rust bucket with less holes than their own. The stories they could tell. The sights they had seen - on all seven seas, and maybe more. 

But nobody would listen. They would just drag them along to another life - and the tales would drift away from them, like the flakes of paint they had already lost.

A New Venture

I'm starting a new venture which hopefully writers will be interested in - new, emerging or experienced. All welcome.

Over the past few years I've ran some workshops for writers and some writer development initiatives (cc 
Toasted Fiction Theatre) and I've always loved doing these.

So I'm starting a Script Reading & Development service and I'm actually pretty excited about it!

If you're looking for feedback on a script, or a writing workshop to help develop your script or story, you can check out the packages on my website.

Affordable. Collaborative. Supportive. 

That's my aim. If you're just starting out as a writer, or are a writer looking for feedback or a creative discussion, check out what the site has to offer from reading, workshops and development, here.

A Mad Mad Mad Monday Night

It was a Monday night, during the Summer 2016. I’d just made myself a wee brew and was sitting down to watch the fitba. England or Wales or suhin were playing. What was aboot tae happen put the fitba right out ma mind. So I get masel settled, feet up, fitba on. I have a wee glance oot the windae and see my next door neighbour walking along. “Aw naw.” I think. He’s heading my way. “Naw, don’t be silly.” I try tae tell myself. Then I see his head swivel like a wee owl to peek in the windae. And there I am, staring back out with ma tea in hand. Caught rotten. I’m in.

“Yer cat’s deid.” That’s what I’m greeted with when I open the door. Nae hello. Nothin. Just, “yer cat’s deid.” I stand there in silence. He says it again. “Aye, that’s yer cat deid in my drive there the now. Ye want tae come pick him up?”

Now, look, I’m nae Joe Exotic right? The stringy mullet and that wouldnae suit me. But I dae like ma wee cat. Part of the family ye know? So I’m a bit stunned. I hear my wife shout from the room, “What is it?” I struggle for the words, still trying to process it. Nae matter though, cos my friendly neighbour Florence Nightingale helps me. “THAT’S YER CAT DEID IN THE DRIVE, CAN WAN O YEEZ COME GET IT? I NEED TAE GET THE CAR OUT.”

A few minutes later, and we’ve went and got the cat, sure enough, looks like the wee fella has gone. We wrap him in a wee blanket and put him in a basket on the bed. My youngest son knows now and he’s raging. Gutted. I tell him not to worry, I’ll phone the vet, see if they can help.

“Poke his eye?” That’s what the vet says when I get through. Poke his eye. “Has he naw been through enough?” But no, we take the advice and poke his eye. Apparently it’s the cat equivalent of taking yer pulse. When nothing happens, the vet confirms that he’s gone. “Here’s something? I ask. He’s a lot smaller than I remember. Bit of a different colour as well, now I look at him.” “Aye,” the vet says. “They contract when they die and change colour cos of the blood.” Sorry I asked now. She asks me if there’s anything else I can help with, and I say no. One cat related tragedy is enough for one night.

By this point, my youngest son has turned into a bounty hunter outside in the street, looking for the car that got him. So I phone my eldest son. “Aye, listen, pal. We’ve got some bad news. It’s Ringo , mate. He’s gone. (Pause) “Look calm down.” He’s started greeting, I didnae realise he was at work. “Calm down, just come home when yer done and say-” he’s telt me to be quiet. I can hear him running and greeting. Christ, he’s speaking to his manager, family emergency I can hear him say. His manager says to go. Be with your family. I cannae believe he’s done that. “What are ye daen, if they find out it’s the cat you’ll get – look yer about to drive, ye need tae calm down. Stop greeting. Go get yer girlfriend and she can help ye get down the road. Calm doon – naw, there’s no such a thing as a cat paramedic Chris, there’s nothin we can dae.” And he’s away, in hysterics.

This is getting out o hand now. My other boy’s turned into a bounty hunter ootside and my wifes got the rosary beads out, saying a prayer, blessing the cat. It’s just no the kind of thing ye expect from a Monday night.

So anyway, my other boy and his partner arrive in record time, and he comes in, greeting and he faws to his knees. Which is mental cos the cat never really liked him that much tae be fair so I wasnae expecting this reaction. The cat woulndae be arsed wae all this really. I tell him to go in and say goodbye. His partner, she gives me a wee hug in the hall bless her. “He keeps asking for a cat paramedic,” she tells me. I shake my heid. “They don’t.

“That’s no oor cat”. Christ, he’s in denial. I go in the room. “That’s no our cat,” he says again. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. We’ve been through this son, I tell him. The vet says they change colour and contract when they die – which in hindsight sounds mental but I was dead serious at the time. “That is not our cat” he says again, adamant. Then all we hear, is my youngest boy outside scream. “RINGO”. Christ, this is going too far, I’ve got one in denial and one screaming the cats name havin a breakdown in the street. So we go out and check on him, expecting him to be on his knees an aw, and what do we see?

Ringo, wandering along the street. Alive. We run tae him, trying to get him in the house. We get him in. We are all crying happy tears now. “He’s alive, he’s alive.” It was like Easter Sunday in the hoose that night! Until we realised something….”who’s cat was that in the room?” Turns out it was the neighbour a few doors down. She came, said, “awk, she’s had hunners of deid cats, nae another one” and left wae the basket. We couldnae believe it. All on a Monday night.

If anyone asks me now, mind that time yer cat came back frae the dead? I can say aye. Ma wee Jesus cat. Never did get the basket or that cup of tea back though. But at least we got oor cat back.

Watch the story being told by the brilliant James Keenan as part of Short Attention Span Theatre’s May Monologues here.

It's new episode day! Series Two, Episode Three is now live!

It’s Toasted Fiction Theatre Thursday!

Series Two, Episode Three is now live and it’s the second of our three Para Handy episodes! Have a listen below:

Toasted Fiction Theatre presents a No Nonsense Production of Para Handy: A Radio Play (Not) On Stage.

A radio play not on stage (on podcast) adaptation of Neil Munro's classic Para Handy tales.

The Master Mariner, Dougie the Mate, MacPhail the Engineer and Sunny Jim along with a host of other characters take to the airwaves courtesy of three plucky radio actors. This week's episode is The Malingerer

Adapted, directed by and starring Kevin Jannetts, along with Calum McVittie & Stewart Phillips.

Check out all things No Nonsense Productions on social media @nononsensepro and their website www.nononsenseproductions.co.uk

Subscribe, share and leave a review/rating of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast. Get in touch with us @toastedfictiontheatre or through e-mail on toastedfictiontheatre@gmail.com

You can also support the show via our Patreon page www.patreon.com/toastedfictiontheatre with as little as £1!

Created by Chris Patrick

Series Two produced by Chris Patrick & Ross Patrick

For all more content, including sketches and books, head to www.chrispatrickwriter.com

Series Two, Episode Two of the podcast is now live!

Episode Two of the second series of Toasted Fiction Theatre is now live!

Genuinely really excited to be producing a second series of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast (all episodes available here) and even more excited that we could involve fellow local Inverclyde talent No Nonsense Productions with a classic Para Handy tale - the first of THREE!

Check it out, have a listen and subscribe to the pod! If you could leave us a review in Apple Podcasts and let us know you’re listening on social media, that would be grand!

2.2: Para Handy’s Apprentice by No Nonsense Productions is a radio play not on stage (on podcast) adaptation of Neil Munro's classic Para Handy tales.

The Master Mariner, Dougie the Mate, MacPhail the Engineer and Sunny Jim along with a host of other characters take to the airwaves courtesy of three plucky radio actors. This week's episode is Para Handy's Apprentice. 

Adapted, directed by and starring Kevin Jannetts, along with Calum McVittie & Stewart Phillips.

Check out all things No Nonsense Productions on social media @nononsensepro and their website www.nononsenseproductions.co.uk

Subscribe, share and leave a review/rating of the Toasted Fiction Theatre podcast. Get in touch with us @toastedfictiontheatre or through e-mail on toastedfictiontheatre@gmail.com

You can also support the show via our Patreon page www.patreon.com/toastedfictiontheatre with as little as £1! 

Toasted Fiction Theatre was created by Chris Patrick

Series Two produced by Chris Patrick & Ross Patrick

The Storytelling Anthology Podcast is BACK!

The podcast is BACK! That’s right, Toasted Fiction Theatre, the storytelling anthology podcast is back for Series Two - and the first episode is now live!

Series Two, Episode One is The Lost Soul of Captain Willis, written by myself and performed by Paul Kozinski as Captain Willis. It also features a tiny acting debut from…ME! Yeah, that’s not a selling point exactly - but you’ll hear me in there as Radio Operator.

The story was recorded live as part of the All You Need Is Love event ran by Wee Theaters Glasgow in February. It’s adapted from the short story The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive from my short story collection The Shadow People Won’t Take Us Alive & Other Lost Souls, which you can get here by the way.

It’s a story about love, hope and courage - something we all have and need right now.

Have a listen, subscribe, share and let me know what you think. And if you want to get involved, please e-mail toastedfictiontheatre@gmail.com

Series Two is already shaping up to be a good one as the remainder gets recorded during lockdown. We have 3 episodes already recorded and a bunch more planned!

Enjoy and stay safe!

C x

Times Flies…

A-HA! Yep, that’s me. With a big old cross Doing my best Alan Partridge impression.

I wrote a play about two Christians trying to bring Jesus back from the dead by crucifying someone. Three years ago we put it on and the response was great.

I hope to do it in front of a live audience again someday. The experience was amazing. Genuinely one of the things I’ve written that I love - and the cast always have me in hysterics.

Whenever I write something, particular comedy, I try to write in part as a homage or a love letter to comedy I love. For this, Monty Python’s Life of Brian was a huge inspiration as was Ricky Gervais - in particular his bold, swing for the fences, don’t care, hilarious style.

Fun little story from the night of the show. The play is largely looking at religious zealots - and we had one in attendance on the night of the show, despite trying to put him off coming. Anyway, I remember being properly scared that he was going to kick off mid show.

Thankfully he didn’t kick off. But unfortunately he did present me with my first “gift from an audience member” that I’ll never forget. A used, worn, sweaty t-shirt with a picture of Mary on it, praying. It was mad. What a night and that moment just topped it off. 3 years. Wow.

Time really does fly…

New Sketch & Toasted Fiction Theatre Series Trailer

Just because we’re in lockdown doesn’t mean I can’t bring you stories and sketches!

Yesterday saw the first sketch featuring Simon (Cameron Fulton) and his Gran (Karen Bartke) having a phone call during lockdown! Would love to do more sketches with these characters so have a watch, like, share and tell yer pals!

You can check out the series trailer for my podcast Toasted Fiction Theatre now!

Toasted Fiction Theatre is a storytelling anthology podcast bringing you stories of all shapes and sizes!

Find us @toastedfictiontheatre and subscribe on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Podbean or wherever you get your podcasts!

Or, head here for more info!

Stay safe, stay creative and keep finding the funny.

Cx

A Look Back At Series One of Toasted Fiction Theatre #1

Whilst work on series 2 is underway, I want to share some photos taken by Ginger Snaps Scotland (visit them here) of our last day of rehearsal and recording on the final batch of episodes.

On the Main Stage of Beacon Arts Centre with Charlie Graham, Colin Little, Megan Hair, Cameron McGarva, Hazel Ann Crawford and Kirsty Strain.

This is one of my favourites from the main stage of @thebeaconarts - we were reading a comedy that I had written called Ratins’ about Scotland’s answer to the Kardashians, The Mackenzies. Hopefully we will one day dive further into the lives of these characters - I love them!

It managed to get everyone on stage together at the end of the night. I didn’t know if the script was funny - until the cast brought them to life and the laughter came. The relief and joy as soon as the table read started was amazing

All episodes of Series One are available on Spotify, Apple Podcasts, PodBean or wherever you get your pods.

Learn more about the series and listen here.

When We Could Sit Together

Back in 2016, I wrote and produced a podcast series called Toasted Fiction Theatre which we recorded live at Beacon Arts Centre.

It was one of the most fun, collaborative and challenging projects I’ve put together but incredibly rewarding. A phenomenal team of actors and writers, all pulling together to put on a series of shows (6 plays in a night! Recorded! Live!) and letting me pretend to direct them. It made me feel like I was in a workplace written by Aaron Sorkin.

It was the best. And hopefully, when life returns to normal, we might come together to make a series 2. Or maybe even a new set of stories recorded live for a podcast in front of an audience.

In the meantime, enjoy series one.

14 new plays. 11 writers. 9 actors. 3 nights. For those missing live theatre in a room full of people, have a wee listen and let folk know.

And if you want a series 2? Let me know!

https://open.spotify.com/show/5RZxfHBl6eSPd0pxQDpQbJ?si=ljrgXpW3QZqnqU9nmbHVtg

A Very Small Something

UPDATE: 5 April 2020

A wee update - you can download the books for free directly from this website. Unfortunately Amazon only allows a limited time offer of free books - and I want to make sure anyone can download the books for free during this difficult time.

I won’t start with a summary about what’s happening or where we are with the world just now. We all know, we are all experiencing it and we are all going through our own form of heartbreak with it. Whether it’s being separated from friends and family, having your life disrupted so abruptly, being afraid to do the most simple of tasks (like going to the shops), working on the front lines or suffering through this alone.

What we also know (and hope) is that this collective hardship is possibly (hopefully) the most difficult we will face, together. What we also know is that we will get through it, together. And what we also know is that we will all, again, be together.

“Nothing lasts forever” and “slowly slowly catchy monkey” were two phrases my grandfather used often, and are two phrases that have been used a lot recently in our family group chat (to which I am grateful we have). They are phrases that feel particularly poignant at this moment in our history. The best thing about history? Is that it must pass to become history - and this too shall pass.

Anyway, this is a long way for a shortcut, and here’s the bones of it. I'm feeling pretty useless right now - there’s not a lot I feel I can necessarily do to help. I know people on the front lines, who are putting themselves at risk every day to help those who are vulnerable, and also those who are not. And for that, I say thank you. Every day - thank you.

What I can do, as a writer, is provide a distraction. So with that, I’ve made my books available for free. You can download the digital versions of the books for free on this website - just make sure you select Kindle or iBooks/All Other Formats. You can view them all and the download links here.

We can all use a distraction and if it’s all I can do to help - then I’ll do my best. Myself and a few others are working on other distractions for you while you stay at home. This is just a start.

Stay safe and stay at home. And thank you.

Chris

Part IV: The World Beyond The Words - Chapter 27

IV

The World Beyond The Words

Transcript of Interview with Sarah Barr. August 30 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

I stopped recording, and put my notebook down. Sarah was smiling, her story finished. She had told me everything and more. 

How are you feeling?

"Better than I've been in years. I didn't think I would be saying this, but thank you." 

No. Thank you.

"Did you get everything you needed?"

I nodded. 

"What next?"

I write. I put it all down on the page and make it into a story. I'll send you the first copy.

"Thank you."

I started to pack my things when one last question occurred to me.

One more question. How did you get off the island of St. Kilda?

"Ray. He couldn't do much to help himself, he was slipping in and out of consciousness by that point. And whatever Tom had put into us was wearing off. We blacked out, but before we did, I remember seeing Ray point something into the sky and a red light shooting into it." 

A flare?

"Yes. What I remember next is only flashes. A boat, the water whipping up and spray my face. Being wrapped in a tinfoil blanket. A hospital. The next thing that I remember properly was being in a hospital bed and Ray was there." 

He was OK?

"Well he was in a wheelchair, and there was a fresh scar down the side of his face."

What did he say?

"He told me that everything would be fine. He asked me what I remembered. I told him, everything. He didn't seem surprised, or scared. He just nodded. I asked him how Kim was. He told me she was fine. I asked him what would happen next. He told me not to worry about it anymore. I would never hear from the Wells Foundation again. There would be an account set up in my name with enough money to get started. Again." 

Were you happy with that?

"No." 

Why?

"It was too easy. Too perfectly tied up. I wanted people to pay for what they had done. And I wanted the truth to be out there." 

I'll make sure it is.

And with that, I was done. I stood, thanking her again and gathered my notebook and recorder, heading for the door. I promised to tell her story and honour everything she had told me. Before I left, though, I had one more question I wanted to ask. 

Do you ever think you're still there? That you never left The Complex? That this is all still part of the experiment?

"Every single day. But I don't believe it is. I least, I hope."

With that, I left.

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

It was dark when I finished my interview with Ray. He seemed glad to be finished talking to me, in all honesty. I remember seeing the palpable sense of relief wash over him when I told him that was it.

You helped them in the end, Ray. I'll make sure that is clear in the book.

He shrugged. "It was the least I could do and it wasn't enough. We should never have started it. We were experimenting in science and philosophy. The cost was too high. Now what?"

I need to finish my interview with Sarah and then I write the novel. My publishers are already expecting to see something in a few weeks.

"Word of advice from one concerned party to another - just be careful now."

What do you mean?

"You're exposing everything that happened. There's a myriad of Non-Disclosure Agreements not to mention the hefty legal department that The Wells Foundation have. As soon as they get a whiff of this, they'll do everything they can to shut it down."

As far as I've read, they no longer exist. After the lawsuit Sarah brought against them and the trial, even though they settled, they folded. They disappeared. 

He smiled. "A company like that are never no more. You think this was the only project they bankrolled? No. The Wells Foundation existed a long time before we came along and they sure as hell exist after. When this book comes out and you draw attention to them again, they're not going to like that. And they're going to come after you."

Do you think they're still experimenting? Creating other projects?

"Of course they are. I've heard things but, as you can imagine, I've kept my head down. Once I convinced them to let me disappear and to set Sarah and Kim up with a new life, I've made sure to stay well out there way. Occasionally they'll check up on me, but other than that, they don't bother me and I don't bother them.

Why would you agree to speak with me, then? Why would you tell everything that happened?

"Because I don't think this book will see the light of day and it was good to get it off my chest. Just be careful. I know I will be."

He collected the empty bottles of beer and disappeared behind the bar. I never saw or heard from Ray Samson again

27

A few months after I had conducted my interviews with Sarah and Ray, I had finally delivered a finally a completed manuscript to my publishers. I worked fast (unusually so for me) and couldn't wait to get the story out there. My editor had loved the idea when I had pitched it to him, and the sample chapters I had sent over during my research period had went down a treat.

Not long after I had delivered the final manuscript, I received the following e-mail. 

It was from The Wells Foundation.

From: 

To: ; 

CC: ; ; 

Subject: Your Novel

FAO John-Patrick McNair,

I am a lawyer who works for and represents The Wells Foundation.

It has come to our attention that you are writing a novel where the Foundation features regularly, and in a libellous manner.

We have received your multiple requests for comment. As we have spoken at length on the matter before, both in the media and to the courts (for which any dispute was resolved between ourselves and the relevant 3rd parties), we have no interest in further speculation or fuel to this fabricated story.

In order to resolve this issue, we respectfully ask you cease all work on the your novel and withdraw your project from the impending publication.

Please respond to this in writing by 12 November 2015 or risk further action. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to get in touch. 

Sincerely,

Bryan Daniels

THE WELLS FOUNDATION 

CREATING A NEW TOMORROW

I read and re-read the e-mail multiple times. After so many attempts at reaching out to them, now they contact us. I phoned my publishers immediately. They assured me that it was fine, they were ignoring the e-mail and were going ahead with publication.

A few weeks passed and we heard nothing. I started to get the feeling I was being watched or followed. I tried to shake it off, convince myself I was paranoid. But I couldn't help but think about what Ray had told me. 

Then, on 12 November, the day the response was requested, I received a call from my editor. The book was being pulled; they were no longer going to publish it. 

I asked them why and was told that they had just been bought over by a bigger company and, after catching wind of the e-mail asking us to cease and desist, they decided they didn't want the potential of a lawsuit. He was sorry, but the decision was final. I asked who the new company was that had bought them over. He wouldn't tell me. 

I couldn't believe it. I knew it was something to do with The Wells Foundation but I couldn't prove it. I could do nothing. 

Well, except this. I've sat on this book for several years, shopping it around trying to get a publisher, but nobody would touch it. Maybe word had gotten out about the e-mail. Or maybe people were no longer interested in this type of story. After a while, and several rejection letters later, I decided to do it myself. 

So here it is in all its glory. I've self-published this book. It's a story I think deserves to be told. For the people who survived, and for those who didn't. 

It may not get as big an audience as I once thought it would, but at least I now know that the truth is out there.

The first copy I had printed I sent to Sarah. The second I sent to Ray. The third I sent to Bryan at The Wells Foundation. The fourth I sent to my former publisher. I only heard from Sarah.

I was out a run the morning I received Sarah's message. It was a few weeks before publication so I just have time to add this in. I finished my run and took out my phone to read her message. I was scared at first. It was her response I was most worried about. It was her story, after all. I opened the message. 

It read two simple words, and two I did not expect. 

Just perfect.

I smiled. 

Just perfect, was just so.

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 25 & 26

25

Ray tried to think. The water was rising fast. Pretty soon it would be completely underwater. He knew Tom had pumped adrenaline into their system. Would it be enough for them to travel throughout the entire Complex until they found an exit? Probably not. He looked up. The walls continued to cave in, part of the brick now falling into the tanks of Mark and Albert, pinning them down. One of the girls that were awake screamed and tried to get out. Ray was trying not to panic, but this wasn't going to work. He couldn't get the participants out, including himself, before the place was just a fish bowl.

Fishbowl.

Ray looked up. He wracked his brains. He was sure that they had implemented a safety measure into this room. They had designed it as a sealed goldfish bowl, but hadn't he been the one, ever the pessimist, who had suggested that there should be an emergency exit, a hatch at the top, in the case that the dam surrounding them should burst? With everything that had happened, he had completely forgotten it. He looked to the ceiling. Desperately seeking something that looked like a hatch. And then he found it. A small door in the high ceiling. Pressing the intercom, he tried to speak but the water had blown the system, sparks flying from the speakers. He opened the door that Issie had left through and shouted to Sarah and Kim. They couldn't hear him over the roar of the water. He pointed up. They followed his finger before going back to him. He mimed a door. They seemed to get the message as they both jumped out of the tank.

Running back into the room, Ray looked for the button that would open the hatch. No time for method, Ray pushed them all. At first, it worked, as he saw the wheel on the door start to spin before more sparks blew from the control panel and it stopped. 

They'd have to do it manually. 

The water in the room was now up to Ray's waist. Wading out he dived into the water and swam over to help Sarah and Kim As he approached, they were already above the tanks and the ceiling was a few feet above them but still out of reach. 

Sarah shouted "Is the door open?"

Ray shook his head. "We need to open it manually, the water's turned all the electrics. What happened to the other two?"

Kim looked back. "They decided not to come."

The ceiling was approaching fast, Ray had no time for condolences. He only had a few moments to think about what they were going to do. 

"OK, we're going to have—"

But Ray never finished his sentence, as part of the debris loosened by the water collapsed on him and pushed him underneath the surface. 

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

When the debris hit you, did you think that was it?

He laughed. "Too fucking right I did. Well, there wasn't really a lot of thinking time. I got hit and started bleeding from the head, you can see the scar here, and some other bits caught me in the stomach, taking the wind out of me and pushing me underneath the surface, toward the bottom. I remembered trying to struggle free and swim back up but I just didn't have the strength. My vision was starting to blur, my head ached and the wind had gone out of me. I remember thinking Well, this is how it was always going to end. At least you did what you could and have paid back what you did in full.

You thought it was a worthy punishment?

He nodded. "I was raised Catholic, I'm always looking for the worthy punishment. This was my penance, you know?"

Until it wasn't.

"Until it wasn't, yeah, you're right."

Transcript of Interview with Sarah Barr. August 30 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

Talk about your decision?

"My decision?"

To go back down? For Ray?

She thought it over. "Instinct, maybe? A little bit at least. But the more I think about it, the more I think it was because of where I'd come from.

Fredrick Street?

She shook her head. "No, not the false perfection. I'd just finally come face to face with my own past and the mistakes I had made. It was like Tom said to us all. It wasn't about being perfect. It was about facing the errors of our past and acknowledging who we were, which would help us to be who we could be. It sounds stupid and something you'd get in a fortune cookie but it's the only way I can think about it."

Why?

"The person I was before, was selfish and put lives at risk for want I wanted. I'd just witnessed that, on my way back into the real world. I didn't want to be that person again."

So you saved him?

"I did."

Then what?

She smiled. "Then, it was over."

26

Sarah dived under, but she couldn't see anything. He was gone. She resurfaced. Kim looked panicked. "What are we going to do?"

Looking up, Sarah reached for the wheel of the hatch but it was just out of reach. "Quick, go under and push me up. Quickly."

Kim submerged and lifted Sarah toward the hatch. She wrapped her hands around it and started to twist. It was stiff but slowly it started to budge. The water was rising fast, almost consuming the room. Kim let go and resurfaced. There was only a few inches of air left. They both grabbed the wheel and twisted, turning it as hard and as fast as they could. 

At first, it seemed like the door wasn't going to open, until eventually the pressure released and the hatch swung open, revealing daylight beyond.

Sarah took one last look for Ray or for anyone down below but there was nobody. Just as she was about to give up though, she saw a figure. She dove, grabbing the figuring and kicked hard toward the surface. 

Ray broke through, gasping for air, covered in blood, along with Sarah. Sarah and Kim grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him up and out of the Complex. Kim followed before Sarah, taking one last glance for any other survivors, brought herself to the surface. The harsh daylight and cold air hit her with a force. She breathed the air in as deep as it would go and lay on the grass, grasping it in her hands as the water started to spew up behind her. But she was just out of reach, the water couldn't get her. 

The two survivors of the Fredrick Street experiments and Ray Samson lay on the grass above The Complex, which had held them for so long. Sarah and Kim breathed in real air for the first time in an age and let their bodies ache as the drugs started to wear off and the real world came back to them.

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 24

24

Issie watched as Tom was thrown to the side by the force of the water, his head smashing off one of the tanks and the water around him glowing red as he disappeared underneath the surface. She ran to the door of the observation deck. 

"Where is he, can you see him? Where is he?"

"I can't...I can't see him. I can't see a fucking thing.

"Open the door."

"Issie, what about participants? They're waking up."

"I need to find Tom."

Ray stared at her. If he opened the door and she went down, she might never come back. 

"We don't have long until this whole place is submerged," he said.

"I know."

Be quick," he said.

She nodded. "It'll be like I was never there." 

With that, he opened the door and watched her disappear, wading down the stairs and into the water, knowing that he would probably never see her or Tom again. But he didn't have time to think about this as movement within the tanks caught his eye. Two of them had woken up and had swam to the surface of their tank, looking at the chaos around them. The other two hadn't woken. A quick glance at their vitals told Ray all he needed to know. They wouldn't be joining them. 

Transcript of Interview with Sarah Barr. August 30, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

When you woke, what was that like?

"I remember opening my eyes and all hell had broken loose. It was like something out of a nightmare. There was an alarm going, and there was water pouring into the room. It was hard to see. I could see the other tanks – I could see Albert and Mark and knew they weren't waking up. Kim was waking though. I still don't know how, to this day, I had the prescence of mind, or the strength, to swim up and get out of the tank. Survival instinct? I don't know. I just remember ripping all the wires and tubes out of me and swam upward. The lid to the tank to the top of the tank was open. I remember sitting there, looking out and thinking Wait till the water's high enough? I didn't know what was going to happen or where I was going to go. That much we do owe Ray."

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

Did you feel pressure?

He looked at me strangely. "Are you joking? Of course I felt fucking pressure. Everything, literally, was caving in around me."

I meant, pressure to do the right thing?

"You mean, try to be the hero when you've been playing as one of the villains?"

I wouldn't say it was as black and white as that.

His jaw tensed. "No, neither would I."

I could see I hit a nerve. I just hoped I hadn't hit it too much that he'd walk away. But he relaxed.

"But you're right. I felt one last opportunity to try and balance out everything we'd done. Thank Christ I'd been there when they built the place."

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 23

23

Sarah lay back in the cold bath, the water taking her breath away. She had watched as the houses had started to crumble around them and felt her head get heavy and her body start to feel odd. She knew that was the signal. She tried to acclimatize to the temperature and closed her eyes. It was such a strange feeling, as she felt the world she was in slip away, slowly.

Then, she was in a new one. It was a disused flat, wallpapers peeling and yellow with nicotine stains. The floor was strewn with needles and empty bottles. Water started to fill the room. She waded through; her lake of past mistakes. Finding her reflection in a cracked mirror, stepping over a lifeless body, she saw who she really was. Her face broken with misuse, her body was spindly. She was starting to remember it all again as she stood, unseen, watching her past self stagger around the room without a purpose. There was a bottle in her hand and she drank from it. A cigarette in her hand and she smoked from it. A needle on the ground and she hit from it. Experiencing it again, watching what she used to be, didn't scare her. She knew she wasn't going back to this life. The life she had lived here in Fredrick Street had been pleasant, until she realised that it wasn't real. If she got the chance, she would try to live the life she had in here, for real.

Bouncing through the room, the movie continued. She watched as old Sarah reached down and picked up car keys. A sickening feeling rose in her stomach as she followed the memory. Stumbling out of the flat she watched as she found the car. They were out of booze, what else was she supposed to do? She put the keys in the ignition and the radio played, that familiar song. Then, Old Sarah started to drive. As she watched on, she remembered. She remembered what was about to come next. This time, she saw the man step off the pavement and cross the road. When it happened the first time, she didn't. At least that's what she had told the court. Sarah thought back to what Tom had told them. 

"You'll each see your past mistakes. The moments that brought you here, the moments and actions you wish you could take back. But you can't, they're part of you. We erased them as you started the project, the memories. The fail safe I've built into the system reverses that. All you have to do is watch and remember. Once the memory goes back in, the shock of that will help bring you back. But it's also the final piece missing from who you are. Each of you now, in this life...I've watched you. You're human. And the only thing that separates us are our mistakes. What makes us different, and what makes us maybe close to perfect, is how we own them. And how we change. Without your mistakes, you can't be the people you are in here. For what you will see, I'm sorry. But if you want to go back, then you need to watch. You need to remember. You need to live."

So Sarah did. She watched as the man stepped out onto the road and the car Sarah was driving careened into him. His body crunched off the hood of the car and flipped over, landing on the road behind with a sickening thud. The car came to a stop. Both Sarah's got out. She watched on as her past self got out of the car, took one look and then got back in and drove away. Sarah stood there, in the aftermath, the car speeding away. She looked at the man, in the middle of the road, and decided to do the thing that she should have done in the first place. She knelt beside him and took his hand. She'd seen her mistake, she'd watched just as Tom had asked. But she wouldn't let the man die alone in the middle of the night in the middle of an empty street. Not again. Sarah closed her eyes, tears starting to form. 

When she opened them again, she would be back in the real world.

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

After the porter had broken down the walls and let the water in, what happened next?

"It was carnage. The water was filling the room so quickly. You've got to understand, the bastard....sorry...the guy Peter, he hadn't just created a leak in the wall. He'd torn a whole section of it away and the more water that poured in, the more of the wall fell away. It was like a set of dominoes, falling and cracking all around us."

What about Tom and Issie? What happened to them?

He fell silent and looked away. 

"After so much time apart, and everything that they had lost, including each other, I can take a little solace that they at least got to be together again. Sometimes I think I could have done more though, maybe I could have stopped it or saved one of them. The benefit of hindsight, eh?"

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 22

22

The alarms rang around them. Tom and Issie stared at each other, wanting nothing more to embrace but they knew they didn't have the time, not anymore. 

"Well, it looks like they know I'm here." Tom said. "We don't have a lot of time. Seal the doors to this room and when I say, open the tanks."

Ray and Issie exchanged a glance and did as Tom said as below, Tom rushed to the control panels located on each of the tanks, entering the code that he'd created whilst holed away in his abandoned home. Once done, he whirled around and began changing the dosages, swapping the chemicals and drugs out. He needed to be quick but bring them around somewhat gently. Otherwise it would be like a scuba diver rising to the surface to fast. Pop!

From the observation deck, Issie and Ray watched he ran around the room. Ray had a quick look at the CCTV monitors. 

"People are evacuating."

Issie followed his gaze. "We have a bigger problem though. Right on cue."

A squad from the Wells security team were pushing past people in and effort to get to the tank room. Issie pushed the intercom button. "Tom, hurry. Wells has sent a team in already."

He didn't show that he acknowledged it but he moved quickly, so quick Issie had no idea what he was doing. He looked like a madman down there. Frantically hitting the computer keyboards and running to the tanks to change the drugs that were being pumped in their body. She wished she could be down there with him. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up. 

"That should be it." He shouted up at them. "Open the tank doors."

Issie entered her key code. Hesitating just a moment, she looked at Ray. 

"I hope this works." 

Just as she was about to press the button though, Tom held up a hand. 

"Wait." 

They looked down at him as he started moving slowly across the room. There was a sound, something coming from the corner of the room. A noise, just audible over the sound of the alarm. 

Chip, chip. 

Clink, clink.

Vmmm. 

Vmmm. 

As Tom neared the source of the sound, behind one of the tanks, he squinted into the shadows and could make out a figure. 

"Hello?" Tom said, wary.

Momentarily, the figure paused, looking in his direction, before continuing, harder and faster than before. 

"Excuse me, can't you hear the alarms? You shouldn't be—"

But Tom stopped. He was close enough now to see exactly what the man was doing. The man stopped. A rumble and a roar could be heard now above the alarms. 

Crack.

Crack.

Crackcrackcrackcrack.

Tom looked at the wall, which was now starting to splinter, water dribbling out.

The man turned to Tom and smiled.

"Atishoo. Atishoo. We all fell down."

Tom ran back into the room. 

"OPEN THE TANKS DO IT NOW DO IT N—" he began to shout, but he never finished. He was drowned out by the sound as the wall behind him exploded open and the water gushed out, knocking him from his feet and started to fill the room, fast. 

Transcript of Interview with Sarah Barr. August 30, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

We had to take a break, to allow her time to compose herself. It was proving harder for her to remember this than it had everything else. 

I sit there in the living room, looking around. It's sparse of personal effects, but homely. Minimal. The window looks out onto a row of houses and then the river and hills beyond. 

Despite everything that's happened, I can see that she's trying. Trying to build a life, a new one. Perhaps something that echoes the life she had in Fredrick Street, or perhaps it was something wholly new. 

When she returns, she smiles at me apologetically. 

"I'm sorry. I thought I'd told you the toughest part. But I suppose, really, this is the worst because this was the only time my real life infected the dream one of Fredrick Street."

It's fine. You can take your time.

"I know. It's just, it feels like something that happened to another person, which I suppose I have the experiments to thank you, but, it doesn't make it any less difficult."

You're talking about the failsafe scenario?

She laughed. "Christ, they always have some sort of fancy name for it. Yes. I'm talking about the failsafe scenario. And I only know the one they'd built for me. I'm sorry – I don't know the others and Kim never told me what she had to go through."

What did you see?

"What I had been running away from."

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 21

21

After Tom left them, their lives picked up right where they had left off, but they were never the same as they once were. They remembered, each and every one of them. They remembered their lives as they were, not as they had been living them. Sarah looked at her kids and her husband and seen them flicker in front of them like a hologram. Albert stared at Betty with tears in his eyes as she placed a hand on his face and asked what was wrong. Mark and Kim shared not a word to each other.

They still sat around the table, with the BBQ sizzling and their façade families and their fake smiles surrounding them. Neither had the words to speak, let alone look at one another. Tom had explained it to them. They were in a shared dream state, a simulation of their perfect lives created in their minds. They were part of a project, an experiment that he had started. And there had been more than the 5 that sat in front of him. The Hendricks, The Murphys, the young newlyweds a few doors down (Pete and Liz Guthrie), Old Lady Morgan from round the corner, Mr. and Mrs. Kingston and Gordon the Gopher. Jessica. They had all lived here but had died throughout the project. It made sense, strangely, to Sarah, as she sat there now. It would explain why they hadn't seen any one on the street in weeks. 

Now Tom had told them the truth, they had decisions to make and not a long time to make them. Soon they would start to remember. They would remember the true lives they lived before coming here. They would remember the mistakes they had made. And they would have to make a choice, to relive it all again in order to go back. 

Kim was the first to break the silence. "Do you think it will hurt?" 

Sarah looked at her. Tom had told them about the fail safe that he had planted in the simulation should they need to bring them out of the experiment quickly. For Tom, it was pushing a button and flooding the memories back to them, like playing a movie. For them it would be a whole lot more. 

"I think that's the whole point," said Sarah as she squeezed Kim's hand, noticing how young she was for the first time. What could she possibly have done that made her want to start over again?

Silence had fallen over the table again. Each one of them were standing on the gallows now, waiting for the floor to disappear from beneath them but without knowing what lay beneath. Sarah looked over the guests at her table as they sat, frozen. Understandable, she thought. She felt a little cold herself. 

Hadn't she always had the feeling that this life was too good to be true? It slid by so easy. She had everything she'd ever wanted, the white picket fence life she had always dreamed of and it was almost too perfect. Had she always thought that, or was the doubt only creeping it's way into her mind now that she'd learned the truth? Maybe she'd never know. But Tom had said something that made her think. 

After he arrived and their families disappeared, he'd told them the story. But one thing he said, more to himself than to any of the ears around the table, had stuck out to Sarah. One of them, she couldn't remember who (maybe it was her?) had asked why things had started to go wrong. Tom rubbed the back of his head and sighed.

"Part of it was the mistakes we made, early on. Part of it was the meddling I was doing, being here. But mostly it was because you all kept picking away at perfection, causing it to unravel. The harder we tried in the real world to stop you questioning how happy and perfect you were, the more you questioned. It's like a loose thread on a jumper. If you pick away at it, eventually the jumper is going to unravel and fall apart. Except you guys were the loose threads, picking away at a perfect world."

Sarah looked at her family, thinking about what Tom had said. They looked like shadows to her now. Tom was right. She had everything she could ever possibly want, yet she had picked at it, not even aware she was doing so. She even compared herself to the people around this table, spending too much time looking around at others instead of looking at what she had. 

"Can any of you remember you're life before?" she asked.

They all shook their head. 

"At least not yet," said Mark. 

"Well, if you remember this, it really was nice to meet you all," said Sarah. 

Albert was the only one to smile and stretched his hand out to shake Sarah's. "And you."

Sarah smiled back. "I guess I'll see you on the other side."

And with that, they parted ways, Albert re-joined Betty and left. Mark and Kim left quietly. Kim hugged Sarah before she left. As they hugged, she whispered into Sarah's ear. "

"I'm scared."

Over Kim's shoulder, Sarah looked at her perfect family playing in the living room of the home that never was and tightened her hug around Kim. 

"Me too. But, whatever happens, at least we'll always have had this." 

They hugged once more before Kim lef and Sarah entered the house. She kissed her husband (who wasn't) and hugged her kids (who weren't) and sat down on the couch with them all. She was hoping to make one more memory of the life she never had, before closing the door on it forever.

And it really was only a moment. Sarah sat on the couch and held her family, trying to keep her eyes open. Eventually, she nodded off. 

When she woke, she was alone.  

*

As Tom had instructed, they were all in place. Waiting for whatever was about to come next. As they waited, the ground of Fredrick Street started to shake. Sarah approached the window and looked out to see the houses of Fredrick Street that surrounded her start to collapse and fall down around her. That was the signal. Any moment now, they would be shown what brought them here. If they relived it and let it play out, they would return. Sarah looked out of the window, watching a firework display without the colour, as Fredrick Street collapsed around them.

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

I was sure that Ray was starting to shake a little, as he retold this part of the story. I was also sure that he was no longer in the room with me, but back there. Reliving it all. 

How did he bring them out?

"He had installed a fail safe scenario within the simulation. It was genius, but cruel in it's own way."

If they had been under for so long, why was he so confident that he'd be able to get them out?

"I don't know exactly what he put into them, but whatever cocktail of drugs he used worked. Well, not for all of them."

You mention that it didn't work for them all.

"No. We're not 100% sure why. Maybe it was the new drugs that killed them, the adrenaline. Or maybe we were too late. I think they chose to stay. Somehow, they resisted the failsafe scenario. Refused to watch their past mistakes. To acknowledge that the people they currently were, wasn't the people they truly are."

What about the night porter? Tell me about that.

I could say him grit his teeth at this point. "The night porter. We didn't see that coming."

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 20

20

"Initiate the flood protocol." 

And the phone clicked dead. Peter sat there for a moment in a daze, cramped in a tiny store cupboard in darkness with his headphones playing the sound of a dead telephone line into his ears. He had listened intently, as Dr. Wyatt spoke to a man on the phone, informing him that they'd lost another participant. He had listened as the man on the other end of the phone toyed with her (or at least that's how it sounded to Peter) as she defended the project. That didn't matter to the man though. He wanted it pulled, the results they wanted were not forthcoming and it may be best to put an end to it. He had listened, when the man on the other end of the phone, Mr. Wells, had uttered those words.

"Initiate the flood protocol." 

The words echoed in his ears. They were going to flood the place, and everyone inside. That would explain the water in the walls, thought Peter, as his mind whirred, trying to piece together everything he had heard and make some sense of it. 

He had bugged the phones in the offices of the project's leaders a few months ago, namely Dr Wyatt and Ray (Tom was gone by the time he had his brain wave) and the conversations were mostly banal. But this was far from it. This - they wanted to flood the place. They were going to kill everyone, wipe the board clean and start again. 

"Pick those you view as essential personnel."

Anger started to boil deep within Peter then, as the jigsaw started to take shape. They were going to turn this place into a well, water filled to the top. Worst of all, it didn't fully surprise Peter. He almost expected this kind of stunt to be pulled. 

I have assurances, he thought. Remembering.

There was not a chance in hell he was going to let these people get away with any more than they'd already had.

Slowly, and quietly, he slid the headphones behind the ventilation shaft at the base of the cupboard and slipped back into the corridor, busy with people in white coats and suits, oblivious as to the danger they faced. 

Unless they were essential personnel, he thought, another bubble of anger. Was he not essential personnel? Was Colin?

Colin.

He had been right, in many ways. Peter spared a thought for his friend, knowing then in that moment that he would never him again. Whatever had happened to him and what was about to happen, they had shared their last lunch together. It was thoughts of Colin, and the phone call, that spurred him on; he was filled now with a hot-boiled rage.

Initiate Flood protocol. He couldn't share shake those words, how callously they had been spoken. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he'd meant by it. They were essentially in an underground aquarium. A stationary submarine, goldfish in a fish bowl. The walls were either rigged with explosives, and they would self detonate and flood the complex and those with it, or the walls would simply come apart. 

And they would. He'd make sure of it. Just not on their timescale.

He turned sharply down the corridor and moved toward his destination. As he did, a nursery rhyme from his childhood came back to him:

Ring-a-ring o' roses,

A pocket full of posies,

A-tishoo! A-tishoo!

We all fall down.

Peter moved throughout the Complex with ease, flashing his badge at the security and the turnstiles, moving into the depths of the building. Eventually, he found the porter's supply closet. There was a myriad of tools located within, but he would only need a few. Putting on his tool belt he left the closet and made his way to the tank room. 

Issie was running through the halls of the Complex breathless, heading for the tank room. With the words of Harold Wells still swimming around in her head, she had brought up the Complex's CCTV monitors on her computer screen. She watched them all, all these people they had recruited. Most of them were young who wanted to carve out a legacy for themselves and do something that would be talked about in this generation and the ones to follow. Some of them, she understood, were ex-military with a few ex-cons thrown in for good measure. Her eye hovered over each and every one of them. 

Pick those you need. 

She never for a second thought this would cost anything more than time and money; certainly not lives.

Tom, please. If you've got a plan, make sure it's a good one, she thought. 

When Ray had told her, her first reaction was anger. She angry. That Tom hadn't included her in his plans. That he had left her to deal with everything. That he had made it feel like he was abandoning her and their life together. 

Like he was abandoning the memory of Cassie. 

It was the memory of Cassie that eventually let the anger subside; she'd had enough anger to last her a lifetime and she didn't want it to mar her life anymore. She knew when she saw Tom she would forgive him.  

Her phone vibrated on the desk, bringing her back to the present. It was Ray. 

We're here.

She surveyed the CCTV quickly and that was when she spotted him. Tom.  Standing outside the entrance to the hut, he was thinner than he'd been when he left, with a thick unkempt beard.  Issie often had the monitor opened on this screen, on this entrance, just in case he returned. She stared, her heart pounding in her chest. She watched as Tom smiled, and Ray put a bag over his head before bundling him through the door. She was on her feet then and was running to the tank room. They didn't have much time. If they detected Tom was here, the hour's grace Harold had given them was gone. 

*

Bursting into the tank room, it was busy with workers. Some were checking vitals and statistics, the incident earlier today meant the remaining four were under constant observation. There was someone draining the tank of the participant they had lost, with a cleaner standing by; there was no sign of Jessica or that she had ever been in there. Looking around, she couldn't see Ray or Tom until she heard a voice over the speakers. It was Ray. 

"Please vacate the tank room and return to your residence, immediately. Thank you."

Spinning round, she brushed past a porter entering the room, knocking a few of his tools off his belt. Apologising, not stopping to pick up the fallen tools, she bounded upstairs to the observation deck as the room started to empty. 

Ray was repeating his announcement as the room below was almost clear. But he was alone. There was no sign of Tom. She scanned the room quickly, trying to speak, but she was out of breath. Eventually she formed the words. "Where is he?"

Ray had the ghost of a smile on his lips as he pointed down below, to the room she had only seconds ago left.

Standing there, behind the control centre, surveying the screens, was Tom. Or at least she assumed it was him, because her eyes were too blurred with tears to properly make him out. She pushed the intercom, not knowing whether to curse him or tell him how much she missed him.

"Tom."

He stopped, turned slowly, and looked up at her. His mouth split into a wide smile. He was crying too. 

"Issie. I..I just...—"

"It's OK. I know." She found herself laughing. They both were, although at what, they couldn't say. It was like someone had told a joke that only they had heard and understood the punchline too.

"You've got a beard," she said.

He rubbed it, smiling sheepishly. "You like?"

"It has its charms."

"You look.....you look amazing."

She laughed herself. "I know that too."

Tom nodded his head, smiling. Ray nudged Issie out of the way and spoke into the intercom. 

"Guys, I love a teary reunion as much as the next person, but we're kind of on the clock here. We've got stuff to do. Can we just, you know, pause this for a little longer?"

They both nodded. Issie spoke into the intercom.

"Tom, we don't have much time. I tried to keep things going but it's over. They're going to initiate flood protocol."

Tom nodded, rubbing his neck. "Well that doesn't give us much time."

"Can you still do it?" asked Ray.

"We need to act fast. Issie, how long?"

"Harold said 1 hour. If they detect you're here, or if something is wrong? I think they'll trigger it immediately."

Tom rubbed his hands together. "OK then. I better get to work. Quietly does it, eh?" 

Issie pushed the button again, and was surprised to hear her voice waver, fighting the tears. "Did you see her again, Tom? Did you see Cassie?"

Tom stared up at her. She searched his face and the answer was plain to see. 

"I did. But it wasn't her, Issie. It didn't.....it wasn't...." He trailed off, the rest of it passing silently between them. 

That was when the alarm started to sound and the end, began. 

Transcript of Interview with Sarah Barr. August 30, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

Sarah seems almost pleased to see me when I meet her a few days after we first spoke and after my interview with Ray Samson. 

We have some tea, talk about the weather. She seems more relaxed. 

You look happier.

"I just feel like I'm finally getting this all off my chest. Like a weight's been lifted, you know? How did you get on with the slippery Ray Samson? Find him OK?"

I did. Thank you.

"He seem pleased to see you?"

Not at first. He came around. He passes on his best.

She snorted. "I bet he does. Did he tell you his story? Answer your questions?"

He did.

"Good. Doubt you'll ever see him again."

I think you might be right, he never left me a forwarding address for a copy of the book.

She smiled then fixed me with a stare, sighing. "I guess you're here to talk about the end, then. She looked nervous again, but resolute.

I am. What can you remember about it?

"I remember that it was quick. And that it was painful. Not physically but, that realisation that everything wasn't real. That was what hurt the most. We'd spent such a long time in that world."

I could see that we were coming to a difficult part, it was etched all over her face.

Was it saying goodbye, to that world, that hurt the most?

She nodded. I could see she was crying a little now, her eyes welling up and tears rolling down her cheek.

She wiped them away, shaking her head. "I'm sorry."

It's fine. Take your time.

She nodded. "Saying goodbye was difficult. But how we got back, that was even worse."

Part III: The Flooding of Fredrick Street - Chapter 19

III

The Flooding of Fredrick Street

Extract from The Investigative Standard, November 12th 2013

THE TRIAL OF THE FREDRICK STREET EXPERIMENTS

The courts today will continue to hear the case against The Wells Foundation with regard to the Fredrick Street experiments, conducted by the organisation on the island of St. Kilda. 

The alleged experiments took place between 2009 & 2011, which claimed the lives of 10 out of the 12 participants. One of the survivors, Sarah Barr (the other surivovr has requested to remain anonymous) will today testify in court against The Wells Foundation. 

Ms Barr, 39, has also claimed the organisation are responsible for the deaths of at least 50 employees after the facility in which they were kept on St. Kilda was flooded. 

Whilst The Wells Foundation have confirmed there was an incident of flooding within their island facility (which they purchased in 2005), there was no loss of life as the facility was monitored remotely with a skeleton crew on the island. They have also reported that the work they are doing on the island has been solely related to measuring the fluctuating changes of the weather that has been reported around the island, in order to better understand climate change.

A spokesperson for the organisation has declined to comment on the allegations by Ms Barr or the ongoing trial.

Transcript of Interview with Ray Samson. August 26, 2015. Conducted by J.P. McNair.

As Ray told me the story, light had faded and the place had gotten a little busier. We paused as he helped clear a queue of hill walkers who'd stopped in. 

There was a fire crackling now, and I felt warm from the beer. The story, or Ray's side of it, was unsettling and I knew we were coming up to the difficult part. My mind was reeling with what I'd uncovered. I knew about The Wells Foundation and had reached out for comment but had heard nothing back. Now I knew why.

Ray re-joined me, with another beer for both of us.

"Sorry about that, it's hiking season."

I waved his apologies away. Despite everything he'd told me, and the part he'd had to play in what happened, I liked Ray. I could tell Sarah did too, otherwise she'd have given him up to someone more important than an author writing a book.

"Are you getting what you were looking for?" he asked.

More than I thought you would give me, if I'm honest.

Ray laughed. "It's pretty unbelievable, at first. I can't believe some of it myself."

What I can't get over is the extent of it.

He nodded. "It was a massive operation. We couldn't believe it ourselves."

One thing I haven't asked, you or Sarah, was how the participants were found?

"Now that, that was a particularly clever thing they did. Rather than finding people who were in jail or something, or kidnapping people, they advertised it."

They advertised it?

"They advertised it. I can't remember the exact wording but it was basically along the lines of 'Looking for a second chance for a new tomorrow? Join The Wells Foundation today.' Some cheesy bullshit like that."

And it worked?

"You bet it worked. The response was unbelievable. People applied in their droves, detailing why they deserved a second chance with essays or videos of themselves telling their story. It was like X-Factor auditions being submitted to Frankenstein. The only thing they didn't read was the small print. They didn't know what they were getting themselves into. And neither did we."

Did you think it would end the way it did?

"No." He drank.

Talk about the final hours. What happened?

"It all happened so fast, everything seemed to come to a head. After months of being stuck, we were suddenly against a ticking clock. And we ran out of time. We were so close. Tom had figured out how to bring them back and save who we could. But we were too late. And we didn't realise how much was against us. Getting back into the Complex was the easy part, but it wasn't easy for long.

19

Tom had figured out how to bring the participants back, but most importantly, he'd figured out how to give them a fighting chance of getting out of the Complex alive.

He drained the tank that he had filled, and removed the wires and the tubes and the needles and packed it away. It was tempting, he thought, as he watched the liquid disappear down the sinkhole. It was tempting to set up his own life again, the way it should have been, and just live in it. He, Issie and their daughter, Cassie.

Cassie.

When he'd been under, he had programmed his world to play the events of her death back to him, but with a different ending. An ending were she lived. It was like he had woken from a nightmare. For the week or so he spent in there, planting the dreams and seeds of doubt into the residents, following them, watching them, he had his own dream life. It was truly perfection, where no sadness, no hurt and no pain existed.  It turned out, though, that despite none of this grief, living the false perfection of Fredrick Street was the perfect place for the pain to grow. Because Tom knew; none of it was real. This wasn't Cassie; she was gone. This wasn't his wife; she was gone. And this wasn't him; he wasn't even there, not really. 

Packing up the last of his equipment and heading to the front of the house he waited, realising that of the past few days he had discovered the results of the experiment by becoming a subject himself. They could create the perfect life in their fake world, but it was no substitute for the real thing. 

He thought grimly of the mistakes they made which cost people their lives. It had to end, before anyone else got hurt. 

As he waited patiently for his ride out of here and back into the Complex to release the participants from their chambers, he thought of The Wells Foundation and the irony that now befell him. They had funded the project, under the guise that they were interested in it for the same reasons that Tom and Issie were. They too wanted to explore the human consciousness and the capacity of the human mind. They to wanted to put an end to the suffering we inflict on ourselves, to create a scenario that would revolutionise the human condition; making it possible to withstand anything. To find out what truly made us happy and find a way to improve the mental health of the entire world by finding out what the true meaning of perfection and happiness was. 

For Tom and Issie though, all they wanted to do was find a way to be with their daughter again, and to heal from the pain her death had caused them. The project to them was simple; what if you could erase the pain of loss or that which makes you sad by creating a world you could visit that was as real as the one you walked, eat and breathed in?

However, after the subjects were chosen and the project was underway, even after the first causalities, that was when The Wells Foundation wanted to change the game. They wanted to see if they could expand the mind. Expand the conscious to reveal hidden talents or skills or abilities that we could be capable of. Tom laughed them out of the room as being a bunch of rich kids who had watched too many bad science fiction movies. Increasing the capacity of the brain was not something they were interested in doing, nor would it be something they could predict the outcome of. They wanted to take those who had experienced trauma or tragedy and put them in a world where this was erased to see the impact it would have. 

Issie had listened, of course she had, she just wanted the project to be a success so she could go into the tank and heal herself and would jump through any hoop necessary. But Tom didn't. He didn't want to start playing God; to create super soldiers or super heroes or super fucking anything. The representatives of The Wells Foundation insisted they had no interested in these facets either, but Tom knew they were. They had money, sure, but they wanted power. Money wasn't enough unless they could make more of it. And so came the irony now, that, in order for Tom to give the people in the tanks a chance of making it out of there alive, he had come up with an answer of what happens when the brain chemistry is altered. When it's adjusted, expanded by the use of chemicals, drugs and adrenaline. He still couldn't predict the outcome, but unless he tried, they would never survive and would be put back in the tanks.  He swore to them he'd get them out. They wanted real life, flaws and all.

There was a knock at the door, snapping Tom back into the present. He steeled himself. He knew who was on the other side. A friend and a colleague, who had vowed to help him. But as soon as he opened the door, there would be no going back. For either of them. The end was almost upon them. 

He opened the door and smiled at his old friend. 

*

The car trundled along the dirt road, moving away from the house Tom had been holed up in and into the mud and gravel of these forgotten roads. The driver, one of his oldest friends, gripped the wheel tightly, like he was afraid it was going to roll away. He stared out of the windshield at the road with the same grip, his eyes locking the road in place just in case it wanted to move. They sat in silence for a long time. Nothing but the roar of the engine filling the space between them, each waiting for the other to fill the vacuum with something other than dust.

Tom observed his friend, the expanded waistline and the thinning hair. When Tom had left, Ray had seemed as young as he did when they first met. It's amazing how time accelerates when you stop seeing people every day then meet up again. Whether it was the project, what Tom was asking him to do or just plain growing old, he didn't know. And he wouldn't ask. It was Tom that broke the silence first. "How is she?" he asked. 

Ray risked a sideways glance at him before sighing, and checking to see if the road was still there. "She's broken.  And she'" 

"How did she take it, when you told her?"

Ray laughed. "She wasn't happy."

"I thought as much. I don't blame her, she never liked the feeling that I was trying to rescue her."

Ray stole a glance at his friend. "Especially as its you that needs rescuing."

Tom smiled. "We all need rescuing, Ray. We're damsels, every last one of us, in search of a saviour."

Ray laughed. "Fucking hell. You've spent too much time on your own."

"I know."

Ray's grip seemed to tighten on the wheel a little. "You didn't have to be either."

"I know that too."

"Do you? Christ, Tom. Part of me wants to kick you out of this fucking car and leave you to the wind and the rain. You left. Issie. Me. You didn't tell us your grand plan, because I think you left intending on running until you got cold feet."

Tom took the hit before shifting his gaze out of the window, like he was going to find a priest-riding shotgun in a car across the next lane and have a highway confession. "I'm sorry, Ray."

Ray shrugged. "Yeah well, save your apologies till we're out of this mess. I assume you have a plan."

Tom nodded. "I do."

"Well at least you've spent you're time wisely. How did you manage to avoid getting caught? They stopped looking for you on the island."

"I made it look like I left the island."

Ray chanced a glance. "And that worked?"

Tom smiled. "Adult don't enjoy playing hide and seek as much as when they were kids. They give up easy."

Ray couldn't help but smile. He was glad Tom was alive, but more so, he was glad that it seemed like the end of this nightmare was upon them. "So, this plan, you going to share it?"

"Sure. We extract the surviving participants, evacuate The Complex and initiate the flood protocol. Drown the place."

Ray shook his head, laughing. "It's that simple. We don't even know how to get them out of the simulation safely.  We don't know how to wake them up."

"I do."

Ray raised an eyebrow, taking the car off road and into the forest. "How?"

Tom stared at him, as the overhanging branches brushed the car and the leaves blocked out the light. "You put them face to face with the trauma or tragedy that put them here in the first place."

Ray stopped the car. Silence between them. He stared at Tom. "Christ. And you're sure that it'll work?"

Tom nodded. "It worked for me." 

They both fell silent for a while, nothing but the crunch of the forest underneath the car tyres. "What was it like?"

"It was perfect. Until you remember it isn't real."

Ray clicked his tongue. "Well, wouldn't you know."

The car pulled to a stop and Ray turned the ignition off. He opened the door and got out the car. Tom followed. 

"Come on. We're on foot from here. And I'm going to have to make it look convincing to get you past security Tom." Ray opened the boot and took out some rope. 

"I'm sure you'll manage."

Ray came behind Tom and tied his hands together then nudged him forward, both walking toward the ramshackle hut in the middle of the forest. They stopped at the entrance. 

Tom glanced in and saw the old man behind the counter. Gerry, looked like Santa if Santa was a marathon runner. He sat and watched an old TV and flicked through a newspaper. 

"It's Gerry. I like Gerry."

Ray looked too. "Yeah Gerry's a fucking delight. Are you ready? Once we go in here, it's go time.  And if somebody recognizes you when we get through here, the people at Wells will be notified and they'll be here in a few hours. You good to go?"

Tom nodded and smiled. Ray raised an eyebrow. "What the fuck are you smiling for?"

"It's good to see you again. This is fun."

"You trying to make it easier for me to hit you?"

"Maybe. Is it working?"

"It is. And for your information, there's nothing about this that's fun."

"This is really going to hurt then."

"Let's hope it's only this is where the hurt ends."

And with that Ray covered Tom's head with a bag, and pushed him through the door of the hut.

Part II: The World Beyond The Water | Chapter 18

18

Whenever the phone rang, it did two things for Harold Wells. Won him money or lost him money. Which was the way he preferred to look at the world; green and red with nothing in between. Sitting in the back seat of his favourite car, a coal black Humvee he stared out at the world through tinted windows, catching the odd reflection of his paper white hair, tanned leather skin and baby blue suit set below his baby blue eyes and a white smile that matched his hair.  This was the way he liked to live, on the move, never stopping. Because stopping is when you get caught. Whether it be by age, humanity, disgruntled employees, family members or the law, he didn't care. He had no interest of slowing down, which was one of the reasons why he loved his latest investment. He knew that when the project, started to yield results, he would never need to slow down and he'd never need to get caught. It had first been brought to his attention by one of his advisors. There were two scientists, a married couple, that wanted to run a project which would see the participants submerged into a dreamscape, living an imagined happy ever after wherein the answer to true happiness would be discovered. He remembered that initial meeting, years ago now, when they came to his office. They were enthusiastic but broken. Tragedy had struck the pair yet with the loss of their child. Enthusiastic but broken, and the enthusiasm was the most surprising. They had sat in his office, just the two of them and sipped his coffee whilst explaining just what his money would be going towards.

Harold had observed them for a moment or two after Issie had finished a scientific spiel, one eyebrow raised. "I'm not a scientific man, Dr Wyatt, you'll have to forgive my lack of understanding, it's no fault of your own, merely a man born in an analogue age. What exactly do you need the money for?"

Issie, eyes dancing with excitement, although even then they had started to pale, started listing resources. "Well, we'd need to build a base, there's a myriad of equipment that we need, we...."

Harold smiled, shaking his head and drinking another sip of Ice Tea (coffee went through him and there's just nothing elegant about a man who's stomach makes noises to signal the need for a bathroom break) "I understand that you need resources, equipment, staff, participants. I mean what are you looking for? Why? What are you hoping to achieve?"

Tom and Issie looked at each other for a moment. Tom squeezed her hand but before he could speak, Harold spoke for them. "You don't know, do you?"

Tom locked eyes with Harold then, there was steeliness to the boy, a fire. Harold liked that, this whole thing was beginning to amuse him with a thrill he was ever in search of. "Mr. Wells, that's too simple an answer."

Harold waves away the formalities. "It's Harold. And enlighten me."

Tom glanced at his wife for a moment before he spoke, and that was when Harold saw the heartbreak that splintered through them. "You know about our background, about our history, you're too smart and too rich a man to take a meeting without knowing exactly who you're getting in a meeting with. And neither are we."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Really. You know about the......you know about our history. And I don't blame you if you think this is all just an exercise in grief. But I can assure you it isn't. We have a number of theories about what the results this project may yield, but there is no definitive outcome. Simply put, we want to explore what would happen if we lived the perfect life. What would this do to the brain? To our mental health, our physical health? True happiness. No margin for error, no sadness. Now, if it simply becomes an exercise in simulating an alternative life, then maybe it'll just become a tool for therapy. Hell, maybe it'll just become an attraction at a theme park. But there is a chance that it could do more. A lot more."

Leaning forward, Harold was enraptured. "Like what?"

Issie spoke this time. "We're entering territory that is uncharted. We will be altering our basic brain chemistry, the structure of our mind will be tampered with, which could have effects we can't fully determine."

Harold smiled. "Humour me. Give me some hypotheticals."

"You want the most basic or the most outlandish?" asked Issie.

"I like the outlandish." Harold smiled.

Tom took a deep breath. "Well, our most basic hypothesis sees the experiment simply being a revolution in cognitive brain therapy, grief counselling, wherein the world that we give you the space to plug into is used to come to terms with any great loss or tragedy. Or like we said, it could be nothing more than an extreme virtual reality experience, where you get to live a life that you don't live in the outside world."

Harold interjected. "Or what else could it do?"

"The possibilities are endless," said Issie.

Tom smiled. "She's right. Because we are altering brain chemistry, we're building pathways into the sub consciousness, but also into the deep unconsciousness, allowing our participants to live in those worlds, managed by us in a variety of sensory cues, it could do anything. For example, if one of our participants wants to live in a world where he has the ability of human flight, then we can train his mind to believe this. But...now this is outlandish territory here, but we have a hypothesis that, because we are expanding the brain's capacity and playing with brain chemistry, there is nothing to say that the world he inhabits while he is under doesn't act as a training ground that he carries on when we pull him out into the real world."

The room was deadly silent; you could hear a teardrop let alone a pin drop. "What, he could fly in real life?"

Isabelle leaned forward now, and all three of them sat like they were around a campfire telling ghost stories.  "Now, let us stress that this is one of the more outlandish theories, borne out of the fact that if they find what makes them happy, if they are aware of this when they come out, they will carry that on. But, there is the possibility that the world they inhabit could be used as a training ground. A kid needs to study for his exams, he needs 5 As. Put him in the tank, let him do the exams and then pull him out. When he goes to do the exams, he has everything in his head already. 

"He'd be a genius without having to lift a finger."

"Exactly."

Harold's finger was itching for the chequebook and pen and he knew they could sense it. Tom reduced his voice to almost a whisper. "There is one more theory that excites us."

Harold, matching Tom's whisper. "What?"

"If we succeed in training the braining to be happy, true happiness, bliss, perfection. It may lead to an increased life span. Visits to the tank, could extend ones life, by years. Or it could make them look and feel younger. The possibilities are endless."

And with that final pitch, Harold had pulled the chequebook from his drawer and began to draw up a contract between the three of them. 

Sitting in the car now, thinking back and knowing the many problems the project had faced he was still optimistic. They have the results they were still looking for, and he has his. As long as he's pouring money into the project, it would be his results that would come out on top and the project would continue regardless. They'd lost participants, but there were always more people in the world. The real shame was Tom, who had abandoned the project and his continued absence was a constant source of anxiety for Harold and all involved. But he thought back to that initial meeting and held out hope that the promises that had been made would be fulfilled. He didn't entertain the idea that they were well-educated con artists, despite the fact the project was in jeopardy. So when the phone rang now, and flashed up Dr. Isabel Wyatt, he wondered whether or not this would be a call to win him money or lose him money. He answered the call, knowing which side the coin toss would land.

"Dr. Wyatt, don't take this the wrong way, but usually when you phone me, it's with bad news," said Harold.

"At least you can't say I'm not consistent," she replied. 

Remarkable, thought Harold. All this trauma and tragedy and still a sense of humour.

"What do you have to tell me, Dr? asked Harold. "Have we made a break through or are we running low on participants? Or, perish the though, have we lost another key member of the team?"

He swore he could hear an intake of breath on the other end of the phone. It was a low blow, bringing up Tom, but Harold had cared not for the feelings of others for some years.

"We lost another participant," said Issie, eventually. 

"Shame. And the others?"

"The others?"

"Yes. Are we seeing any significant improvements or results?

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "No." 

"OK." Harold thought, making his decision as swiftly as it took him to drag his name in ink across a cheque. "Well, I think it's best we cut our losses, don't you Dr. Wyatt?"

"With all due respect Mr. Wells—"

"—Your respect isn't my concern here. Initiate the flood protocol. It's been a pleasure working with you."

"The flood protocol? I don't think we.....we don't need to do that."

She sounded desperate. Harold sighed.

"Dr. Wyatt, I appreciate your commitment and all the hard work you've done on this project, especially holding it all together on your own such as you have. However, I think it's past due, don't you? We should have pulled the plug after Tom left. You have time to get yourself out of there and anyone you view as essential personnel. You have a great mind, we'll find something for you. Flood the participants and we'll flood the Complex. You have 1 hour."

And with that, he ended the call. Looking out the window, the car momentarily stopped at the lights before it was on the move again.

The Quest For Perfection (Is A Damn Fine Thing)

By Patrick, Christopher

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