“It’s called ‘Capgras delusion’,” Dr. Rand is saying. He has slightly more of my attention than usual. I’ve never heard the term before, but I’m still pretty sure he mispronounced it. A body lies under a sheet on the table between us and him, a single cone of light falling around it like a mosquito net meant to keep us out. The students gather closer while he’s talking, strung along by the most morbid of curiosities, except for the sickly-looking one with curly hair. Korey something? He always hangs back, no one wants to take up the odds against him being the class’ first washout. No way he has the stomach for these things.
“Is anyone familiar with the term?” Rand asks us. No morgue has ever been so silent and I’m thinking to myself: of course none of us knows it, we’re studying to be actual doctors. But he can’t pass up the opportunity to stretch his vocabulary and tell us all about the wonder that is his flavor-of-the-day disorder.
“At one time attributed to the effects of cerebral lesions…” Suddenly he’s lost that extra bit of my attention, and then some. Apparently it means that you think everyone around you has been replaced by imposters. I think.
Rand finishes, then waits for a reaction. All he gets are the few errant scratches of pen-on-paper that can always be expected during a medical lecture. Some people only remember the things they’ve written down.
“Mr. Thomann?” he probes.
Thomann, right. Korey Thomann. Not gonna remember that.
“Yes?” answers Korey washout.
“Can you paraphrase the explanation I just gave? What is the causal factor of Capgras delusion?”
This should be good.
“Uh. Uh, well…it…”
“Someone else?”
Thomann actually looks surprised. He’s the only one.
“Experts used to think,” she chimes in, Gloria. Brains and looks, double threat. Keep watching her. “that the patient could no longer recognize familiar faces on some level, but now we know there’s more to it. They know the face, but can’t remember something about the internal recognition.” As if that wasn’t smarmy enough, she adds- “It seems like someone else is wearing their loved ones’ face.” Bitch.
Rand’s face lights up in a way that reinforces the rumor that they’re fucking. “Excellent! Thank you, Miss Childs. And in this particular case, the delusion began after a head injury. Soon, the patient became suspicious that his wife had been replaced by an imposter.”
Shit, guess I was right. Maybe I can start tuning him out more often.
“Yes, first his wife, and soon he began seeing more imposters. The delusion progressed, resulting in severe paranoia and a dangerous psychotic break.”
As opposed to the safe kind, I guess. Asshole.
“Now, the reason I brought you all to the morgue for this impromptu, “
add that creepy little smile again, Doctor…there it is
“…field trip, was not to examine the mental disorder, but rather the rare and extreme physical state of this patient.”
He rips back the sheet as if he had a shiny muscle car under it and Thomann hits the floor like a bag of wet clothing. I laugh before I can stop myself. The other six students all turn to look, simultaneously, like birds. First at him on the floor, then at me. I shrug and Rand starts talking again.
“The late Mr. Owens here,” puts a hand on what’s left of the right thigh, “received that fateful injury to his frontal lobe during an automobile accident,”
call it a car like everyone else, you dick
“thus beginning his progression into one of the most extensive cases of mental illness and accompanying physical trauma that I have ever seen.”
Just like that, you have my attention again.
“At first it appeared he would make a full recovery. Just a fender-bender and a bump on the head. But he soon sought psychiatric help, claiming that his wife, Halie, had been replaced.”
“So, he didn’t recognize her anymore?” asks a male student. Rand’s disappointment is so thick you can feel it. Or maybe I’m just sharing it because I want to see the body and this is a delay. Rand rolls his eyes with a little extra flare of drama.
“No, no that’s not how it works at all. With Capgras, you know the face but you can’t remember things about the person. So it looks right and feels wrong.”
Holy shit, I just said that out loud.
“Precisely!” Rand jumps back in, and then takes a two-second chance to undress me mentally, during which I decide I’m never speaking in his presence again. “At last count, his therapist reported that Mr. Owens had identified no less than thirty-four such imposters. He even coined a term, referring to them as ‘screens’. Mr. Owens believed that these ‘screens’ were involved in a grand conspiracy of some sort, and that he alone was aware of their intentions.”
One of the other students pukes. He’s been staring at the body table without blinking since right after washout fell. After that, he won’t look back. I don’t know his name either, and I laugh out loud again. This time no one turns around but there’s a smell in the air like fingers that have been handling loose change all day. Sweat and nickel, copper and skin.
Rand keeps explaining the body, his tone that of an artist describing their inspiration. He’s admiring it.
“According to the testimony of his psychiatrist, Mr. Owens came to believe that he alone could prevent a global catastrophe. Due to the scope of his delusion, he perceived an enormous threat not only to himself, but to life as we know it.”
“He became frustrated that no one shared his concern. The psychiatrist played along, if only to maintain communication and to continue treatment. But, the lack of validation convinced the patient that the threat was growing and that he alone had to confront it. The delusion and paranoia became self-reinforcing. The more he discussed it, the less credible he became and the more certain of the danger. He began to retract from treatment, and the therapist thought the patient may harm someone. So, he began the process of having Mr. Owens involuntarily committed. However, the patient was found at home, deceased, before the order could be carried out.”
He pauses, holding both hands at the small of his back and circling around to the other side of the table. Rand motions toward the nearest student and gestures for her to come toward the body.
“Everyone come in and take a closer look.” Flashes that carnival smile, like he’s selling us something we won’t be able to return. I can’t wait for my turn, so I shove the guy ahead of me to the side. He yields pretty easily. Maybe I’m the only one that’s really curious.
Rand finishes the tale. “When no one else seemed ready or able to help him, Mr. Owens devised what he saw as the only solution to the impending doom conjured by his damaged frontal lobe.”
I’m smelling blood and tasting aluminum as I approach the table.
“Any guesses?” Rand asks.
I look up the body and down and I know exactly what he was trying to do. To stop the invasion or whatever the fuck he thought was happening. I knew what he had done to himself. And I don’t want to give Gloria the chance, so I actually raise my goddamn hand, standing under a buzzing cone of light in the center of the morgue.
Excerpt from a file found on the personal computer of Robert L. Owens:
I’ve been exposed, there’s no doubt left. Today, we were talking and I asked if she remembered the first gift she ever gave me. She answered immediately, saying it was some book. And that was the last piece of proof I needed, it was clear she was lying. The real Halie would have known. This woman, this thing, is obviously not her.
A screen.
Then I saw it in her eyes, she knows that I’ve figured it out. And she’s not alone, I’m also sure of that. Oh Halie, I miss you so much, and I’m so scared. But I have to stand, to fight them. I have to learn what they’ve done to you, the real you. I only hope that it’s not too late to find you, to save you. I swear to find you, to do everything I can to free you from them. No matter what it takes. I’m the only one that can stop them now, but they’re spreading so quickly. Christ, they’re everywhere, I’m seeing them everywhere.
My entire family has been taken, that’s sixteen already. I’ve counted nine different neighbors, they’re even taking over people that I barely know. That man who works at the gas station, the one I buy cigarettes from. Someone rang the bell yesterday, looking for signatures for a petition, I didn’t know her but I saw a strange glint in her eye. Something inhuman. They’ll stop at nothing to get to me, clearly. I must be a threat to them, but I’m hopelessly outnumbered.
That petition had something to do with utility costs, but I was too afraid, I wasn’t listening. It may have been about aggregating energy bills? Which means I was also right about what they’re planning. The screens are here to steal our natural resources. Dear god, they’re here to bleed the planet dry and they’ll use our own bodies to do it. And no one else even sees it happening!
The fear is overwhelming, I haven’t slept in days and I’ve lost anyone who I had trusted, even Dr. Khalil. I don’t think he’s been screened, he’s not one of them, yet. Still, I think they’ve gotten to him. Coerced him into helping, somehow. They’ve probably threatened him. I’m convinced that he can’t help me anymore, he only tells me what he thinks I want to hear and then shares all my secrets with the screens. I don’t want to hurt him, but he can’t be trusted. No one can.
Still, I have some hope because I’ve figured out how to stop them. If they really can read my thoughts and control my emotions, then I’ve got to transcend both, just as I’ve known all along. Known since the first day I noticed that something was different about Halie. Only now, I’ve realized how to do that. I know how to stop them and I know I can make it work.
The screens will be coming for me any day now. I can’t afford to wait. I’ll have to start tonight. First, though, I need to buy some time to gather the supplies. I’ve decided to break the garage door. That way, I can hopefully go to the store without making her suspicious.
I pray there’s still enough time.
I’m looking at something shiny peeking out from the late Mr. Owens’ cheekbone, while washout’s still curled up on the ground and Gloria’s wracking her brain trying to one-up me. I’m staring at a piece of greasy lead pipe that’s been crammed into what was once a knee joint and I’m trying not to grimace. Not because of the body, but because I’m raising my hand like a fucking fourth-grader. I breathe deeply, smelling a mix of steel and saliva from the table.
And I’m seeing his hand with only the thumb left and the other four fingers replaced by something that looks like it came from an Erector set, specked with blood or rust or both, while Rand is smiling and running his tongue back and forth between his cheeks like a pedophile at a playground.
“Yes, young lady?” Dr. Rand is calling on me, because my hand is raised, and I’m staring at a series of mis-matched bolts and screws running deep into holes in the gums. I’m focusing on the metal plate, soldered to a piece of strapping tape, running through the left bicep and humerus, the bloodless skin flayed and rolled away and held back with sewing pins. I keep my hand up and don’t answer yet, I’m still taking it all in.
I’m seeing two seven-watt appliance bulbs where the eyes used to be. I’m in awe and I’m staring. My hand stays up and I’m noticing what looks like a fifteen-amp house fuse forced underneath a half-stump of pink tongue. I’m looking at the sides of his head, the earlobes are gone and copper wires are spilling out of both ear canals. And I can’t look away, it’s so fascinating.
“Can you tell us what he was doing to himself?” Rand asks me. But I’m already past that and asking myself other, more important questions.
How was he able to get so far? How could he do all this to himself before he died?
I’m fixated on the large opening in the chest and at least three ribs are missing, his organs a sea of gray and pink lumps shoved aside to make room for a 6-volt lantern battery. Behind the sternum is what could be a large piece of floor tile.
Korey washout comes to, looks around long enough to remember where he is and then he’s passed out again.
“Well?” Rand insists, he’s getting annoyed and I’ll lose my chance to answer. Gloria huffs audibly. “What was the patient trying to accomplish?” Everyone is looking at me, and I finally break contact from the body and lower my hand. “What did his delusion drive him to do?”
Then I answer, wearing Dr. Rand’s smile, “He was turning himself into a machine.”
Excerpt from a file found on the personal computer of Robert L. Owens:
She’s gone, what luck! Or, rather, it’s gone. I don’t know where to, or how long I’ll have, but I don’t intend to waste time finding out. I have to get started. Now or never. I can’t face them like this, I’m too fragile, too soft, too flawed. Have to become impenetrable, that’s the only way to keep them from screening me too.
I can’t stop them as a human, but the system can resist them. Find her, save her. Kill the screens. Trust the system.
Must be quick, no margin for error. But, I have to document all the steps so the process can be repeated. I’ll be the first. The new breed starts with me. We shall be unscreenable. We shall become strong enough to face the threat, to destroy the imposters.
Whoever finds this, please spread these instructions so that more can join, can fight back. Before it’s too late. The system can prevail.
First, replace the audio receptors, the weakest point. The screens will penetrate there and begin to overcome your will. Remove the human ears, exchange the canal with copper wiring. It conducts sound waves but stops the ability to control by inducing fear.
Next, strengthen the limbs for physical defense. Starting with the largest bones, femur, then humerus, ulna then fibia. Alternate to allow for quicker assimilation. The flesh is weak, it must be removed. Pain is illusory. It is false, fleeting. Becoming is the reality. The change is all that matters. The system MUST be brought online. Everything is at stake.
Use the pain to bring focus. Wipe the blood, fingers becoming too slippery. They’ll need to be replaced soon. Human form too unreliable. Control the shakingg.
Upper arm plate not taking, needs reinforcement. Can feel coolant taking effect. Should havee drained mo[re blood fiarst, making it hard ot hold tools.
Remvoe tongue speech ineffective. Shaking iis getting stronger. Fight to mAintain control. Install capapcitor into lower jaW.
new hand is sLOw to reespond, adding lubricnat
nowq ffortify teeth foroffense vary sizesd to increease damage,. documednt all step;s [pain is not real, jkeep fcous must focus som uchc ;left toDO
BL3eding hjas slowed finalllhy;; human vcision blURing no longer neededd. input fi;laments. eengaGe.
hury takinng loNGtre thn exppppectedl.. cann h saeh heEAR thm C ominiiiiig sacreenns oooooa vBE herrre sooon
lassst step htff is THe powe rer ssourceeeeeeee. ;mmust sdeep be deepen ogh to pprotedct needsdd rereeemove bone cu t dEEper
pujll triiissue fr EE thhhhheere goodfff reaDY mustfocus nowq
ffoucs/ pain is not real not REAL
counting, 3 3 , 2,, 1 .
command: /initiate.systm.boot/
system//…operative//…coming//…online//…
/now/ ia ;diaf;lisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss