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    When Teresa wakes up yet again, she is in a large room. Her mind seems to remember having been there before, but she struggles to remember when. Everything around her is bathed in a deep red color, and she is bound to a wheel-like structure affixed to the wall. Teresa yanks one of her arms forward—straining the strap keeping her wrist in place. She glances down at her body and realizes she is practically naked—with the exception of a suit comprised of thin netting, which covers her from neck to ankle.


    “What is this?” Teresa mutters softly. “What…Is…Going…On?”


    Teresa tugs at her restraints even harder. Tears roll down her cheeks as she frantically attempts to break free. Strange noises escape her lips, sounds of utter despair, and she is eventually forced to abandon her vain quest for freedom. Lowering her head to her chest, Teresa continues to silently sob.


    The scraping of a chair on the floor causes Teresa’s head to shoot back up. In a far corner of the darkened red room, Dr. Wessinger climbs to her feet.


    “Good! You’re awake,” Dr. Wessinger exclaims drolly. “You took rather a nasty shot to the shoulder. We were worried you might not make it. And we couldn’t have that. You’re much too valuable to what we’re doing here. Can’t have you dying on us. Not yet, anyway! Our med pods…Are state-of-the-art.”


    Dr. Wessinger crosses the room and stops right in front of Teresa. She evaluates the doctor’s nearly nude form as a farmer might inspect a newborn calf.


    “We tried to recreate as many of the images—taken from your dreams—as we could,” Dr. Wessinger says. She traces a spindly finger along Teresa’s left arm. “However, your…Highly volatile mental state meant that many of the images were more static than actual images.”


    Dr. Wessinger grins cruelly and runs a sharp fingernail up across the skin of Teresa’s arm—scratching away some of the flesh to reveal the pink layer underneath. Teresa flinches but does not make a sound.


    “So…We’ve come up with a different plan,” Dr. Wessinger says. “We’re going to have you reenact your dreams. With a little coaching of course.”


    Teresa narrows her eyes as the lights become a little brighter. She glances around the room and her stomach lurches. Everywhere, there are piles and piles of bones. Some human, most not. A red substance like blood slowly drips from the sprinklers on the ceiling—falling over just about everything. And in the far corner, behind a thin red curtain, a large man wearing a mask sits on a throne made of bones. The muscles in the large man’s arms flex and he holds his head at an angle. It is obvious he is observing her. Teresa turns her head to glare at Dr. Wessinger.


    “What kind of a rehab facility is this?” Teresa yells. “I’m certain that Weyland Industries has no idea what you’re doing. And if they did, they’d shut you down! What you’re doing is crazy! I’ve told you everything!”


    “No. Not everything,” Wessinger coos evilly. “For instance…Who or what is N-Vorl?”


    “What? N-Vorl?” Teresa stalls. “I’ve never heard that word before. If it was part of a dream…You can’t believe any of that! It’s called a dream!”


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    Dr. Wessinger releases a cruel laugh and looks over her shoulder at the masked throne-sitter. She abruptly ends her laughter and grabs a handful of Teresa’s hair. Pulling the younger scientist’s head to the side, she growls into Dr. Boyd’s face.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    “I suggest you start being honest with me, Doctor Boyd!” Dr. Wessinger demands. “It will hurt you a lot less in the long run. As things stand, I’m more than willing to commence the next phase of our study.”


    Turning so that she is completely facing the masked man, Dr. Wessinger maintains her grip on Teresa’s hair.


    “Mr. Norris…The gentleman you see seated over there,” Dr. Wessinger says with a snide sneer. “He’s a Class Seventeen felon from our penal colony on Beltron Prime. Let’s just say…He’s a hit with the ladies. If you continue to thwart my efforts…I will allow Mr. Norris to have his fun. However, if you cooperate. I may just send him home with a nice doggie bag. The choice is yours, Teresa. Play along. Give us the information we seek. What will it be? I’m sure you realize by now…I don’t like to lose.”


    Teresa bites her lower lip and glares down at the elderly scientist. Fear freezes the blood in her veins, but she refuses to bend. A part of her wishes to die. Another smaller part remembers all of the experiments she once participated in. The numerous primates injected with unknown pathogens which liquefied their organs. The mice sewn back together and revived after their insides had been removed and scrambled. How each of the tiny rodents had squeaked in pain and protest. Then, there had been the Judases. An entire ship of over three-hundred humans—all dead. Save for her.


    “I told you everything,” Teresa says through clenched teeth. “I don’t know what else you want to hear. The sample I used to artificially inseminate myself…It must have been contaminated. Possibly even by the saboteur, Theodore McAvoy. I don’t know what else to tell you!”


    Dr. Wessinger is beyond impatient. She yanks Teresa’s head back, gripping her hair even tighter. She places her mouth almost flush with Dr. Boyd’s ear.


    “And the dreams?” Dr. Wessinger hisses. “Who is N-Vorl?”


    “I told you before…I don’t know,” Teresa insists. “We spend a lot of time in cryo-sleep. Dreams get weird sometimes. It could be the name of someone I vaguely knew on the California. Or a lover from a past wet dream. It could be the name of someone I went to college with. Maybe it’s pig latin. I don’t know. You’re willing to risk losing your license to study…All because of a dream I had, Dr. Wessinger?”


    “Oh…I won’t be losing anything, Dr. Boyd,” Wessinger crows.


    The confidence in Wessinger’s voice sends a shiver down Teresa’s spine. The older woman glances over at the seated felon on the large red throne.


    “I have been given complete authority,” Wessingers says, pausing for effect. “To extract whatever information I can…By any means necessary.”


    Teresa swallows hard and clenches her jaw. The large felon rises from his elaborate seat of bones and blood. Dr. Wessinger lets go of Teresa’s hair and nods almost imperceptibly. The restraints holding Teresa release and she falls heavily to the floor. She manages to land with her palms against the cold metal. As she straightens, the sound of approaching feet causes her to glance upward.


    The burly man, Wessinger had called Norris, stands over her. His brutish energy conjures up memories of another time. Theodore. The hard smack, the forceful shove, and being bodily thrown across the corridor strewn with Judas debris. Is her life ever to be normal again? When will it all end?


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    Norris bends to be on a level with Teresa’s face, as she kneels on the ground. He partially raises his mask and offers Teresa a wolfish smile. Lightly touching one side of her face, he locks eyes with her.


    “You can just pretend…I’m N-Vorl,” the felon whispers in what he assumes is a seductive voice. “The doctor says not to play too rough. I’ll try and remember that!”


    Teresa’s stomach clenches, flashes of another red room seeping into the convoluted spaces of her mind. The imposter N-Vorl and his evil grin. The terrible pain of being stabbed, blood pouring from her mouth, and the imposter’s vile tongue lapping it away.


    Norris grips Teresa’s hair in a beefy fist and yanks her head to the side. She squeezes her eyes shut before he can kiss her.


    -


    -


    Orderly Meyer leads Teresa back to her cell. Teresa is no longer dressed in the faux mesh suit. Once again wearing the standard issue patient’s gown. The former scientist’s face is drawn into a terrified grimace, her eyes wide. She glances around like a frightened rabbit.


    When Meyer backs out of the cell, Teresa continues to stand in the center of the floor. Only when the locking mechanism slams home does she jump and turn to face the door. Dr. Boyd considers running to it, clawing at it, but knows she will receive a shock for her troubles.


    Teresa gingerly walks toward the bed and sits on the edge. She does not move a muscle for over an hour.