The Experiment of Dreams by Brandon Zenner

picked an interesting piece.”
    Dr. Wulfric agreed. “Yes, Theodore Gericault was an amazing artist. To tell you the truth, the Mona Lisa is not one of my favorites.”
    “You don’t say? I would have thought you were a big fan.”
    “I don’t choose any of the paintings.” Dr. Wulfric shook his head. “Mr. Kalispell makes the selections. However, I agree with you; this is a marvelous piece of art—just extraordinary. Now,” he removed his sketchpad, flipping it to a clean page, “let’s begin.”
    ***
    Dr. Wulfric returned to Ben’s room later that night carrying a different, larger aluminum briefcase. This one had wheels and a retractable handle, the size of a carry-on bag. He turned the dial on a small built-in lock, removed a key from his pocket, and inserted it into a keyhole. The clasps snapped open.
    “Benjamin, let me show you the newest development in our line of Frequency Responding Lucid Transmitters. This is Lucy III.” He opened the case and removed a small, blue-gray, almost silver, device from a carefully molded foam inlay. It fit into the palms of his hands and appeared to be made of plastic rather than the metal-like contraption Ben had used in the lab. It was less than two feet in length and had a curve in the middle, similar to the larger machine—Lucy II. It still resembled a boomerang, only in reverse—as if the boomerang was flattened straight and then bent in the middle, so that the sleek side was now wide, and the wide side now sleek.
    “It looks like a boomerang,” Ben said.
    “Ah, my boy, it does. Here, feel it.” He leaned forward, offering to place it in Ben’s palms. “Take it, take it. Don’t worry. It’s quite durable.”
    “It’s light.” Ben felt the slick curved plastic. The name LUCY III was etched on the side. “Looks like it belongs to a video game system. Or like some strange antenna.”
    “Ha! That would be quite a video game. Perhaps one day.” The doctor smiled. “Here, let me show you how it works.” He took the device from Ben’s hands and walked to the bedside table, placing it so the curved side faced the pillows. He pushed on a small, hinged door on the back, nearly hidden, and it popped open. The open hatch exposed a USB port along with a small on-off switch and a round socket. Ben examined the smooth sides of the machine and saw two additional small doors: a long-thin opening on the top, and a round one on the side.
    Dr. Wulfric went back to the aluminum box and removed a laptop and a length of bundled cable. “The device has rechargeable batteries capable of running about twenty hours, but we’ll leave it plugged in. Just to be safe.”
    He connected a power cord to the round socket, and connected the laptop to the USB port. He opened the monitor and the screen came to life. “Good, good,” Dr. Wulfric said, typing. “Everything’s running fine. Nothing was damaged during shipment.” He moved back to the Halliburton case, removed a pouch containing a vial of fluid and a syringe, and sat back down, placing both the vial and the needle on the bedside table.
    Ben looked closely at the vial. The color was different from the reddish stuff he had been injected with so far. This liquid was black as ink and shimmered in the light. He looked at the needle. It was larger than the other hypodermics, much larger. This needle was thick and cruel, the width of a dull pencil tip. Ben felt a shudder go down his spine.
    “Hey, Doc, I don’t think I can do that.”
    Dr. Wulfric looked up from the monitor. Ben’s focused intently on the large needle, his face went pale, his eyes wide.
    “Oh, Ben, I’m sorry. No, no, no, this isn’t for you. Don’t worry. Here, I’ll show you.” Dr. Wulfric stood and flicked open the round, hinged door on the device, about the size of a nickel. Ben leaned in close to see what looked like a porthole of some kind. The material around it resembled a tight-fitting rubber washer, and the hole in the center looked