As the Girl made her way to the Scientist’s hideout, she couldn’t wait to announce her findings. She was rather proud of how she managed to deduct the bed’s purpose from the underlying clues, and wanted to share that knowledge.
“I saw the movie you were talking about. What was with that ending?!”
Of course, there were old grievances that needed venting first.
“It gave me nightmares! Oh, that reminds me, the Patient talked of a dream about flying around.”
“Was it the fear of causing natural disasters with every wingbeat?”
“You have that one too?”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
Even though her dreams were distinctively more imaginative, the Girl felt woefully left out. “I have dreams of grandiose adventures that always end in disaster.”
“They say that dreams are prophetic visions telling us of events that will happen to us in the future. Personally, I think it’s a bunch of bunk. The whole point of dreams is to make sense out of the vast array of information thrown our way. We’re deluged with a constant stream of information on a daily basis that the only way we can try to make sense of all that data is by converting it into a form of condensed storytelling.”
“Can you tell me - ”
“I’m not interpreting your dreams for you. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. Like when you step down the steps, expecting to go down another level, only to land on the same level floor. It can’t really be explained, it can only be experienced. Any description would fail to convey the proper sensation. You can’t really understand it until it’s happened to you. It’s like trying to explain puberty to a caterpillar.”
As she thought about it, there were tiny little details throughout the movie that while seemingly meaningless on their own, gradually built up to the big reveal at the end. It reminded her of those loathed classes examining subtle hidden themes in nonsensical short stories. She hated ambiguous endings. What was the point? Don’t wrap the story around so many incomprehensible metaphors! Just go and say what you want to say! Then she’d ignore the message at her own peril!
“For the moment, there are far more important things to focus on. Did you figure out what the Patient needs?”
“Oh, I did what you said,” pride creeping back into her voice. “I observed my surroundings, and I noticed something about his room. The wire frames under his bed was stretched out and there were streaks of red on the walls. I thought the red tips of his fingers were natural, until I realized his fingernails had fallen off from trying to find a foothold in the rough lining of the room, and when he couldn’t find relief there, resorted to the closest substitute available, under his bed. Which accounted for his gnarled hands. You were right - he’s climbing the walls.”
“What do you think would help him out?”
“I dunno, a new bed?”
“Try again. The next time you see him, install this from the ceiling to floor,” the Scientist reached a nearby cabinet and handed over the latest helpful tool.
She gaped at the latest offering. It was a mesh fishnet wiring that spread across one end of the table to the other, and even folded, it was bigger than the last two objects. “How am I supposed to bring this inside?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. The art of science is figuring out ways to make the impossible possible. All things are possible - ”
“- and all things are impossible,” she finished. “You’re going to a lot of trouble to help the Patient out.”
“When he was five, my Father was kidnapped by Headhunters, and never seen again.”
“That’s imposs - ” the Girl started before catching herself. This was likely a miscommunication issue. The Patient had trouble telling the difference between ‘tooth juice’ and toothpaste. He also seemed confused about how old she was. It was likely the Scientist operated on a different parameter of time as well.
“Now that we’ve covered the latest dilemma for the Patient, have you any thoughts for sneaking me in?”
An idea formed in her head, but then she dismissed it. “Today, everybody celebrated someone giving birth.”
The Scientist shook his head. “Too unpredictable.”
She figured as much. The window that someone could be pregnant and celebrate their arrival was too variable. There needed to be more controlled circumstances. Something she could influence. But there were very few areas the Girl was allowed any -
“What if I use the Technician’s desk?”
“How’s that?”
“Every day, they do some kind of combination test. The Technician always complains that she never gets the results she’s looking for before the latest restrictions pop up.”
“That’s a possibility. What model do you use?”
“Uh...” She never paid much attention to the going-ons at work, and couldn’t muster up the energy to recollect any details that didn’t catch her interest. And memorizing the serial number of a machine that would be cleverly hidden by the manufacturers would definitely fall out of her eyesight.
Sensing her discomfort, the Scientist brought out a heavy catalogue of cell-splicing machines. “Any of these look familiar?”
“No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.” She repeated a litany of negatives flipping through the dense magazine until 2/3rds through, she finally landed upon a positive. “That’s it! That’s the one!”
“How fitting. I worked on that very model! And I just happen to have a code that could cause a major distraction. Hang on.” The Scientist rummaged through his notes scattered on the floor, looking for the relevant recipe until he found it. “Here’s a formula that should wield some verrrrrrry interesting results. Be sure to input the exact schematics exactly.”
“Did you have the number lying around where anyone could see it?”
“It’s only dangerous if you know how to use it. Do you think you’d be able to leave the program running overnight?”
“What does this formula do?”
“It’ll give them an earful.”
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