Second Self

Chapter 7

"Shallow artifice begets suspicion, and like a cobweb veil, but thinly shades the face of thy design, alone disguising what should have never been seen, imperfect mischief." William Congreve

West Edmonton Mall appeared on green screens around us. Swimmers played in the artificially generated waves on the other side of an observation window, children at the candy store pleaded with their parents for treats, and a family were in the process of selecting western colonial costumes for a photo shoot at the old-times photoshop. Casper nudged his chin ever so slightly at a robust woman who was holding a rose-pink, floor-length gown in front of herself. "That's a great one," the little girl next to her said.

The woman blushed and said quietly to the girl, "I'm afraid it isn't big enough to close in the back."

"The picture only shows the front, so it doesn't really matter," the girl said. The woman seemed relieved, probably because she'd come to the conclusion there wasn't anything bigger to put on.

As I walked up behind the woman, the girl flashed me a friendly smile; turned rictus a moment later as I sliced a knife across her mother's throat. Unable to remember what I was told to do next, I froze with the knife in my hand, dripping blood onto the floor tiles.

"Cut! Rory, you were supposed to drop the knife and run away. We'll have to start over from the top." An odd smirk passed over Denovo's face as he watched me wipe the corn-syrup blood off my hands. He enlightened me on the cause by saying, "That dead look you get in your eyes helps sell the scene."

It wasn't the first time someone had pointed out my dead-pan face or my vacant eyes. They usually missed the fact that these were symptoms of being overwhelmed. One of the things that bothered me the most about this video project was the fact that the people who'd eventually see it would probably be told about I was autistic, and they think the things they saw somehow related to this revelation as if murder and autism went hand-in-hand.

Once the set was cleaned and reset Casper, and I picked up the scene from the start. This time I remembered to drop the knife and run. It hurt to know that running wouldn't help me in real life. I had nowhere to go.

"That's a wrap. We're on a tight schedule," Denovo shouted.

"What do you mean?" I asked, hoping he didn't have any more scenes planned.

"We have an engagement, Rory. As for Casper, there is a window of time to send him where I have planned, and it's quickly closing." Casper was staring straight forward as if he didn't see the man beside him. My gut told me he was staying silent for my sake. I couldn't do the same.

I kept my tone as calm as I could as I said, "Our deal was that you wouldn't hurt Casper. Where are you planning on sending him? What's going to happen to him?"

"I plan on keeping my word, Rory. I have no intention of hurting Casper, but I also don't plan on running a question and answer session. Get in the box," Denovo commanded Casper. My stomach clenched as he held up the device I knew could be used to deliver shocks. Casper obediently walked to the cell. I could see in his eyes the same concern that I'd be hurt in his place as I felt when I thought about Denovo torturing him on account of any of my actions.

"Your turn," Denovo said to me. He put a hand across my chest as I took a step toward my cell. "Not there." He tipped his head toward the outside door. "The two of us are going for a ride."

It occurred to me that I might never see Casper again, once those doors closed behind me. Far from home, we'd at least had each other. Now it felt like the end. Casper must have felt the same way, because he shouted from his cell, "We've done everything you've asked. Please, don't hurt Rory."