The Escapement Mechanism, Part 17
“I’ll let you use it,” was the phrase that knocked Utsab out of his robotic nursing protocol.
He was muttering about whether to warm up his car. “What?” he said, and Wemly saw something in his expression dislodge and his conscious brain regain control.
“I’ll let you use it,” Wemly repeated.
Utsab was clearly anxious to get her to the hospital. “Use what?”
Wemly vacillated, the terrible height of any decision dropping the bottom out of her stomach. “The Escapement Mechanism,” she said finally.
“Your’re hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital before you pass out from your… bloodloss,” he said, hesitating on the final word. “You’ve clearly been through some… trauma, and you don’t need to tell me right now, okay? I just want to get you some help.”
“No,” Wemly said, too loudly and too insistently.
“Escapement mechanism,” she repeated. “It’s safe. I just made a mistake.”
Utsab’s tone became patronizing. “Let me help you get to the car. You don’t even need to wear your coat. I’ll carry it for you.”
Wemly didn’t know how to stop the events from playing out. Everything already seemed set in motion.
“Your lab book. You know I’ve never seen it. It’s in the top drawer of your desk. The last word you wrote is “repeatedly.” Wemly barely had to try to retain that memory, the agony of her arm after she activated the mechanism and dug through Utsab’s desk.
It was if she had slapped Utsab.
“There’s twenty-one dollars in your wallet,” she said.
Utsab’s amazement turned into a slow head shake, but he was regarding Wemly as a human again. “No, I’ve only got a twenty in there. Just took it out this morning.”
“There’s a dollar tucked between your cards.”
“It’s for …” he began, but then trailed off, crouching to look Wemly in the eyes so close their noses almost touched. “What the fuck are you up to?”
It was the opening Wemly needed, and she launched into what must have been an incoherent ramble, recounting as fast as she could, only sketching in the details to bring Utsab to their current circumstances.
The claims, on their own, were too outlandish to believe. Even coupled with Wemly’s erratic behaviour, extraordinary evidence was required. Enough to tip an assessment from “mentally unstable” to “plausible”.
Wemly offered her wounded arm to Utsab. “To turn your doubts into belief, you can even put your finger in my wound.”
“Is that a joke?” He looked at her uncomprehendingly.
Wemly just gave a wan smile and asked him to tip his head down and hold his hair back. The device sank in, nearly embedded in the way it joined with the wearer, its light fading in and out with his breathing.
“Hold your breath,” Wemly said. “Do you hear a chime? Did you feel like you were going to throw up?” They were the only clear memories she had of initially using the device.
“No,” said Utsab. “Am I supposed to?”
“Here,” said Wemly, and guided Utsab’s hand, placing his index finger directly over the light. His hand was warm, and surprisingly calloused given the amount of time he spent in the lab. Wemly wanted to ask him about it---was it the gym? Did he lift weights? His physique implied physical labour rather than time in the gym, but her curiosity needed to wait.
“Feel that?” asked Wemly, meaning the faint push and pull the device exerted on the finger.
“I just feel your hand,” he said. “Oh,” he exclaimed when Wemly let go.
The scientific part of her brain kicked in, noting they would need an official SOP. She hadn’t planned on anyone else even touching the mechanism until it was fully understood. Now she was scheming of ways to convince Utsab to keep it between the two of them, lest it be wrest from both of their control by Warner.
For nearly two minutes they sat with Utsab asking, “Did it work?” in a steady stream that recalled a child in a supermarket incessantly pestering their parent for a new toy. For all Wemly knew, he’d had adventures across the city, but if so they’d been exceptionally boring. She had always taken Utsab to be the free-spirit type when not in the lab, but good vibes didn’t cause emotions strong enough to pierce the veil between timelines.
“You need to do something that you would never do in real life,” Wemly said. Utsab glanced at her arm. “Exactly. Throw a stool through the window. Run naked through the halls.” She didn’t mention hurting himself. He was likely too timid for self-harm, and she was too exhausted to try and explain two supposedly unrelated injuries to the nurses.
It didn’t take long after the pep-talk. “It’s the sound of breaking glass,” Utsab said. “I can hear it, sort of, but not like a memory.” He drummed his fingers against his legs as he tried to find the words to describe what he had experienced. “Like a feeling. Like if breaking glass were an emotion. That’s how I feel.” He looked at Wemly for confirmation. “Does that make sense?”
It did.