Greta watched on the tablet screen as the tell-tale confusion moved through Sanburn’s mind, for just a moment, before he fell into a deep sleep. She was familiar with the map of neurons before her. She had been present at all the sessions with Sanburn’s psychologist as he recounted his memories of his brother. Andre, she thought, her eye scanning the image for all the places in Sanburn’s brain the name had lit like Christmas. She could imagine the dead man’s face, the sight of him stepping from the curb, the sound of metal crashing against his flesh.
“Ready, Dr. Rudolph,” Greta announced calmly, wiping her mind clear of the memories that were not her own. “I have his charts.”
Dr. Rudolph’s tablet was connected to the port on Sanburn’s skull with a long white cord. “Share the map of his trauma first. I need a reminder.”
Greta tapped the arrow icon on her screen. “Sending now.”
Dr. Rudolph pulled a pair of rimless glasses from the pocket of his white coat, placing them gently on his nose as he gazed at the screen in front of him. “MmmHmmm,” he murmured. “Okay. Yes, I see,” to said to himself. “Okay, Greta, let me have the map of his hopes.”
“His hopes for this procedure, doctor?” she asked.
“Oh. No, his hopes for the future with the brother,” he clarified.
Greta swiped through the maps available in Sanburn’s file. “Sending now,” she said.
The maps of hopes always made Greta sad. Sanburn had wanted Andre to be an uncle. He had wanted to take a trip to British Columbia with him. He had been looking forward to a summer of baseball games, bratwurst and beers together. He had hoped to be Andre’s best man. The wedding had just been scheduled the week before he was killed. The hope maps held thousands of tiny deaths, each one a reminder that life owed them nothing.
“This one is…full,” Dr. Rudolph commented, speaking to the image on his tablet.
The image of Sanburn’s brain was dotted with millions of bright lights. “Andre was very important to him, Dr. Rudolph. They were as close as two men can be, I think.”
Dr. Rudolph regarded her over the lenses of his glasses, his eyes like a bore. “Greta, I’ve warned you about letting the death of their dreams impact you like this.” He removed the glasses from his face, and stared at her with compassion in his expression. “Do you need another session with Dr. Guldenshuh?”
Dr. Guldenshuh was the psychologist. She was available on demand for any clinic employee. This job had emotional hazards. “No, doctor. I’m alright today.”
Dr. Rudolph nodded firmly, placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and turning his attention to the brain image. “Okay, then. I see where we need to do some work,” he said.
As he typed away on the screen, Greta flipped to the application that was monitoring Sanburn’s vitals. Heart rate was steady, slow. Breathing was the same. She watched the lines flickering with each beat, each breath. She scrolled down the screen to his brain waves. Everything was perfect, the blue lines cresting in regular intervals. “He’s ready, doctor.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Greta watched as Sanburn’s brain absorbed the incoming information, as the complex neurological patterns designed specifically for him based on his feelings of Andre reshaped how his neurons fired. The blues lines wiggled erratically, but steadied after a moment. Greta scrolled up to his other vitals. Heart rate was still stable. Breath was beautiful.
“He’s tolerating well, doctor,” Greta announced.
“Very good,” Dr. Sanburn said slowly, almost to himself. “Now, the map of what he hopes to feel afterward, please.”
This type of map was difficult to create. Sometimes, Dr. Guldenshuh had to resort to extreme measures, digging deep into memories to find ones that produced enough satisfaction, happiness and gratitude to burst through a patient’s crippling depression. Sanburn’s session had been among the longest Greta had seen. He had recounted endlessly to Dr. Guldenshuh about the times in life he had been happiest, most satisfied, safe, grateful, hopeful, joyful. His brain told the psychologist otherwise. Every memory had someone been connected to Andre, tainting the map they were trying to build. Dr. Guldenshuh pushed him to go further, deeper, until he hit on something that had few overlaps with his memories of his brother—walking to get an ice cream cone with his high school girlfriend over summer break.
Once that memory had been identified, they used it to create a new map for his neurons, one that would help him feel less of the pain of losing Andre, and more of the satisfied, happy feelings of those ice cream cone dates. The memories of Andre would become more like the memories of the ice cream. It had been painful work for Sanburn. Greta had several sessions with Dr. Guldenshuh after the fact to help her process the secondary trauma.
“Sending now, doctor,” Greta said, as she tapped the arrow on her screen.
The sing-song notes of Dr. Rudolph saying to himself MmmHmm as he reviewed the image lightened her mood. Dr. Rudolph had a passion for this work. For him, this was a regular day at the office, but he also recognized the weight his work could take from his patients. Greta smiled. Dr. Rudolph glanced at her, returned the smile shyly, and then went back to tapping on his tablet.
“I’m not sure I’m worth so much admiration,” Dr. Rudolph said, his tone light and full of whimsy. “I’m just a regular shmuck, you know. Just like everyone else.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Greta joked.
He laughed. “How’s he looking, Greta?” he asked, turned the conversation back to Sanburn.
She pulled up his vitals again. “Everything is beautiful, doctor.”
“Alright, here we go,” Dr. Rudolph said. Greta watched Sanburn’s brain waves as the new pathways were loaded. “I’ll let you take over from here,” he said after a moment.
“Yes, doctor. I’ll let you know when he’s awake,” she said.
Dr. Rudolph set his tablet on the white cart with the other instruments. He took his glasses from his face, tucking them gently into the pocket of his coat. “Good work today, Greta,” he said to her.
She glanced up from her own tablet, smiling warmly at him. “Thank you, doctor.”
Dr. Rudolph nodded to her, then made his way slowly to the door. With a soft hush, the door slowly shut behind him. The latch clicked into place, like a period at the end of a story. When Sanburn woke, he would be different. He would be better.
A notification dinged from the tablet on the cart, signifying that the data had been transferred. She set her own tablet on the cart, then picked up the one running the upload application. She shut off the program. Then unplugged the cord from the port on Sanburn’s scalp. Carefully, she peeled the metal disks from his neck, wiping them clean before placing them onto a tray on the instrument cart.
She waited. She never knew how long it would take. Sometimes a patient fell into deep sleep, and it was best to let them wake naturally. It was never more than a few hours. Sometimes, their arousal was near instantaneous. She closed the open files on her tablet, exited the records database, and laid her own tablet on the cart as well. She checked Sanburn’s pulse manually and watched the rise and fall of his chest. His eyes began to flicker. She reached for the glass of water that sat on the instrument cart. They were always thirsty afterwards.
A whimpering sound escaped from Sanburn, and he swallowed loudly. He moaned, but he still did not open his eyes. Greta leaned forward, hovering over his face. “Mr. Sanburn?” she called softly. “Can you hear me, Mr. Sanburn?”
Slowly, he lifted his lids. His eyes were different, the fog of unhappiness no longer profound. She smiled, letting the warm glow of satisfaction fill her.
The Quick and the Dead 