Unpossible Read Free Page A

the Page, locks him in his room, so that he can’t make his deliveries to the Queen. There’s no update to the neural map, and the Queen stops hearing what Parliament is up to. With no orders to bark, she goes silent. It’s that silence that people like Therese craved.
    But the real attraction—again, for people like Therese—is the overdose. Swallow way too much Zen and the Page can’t get out for weeks. When he finally gets out, he can’t remember the way back to the Queen’s castle. The whole process of updating the self that’s been going on for years is suddenly derailed. The silent Queen can’t be found.
    The Page, poor guy, does the only thing he can. He goes out and delivers the proclamations to the first girl he sees.
    The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.

    "Hi, Terry. I’m Dr. Mehldau." She’s a stubby woman with a pleasant round face, and short dark hair shot with gray. She offers me her hand. Her fingers are cool and thin.
    "You called me Terry."
    "I was told that you prefer to go by that. Do you want me to call you something else?"
    "No ... I just expected you to make me say my name is ‘Therese’ over and over."
    She laughs and sits down in a red leather chair that looks soft but sturdy. "I don’t think that would be very helpful, do you? I can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do, Terry."
    "So I’m free to go."
    "Can’t stop you. But I do have to report back to your parents on how we’re doing."
    My parents .
    She shrugs. "It’s my job. Why don’t you have a seat and we can talk about why you’re here."
    The chair opposite her is cloth, not leather, but it’s still nicer than anything in Dr. Subramaniam’s office. The entire office is nicer than Dr. S’s office. Daffodil walls in white trim, big windows glowing behind white cloth shades, tropically colored paintings.
    I don’t sit down.
    "Your job is to turn me into Mitch and Alice’s daughter. I’m not going to do that. So any time we spend talking is just bullshit."
    "Terry, no one can turn you into something you’re not."
    "Well then we’re done here." I walk across the room—though "stroll" is what I’m shooting for—and pick up an African-looking wooden doll from the bookshelf. The shelves are decorated with enough books to look serious, but there are long open spaces for arty arrangements of candlesticks and Japanese fans and plaques that advertise awards and appreciations. Dr. S’s bookshelves are for holding books, and books stacked on books. Dr. Mehldau’s bookshelves are for selling the idea of Dr. Mehldau.
    "So what are you, a psychiatrist or a psychologist or what?" I’ve met all kinds in the hospital. The psychiatrists are M.D.’s like Dr. S and can give you drugs. I haven’t figured out what the psychologists are good for.
    "Neither," she says. "I’m a counselor."
    "So what’s the ‘doctor’ for?"
    "Education." Her voice didn’t change, but I get the impression that the question’s annoyed her. This makes me strangely happy.
    "Okay, Dr. Counselor, what are you supposed to counsel me about? I’m not crazy. I know who Therese was, I know what she did, I know that she used to walk around in my body." I put the doll back in its spot next to a glass cube that could be a paperweight. "But I’m not her. This is my body, and I’m not going to kill myself just so Alice and Mitch can have their baby girl back."
    "Terry, no one’s asking you to kill yourself. Nobody can even make you into who you were before."
    "Yeah? Then what are they paying you for, then?"
    "Let me try to explain. Please, sit down. Please."
    I look around for a clock and finally spot one on a high shelf. I mentally set the timer to five minutes and sit opposite her, hands on my knees. "Shoot."
    "Your parents asked me to talk to you because I’ve helped other people in your situation, people who’ve overdosed on Z."
    "Help them what? Pretend to be something they’re not?"
    "I help them take back what they are . Your experience