“That’s the experiment,” Andy said.
“Big deal. You found some extra clips that show how they made the episode, then you projected in three-sixty.”
“Not quite. You know how some civilizations won’t let you take their picture, because they think you’ll steal their soul?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, a soul is too powerful to be captured by a camera, but thoughts can be captured by anything. Handwriting, a drawing…a movie. I have equipment that extracts memory fragments from a handwritten note. You can see who wrote it and what they were feeling at the time. So I asked myself, if it can be done with handwriting, why not film? And I answered myself—with the right combination of technology and incredible good looks, it should work. Voila! Stooges memories.”
“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”
“We have to project that memory of yours.”
“I told you, I can’t project. The Kilodan tried to teach me, but my mind just goes blank.”
“Gasp,” Andy said. “Your mind a blank! In shock, I find myself! Well, darling, maybe the Kilodan doesn’t have what it takes to read a weak mind, but this baby does.” He patted the white box.
“Ha ha. What’s that?”
“The Psi Fighter MPU 3000.”
“MPU 3000?”
“Mental Projection Unit, currently the lightest mental projector on the planet. Actually, the only one. Bright image. High resolution. Excellent color. With surround sound!” Andy pushed a button and a tray slid out of the projector. “Blu-ray, too. A complete portable cinema for a low, low price.”
“Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“Well,” Andy said, “it hasn’t hit Walmart’s shelves yet. I built it. Sit.”
“I’m a person, not a DVD.” Duh. “I won’t fit in the Blu-ray slot.”
“Better yet, you’re the original memory source. We should pick up a lot of detail. Expect to see more than you remember.”
“Andy, nobody can see more than they remember.”
“Ever watch a movie the second time and see things you missed the first time?”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” I slouched skeptically into the chair next to the projector and Andy hit a few buttons. A glaring white screen replaced the Stooges on the front wall.
“Put your hand on the electrode,” Andy instructed.
I placed my fingertips on the silvery plate attached to the chair’s arm. The MPU 3000 hummed with energy, and static filled the air. Psychic sparks jumped from the plate to my fingers, and my hand was drawn down like iron to a magnet.
“Okay, go ahead,” Andy said expectantly. He stared at the blank screen, bouncing on his toes, hands folded behind his back.
“And…do what?”
Andy smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. “And our delusional Kilodan calls you his top student. Remember, silly girl. Remember, so the 3000 can see it.”
“I knew that.” I concentrated. The 3000 tugged on my brain, and the glaring white screen turned black, then brown and blurry. Slowly, Egon’s brilliant green eyes and adorable smile came into focus and filled the screen. Oops.
“How sweet,” Andy muttered. “Back to the mission. This isn’t about your love life.”
“Sorry.” I concentrated on the stalker. The back of Elmo’s head appeared on the screen with my hand snaking toward it, snatching away the mask. Instantly, anger and the stench of unwashed bad guy filled the room. I couldn’t tell if my memory was that vivid, or if the odor was real, somehow extracted by Andy’s gizmo. “Do you smell that?”
Andy hit a button, and the man’s face froze on the screen, twisted with anger. “I do. This baby is loaded. Visual, audio, emotional, and olfactory transmitters and receivers. It will completely change the way we watch SpongeBob. Imagine, if you will, a future where you turn on the TV and the fragrance of pineapple and dead fish delights your senses.”
“To think iPods used to impress me.”
“Well, you know, small minds. I see why you didn’t recognize Elmo. This guy is low profile.”
“You know him?”
Andy walked to the screen and studied the stalker’s face, completely silent for several seconds. “Name’s Norman LaReau,” he finally said. “His mother owns Sinclair Park. Show me the skull mask.”
I tried to remember how it looked, but the memory blurred. It had flashed through my mind so quickly that night. All I could think of was the Jolly Roger on a pirate flag. Instantly, the cemetery in Sinclair Park filled the screen. The sun was setting, and I felt myself sinking into LaReau’s mind. Suddenly, his hand appeared on the screen, caressing a tombstone like it was a kitten. His voice purred from the speakers.