Timmons has a chair set up in front of the computer. He shoves me onto it with a lot more force than seems necessary, but I keep quiet.
The screen shows a teal-colored dolphin bouncing a red ball. The number 124 is on the ball and the clock at the top of the screen says 12:04.
“This computer will remain on until Mr. Lucas tells me the test is over. They didn’t give me any instructions other than to turn it on, so don’t ask.”
“I don’t need instructions. You can leave now.”
Timmons’s face is conflicted. I’m guessing he was told to leave since I’m pretty sure he wasn’t standing there when the vision began. But he’s not at all happy about being dismissed by the “freak.”
“Was already planning on it,” he says, but taps the taser one more time. “Don’t get sassy with me.”
“No, sir.” I fight to keep my expression blank, which is probably a good thing, since he’s scanning it to see if I’m being a smart-ass.
He straightens the laptop screen and pushes my chair even closer. Once he’s satisfied that he can leave without losing credibility, he casts one last glare at Deo, and—still giving the bodies a wide berth—finally leaves.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Deo, although I really have no idea what difference it will make if he answers yes or no, aside from making me feel better or worse.
“I’m fine.” He gets up and walks over to where I’m sitting, as if to prove the point. “But all things considered, I’d rather not do that again. What are we watching?”
“Sesame Street. Brought to you today by the color blue and the number 124.”
As I speak, the time changes to 12:05 and the picture flips from a red elephant holding a pink umbrella to an orange lizard on roller skates.
“Why do they want you to watch this?”
“Another test,” I say absently, trying to remember exactly what I saw in the dream. At 12:41 it was a blue horse. Something similar at 12:42. A zebra, I think . . . but I’m drawing a blank on the colors. And looking at the screen as a new image flips in front of me isn’t going to make it easier to remember.
I stare down at my shoes and whisper, “Talk to me. Tell me about . . . I don’t know. Clothes you saw online you wish you could buy. That Disney dream vacation you were planning last night. I need to focus on something other than that screen for the next thirty minutes, so assume you have unlimited funds.”
“Ohhh-kay.”
Deo’s more used to having people tell him to stop chattering than asking him for more. Not me so much as his teachers. He never even makes it to Disney World, because he spends a good five minutes on this one jacket he saw that he thinks he could replicate, which I suspect is actually more appealing to him than the possibility of buying it. Or maybe it’s just that the idea of unlimited funds is too far out there to imagine.
I glance up at the screen occasionally, to keep an eye on the time. At 12:41, the blue horse appears.
“Okay. Blue horse, pink hat, 713.” I still can’t come up with anything more than zebra for the next one, so I don’t say anything else.
As the clock flips to 12:42, a purple-and-yellow zebra in a blue coat appears. God, no wonder I couldn’t remember the color.
“Do you think this is someone’s job?” Deo asks. “I mean, does someone actually get paid to come up with these?”
Major déjà vu. I try to remember what I said next, but again, I can’t.
“Probably,” I say. “But shh for a minute . . . I’m trying to remember something.”
Green . . . dog. Green Chihuahua?
Nah. It’s a wiener dog, ummm . . . whatchamacallem . . . .a . . . dachshund. Yeah.
I wait a few more seconds and then say, “Next one is a green dog. A dachshund. Orange sweater. Number is 83 . . . 7? I think.”
When the image comes up, it is indeed a green dachshund. The sweater is reddish-orange and the number is 831.
“Whoa,” Deo says. “That’s . . .”
I turn toward Deo and nod. “Freaky. Yeah.”
“So what’s the next one?”
“I have no idea. That’s when it ended. I thought it was a dream, at first. I just . . .” I look around the room, searching for recording devices, and say in a louder voice. “I just hope someone was watching. Because I have no idea if or when that will happen again.”
There’s no response. Deo and I just sit there, watching as the rainbow zoo parades in front of us.
“Do you think this is some sort of psychological torture?” he asks after a few minutes. “Like making us watch that singing purple dinosaur?”
I shudder. “You really shouldn’t give them ideas.”