Although the candles in the cake were not alive with flame, I could easily imagine the smoke it would have produced as my imagination blended in with my recent memory of burnt almonds.

With my back against the cold steel door of the private hospital room, the cogs were turning in my head trying to understand what Mom was doing as her shaky voice rose in an off tuned and altered rendition of Happy Birthday. "Happy Rebirthday to you." She waved her hand, gesturing, urging me to go over and pretend to blow out the candles.

I stared, baffled, waiting for her to acknowledge my lack of interest, my weak legs, and their inability to carry my weight. Did she really want me to use my arms to drag my body across the cold, dirty floor to indulge in make-believe?

"I just want to bring some normalcy back into our lives." She pleaded with her eyes. "So, come on, honey. Make a wish."

Her desperation and drive were obvious. I questioned rather I should continue to be reluctant or play along. Ever since waking from Deep Sleep, she's been asking me to play by the rules. Doing so could be key to getting out of this place. But who's rules? The doctor's? The system's? Society's? Maybe she knew something about the rules I didn't.

"I wish," I started, thinking long and hard for the exact words that would resonate. "I wish everything was back to normal." As soon as the words left my lips, a river of tears ran down her cheeks and for a while her sniffles were the only sound in the room.

"Oh, how I wish we didn't have to go through this. Things were bad enough before, but I thought I could fix it. I just didn't work hard enough and it's all my fault." Her shoulders slumped forward and she covered her face with both hands as she sobbed. "I don't know what changed. Just one day it all became really hard."

"What did?" My voice cracked and I gulped down any trace of pity.

"Raising you." She sniffed, wiping away the moisture that collected below her nose with the back of her hand. "Not many people know how hard it is to raise a young woman and do it alone. Maybe that's why this program came into being. Who knows?" She shrugged and continued to wipe away tears before they reached her discolored cheeks. "I think you hated me. That's why it was so stressful."

I cocked my head, trying hard to access my sealed memory bank. "I hated you? Why?"

"No, you didn't hate me, just the person I became when alcohol got into me. It was as if you'd looked at me and see the future you. It probably scared and angered you, understandably. And your resentment wasn't easy to hide. You wanted better from me and I let you down."

"Oh." For the first time, I found it hard to meet her gaze. As a pang of guilt echoed in my chest. Was my resentment toward her what brought me here? Had I been acting out in defiance because of her alcohol dependency?

"But I didn't blame you," she went on. "You had it all. Your talents and abilities always impressed me. You had so much to offer and there I was mucking it up."

The memory of black and white ivory keys entered my mind. "Piano?"

"Yes!" Her eyes widened. "Exactly. You remember? And singing. You sang so beautifully. Sometimes I wished I had your voice and your talent. Well, not sometimes but all the time." She chuckled. "You must've gotten it from your daddy, because I'm just a useless, empty husk with nothing to offer." She tried to laugh at her joke, but the laugher came out lackluster. "You had everything anyone could wish for. You were filled with so much creative potential."

If I had it all, how did I end up here enclosed in sanitary surroundings with little awareness of who I was or the crimes I had committed? "Then what happened?"

She shook her head, staring at the white and red frosted cake. "I don't know."

Neither did I and I wondered if I ever would. Searching my memory didn't produce answers, only a headache and more confusion. There had to be more to understand what would cause me to break the law. There had to be more answers at home. "When can we leave?"

"When the doctor says you're ready."

From the way it's been going, things seemed to get worse than better. "What if he never says I'm ready, will I be stuck here forever?" Was that even a possibility?

"No, I won't let that happen." But she avoided looking my way when she said it, choosing to stare down the cake instead.

"What's wrong?" I urged, reading her body language. "You're not telling me something."

She sighed. "I don't want you to be upset."

I sat forward, pulling away from the door at my back while taking note that the nerves in my feet were slowly waking. "If you keep things from me, how can we form any semblance of trust?" I was careful not to raise my voice or show any form of hostility. "You're my mom, and I want to believe you have my best interest at heart."

She finally turned to me. "Look at you, sounding so mature." Pointing it out gave me pause as I wondered if maturity was initially part of my personality. She continued, "I want you to come home as much as you want to, but I'm afraid that something will go wrong and then they'll be forced to keep you here. That's why it's important you cooperate. Keep things running smoothly."

"What do you mean, keep me here?" My eyebrows pulled together as I tried reading between the lines. "You mean keep me in this place forever?"

"There's been rumors, okay." She lowered her voice to an unnerving whisper. "I don't know who started them, so I don't want to spread them and make you worry."

"Oh, you have to tell me now," I demanded, throwing all caution to the wind.

"Jo, I want you to get better—"

I put my hand up, dismissing her excuses. "Trust, remember?"

She glanced behind her at the chair she had awakened on and forgone its comfort to sit on the cold tiles before me. "Rumors been circulating about Deep Sleep and the facility. One rumor in particular says a girl has been in the facility for six years, ever since she was twelve years old. The rumor goes, this girl claims the doctors were experimenting with space and time by placing her soul or consciousness into different dimensions."

I narrowed my eyes. "Is that even possible?"

"Deep Sleep rehabilitation has been in operation for merely a decade, the technology is still considered new and ever evolving, that's why so many rumors are out there. A lot of people don't understand the process or know exactly how the treatment is done, so they make up their own myths and stories. This is only a rumor."

"One you believe." We locked eyes and an ominous chill crept over me. It made sense. She's been urging me to play nice, so I won't get trapped here and experimented on. "Every year they come up with a new thing someone wants to try or take advantage of. You said so yourself."

"That's just my nerves talking." She swiped the air dismissively. "But..." She gave me a serious look. "Just in case it isn't, we have to try to make your rehabilitation work. You will be one of his biggest success stories, just you watch. You'll be the next media sensation and no one would dream of making you stay here longer than necessary. I promise. We gotta work on getting your memory back and showing that you've been rehabilitated and then he'd be convinced to send you home."

So, she did believe the rumors. How much of it could be true? Removing and transferring human consciousnesses and messing around with space, time, and other dimensions seemed like a plot straight out of a science fiction movie. But we were at a point in technology where a person could be put to sleep for an entire year and wake up fully reformed. Was transferring human consciousnesses really that impossible?

In fact, just how much was done or manipulated with me or my brain while I was under? How long have I been here, only one year or six like the rumored girl? Come to think of it, did I actually wake up at all or did they successfully transfer my consciousness to another dimension and my body is still asleep in reality.

I gulped at the memory of Dr. Schwartz's fingers and blood in my mouth, and immediately my mind grasped fractions of a famous Plato quote, "How can you prove whether ... we are sleeping, or whether we are awake, and talking ... in the waking state?" Although I had difficulty remembering the quote fully, I knew somehow those words were important.

And the more I tried to analyze what was real or a dream, the more confused I became. I didn't feel like myself even though I had no idea what being myself felt like. Everything seemed wrong, or skewed, and unrealistic? Was what I was experiencing part of a different reality or part of a dream world? Was the reason I couldn't support my body weight was because in reality I was asleep? Much like not being able to run from danger in a dream only to wake and realize the bedsheets were tangled around my legs, making me believe I were incapable?

My thoughts would have forever wandered if it wasn't for the return of the coiling in my gut, my intestines twisted, and a sharp pain caught me off guard.

"No. Not again." I doubled over in pain, grunting and grimacing to keep myself from screaming and conjuring Dr. Schwartz. When will this nightmare be over? When will I wake up?

"Come on," Mom urged as she stood. "Let's get you back in bed." She gently eased me to the bed and we both struggled to get me under the sheet and reclined against the firm pillows.

The twisting slowly subsided, but my breathing hastened as beads of sweat dampened my forehead. "What's happening to me, Mom?" Something told me she would know.

She shook her head and tried to instill a sense of comfort in me by rubbing my shoulder. "Your body is trying to heal. It's not easy but it'll get there."

"Do you think they did something to me that they weren't supposed to do while I was sleeping?" I stared at her, waiting for her admission. "Be honest with me." I searched her face for the words she refused to speak, and wondered why she wouldn't make eye contact. "I want to trust you, Mom. I really do."

"You don't?" She finally connected with me, seeming offended by my words. "I'm being open and honest."

"Was something done to my mind and body that I wasn't aware of?" I waited, wanting to hear the words from her lips.

"Absolutely not." She didn't even flinch.

My mind raced with billions of possibilities and scenarios, but one in particular stood out from the rest. "Was I experimented on like the rumors say? Tell me the truth."

"No, I would never allow that." Her face twisted in anger. "I would never consent to anything like that. And if I found out something unlawful happened to you without my knowledge I would riot in the streets. I love you too much, Jo."

As I wiggled and flexed my toes under the sheet, testing their strength, I placed my palm over the slight flutter in my gut, preparing to do what I had to do to find the truth and go home. Maybe home had the answers. Not what was at home but who. Ian Rogers.

~~~

What do you think is happening? Any theories?