text: Dr. Bishop was waiting for me on my first day of work, tapping his foot impatiently on the waxed linoleum. I was thirty minutes early. “Dr. Stiles,” Dr. Bishop intoned, his deep, gravelly voice pleasantly rumbling over my name, “please make sure you arrive at the testing booth promptly.” An intern standing a respectful distance away shot me a commiserating look and pressed a cup of espresso into my hand before quickly retreating, presumably to grab coffee for other employees. “Absolutely, sir,” I replied, taking a sip of my espresso in lieu of voicing any of the sarcastic comments that would instantly get me fired. I stopped next to the intimidating man, ignoring his militaristic posture and the displeased glint in his coal-dark eyes. In that moment, while he loomed over me even though he clearly had other things he could be doing, Dr. Bishop struck me as the unhappiest man on Earth. I almost pitied him, but thankfully the moment of sentimentality passed. “Before you head to the testing booth, I wanted to discuss some regulations with you.” Without waiting for my input, Dr. Bishop began walking toward my new office. I hastened my pace to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. “You will not disclose personal information or anyone else’s name to the participant. Both of you are to remain completely anonymous to the other. Your job is to ask questions and, once enough trust has been built, have a conversation.” “So you’re telling me I’m actually here to make friends,” I joked, elbowing Dr. Bishop in the side. His expression soured further. His harsh look melted into a sigh. “More or less, I suppose. Do your best to build a rapport with this person, and we will continue this discussion another time if you have any questions. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other business to take care of.” Dr. Bishop whipped around and began walking away, his lab coat billowing behind him like a cape. There was something in the broad line of his shoulders, tight with tension and stress, that made me feel a bit sympathetic. I didn’t really know a lot about what was going on, but Dr. Bishop was apparently under a lot of pressure from some government-types. Better him than me, at any rate. My testing booth was at the end of the hallway, shoved haphazardly into what was almost certainly once a broom closet. The name plaque on the door--*Dr*. Henry Stiles-- made me feel a bit proud of myself; I quickly took a picture with my phone and sent it to my mom. I opened the door, which stuck and creaked against the doorframe, taking in my new “office.” The back wall had been gutted recently, replaced with a one-way mirror I couldn’t see through and a fresh coat of *almost*\-beige paint chipping around the edges. A desk rested in the center of the room, scratched up from years of use, along with an office chair that likely predated my birth. There was a thick sheath of papers stacked on the desk, sitting ominously next to a microphone. I sat down in the office chair and cringed as the metal legs shrieked under my unimpressive weight. I might have been handed fancy coffee, but it looked like my office wasn’t going to be quite as high-tech. I scanned the papers absently, waiting for my cue to begin. A soft whirring in the corner drew my attention to a single innocuous security camera, watching me dispassionately. The camera made me a little nervous, but I supposed I was being surveilled for any protocol infractions. Someone knocked on my door with more force than necessary. I sighed and read the first question with little interest, “Where are you from?” “You are new.” The voice had clearly been run through a modulator, almost past the point of coherence. I couldn’t tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman, but there was something sweet in the tone that reminded me of Mom’s voice. I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Yes, I am, but please answer the question. Where are you from?” “I don’t feel like talking,” they replied. I rapped my fingers on the desk thoughtfully. “Okay, that’s fine. Why don’t I talk for a little bit? I’m from Kansas, which is the kind of place I don’t think people are meant to live long-term. You shouldn’t go your whole life without seeing the ocean or a mountain or something other than wheat fields.” “I like the ocean,” the voice offered after a pause. Ah, progress. “Yeah? Me too. I used to go on beach trips as a kid. We used to look for dolphins while we made sand castles.” The stranger hummed, creating a sound so staticky and unpleasant that it made me cringe. I took the half-response as a sign to continue. “My senior year of high school, we went swimming with manatees off the coast of Florida. They’re pretty cool.” Another knock on my door interrupted me before I could continue. I ignored the sound for a moment, instead leaning closer to the microphone. “Sorry for the interruption.” “That’s okay,” the participant said, their voice calmer than before. Dr. Bishop slammed the door open, crossing the small room in a few long strides and grabbing my arm with an uncomfortably tight grip, almost like he was prepared to carry me out. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice low enough for the microphone to miss. I had to keep myself from laughing at the sudden realization that Dr. Bishop had a very, very faint Texan accent hidden in his deep voice. “Is something wrong, Dr. Bishop?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level. I wasn’t really sure what I’d already done, but it must have been serious. “Don’t mention my name, idiot!” Dr. Bishop hissed, pulling me out of my broom closet office and shutting the door with a forceful shove. The wood creaked against the too-small door frame, protesting the tight fit. Dr. Bishop cleared his throat awkwardly and straightened his tie. “This test is supposed to be, ah, anonymous. Our volunteer can’t know my name.” “Right. I’m sorry, sir,” I said slowly, recalling what he’d said earlier. Still, I didn’t really understand why the anonymity policy was so strict. I could see people casually trying to watch us from their own offices, looking far more interested in our discussion than in their work. I couldn’t blame them. “Dr. Stiles, I know you’re intelligent. You know we didn’t have you write up your will because this job is safe,” Dr. Bishop said, his voice almost a whisper. He looked me in the eye, and there was something so wild and desperate in his gaze that I couldn’t do anything other than stare at him. A month after earning my degree, Dr. Bishop himself had approached me and offered me the job. He’d known one of my professors, and apparently I’d made a good enough impression to land myself a recommendation. At the time, my student debt had been the only thing on my mind, and when I saw how much the job paid, I accepted without hesitation. From what I’d seen, the job itself was almost insultingly simple, but I couldn’t exactly turn down the money. Still, the too-easy, well-paying job didn’t quite sit right with my sensibilities. Something about it was too close to a free lunch. I didn’t understand what kind of danger I was in, and somehow I knew Dr. Bishop wouldn’t tell me even if I asked him. Instead of addressing the problem, I just laughed shakily, “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks, sir.” “You aren’t sticking to the script, Dr. Stiles.” I shrugged. “The script wasn’t really working. They seemed a lot calmer when I just had a casual conversation for a bit instead of jumping directly into an interrogation.” “Do what you think is best,” Dr. Bishop said simply. He walked away, his lab coat swishing behind him. I made brief eye contact with a woman at the copier. She looked away quickly, her expression oddly sad and shuttered. I swallowed, trying to ignore the pervasive discomfort filling the hallway. My phone dinged in my back pocket. “I’m so proud of you, honey!” my mom’s reply text read. I slipped my phone away without answering. I struggled to force my office door open and sat down in my ancient office chair, trying to ignore the uneasy sense that something was very, very wrong with the person on the other side of the mirror. “Sorry about that!” The stranger was silent, but I could hear them breathing close to the microphone. Maybe it was just the modulator, but something in the noise was so inhuman that the hairs stood up on my arms. I took a deep breath, calming myself down. Hysteria solved nothing. My voice showing none of my fear, I asked them, “What do you want to talk about?” They never answered me, and I couldn’t help feeling frustrated as I sat there in silence, waiting for something to happen. I ran into a familiar intern on my way to lunch. “Oh, hey!” I called, quickly hurrying over to him. He looked up at my approach, his posture wary. “I wanted to thank you for the coffee. It hasn’t been too long since I was an intern myself, honestly, so I can always go get my own.” The intern’s expression relaxed into something far more open and friendly. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I know you’ve got a pretty important job, plus it’s got to be stressful working with Dr. Bishop.” He held out his hand, and I shook it somewhat awkwardly. “I’m William, William Davis. Call me Will.” “Henry Stiles,” I replied. “Want to get lunch together?” Will beamed, and it made me feel fluttery and nervous for some reason. “Yeah, sure! Normally I just eat something out of the vending machines, but there’s a cheap pizza place down the street that’s pretty good.” Will struck me as the kind of person who lived off peanut butter and orange juice and considered it healthy living. The pizza place in question was just one of those cheap buffet types, but Will looked so excited that I couldn’t find it in my heart to complain. We sat down across from each other in a set of red, beat-up booths, the space so tight that my knees bumped the underside of the table. My shoes, business-casual and purchased just for my new job, stuck to the floor. “What’s it like?” Will asked as soon as we settled, his voice hushed and fervent. “What’s what like?” I asked, taking the time to shower my greasy pizza in fake parmesan. Will leaned over the table, lowering his voice even further. “You know, working with *the subject.*” “I didn’t realize it was such a big deal,” I admitted. Why had they given the job to me, someone with so little experience, if it was so important? Will nodded and spoke around a mouthful of cheese, “No, it’s a huge deal. Kind of a shame, though, since the people who work with your participant never really stick around long. There was a really nice lady named Faith who worked here before you. I never really figured out what happened to her, but she used to bake stuff for everyone in the office.” “I’m not sure I can carry the mantle of baking for the whole office,” I joked, even though my thoughts were humming along as fast as they could. Why would anyone leave, with the amount I was being paid? Danger, but from what? “Will,” I said, and something in my voice must have seemed serious, because he immediately straightened in his seat. “What’s going on with this place?” Will cringed. “Dude, I’ve got no clue. I’ve been working there for about four months, and it’s creepy as hell, if I’m being honest. The work experience is good, but I’m thinking about quitting anyway. Faith, um, she was really nice, but right before she left, I just--” Will stuttered. He swallowed and collected himself. “She started getting really spacey and weird. She talked about work a lot more than usual, and I remember she started getting here before anyone else and wouldn’t leave until everyone was gone.” “Maybe something was going on at home,” I suggested, even though the words rang false to my own ears. “Maybe,” Will conceded, resting his chin on his fist and looking down at the table. “But I don’t really think that’s everything. Dr. Bishop kind of creeps me out, too, but in a different way. He’s really intense, but he wasn’t always that way, apparently. He’s always in charge of scouting new people to interview your participant, so I guess maybe he’s tired of having to hire new help so often. Still, it’s kind of weird that no one can figure out why he hires the people he does,” Will said, almost talking to himself. I sat back and let him, more enlightened than I’d been since I was hired. “Every person is completely different. Faith didn’t have a doctorate like you, and she’d never had a job like that before. Her previous job had been as a piano teacher.” “What?” I cut in. “Really?” Will nodded, tracing his initials in the condensation gathering on his drink. “Maybe it’s stupid, but I think he hires friendly people.” “You flatterer,” I deadpanned, unsure if he was kidding or not. Will snorted back a laugh. “No joke. Every person he’s hired for the job has apparently been really nice. Or good at getting people to open up, if nothing else. You’re kind of awkward in a non-judgemental way. It makes you easy to talk to.” “I wish my participant thought that way. I feel like I’m talking to a brick wall,” I muttered. I glanced at my watch and realized that my lunch break was almost over. “Hey,” Will said quietly. “Look, I know this might come out a little weird, but I’m going to say it anyway.” He swallowed and looked up at me, a crease forming in his brow. “Get out of here if things start getting...scary. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know that something is.” “You too, Will,” I replied. The conversation felt too heavy for a pizza parlor, and I shook myself mentally to clear my head. “We should have lunch again soon, and not just so I can hear office gossip.” “I think I’d like that. See you around, Henry,” Will said, giving me a bright smile like he had earlier. Despite our heavy conversation, the look on his face brightened my mood enough to shove $10 into the tip jar at the front counter. I walked back to my office, already resigned to sit in silence in front of my participant. They didn’t answer me that day or the next, but when I sat down in my office chair a week later, I heard that familiar voice in a tone so quiet I could barely catch the words. “I want to talk about my family.” I was so shocked by the sudden capitulation that I didn’t even have time to respond before the topic snowballed, their voice growing louder and more confident. “I have a large family, so large that I have trouble remembering all their names and faces. I feel like the whole world is my family, sometimes, like in some way I’m related to every person. I can’t say who I’m closest to, because when I think back, sometimes I think I was closer to my mother, but then I remember being closer to my father. I think sometimes I misremember things, or maybe my memories can’t carry the weight of so many people.” That was concerning on multiple levels, but I tried to ignore the actual content of the participant’s speech for the time being. “Well, can you remember a specific event that’s a happy memory for you? You don’t have to have a favorite person to appreciate your loved ones. You can love them equally, or you can cherish certain memories with them.” The stranger paused for a beat, mulling over my words. “I remember a family dog, or maybe more than one. I don’t know. I can’t remember. I know I loved that dog, but I can’t remember what we named it, or what happened to it.” “That’s okay, too,” I lied, even though something was wrong in a way I didn’t think I could help. Levelly, I asked them a question Dr. Bishop had been nagging me about for the past week. “Where are you from?” “I’m from many places. I travel lots. You mentioned Kansas; I remember living there once and enjoying the quiet. I remember riding down a country road and seeing cows everywhere.” “Sounds like Kansas to me,” I commented. “Kansas is pretty quiet, but I think that’s what’s nice about it. I liked to sit on my roof and watch the stars at night, when the sky was so clear and crisp it seemed like you could reach out and grab them.” “I remember the stars, too,” the stranger replied, something contemplative and melancholy in the words. “Will you be my friend, Henry Stiles?” The modulator distorted my name into something demonic. “That’s Dr. Stiles to you,” I said, my voice thin and reedy to my own ears. I knew I’d never given the stranger my name, and I knew that no one would have mentioned it, since the anonymity policy was so strict. “Besides, you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.” “That’s okay! I don’t know my name, either!” the participant chirped, cheerful for perhaps the first time. Their voice didn’t sound right in anything other than a flat, level murmur. I paused. There was something here, balanced on a knifepoint, and some primal instinct told me to choose my words carefully. “What name do you want?” “I want your name, Henry.” The stranger on the other side of the mirror trailed my name with a syllabant hiss. I got the feeling they were very close to the glass. I stared my own reflection in the eye, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Some part of my brain was screaming about my conversation with Will, about how Faith had changed so much in so little time. Without my permission, my mouth formed the words, “Take it.” The stranger laughed and refused to speak for the rest of the day. It gave me a lot of time to think, which was possibly a bad thing. I had so many questions, and the security clearance for none of the answers. Who was I speaking to? More importantly, why? The camera watched me intently, and for the first time I wondered why I was the one who couldn’t see through the one-sided mirror. When I left for work, Dr. Bishop met me at the door. There was something sad and lonely in his face. “Dr. Bishop,” I said, even though I had nothing to really say to the man. He looked up, because of course he did, and I shifted awkwardly for a moment. “Um, sir, have you ever worked with my participant?” Dr. Bishop stuck his hands in his pockets, looking away from my face. “No, I’ve never had the pleasure. I hear it’s an experience, but I’m not allowed. I’m...biased.” I got the feeling he was lying, mostly because he was a bad liar, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him out on it. “Biased?” I asked instead, hoping he’d elaborate, if nothing else. “Have a good evening, Dr. Stiles.” I just nodded, my throat dry. I decided to bring my mom takeout and eat with her. All I could hear in the silence was my name, whispered over and over again in that scrambled voice. I didn’t really want to be alone with my thoughts. I didn’t want to think about my participant any longer. I got lost on the way to my mother’s house, even though I’d been visiting the address for five years. After wandering in the dark, wooded roads for a good hour, I pulled my car over and sat on the hood, eating all the takeout myself and staring at the stars. It felt like home. After I finished eating, I decided to go back to work and wait until the doors unlocked. At least I’d be early, just like Dr. Bishop preferred. I shot my mom a text saying I was working late and apologized for not eating dinner with her. Before she had a chance to respond, I turned my phone off and threw it in the floorboard of my car. I couldn’t think of anyone I possibly needed to talk to, barring my job with my participant. When I walked into work the next morning, I could hear whispering all around me. I hoped it was normal gossip instead of he-just-lost-his-job gossip. Will stopped for a second when he greeted me at the door, my daily espresso clutched in one hand while the other hand worried at the hem of his shirt. “Hey,” he said quietly, his eyes roving my face for some piece of information I didn’t have. “Are you feeling okay?” I smiled, trying to ease his nerves. “I’m just tired, I think. I’ll be okay after I start working.” He handed me my drink, at which point I resisted the urge to gulp the entire thing at once. “You want to meet me for lunch today?” Will asked tentatively. “I think we should--I think we should get out of here, you know?” I winced. “Sorry, but I think I’m going to have to work through lunch today. Some other time, okay?” I didn’t stick around to see the look on his face. I slipped into my office as quietly as I could with my broken door and cleared my throat into the microphone. “Good morning. How are you feeling today?” “Did you know that Dr. Bishop has a daughter that moved far away and forgets to call? He doesn’t blame her, but he misses her a lot, especially since his wife died.” I coughed. “I’m sorry?” “Don’t be sorry. You weren’t there. He’s so scared of me. I miss our chats, but now I’m friends with you,” the stranger purred, their discordant voice slipping over the words. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The stranger continued speaking in an oddly clear tone. “He has nightmares of speaking to me, so he stopped. He says he doesn’t know what will happen, but that’s a lie. He knows very well, and he’s afraid.” “What’s going to happen to Dr. Bishop?” I whispered. “He thinks about me more than his dead wife, now. He’s scared, all the time. Maybe his daughter will visit him. I’m lonely, too, just like Dr. Bishop. Will you visit me, Henry?” I stood up so quickly that I knocked my office chair over. Sweat suddenly drenched my forehead, and my skin felt too tight for my body. “Please visit me. I know you’re curious. You can’t figure out who I am, and it eats at you. You have so many questions about Faith, about Dr. Bishop, about me. Why don’t you visit me, and I can answer every question you’ve ever had?” My head spinning, I picked up the office chair and pitched it through the one-way mirror. It smashed through to the other side, but I didn’t look at it. I just kept my eyes on my feet and tried to focus on my breathing. My skin prickled with anticipation. “How violent,” the stranger said, far closer than before. I looked up. The voice was not modulated, and had never been. They were every person I’d met, a face of every simultaneous thought pulsing and shifting into amorphous figures. Staring hurt, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Their eyes, deeper than the stars I’d felt so at home with, pushed and pulled like a kaleidoscope. When they spoke, I heard my mother on her wedding day, at her father’s funeral, the day she was born. I reached up to my own face, feeling a warm mixture of blood, tears, and spinal fluid. The blood vessels in my eyes and nose had ruptured. I didn’t want to think about where the spinal fluid was coming from. The stranger leaned forward, their countless eyes unblinking. “It’s nice to meet you, Henry Stiles. We remember that we liked our mother best.” The stranger tilted their head, and even though I was right in front of them, I couldn’t tell what their hair looked like. “We remember living in Kansas, looking up at the stars at night. We remember swimming with the manatees in Florida.” The stranger’s face flickered, their lips moving out of sync with their words. “Hello, Henry. My name is Faith, and my family dog was named Daisy. She was a poodle, and I remember teaching her to play dead. I used to work here, but now I get to live with all my friends. Does Dr. Bishop still work here, too? He doesn’t visit anymore.” “Who are you?” I rasped, my voice glued in my throat. My eyes burned, and my head was starting to throb. Even when I tried to look away, their awful face was burned into an afterimage that followed me with its eyes. “I’m you now, Henry,” the stranger replied, their voice serene and calm. It grated against my ears until they pulsed, then numbed. “You are here because you want to be, Henry. I know it’s uncomfortable now, but take our hand.” I remembered when I was nine, sitting next to my mother, eating popcorn. We were watching a marathon on conspiracy theories. I’d always liked Mothman, myself. I hoped my mother wouldn’t miss me too badly when I was gone, and I felt a momentary pang of guilt for accidentally eating her takeout. She’d be okay without me... Right? I pitched forward and let the stranger catch me, and when we righted ourselves, there was a sense of perfect equilibrium we’d never felt before. An alarm blared in the hallway, and the security camera, omniscient as always, followed our every move. We shuffled through the broken glass for the old office chair and sat down, waiting for the next participant to step into our testing booth. We had so many more friends to make before we were finished.