For a brief moment, I cracked, revealing the delicate fractures that have splintered me during the course of this experiment. I was irresponsible, childish. I won’t allow that to happen again with this subject. From the first moment I saw her, I knew she’d be a challenge, but she’s perfect in that challenge—a test I must succeed at. I simply have to reevaluate my reactions to her. Fortify my defenses. Be stronger.

I whisper a curse into the crisp air, my breath fogging the evening. Blakely, Blakely…

She’s the spark to my fuse.

A fire lit down deep in the bowels of my torment and self-degradation.

Her soulless, penetrating eyes strip me of every pretentious façade; she sees down to my stained marrow. And there’s a part of me that yearns for it, to be cleansed by her fire.

I force the torturous thought from my head and try again to form a cohesive thought.

The subject’s response to the initial treatment exceeded expectations:

No anesthesia was administered before 200 volts was delivered for approximately 40 seconds. Admittedly, again, requiring the subject to undergo the treatment without anesthesia was a callous oversight on my part, and most likely the result of the subject’s side effects which include:

Immediate confusion. Temporary memory loss of the event. Migraine-induced nausea.

Four days after the treatment, subject has resumed normal brain function and no longer suffers headaches or sickness, but remains lethargic.

During the 40 seconds of treatment, the subject’s seizure lit up all areas of the brain, denoting this subject is highly subjectable to the procedure. It gives me hope that, in time, the dormant pathways of the subject’s amygdala will function as a non-psychopathic brain.

Hope… Such a nonscientific word. But, nothing is ruined yet. Blakely is resilient. Now I must start again. Analyze the data and draw conclusions. Accept or reject my hypothesis. Modify the hypothesis if needed. Reproduce the experiment until there are no discrepancies between observations and theory.

Reproducibility.

That is the crux of the scientific method.

I find my feet wandering back toward the cabin, my steps quickening to match the eager beat of my heart. There’s so much that needs to be done… But first, I need to revive my subject.

The cabin appears just over the hill, and I remember the day Mary and I found the little weathered house. We’d been hiking the woods on one of our annual retreats. A way to get away from the city and the noise and her patients. To recharge.

We stumbled on the cottage and Mary instantly fell in love. She wondered why she’d never thought about owning a property outside of the city before, and she decided she had to have it.