Ch1 - Harold

Charles tapped his fingers on the old oak desk as his eyes gazed over the paperwork. His aged face reddened, blue veins danced and throbbed across the surface as his lips curled down into a sneer.

"Another fifty thousand this month? She's a goddamn leech! A vacuum! Fifty thousand down the garbage disposal would be more meaningful. At least then I'd get something out of it!"

Harold Oster loosened his tie as he stood stiff, waiting for the old man's anger to bubble out. He emptied the glass of scotch down his throat quickly, happy it was the good stuff. It burned as it headed down his throat, straight into his ulcerated stomach lining. If he were lucky, it would numb his brain from the pain of hearing the rant he knew was coming.

He yanked his tie harshly back into position and tugged it tighter. It was a reminder to keep his mouth shut. Every instinct in him wanted to tell Mr. Charles Godfrey III that he had advised against him leaving his wife for Lana from the beginning. He wanted to remind the old man that he told him the too-leggy blond who wrapped herself around him like a stray cat was after his wallet. Instead, he refilled his drink and held his tongue. He needed this account.

In the past ten years, many of Harold's friends had lost their businesses, and the economy was tight everywhere. But thanks to Charles Godfrey III, Harold's firm was in the black and had stayed that way. Charles had a knack for making money, and those he hired always ended up in the winner's circle.

"Charles. You're doing well. Better than well. Lana could spend fifty thousand a month for the next fifty years and you'd still be wealthy."

Charles Godfrey III lunged forward as his hand crinkled up the monthly expenditure sheet. Spittle flew out of his mouth as he screamed.

"Do I look like I give a flying fuck about the next fifty years of her life? She didn't do a goddam thing to earn that money. If I wanted a freeloading whore, I'd have had a daughter! She's a barnacle! A vortex sucking away my life, my happiness, and my fortune!"

Harold felt the spittle sitting on his cheeks, but didn't dare raise his hand to swipe it off. He needed to make this work. He needed to calm the old man down and get out of the house while he was still in good standing. Losing this account would be a devastating blow to his firm, and his family. Colleen could kiss college goodbye, and Miya could forget that new country club. Without Godfrey's account, they'd have to move and the firm would have to downsize.

"I have an idea. A friend of mine works in technology. She's working on something now that's cutting edge. I mean, genius. It's called the dream library. It takes place while you sleep, adventures, learning, and hypnosis to improve your lifestyle. Maybe she could mock one up for Lana. Something to curb her need to spend."

Charles sat back in his seat and raised his eyebrow. A slight upward curve of his top lip was enough for Harold to carry on. He may not be on the right track but at least the old man was calming down enough to listen.

"It's still a prototype. Her idea is to use it in people with PTSD. Soldiers and trauma victims. Your mind remembers relaxation and feels refreshed but the implanted messages rewire the brain. It's cutting edge technology. She's made amazing progress with phobias and addiction."

Charles grabbed a pencil and his calendar book. "I want to meet her. Tell her I'll give her a donation. One hundred thousand dollars if she can come to an agreement with me."

Harold drained another drink. Helene wasn't going to like this. Her research was precious and she valued it over money and quite frankly, over family. Harold's only hope was that she'd listen to reason, and maybe needed some cash.

As he left the mansion and got into his car, he couldn't help but notice the Godfrey driver pulling up the long winding drive. When he opened the door for Lana and loaded his arms with packages, Harold hit the gas. He couldn't get off the property quick enough.

Ch2 - Helene

"You want me to take a bribe?"

Harold sat down on the metal office chair and slicked his hair back. The small drops of sweat that gathered in his collar weren't helping him feel confident.

"It's not a bribe, Helene. It's a good chance to do more research. The girl has a real problem. She can't stop spending. She's obviously got some serious issues, he just wants to help her. That's all. You can't blame a guy for wanting to help his wife, can you?"

Her dark rimmed glasses didn't shield him from her death glare. The green of her eyes deepened and her abnormally pale skin became blotched with splashes of red.

"It's not a rental program, Harold! I don't even know if there are any side effects. I'm not a for hire company. I'm staking my entire future on this. I can't have some big shot coming in and making claims. It's too risky! Tell him I can't do it. There's not enough data to use it on everyday people. My subjects are all forced government Guinea pigs."

Harold pulled a document out of his briefcase. He was at the end of his rope too, he couldn't lose this account. And he was one step ahead of the game.

"I have here a sworn legal document that denies any responsibility for anything that goes wrong. It's signed by both Charles and Lana. Absolution of any and all incidents. It's bulletproof. Free reign. And a hundred thousand dollars. Free and clear whether it works or not. You can't go wrong here Helene. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Helene looked at her older brother and laughed. She rolled her eyes and looked at the document. He did always have her back. And she owed him. Without Harold's help she never would have been able to pay for college. And the lab was only hers because of his connections. She took the pen he was handing her and signed the document.

"How did you get her to sign it? I assume she isn't a willing participant or she could just come here."

Harold kissed her on the cheek. "She's 28. She doesn't read legal papers. She just does what she wants and keeps him warm at night. She married a 75-year old tycoon and she's living the high life. She thinks she's trying out new virtual reality software. And that it's a gift from her loving husband."

Helene wiped her hands on her trousers. The whole thing felt dirty. Harold handed her the check and she locked it in the top drawer. She copied down the address and waved Harold off. Making the software would take days, and telling someone to stop spending money wasn't part of the prototype. It would require research and take time away from her passion of trauma. She opened the drawer, looked at the check, and closed it again. With a shake of her head she opened her computer to get started. It was going to be a long night.

Ch3 - Lana

Lana squealed as Helene demonstrated the headgear for the third time, explaining the interface of the monitor and cap that would be connected, wirelessly running the Dream Library while she slept.

Helene had chosen disks of beaches, spas, and villas. Things she hoped a wealthy young woman would find relaxing.

"Just put in the disk you want to play, put the headgear on, and hit the remote. The rest is up to me. It's like taking a vacation while you sleep. When you wake up, you'll feel refreshed and renewed and may even have memories of travel. The only thing I ask is that you document each morning how you're feeling when you wake up."

Lana threw the notebook in the nightstand drawer and got out her cell phone. Helene cleared her throat like a preschool teacher would to get attention and Helene's head snapped in her direction.

"No social media. You've signed a contract. This is top secret. Posting a picture or review or even hinting about what you're involved with will result in my getting very rich and you seeing a jail cell."

Helene's heart thumped as she waited to see if the blonde would take that trumped-up bluff. Harold had said she didn't read the document and that she would need several run throughs of the process, indicating she wasn't the wisest of subjects.

"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch! Can you put people in here? Like hot guys in speedos? Anyone under a hundred would work. Who knew Charles was gonna live past our one year anniversary. God, he's old."

Helene stood with her jaw agape. Harold didn't bother to tell her she was entering the Lion's den. These people were seriously unhappy. She wondered why some people would rather stay unhappy instead of moving on. As she glanced around the room, it didn't take her long to figure it out. Lana's closet was stuffed with clothes that still had the tags attached. Her jewelry was splayed across the desk and discarded in piles.

Walking down the staircase, she saw a bent over man in a suit waiting at the bottom. His face was wrinkled and creased, a stern impression that gave her the creeps. She glanced longingly at the door. All she wanted was to get back to her lab and work on her new prototype to prevent soldiers from being frozen in life or death moments.

"Ah! You must be the famous Helene. Genius, or so I'm told. Come, have a drink with me. It's not often I get to pick the minds of those who actually use their brains for the good of mankind. And a woman of science. Such an exciting field you've chosen!"

Helene couldn't help but feel she'd misjudged the man and chastised herself. He seemed friendly and definitely knew how to compliment. She walked slowly beside him to his office where the smell of books and leather greeted her like a pleasant memory.

"I have a proposition for you, I'd like to be an investor. One million dollars to start. I've spoken to Harold and heard your business plan. It's brilliant. Government contracts are lucrative. But doing all the work yourself is going to take you years. I'll be dead and buried by the time you get this into circulation. Find yourself a team, elite, and with the ability to keep your secrets. I believe in what you're doing. I was in the service myself, it was a tough thing to recover from."

There was no denying he was saying everything Helene had dreamed of hearing. Her body tingled with the possibility that this could be real, but she knew people. She also knew that very few people were out for the good of others. Even deep down herself, as much as she was glad her project would help others, she was just as excited to be a pioneer in the field of the subconscious. Her name would be in textbooks and her legacy would be synonymous with scientific discovery.

"I appreciate that Mr. Godfrey. I really do. But I'm also a realist. What's the catch?"

He laughed and for the first time his eyes twinkled with life. Gone was the flat dead hue and in its place was a sparkling mischievous blue. Helene could almost picture what he looked like when he was younger. Before years and worry marched across his face, leaving lines to prove they were there.

"Harold told me you were skeptical. And witty. I assure you, I'm not out for world domination or to steal your limelight. I'm only interested in making a difference in the world before I die. So far, all I've got as a legacy is an ex-wife who hates me, a whore who can't find her way out of the bathroom without an escort, and money."

Helene wanted to swallow it hook line and sinker. It was practically her own words verbatim. Leaving a legacy was important. But something about his twitching fingers made her hesitate.

"I'll give it some thought, but I assure you, the zeal you have may be misplaced. I'm only in the beginning stages here, while my data looks promising I can't assure results, yet. The mind is a mysterious vault and has to be dealt with carefully."

Charles Godfrey III stood. His arched back cracked and a flash of pain quickly hidden made her see his frailty. He extended his hand, jutting vines and blue veins around nails yellowed with age.

"Take your time. Think about it. I'm sure you'll see the advantage of a benefactor once you've given it some thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some business of my own to attend to."

As she sat down in the car she dialed the one person who'd always been her sounding board.

"Helene. Are you ok?"

She giggled into the phone. It was odd and foreign sounding. She wasn't a giggler. Looking in the rearview mirror she realized she didn't need to ask Harold, her mind was already made up. She had a financial backer.