We Are Monsters by Brian Kirk

real, he accepted that the participants believed them to be. Just as a person suffering from a psychotic episode will consider his or her delusions to be actual reality. It was a trick created by the release of chemicals to stimulate our minds during sleep and protect us from existential stress. Why it seemed to be encoded with archetypal images or capable of accessing our subconscious was still a mystery. But controlling its production by the pineal gland was something Alex had learned to do. It was the core function of the experimental compound that he had created and tried to sell to Philax.
    â€œIf you don’t want us to see, why don’t you just cut out our eyes?”
    Alex opened his mouth then closed it. He scanned the room, observing the patients. Some sitting catatonic before full plates of food. Some rocking back and forth, mumbling incoherently. Some gazing towards the ceiling with agonized expressions, as though watching the Rapture descend.
    â€œWhat do you see?” Alex asked his brother.
    Jerry nodded his head and leaned back. “The source,” he said. “The truth.” He tapped his temple and pointed his finger at Alex. “I see what’s hidden, and that’s why you’ve got me locked up like a chicken in a coop.”
    â€œJerry, you’re not—”
    A hand came down on Alex’s shoulder. “There you are,” Angela said. Her lips were pressed tight, her dark eyes burrowed into his own. Then she looked over at Jerry and smiled. “Hey, Jerry! How are you feeling this morning?”
    â€œI’m fine,” he said robotically, then bent over his tray of food and began poking at his eggs.
    â€œThat’s great. Mind if I borrow your brother for a minute?”
    Alex reached out and grabbed Jerry’s hand. “Hang in there, big guy. I’ll get you home just as soon as I can.”
    Jerry looked up through his curtain of hair. His eyes jittered and he squeezed them shut and shook his head, as if to clear his mind of what he’d just seen.

Chapter Eight
    Angela sped away from the table, towards the exit.
    Alex had to jog to catch up. But he enjoyed the view from behind. It wasn’t lost on him that most contortionists were of Asian descent. It was something he had to force from his mind anytime he and Angela met.
    She pushed through the hydraulic door without holding it open, so it rebounded against him.
    He shook his head and followed her through.
    Once outside, Angela slowed. She kept her voice low. “I’ve been calling you all morning. Where have you been?”
    Alex pointed back towards the cafeteria. “Where you just found me. With Jerry. What the hell happened?”
    â€œIt would have been better to have had this conversation before you met with him.”
    â€œWell, that’s too bad. I’m more concerned with his well-being than with sticking to protocol. He’s not a regular patient, you know. And he’s not being treated properly. His dosage is off.”
    Angela nodded. “That came from Eli.”
    â€œYeah, I figured.”
    They turned a corner that opened onto a large recreational room with card tables and televisions bolted to the walls. It was empty during breakfast hours but Alex still led them to a back table by the window, near the far wall.
    Alex eyed the wall before he sat down. It was covered by a mural painted by a former patient. The mural, with its Picasso-esque abstractions, was a representation of the Garden of Eden with a man and woman scantily covered by leaves. They were surrounded by all forms of smiling wildlife, predators at peace with prey. Lions stood peaceably beside zebra; wolves nuzzled sheep. A diamond-patterned snake presented a red apple to the woman. Carved into the apple’s skin was the pyramid with the all-seeing eye from the dollar bill. The woman was smiling, but a single tear trickled down her cheek. The sky featured the vast cosmos, a tapestry of