“What if something goes wrong with the collar?” I gesture at the TV, where the diagram is frozen. “What if the battery packs both die? What if she falls in the tub or a swimming pool? What if it just… breaks?”
“They’re all tested, hon. The battery backup system is designed not to fail. And accidents happen, but they can be prevented by simple home care, some things I’ll go over with you before you go.”
“And what about the other thing? The impulse triggering thing?”
Jean gives me another serious look. I wonder if I’m the only person who’s ever asked about this. Then again, I wonder if I’m the only person who’s claimed someone from this kennel.
“The collar puts out electrical shocks at regular intervals. One every six seconds. This keeps them from becoming agitated. It’s better than the way they did it in the beginning, which caused massive brain damage to many parts of the brain, which wasn’t necessary. The collar is an improvement, believe me.”
I do. “But that thirty-two times in twenty minutes thing? What’s that?”
“The unit is programmed to sense electrical charges in the brain. These charges occur with certain brain activity, hon. Like aggression. Or violence. If those charges are sensed by the unit, it puts out a double-strength impulse to combat it. This usually calms them right down. But if it doesn’t, if the unit keeps firing…”
“Mercy Mode.” I swallow a thick, sour taste.
“And it would be a mercy, don’t you think? If they can’t be fixed, they can at least be… taken care of. Even if it means being…”
She trails off, unable to say it. Killed. She means killed.
It’s not Jean’s fault this happened, but I want to blame her because she’s the one telling me. I wonder if my brain’s firing right now. I wonder what it feels like to have electrical shocks pummeling my brain, making me calm.
“But what if the collar malfunctions? What then?”
“They don’t malfunction. They’ve all been fully tested.”
“Everything breaks,” I tell her. “Didn’t you ever buy an iPod or a cell phone that just doesn’t work? My… my dad had a car once he called a lemon because he drove it off the lot and it never worked right. What if there are collars like that? What if you gave one to my mom?”
Jean’s mouth turns down at the corners. “I can only tell you what they tell me.”
Everything inside me is stiff and brittle, ready to break. “Do you really think none of them ever break?”
“Watch the rest of the movie. And then I’ll go over the rest of the training with you.”
Jean leaves me there in the room. I stare at the TV for a half minute, then sit down and watch the rest. There’s not much, just a hotline number to call if there’s a problem. I copy it down on a piece of scrap paper, in case.
After the movie, she gives me a thick pile of papers to read and sign. Checklists. Pamphlets printed on yellow paper. Everything’s written in the same bright, sparkly tone Jean herself uses, but I know that’s just how she talks, nothing she picked up from this stuff. The difference is, Jean is that way because she’s a nice person. Whoever wrote the brochures and things thinks other people are idiots.
Then again, that person is probably right.
“And here’s your complimentary care package.” Jean slides a tote bag across the desk to me.
The bag has the name of a big drug company on one side and a big electronics company on the other. Inside is a small sample package of adult-sized diapers, a food chopper, some sample packs of vitamins, and a stack of coupons for baby food. I want to rip them up, but I leave them in the bag. I ate a dog biscuit once. It didn’t taste very good, but it didn’t make me a dog, either.
Also in the bag is a set of wrist restraints, softly padded cuffs that bind with Velcro. They’re made of some smooth, thick fabric that reminds me of what an astronaut would wear. Ankle restraints, too.
“We had to fight to get them included. The companies can afford to pay for them. And this way, we can be sure everyone goes home with something that will work without being… harsh.”
This is the first time I’ve heard Jean’s voice be anything but kind.
“Will I have to use these?”
She sighs. “The law says that when you’re not with her, she’ll have to be restrained. Or if you take her in public. So, yes.”
I put the restraints back in the bag.
“It’s going to be a little overwhelming for you, Velvet. Be ready for that.”
“I think I am.”
Jean pauses to study me. “No, hon. I don’t think you really are. I know you’ve been brave and strong. I can tell you’re a good kid. Responsible. But this isn’t like anything you’ve ever done.”
She knows where I work because I had to write it all down, so I study her right back. “I can change a diaper, I’m okay with it.”
“It’s more to it than that,” Jean says, then hesitates before saying, “She’ll need help with so much. Eating. Bathing.”
I think about them in the cages, eating dog treats and being covered in filth. “But… sometimes… they get better, right? I mean on their own.”
Jean shakes her head. “You shouldn’t get your hopes up.”
“But they do,” I say stubbornly. “Like people who’ve had brain injuries can relearn stuff. They can get better.”
“And sometimes,” Jean says gently, “they keep getting worse.”
I’m silent. Jean shakes her head a little, softly. She takes out a business card, scribbles something on the back, passes it to me. “That’s my home number. Call me if you need to talk about anything. Okay?”
I push the card into my pocket. “Are you just trying to get me to go out with your son?”
Jean laughs. “Maybe. He could use some friends his own age. But… really. Call. If you need to talk, okay?”
“Thanks.” I take a deep breath and stand, gripping the tote bag. “Can I take her home now?”
“Sure. I had Leslie taking care of her. Getting her all ready.”
This time, Jean doesn’t take me down the hall to the kennels. She takes me to a bright, clean room with lots of examination tables and instruments. The smell of disinfectant is strong, but here it’s a clean smell.
Inside, sitting on the edge of one of the tables, is my mom. They’ve cut her hair shorter to just below her shoulders in a style that would be smoother if she hadn’t been running her hands through it. Still, it’s clean. So are her face and body, from what I can see. Her clothes are clean, if a little too big and mismatched. She’s not wearing the daisy blouse.
“Here we are.” Leslie is a short woman with dark curly hair and glasses. She takes my mom’s hand to help her down from the table. “C’mon, honey. It’s time to go.”
I’ve been taller than my mom since I was in seventh grade, but it’s still strange for me to look her in the eye instead of having to stare up. She’s looking at me, her face blank. She has a scar over one eyebrow she never had before.
“What’s that from? Can you tell me? Is it from the surgery?”
“Oh, no. That’s from something that happened before they brought her in. I can check the records, if you like, but they should be in her file that Jean gave you.”
“It’s okay. It’s not important. Hi, Mom.” I’ll check at home. Right now I’m looking her over.
You can’t see the electrodes, or the scars from where they put them in, unless you’re looking in the right spots. The collar, on the other hand, is impossible to miss.
My mom says nothing. She’s looking at me, but not like she sees me. More like she’s staring at nothing. Just like that little boy. Tyler, I think. He has a name.
“Are you ready, hon? You have everything you need at home?”