The Cure

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The machine looked like something out of a 1950s B movie, with blinking lights, metal rods, and the occasional electric spark, but the doctors had assured Adam that it would work. He took one last look at the machine, and then the nurse directed him to the platform bed in the middle.

Adam lay down upon the bed, feeling cold in the thin hospital robe. The nurse began methodically strapping Adam down, first fastening straps at his wrists and then at his ankles. Next she inserted needles in his arms, connected to tubes that led out of sight. Finally, she fitted a helmet onto Adam’s shaven head. Metal electrodes, cold to the touch, affixed themselves in a ring all around his crown.

“All set?” Adam asked.

The nurse smiled. “Just try to relax, Mr. Gantz. We’ll be ready in a minute.” She walked away.

Adam twitched his fingers and wiggled his toes, uncomfortable at the lack of mobility. But still, this sacrifice, like all others he had made recently, was well worth it. That is, if the machine would do what he was promised it could. As he lay there, he thought back to his appointment one month ago that had led to this moment.

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