Episode 26 - Let the Humans Handle It
The moment Ralph and Mariann entered the projection booth, everything got quieter.
Not like the silence of emptiness.
More like the quiet that comes just before something important begins.
Bernard kept a respectful distance. Charles vanished entirely—possibly to avoid the smell of grounding chalk. Miss LaDonna stationed herself just outside the booth, hands folded, eyes half-closed, as if listening to something beneath the floorboards.
Olivia stood back and watched.
She was part of this.
But not in charge of this.
Not now.
Mariann laid out a folded cloth—navy blue, stitched with what looked like broadcast signal patterns in gold thread. She set three objects on it: a wind-up film timer, a silver cat bell, and a lump of amethyst that vibrated faintly.
Ralph began chalking shapes on the booth floor.
Not circles. Not runes.
Schematics.
Old TV tube diagrams. Tape paths. Calibration markings.
Olivia didn’t recognize the language, but her tail twitched in recognition.
“This reel,” Mariann said, “wasn’t made to be watched. It was made to be remembered.”
“It’s not dangerous in the usual way,” Ralph added, “but it’s sticky. It wants to bind.”
“Memory. Identity. Narrative flow,” Mariann said. “Things that aren’t supposed to overlap are pressing in.”
“Meaning,” Ralph finished, standing up, “we’re going to have to re-isolate the booth before it drags more versions of you out of the corners.”
Olivia glanced at the walls.
They were flickering.
Just slightly.
Like her reflection had multiplied.
They worked fast.
Mariann tuned the projector with a brass tuning fork and a tape splicer engraved with initials Olivia didn’t recognize.
Ralph set out candles that hissed when lit—soft white flames shaped like static feedback.
They didn’t explain everything.
But Olivia understood it.
Not intellectually.
In her bones.
Like she’d done this before.
Maybe once. Maybe many times.
Maybe later.
When the frame started pulsing, Mariann nodded.
“Okay. We’re locked.”
Ralph turned to Olivia. “You stay out here. If you see yourself leave, don’t follow. If you hear your voice from behind the projector, don’t answer.”
“What do I do?”
“Trust us,” Mariann said.
“Let us be human about it,” Ralph added, grinning.
And then they closed the door.
The booth glowed.
Flickered.
The reel began to unwind again, on its own.
From the hallway, Olivia could just barely hear two voices in perfect sync:
“Focus. Anchor. Splice.”
And beneath it—
A third voice.
Her own.
“I remember now.”
Then silence.
Ten minutes later, the door opened.
Mariann stepped out, covered in film dust, holding a black-and-white photograph that hadn’t existed before.
Ralph followed, carrying the reel—now cool, inert, and silent.
“It’s done,” he said. “For now.”
Olivia looked at the photo.
It showed her.
Just her.
No reflection. No duplicate. No smile behind the smile.
Just Olivia.
Standing behind the desk.
Holding a clipboard.
Looking… right.
Miss LaDonna took the badge gently from Olivia’s hands.
“For safekeeping,” she said. “Until you’re ready.”
Olivia nodded.
And exhaled.