Mind Scanned

I’m Detective Bunsen.

I’m currently scanning and viewing the memories of accused serial killer James Jenson, or “The Silent Specter” as the newspapers dubbed him. The name was given to him because according to a child who was hiding in the attic and watching James attack his babysitter after a very quiet break in, “Mr. Jenson didn’t make a sound as he moved throughout the house, he was as quiet as a mouse. Not even when he was thrusting his knife into her back did anything make a sound, not even a crack. He moved like a ghost, his silence was the most terrifying thing of all. I’m lucky that out of the attic, I did not fall.”

The child’s description of the killer was the only reason we caught him. James was ex-special forces, so he has the training to move quickly and quietly.

Mind scanning was something I’ve been able to do since they came out with a device called Memory Link in twenty forty two. The device worked by placing a soft metal plate atop the persons head, which connected to the nerves of your brain with lasers and displayed any memories you were thinking of on a screen. The machine even had an approximate time and day of those memories, which it measured by scanning the age of the brain cell holding the memory.

The trick was getting your suspect to think of the memory you wanted him to think of.

It was now twenty fifty, and I’d had eight years of practice coercing people to think of specific memories.

And I’ve also had eight years of meticulous practice sorting through people’s memories, both real and memories they’ve imagined to try and trick the machine. But I could usually snuff out a false memory.

“What do we have here. The machine says these memories of you at a cabin party near Yellowstone are from Tuesday the fourteenth, seven months ago, the day of the murder. And clearly these memories are nowhere near where the body was found, which would have given you an alibi under normal circumstances,” I said.

“Would have?” The killer said quizzically.

“Yes, would have. But I know these memories aren’t yours,” I said and zoomed out of the screen. The memories of the party near Yellowstone were on a television screen, and a mirror next to the tv showed a reflection of the killer inside his house, which was only a mile from the crime scene. I know this because I arrested James at his house.

He was so focused on his memory he was able to force the computer to only see the television screen, not the whole picture.

The machine might be easy to trick, but I wasn’t.

“Busted,” I said and grinned.

“This is circumstantial, at best detective. These machines aren’t always accurate,” the man’s lawyer said.

“Tell it to the judge,” I said and walked out of the room. The officers on the other side of the mirror applauded me.

As I walked away from the interrogation room, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in my ability to outsmart the criminals who thought they could trick the Memory Link, especially maniacs like James.

But my pride had made me oblivious to the fact that James had unlocked his cuffs. His lawyer must have slipped him my keys, and checking my pockets, I now realized they were missing.

I heard a loud crash behind me and a chair went flying through the two sided glass, and while everyone was shielding their faces, James made a run for it.

I pivoted around to see James charging towards me with a look of pure evil in his eyes. He really was silent as he moved, even now. It was genuinely terrifying.

"You think you're so clever, Detective Bunsen," he whispered in my ear, "But you've made a grave mistake."

Before I could react, he lunged at me, and we tumbled to the ground. I struggled trying to get him off me, but finally, I rolled my leg around his and flipped him on his back before managing to pin him down.

"It's over," I said, panting.

"You're under arrest. Again,”

James let out a maniacal laugh.

"You're too late, Detective. I've already planted false memories in your mind. While you were scanning my memories, I was pushing other memories into yours, using your own memory link against you,” James explained

“I don’t understand. I wasn’t hooked up to memory link. Only you were hooked into memory link,” I said, my knee now jammed into James back.

“But you had to look at the screen to see my memories. I pushed false memories into the computer while you were busy watching my memories from the night of the alleged murders, and as you know, that’s easy to do. Those machines are easy to trick. And every time you looked at the screen, I commanded the computers mind scanning lasers to push the false memories into your mind. While you were watching the memories you thought were important, arrogantly thinking you solved the crime, I created memories of evidence that in your mind will make you the murderer. In a few minutes, you'll start to believe that you're the real killer. In a few hours, you’ll be convinced of it. The memories will all come flooding back to you. You will confess and set me free,” James whispered in my ear.

“Then why try and escape now,” I asked.

“Because that’s exactly what everyone else will be asking when you try to convince them I pushed fake memories in your head,” he whispered and smiled, making a face so sinister it would have scared Satan.

I felt a sudden chill run down my spine as the officers rushed in to help restrain the suspect. Could he be telling the truth? Had I been mind-scanned?

As the officers dragged the suspect away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I might be the next one on the receiving end of the Memory Link. I only hoped that my own skills would be enough to sort out the truth from the lies in my own mind.

Memories had slowly started to bubble to the surface of my brain. I was always looking for clues at the crime scene right after the murders were committed. I had the vaguest sense that I had hidden evidence at the scenes of each crime. I didn’t want to remember why.

I tried to push these fake memories out of my head, but there were so many. They just kept popping into my head. How had James created so many fake memories in such a short period of time, I wondered.

So much for a happy ending, I thought. I’d have to take an early retirement and check myself into a psych ward. That way, I wouldn’t get labeled an ex-cop in prison.