"Was it successful?" Dr. Baker repeated the question as her back pressed against her statement chair in her summer house. "Well, how do you measure success?" she asked.
"Go on,"culture and society reporter Mz. Arlab said across from Dr. Baker. She had every type of background knowledge and dirt on her subject yet nowhere to store it. Which was exactly why she was here.
"I don't regret it but I cannot ignore the rarities that unfolded in the experiment."
The fan circled overhead. "Do you care about the public's views?"
Dr. Baker bit her lip, entirely innocent yet bewildered. "I do but visionary things are hard to conceptualize. They weren't in the experiment; my twenty couples were."
Mz. Arlab nodded her head, hand twitching to touch her pencil. Usually during interviews, she worked on transcribing the conversation into manageable paraphrase. "Are you nervous at all about being arraigned?"

She tore up the waffles box, looking for a wad of $50 bills. They were not there; just frostbitten waffles. So the wife switched gears; charging up the cherry wood-stained stairs to enter her room where she crouched down, opened her silver music box and then took the money out.
Those quickened movements totaled up to her disappearance. Her bags were nearly packed: phone, keys, bus fare, sunglasses, chargers, coat, matches and multi pack hair ties. Her husband would arrive in approximately fifteen minutes so she put her money in her purse and urged herself to forget him, forget her life. Her next, new life meant staying with parents or crashing with friends.
Past the door, she walked the blocks to the bust stop, holding her bags close even though there was no one else out, no neighbor to poke their nose in what she was doing. Because when she escaped, her husband would have to deal with his problem by himself.

Kenya visited the post experiment wing decorated with seasonal touches that offset the medical taste of the room. Her boyfriend walked behind her, not keeping up. They signed in. It was a full three weeks after their brain reroutes and uncomfortable incisions. The test subjects were encouraged to come in and see Dr. Baker.
Hasim sat down and focused on his girlfriend and they fell into their habit of swapping traumas. This experience was coded in little pinpricks. Feeling each others' neurons they made extreme eye contact. They might've been the only couple to reach the experiment's maximum ability for dual healing. Bombs, clouds of dust, slip sliding buildings and his brother trembling passed into Kenya's mind. She was not overwhelmed; the trauma pulled apart itself like taffy. She withstood a little pain as Hasim reaped much benefit. Tears formed in his eyes and she kissed him on the forehead. Dr. Baker sensed her experiment would have more pluses than minuses so when she welcomed the pair into her office her own brain chimed plus, plus, plus.

She was three towns deeper in Texas, twenty five miles from her house. In the motel she paid the room fee and accepted the breakfast card even though she would be up at 6 AM. After a soapy shower, she texted her friend, asking when she could come over.
9 AM but you can come earlier. Like 8:50 AM.
She smiled at her friend's playfulness and counted her lucky stars that her friend's husband was a cop.

He took well to the experiment. He really did. He felt for his wife when he received spare images of her trauma; he felt for her when he caught traumatic sounds. What he couldn't "feel for" was the actual event.
After he made love to his wife in October, he distracted himself with his own thoughts while rubbing her back. They were good thoughts. Because his trauma was now gone. And she was handling his experiences well.
"I think we did the right thing," she said happily.
"Yep," he said. Sensing that his wife was satisfied, he skipped rubbing her tender soles and started for the shower.
"Don't you agree?" Her voice rang out.
"Yes," he said as he came out with a towel around his waist.

"I just want to let you know you were the first person who made me want intimacy,"she said. He suspected he had to return to the bed and moved some pillows to be next to her.
"But I still can't move on. I need you to take some of the burden."
Burdens were not his favorite but his wife needed him. He closed his eyes and induced meditations in time with her breath. They clutched hands and tapped their heads against the other, quickly, like Dr. Baker explained. Ripples of images formed in his brain: a lanky barefoot guy standing at the doorway. He could not see his wife sleeping on the bed because he became her.
Remaining impartial, he heard the guy's words that plagued his wife, but the impartial facade ended when the visions became... violent. The violence turned into an electric convulsion; the husband let go of his wife, doubled over and screamed. He caught himself and ran to the bathroom sink to douse his burning face in water.
"Oh gosh, honey. Are you alright?" She put on clean underwear and a yellow shirt.
He almost answered but when he faced her he didn't see her. In fact, he saw the guy from the trauma episode. "Get away from me.'
When the confusion dissipated, he was not relieved to see his wife, making it easier to leave again. The touch of the man disgusted him, it rattled him so much, empathy became impossible.

Mz. Arlab turned her camcorder back on after a brief disagreement on how to proceed with the interview. Dr. Baker's expression shifted to concern.

"I am not nervous about being arraigned. The procedures were above board; the volunteers were informed about the ins and outs of the experiment."
"Can you define ins and outs?"
"Side effects. 98% chance of dizziness, forgetfulness, 95% fatigue. I can't list them all."
"That's okay. What about 10%?"
Dr. Baker said there was not 10%. She squirted some lotion onto her palms. Not able to resist, Mz. Arlab crossed her arms and waited for the doctor to admit her part in the husband wife homicide.
"I affirm a rarity happened, I affirm the 1 to 2% outcome occurred. And that is sad. Maybe they could have tried couples counseling." Dr. Baker laughed darkly.
"Is that you Op-Ed? The transfer of memories is not what's best for people who are struggling?"
"I think scientific breakthroughs will remain a feature in today's society."
"The 92%?" Mz. Arlab challenged, not to be rude but to hopefully prompt Dr. Baker's empathy.
She painted a new picture. "I didn't want to help just 92%. I wanted to treat everyone with acute sensitivities to daily life and a predisposition to disconnect with their partners. Trauma, before my experiment was isolating, imagine everyday going through it alone? The trials helped in calculating the trauma and binding the survivors together."

"Yes, I remember you stated the couples who shared their traumas had sharp, gut punching reactions but then the intensity of the memory subsided?"
Dr. Baker tried to answer honestly. "The data is inconclusive about whether the traumatic memories fade when they were swapped. Additionally, the brain's vacuum is not controllable, hence the memories might remain in the receiver but the survivor has that memory erased for good."
Mz. Arlab noticed the conversation needed an endpoint and she grew excited to leave the charming, Smithsonian- like house. "Back to the homicide, is there truth to what the husband confessed?"
"He blamed the experiment." Dr. Baker said. "He has a right to but there are a myriad of reasons why people end the lives of others. Let's say the trauma bond drove him to it; he still knew the risks."
Mz. Arlab underlined that statement in her notepad so it'd be easier to find. Risks, not side effects.
"And he knew the only way to expunge the trauma was to kill her?"
"Again, Clare, there are a myriad of reasons why people snap." Dr. Baker rose from her chair and smiled warmly at the reporter. "I presume this interview will be published tomorrow?"