The Voiceover
by Jared Cappel
part 1
Dr. Parnell stood at the lectern glancing through her index cards. She was about to begin when one last parent arrived, strutting as if entering a wrestling ring. The woman was confident, Dr. Parnell had to admit. She was built like a pit bull: short, thick, hunched. She helped herself to three chairs, spreading out her belongings as if at a picnic.
Dr. Parnell let the woman have her moment — there was one in every crowd — but she wouldn’t let the woman rile her. She was a psychologist; it was her job to control the room. She knew how quickly opinion could sway, especially in a crowd this size. The other parents didn’t wear their anger as loudly as the one woman, but that didn’t mean they weren’t on edge.
A comment flew out from the heart of the crowd. It didn’t take a detective to determine the source of the remark. The woman’s voice was as aggressive as the rest of her. “Why should we surrender control? They’re our children!”
A few quiet “Yeahs” rang out, a bevy of nodding, but no one else had the guts to jump in. Dr. Parnell contained her smile. This crowd seemed more placatable than most. And the woman? She had moxie, sure, but if she wanted a battle of wits, she was going against a PhD.
Dr. Parnell set down her cards. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think this program held promise.”
“I’m here cause the court made me!”
“The important thing is you’re here.” A feigned smile. “There’s no harm in listening, right?”
The woman grumbled. She’d wanted to get a rise out of the prominent psychologist. She hadn’t expected gentleness. She couldn’t explode at gentleness.
Dr. Parnell passed her eyes across the room. “Whether you’ve been sent by the court or you’ve come on your own volition, know that if you enroll in the program, your children will be in good hands. They will have better outcomes, as per our national studies.”
Dr. Parnell pointed to the brochure that each parent held. “Entrusting your children to our care is not abandonment. You’ll be with them every step of the way. This isn’t an orphanage. Think of us as a parental training center.”
The loud woman turned to a man beside her. “Are you believing this?”
Dr. Parnell tapped the microphone firmly, like an angry nun slapping a ruler. “I’d appreciate if we could hold questions until the end of the seminar.”
Dr. Parnell continued. Discipline. Consistency. The topics she spoke of were commonplace, but she spoke with such firmness that the parents seemed impressed. A few even looked hopeful. Desperate, certainly, but not without optimism.
The process was frightening. The sort of thing that would make one scratch all over their body. And yet, if it worked, it would be worth it. To tame the angriest of children would be an act worth more than money.
When the lecture ended, the agents circled the parents. The pitch was easy. Their kids were out of control. The process could fix them. And best of all, everything was on the government’s dime.
Only a dozen parents resisted, the angered woman amongst them. Dr. Parnell promised them each an individual consultation. The woman cracked her knuckles. Dr. Parnell vowed to deal with her first.
The angry woman introduced herself as Grace. She followed Dr. Parnell into a general-purpose office. Dr. Parnell flipped through Grace’s file. Her son’s name was Travis. He’d been expelled from school for fighting. He’d been caught swiping liquor from the corner store and had spat on the arresting officer.
Grace folded her hands into her lap and sank into the chair. She didn’t seem quite as tough without an audience to impress. She looked around the nondescript office as if it held clues as to what was coming.
When Dr. Parnell felt she’d read enough from the file, she looked up to Grace. “Your son is on a dangerous path. In four years, he’ll be eighteen and this will be out of our control.” She tapped at the file. “It says here his father has been in and out of prison his whole life. Is that what you want for your son?”
“Of course not!” Grace’s body rumbled. “What sort of mother do you take me for?”
“An overwhelmed one.” Dr. Parnell’s voice was eerily calm.
“Well you’d be, too, if you met Travis. I swear the boy takes after our Jack Russell. Damn kid won’t listen to a word I say. He stares at me, to show he’s heard, then does whatever the hell he feels like.”
“Kids can be difficult. But we can help.”
Grace waited. There had to be more. “Is that it? Is that what the courts pay you for? To say kids are difficult? They teach you that at Harvard?”
“I went to Washington State.”
“Don’t you sass me.” Grace’s face turned red. “My son may need help but that doesn’t make me some criminal.”
Dr. Parnell stayed quiet as Grace spouted non-sequiturs, though she had plenty of ammunition if she felt like responding. Grace was indeed a criminal. She’d been convicted of a felony, DUI, twice.
“I ain’t got nothing against the State helping me raise this boy. Lord knows he needs it. I just don’t get why I have to sign over control.”
“We only take custody until the child gets better. It’s a matter of consistency. Troubled children are used to getting their way. They’re told one thing, but the parents don’t follow through.” She caught the look on Grace’s face. She wondered if she were sassing her. “Without seeing you interact with your son, I can’t speak to your specific dynamic, but I can promise you our trained team will provide the most consistent approach to breaking your son’s bad habits.”
“All I hear is a buncha mumbo-jumbo.”
“All I hear is an opportunity.”
Grace shook her head. “You think you’re so smart cause of your fancy words and your degree. But let me tell you this: you ain’t never met no boy like Travis.”
“So give us a chance. What do you have to lose?”
“My son!”
“But what do you have to gain?” Dr. Parnell waited for the response that wasn’t coming. “Hint: it’s the same thing.” Another pause. She wasn’t sure Grace understood. “Your son. You gain your son. At his full potential.”
While Grace and Dr. Parnell conversed, Travis was held in a cell no wider than his wingspan. He hopped on and off the thin mattress. He punched the cement wall. He cursed the names of his mother, the judge, a neighbourhood nemesis.
Dr. Parnell loaded a feed of the video into the small office. The two women watched the boy spiral. He yanked on his hair. He spun around in circles. He screamed as if possessed.
Dr. Parnell closed the video. “You think you can handle him?”
“I already told you I can’t. Don’tcha listen?”
“Well, it’s up to you. You can sign him up for our program, where he has the chance to bloom, or you can let him rot away in jail.”
Grace signed the form with an exaggerated sigh, fishing through her purse for a cigarette. She looked to the doctor. “You’re responsible for that boy now. Don’t come crying to me when he’s too much.”
Dr. Parnell smiled. “You’ve done right by Travis. We’ll be ready for you in the implantation room tomorrow at four. Remember to follow the pre-surgical plans. You can’t eat or drink tomorrow morning, but you can have a cigarette or two if it will help calm your nerves.”
Grace grumbled. “No food or water but I can smoke. Some doctor you are.”
* * *
The procedure required an anesthesiologist, two general surgeons, a robotics engineer and three nurses. Dr. Parnell didn’t normally avail herself to the actual surgery, but she liked the reversal of roles. The brusque woman at her mercy. The actualization of her carefully laid plans.
The surgeon struggled to get the final consent. He looked to Dr. Parnell for backup, but she stayed quiet. Grace’s pre-surgery nerves were to be expected and the anger was familiar, but the astuteness of her queries caught Dr. Parnell off guard. Where had this foresight been in the initial interview? Why had she cared so little until staring down the surgeon’s scalpel?
Eventually, Grace huffed and signed the form. That seemed to be her approach: argue, explode, capitulate.
Travis had yet to be freed from his cage. After some time, he received bandages for his bloody knuckles. He had no idea how long he was to remain, where his mother was or what was happening. He’d been in detention centers before, but this was different. They’d brought him to a facility, opened a door, and wordlessly shoved him in.
Grace’s surgery was challenging. Bands were sewn across the base of the tongue and the lips. A pouch was formed to harness the chip. The sensors had to align with the vocal cords just right.
The procedure took nearly seven hours. When it was done, the team wheeled Grace to a general ward where nurses monitored her condition. It would be days until she left the hospital, weeks until she met with Dr. Parnell.
While Grace snacked on gelatin, Travis was fed a gruel of pureed broccoli with undercooked rice. He threw the tray at the wall. The guards didn’t care. No further food would come until he finished his slop. The treatment had begun, and it was important they stayed consistent.
After 29 rage-filled hours, Travis gave in. He got to his knees, desperate with hunger, and sopped the spattered remains off the floor. Unsure what else to do, he lay in bed, composing a list of people he blamed for his predicament. There was only one name he didn’t think to add to his list: his own.
When Grace recovered from her surgery and completed her intensive speech language therapy, she was booked to meet with Dr. Parnell. She had a lingering tickle in her lips and a heaviness on her tongue but felt otherwise fine. The discharging physician said she was free to resume regular activity.
Something in Grace’s posture had softened. Perhaps she’d come to terms with the significance of the process. Perhaps she felt indebted to the center. Perhaps she’d grown weary of it all and felt it easier to play along. It didn’t matter to Dr. Parnell why, but she was pleased the change had occurred. She smiled. “Let’s hear how those vocal cords are sounding. I want you to repeat after me.”
“Repeat after me.”
Dr. Parnell couldn’t help but laugh. That wasn’t the response she’d intended but it sufficed. “Good, you’re doing well. Clearly all the therapy has paid off.”
Dr. Parnell reached into her pocket for a handheld device that resembled a garage door opener. It was bare but for two buttons, one that said mute and the other that said replace. She pressed the mute button. “Now I want you to repeat after me.”
Grace voiced the words but no sound came out.
“Great. It appears the chip is working perfectly.”
Grace articulated a few nasty words in Dr. Parnell’s direction. Dr. Parnell unmuted the device at just the right time. “You son of a bit— ” She hit the mute button again. It worked like a charm. Where had this device been when they’d first met?
Dr. Parnell knew better than to play around too much with this angry woman. Besides, she didn’t have authority to control Grace’s speech as she pleased. Only when in the presence of her son. But for training purposes she was allowed some leeway. There were still a few more tests to complete. Dr. Parnell hit the button on the device labelled replace. “Test: one, two, three.”
Though Dr. Parnell had spoken, the words sounded as if they were coming from Grace’s mouth. Grace’s lips moved along with the words, though not as smoothly as the center would prefer. Future models were promised to have improved physical mimicry.
Normally the testing process lasted much longer. It was important that the participant grew comfortable in their new skin, so to speak, but Dr. Parnell worried that any further delay would trigger Grace’s argumentative tendencies.
Dr. Parnell played a live feed of Travis. He looked worse than before. He had bandages on his hands and face and a bloody lip. His pale eyes glowed red in the cheap feed, as if he were the devil. His movements were frantic, disjointed, almost rabid.
Dr. Parnell activated the two-way nature of the feed to allow Grace’s face to appear. For now, she allowed the mother to speak with her own voice. “How ya doing, boy?”
“Get me the hell outta here. Look what they did to my face!”
Grace began to shout but was instantly muted. Dr. Parnell tapped the replace button. “Your actions have consequences.” It sounded as if the words were coming straight from Grace’s mouth. Her lips moved along with the words. The intonation and tone were a dead match.
“You kidding me, ma? You gonna let them knock me around?”
Dr. Parnell spoke through Grace via the replace button. “Video footage shows you inflicting those injuries on yourself.”
“Screw that.”
“You’ll have to live with your decisions. When you’re ready to speak like an adult and take responsibility for your decisions, we’ll speak further.”
Travis stared slack-jawed at the screen even after it cut out. It certainly looked and sounded like his mother, but he’d never heard her string a sentence together like that before. Certainly not without a few curse words tacked on for good measure. Certainly not after he’d misbehaved, when her fuse had been lit.
Dr. Parnell looked at Grace and saw the smallest of smiles creep out. “It’s important your son understand that your words hold weight. He’ll only start listening when he realizes you mean business.”
Grace felt the urge to defend her parenting skills, but she relented. She’d come this far. It was time to give the doctor’s methods a chance.
They waited another twenty minutes before reactivating the feed. During that time, Dr. Parnell coached Grace on basic parenting skills surrounding consistency and discipline. The doctor’s words made sense. Grace did bend to her son’s anger. She could be more consistent.
Travis leaned into the camera. “Where the hell have you been?”
Dr. Parnell responded via Grace. “If you want to speak to me, you’ll have to watch your language.”
“Bite me.”
Dr. Parnell cut out the video. She didn’t want to give him the attention he so desperately craved. He would be a difficult case. That much was clear. But that was okay. The difficult cases taught her the most. The difficult cases had the most to learn.
The training was slow. Dr. Parnell sensed Grace’s affection for her Jack Russell, and she compared the process to dog training. She described a hypothetical hyperactive puppy too excited to sit still. It pulled on its leash, jumped on people’s legs, barked at its own shadow.
The dog trainer would have to be patient. She’d take one step along with the dog. If the dog pulled, the trainer would stop. Eventually, the dog would learn that only by following the trainer, only by following commands, would it ever move forward.
Travis learned more slowly than any canine. He grew dizzy from a lack of nutrition. He coughed up years’ worth of tobacco. He ranted about the imprisonment of a fourteen-year old, the gunk in the shower, the insanity, the inanity.
Each time he yelled, threatened or swore, the feed cut out. Each time the feed cut out, it was longer until he was spoken to again. Sometimes Dr. Parnell was around to speak for Grace; at other times, one of her assistants spoke. Occasionally, Grace was allowed to speak, but only with a staff member hovering a finger above the replace button, ready to jump in at the slightest misstep.
Dr. Parnell was the first to notice changes. Travis stopped swearing. They managed a few sentences before a warning.
Copyright © 2023 by Jared Cappel
