"Del" wakes up drugged in a seemingly empty hospital -- locked in a room. Everything she has ever known has been deleted: her memories, her identity, even her name. But then the night visits start and she begins to be tortured by memories that could not possibly hers: the tragic memories of several victims of the CIA's infamous MKULTRA project. EXCERPT: The bed lurches, and swings and I am gliding. A cold breeze rushes in on the stagnate room as lights float over me as I try not to stir. Electric currents course through my body. I’m certain Fill will notice the goose bumps on my arms as we swing round a corner and my flesh begins to crawl. The rat runs wild in my stomach like it’s being chased towards a trap with poisoned cheese. Fill must notice something is up. He slows down my carriage and bears down on me. I can make out his shadow through my lids, his head hinged to mine, and I suppress the instinct to pinch my eyes shut. “What are you up to?” he asks with a voice greased with the sound of motorcaws. He stares down at me for a moment, but then jingles the keys again. My heart starts to thump. I hear the turning of the handle. What am I so afraid of? And how can I be afraid of something I don’t even remember what it is? At the head of my bed again, I feel Fill over me. He grips either side of my pillow. The dry edges, I pray. I can smell the man of him now. Somehow, I know it is a smell I have bathed in in the past. I can’t believe he doesn’t hear the pounding of my heart, see it beating violently against my chest. But it’s not Fill I’m afraid of. I’m numb to his attention. It’s the door that scares me. Or, rather, the total blackness behind it. “Go get ‘em tiger,” he says as wheels me in. I can feel the rat dig his heels into the walls of my stomach, and scramble up my esophagus, clawing its way through my throat and out my teeth.