Dr. Hartman was delighted to see the responses to his advertisement. He knew people could not resist attacking their fears–everyone has at least one–and making money. People, for all of their complaining, loved their fears. If they didn’t, Dr. Hartman would not have made so much money treating fears. And now he was prepared to share some of that money with new patients. Money: few feared it.

Dr. Hartman gleefully wrote emails to the winners explaining how they had been selected to take part in the “Dream/Fear Experiments”. Fewer people applied than what Dr. Hartman expected, but he had enough applicants to select four finalists. Ben was the first chosen, and he was first because Dr. Hartman wanted to work with a former soldier. Barnum was selected because of the adamancy in his answers. Frida, an artist, made the list because Dr. Hartman could not resist working with a creative mind. Creativity and fear were connected, Dr. Hartman believed, and he wanted to explore that connection. By contrast, Joliot was cold and calculating, just like the computers and AI she created.

A limousine picked up each patient at their residence. Dr. Hartman thought the limousines were a nice touch—they added class, and he liked the juxtaposition of the expansive cars in the rundown neighborhood. Plus, the limousines were a small mind game: set the patients up for luxury and surprise them with the abandoned lab.

While the neighborhood was dirty and dominated by homeless gangs, they knew better than to come near Dr. Hartman’s laboratory. A few homeless went missing after messing with the lab, and that was enough warning for the remaining homeless to stay away. They never came closer than two blocks.

The limousines had a particular timetable; no limousine was to be at the laboratory at the same time as another. Dr. Hartman wanted to greet each patient individually, and he did not want the patients meeting each other until he deemed it time for them to do so. Ben arrived first at 12:30 am, Barnum second at 1:00 am, Frida, for some reason, ran late and arrived 1:15 am, and Joliot arrived punctually at 1:30 am.

Dr. Hartman ran in the dark laboratory, with his anticipation rising with every second. This night filled with contrasts between the wealthy limousines and the grimy surroundings, which made him really excited. He had carefully prepared this experiment; he really believed that the interaction between fear and dreams would benefit the human mind.

When Ben stepped out of the limousine, he was cautious, his posture reflecting a bit of military training. Dr. Hartman greeted him with a broad smile, extending a hand. “Welcome, Ben. I'm glad you could make it.” Ben shook his hand, and his eyes scanned the area. “This place… it's a bit different than what I expected.”

“Ah, the unexpected is where we find the most profound revelations,” Dr. Hartman said, wisely. Ben's eyes locked on a row of equipment inside, but a flicker of anxiety crossed his face.

“Is this safe?” he asked, his voice steady but still with concern.

“Very much,” Dr. Hartman reassured him, “You are in good hands. I'm here to help you face and understand what you fear.”

The door closed just in time as Barnum was arriving. He came out onto the step, full of confidence, quite the opposite of Ben. Dr. Hartman made him come in and his eyes sparkling with excitement once again.

“Barnum, good to see you! I hope the ride was comfortable.”

Barnum replied, “The ride was fine, but your lab needs an upgrade.”

Dr. Hartman ignored Barnum’s comment and moved ahead with his welcome talk, “We will find hope in your fears and help you as well as others.”

“That’s all well and good, but the most important thing to me is getting paid…in full.”

Dr. Hartman said, “Yes, yes. You will receive your money, and in full. Now, please, step this way so you can begin earning your money.”

The limousine carrying Frida pulled into the laboratory’s parking garage, and when the passenger’s door opened, Frida emerged carrying a canvas. She had painted the trip to the laboratory: streets, buildings, the black sky as a backdrop. Since she was copying what she saw, she believes her creativity is gone. Frida is nothing more than a camera with a paint brush. When she saw Dr. Hartman approaching, she thrust the canvas behind her back, hoping he would not ask her what she hid.

Dr. Hartman had no intention of talking to her about the canvas, but he blabbered on about the project…greatness for all humans, tapping unlimited potential, and all these canned phrases washed over Frida, who still worried about her painting and creativity.

“Here” she said, thrusting the canvas at Dr. Hartman. “Take it. I know you want to look at it so you can judge me, just like all the critics do. Tell me my talent has dried up. Go ahead.”

“Please, Frida, bring your canvas with you as you prepare for the experiment. This way, please.” He swept his arm in front of her.

Frida froze. He didn’t want to look at the painting? Is it so bad he won’t even look at it? Dr. Hartman took her elbow and led her to the door, which she walked through, still carrying the canvas and questioning her artistic ability.

Joliot refused the limousine. The driver pulled up to her building, and saw Joliot waiting on the sidewalk, but when he attempted to get her into the car, she scoffed, and removed something from behind her back; she unfolded a bicycle. From the bike’s seat rose a sail. Joliot jumped on the bike and told the driver: “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

A sail-powered bicycle does not travel as quickly as a motorized car, so the limousine driver kept watching his speed, seeing her move further back, and so he’d tap his brakes a few times until she enlarged in his rear view mirror. They played this game of slowing down and speeding up until they reached the laboratory 45 minutes late. Dr. Hartman had feared Joliot would not arrive, which would have thrown off his calculations for the experiment, so he was ecstatic when she rolled into the lab’s parking garage.

“Your arrival is welcomed!” Dr. Hartman proclaimed. “And you arrive in such an engineering style.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hartman. The sail-cycle is my latest invention. It moves slowly here, but take it out in the open where strong winds blow, and you will travel smoothly and quickly.”

“Excellent news. Now please put away your sail-cycle and enter the laboratory to begin our research,”

Dr. Hartman joined the volunteers in the laboratory, where his assistants strapped the volunteers to chairs.

“Why are you restraining us?” Ben asked.

“It is for your own good,” Dr. Hartman answered.

“The ad said nothing about being tied up and unable to move,” Joliot complained.

Barnum scanned the faces of the other volunteers. He thought that perhaps they were also in on this fraud. How could he be sure they were real volunteers? Their complaining seemed staged, as a way to get him off his game.

“I like being restrained,” Barnum said. His plan was to mess up their plan.

“Why do you enjoy the restraints?” Dr. Hartman asked.

“They make me feel safe.”

“How so? You can’t move.” Dr. Hartman’s interest was piqued.

“I feel safe because the lack of mobility means I can’t hurt myself.”

“Can his words disqualify him from the experiment?” Ben said. “I didn’t come here to work with a crazy person.”

“Barnum’s words are his, and they are as valid as anyone else’s words,” Dr. Hartman said.

“Now you sound as crazy as him, Doc,” Ben said.

“We are all here, so we are all somewhat crazy,” Frida said.

“Speak for yourself,” Joliot said.

“Madness,” Dr. Hartman thundered, “is not why any of us are here. We are here to find answers to our fears and turn fears into positives.”

A pink spray fills the room. Dr, Hartman and his henchmen put on gas masks, the volunteers’ heads collapse as they fall asleep.

Barnum awakes in a room with a table in front of him. On the table are three playing cards, and Barnum immediately knows that this is three card monte: one of the oldest scams.

Dr. Hartman stood over the table. “Step right up, Barnum, and try your luck.”

“There’s no luck. It’s a rigged game.”

“On the streets…maybe. But in my lab, I run an honest game.”

Barnum studied the three cards as Dr. Hartman held them up, one by one, revealing two King of Hearts and one Ace of Spades. The doctor’s hands moved slowly, like a geriatric Tai Chi master, and Barnum’s eyes followed the Ace of Spades: middle, left, right, left, middle. Not an honest game, Barnum thought, but a slow game. This’ll be a piece of cake.

And it was. Barnum started with a five dollar bet, which he parlayed into $12,000.

“You are quite the player, Barnum. As your host, I must inform you that this game is played at different levels. You demonstrated mastery over the beginner’s level. Now, however, we move to the intermediate level. Winner takes all.”

Barnum smirked and remained focused on the cards. The doctor’s hands began to speed up; Barnum’s eyes darted; the cards began to blur, and Barnum’s eyes rolled, the room spun, and he collapsed.

“Pick a card, Barnum. You’re not scared, are you?”

Barnum wanted to punch Dr. Hartman’s face, smash in his teeth, and shut up that smug mouth. He rose to his feet, thoughts of violence streaking across his mind, steadying himself at the table, and snatching up the left card.

The King of Hearts.

“You lose, Barnum.”

Barnum’s punch was stopped short of the doctor’s face by a gargantuan guard. The guard’s grip threatened to crush Barnum’s fist, and under the pain he fell to one knee first, and as the pain increased, he was on both knees.

Dr. Hartman tapped the guard’s shoulder, the cue to relent his grip. Barnum remained on his knees, rubbing his right hand, which still ached from the guard’s grip.

The guard wrapped Barnum in chains. He screamed until the doctor jammed a tennis ball in his mouth and wrapped duct tape around Barnum’s head. The doctor and his goon slowly backed away.

“You love money, Barnum. Losing money is your fear. Since you are afraid of losing money, we’ll give you more money than you’ll ever need.”

Barnum’s eyebrows arched.

Hundred dollar bills, crisp and new, never spent, cascaded from the ceiling. Barnum stared up and the corner of a bill sliced his eye. His screams were muffled by the tennis ball, but his creams increased as more bills cut his forehead, neck, and ears. The bills sliced more of his head and started piling up around his feet. In mere minutes, the bills were at his knees; a few more minutes and they were at his hips. In no time, the bills covered his neck, mouth, and finally his head. Barnum had always heard that a million dollars weighs 22 pounds, and Dr. Hartman dropped 20 million dollars–440 pounds—on Barnum.

Wealth, Barnum learned, can be crushing.

And deadly.