Chapter 19: Ego Trip
Chris returned to Hawaii under George’s supervision. He didn’t go against his will — he accepted everything in front of him now. The private jet met them in Palm Springs. Neither of them spoke during the plane ride. But everything between them had changed.
George didn’t glance back.
Chris didn’t look away.
—————
The villa felt different now.
Its open-plan majesty, once so carefully calibrated for power and minimalism, now felt sterile—like a showroom of control. Sam’s aesthetic hadn’t changed, but his presence had curdled. The silence no longer buzzed with intention; it dripped with paranoia.
Chris walked barefoot through the entry hall.
Sam was waiting at the center of the room, pacing near the koi pond.
His eyes were bloodshot. His shirt untucked.
He stopped when Chris entered.
“So,” Sam said, voice dry. “You’re back.”
Chris nodded. “I am.”
“You’ve been busy.”
Chris said nothing.
Sam took a step forward. “You went to Sunnylands. Without permission.”
“I didn’t need permission.”
Sam smiled thinly. “You work for me.”
“I followed where Atman took me.”
The words landed like stones.
Sam’s eyes flared.
He walked closer.
“I need to know what happened.”
Chris just looked at him.
“Many things were said,” Chris replied. “But none of them were about you.”
—————
Sam stepped back like he’d been slapped.
Then something cracked in his voice.
“He’s gone, isn’t he?”
Chris nodded.
“You killed him.”
“No,” Chris said calmly. “He gave himself away.”
“To you?”
Chris didn’t answer.
The silence deepened.
Sam’s fists clenched.
“You think you understand something now?” he hissed. “You think you’re special? You put on a costume, jumped into a pool, and now what—you’re enlightened?”
Chris didn’t blink.
“I didn’t become anything,” he said. “I let go of something.”
Sam’s laugh was hollow.
“You let go of reality.”
Chris took a step forward.
“No. I let go of the need to control it.”
—————
Sam turned and walked away, trying to collect himself.
When he returned, he held a tablet.
He handed it to George.
“Run a full scan,” he said. “Cognitive, biometric, neurofrequency—everything.”
George raised an eyebrow. “On him?”
Sam nodded. “Now.”
Chris didn’t flinch.
“I’m not a subject anymore,” he said.
Sam ignored him. “We’ll see what’s inside you now. If there’s even still a ‘you’ left.”
Chris stepped forward.
“If there isn’t… you’ll be the last to know.”
—————
The scan was performed in the lab wing.
Chris sat in a chair, electrodes attached to his temples and sternum. The machines hummed, plotted, and blinked with unreadable signals. George monitored the results. Sam paced behind the glass.
An hour later, George walked into the observation room and handed Sam a tablet.
The readout was surreal.
Brain activity: off the charts.
Resting heart rate: unnaturally low.
EEG waveforms: irregular, but harmonic.
Gamma frequencies spiking in meditative alignment. Synchronicity patterns observed only in monks with forty years of practice. But Chris wasn’t still.
He was awake.
Sam stared at the data.
“This is... not possible.”
George shrugged. “Or it is.”
As Chris lifted his head, letting the spotlights illuminate his face and closing his eyes, a familiar sound resonated through the lab: Click.
Sam had locked the door.
Chris, his eyes still closed, raised his head and smiled.
—————
Later, Chris stood alone inside the glass box.
Not restrained.
Just there.
He looked at the desk where Atman once sat.
He placed his hands on the wood.
Closed his eyes.
The silence in the room felt heavy—like a chapel just after the congregation has left.
He whispered something under his breath.
Not a prayer.
A thank you.
Then he turned to the glass.
Sam stood outside, arms folded.
Chris smiled.
“I’m not afraid of this place,” he said.
“Good,” Sam replied. “Because you’re going to stay here until I figure out what the hell you are.”
Chris stepped closer.
“You already know.”
“No,” Sam said, voice low. “I knew what you were. I don’t know what you’ve become.”
Chris looked down at the floor, then back up.
“I’ve become what you feared.”
Sam narrowed his eyes.
“What’s that?”
Chris’s face softened.
“Someone you can’t control.”
—————
Behind the glass, George said nothing.
He looked at Sam.
Then at Chris.
Then back at Sam.
Without a word, he turned and walked away.
—————
Later, after the lights dimmed and the machines went into sleep mode, Chris sat quietly on the floor of the cage, legs crossed, eyes closed.
He wasn’t waiting.
He wasn’t calculating.
He was listening.
To the hum.
To the silence.
To the presence within the absence.
And in the softest flicker of a smile…
He became Atman.