Yes.
“Then if you’re okay with that, we’ll go straight into the question portion of the scan. A question will show on your screen. All you will need to do is choose a simple yes or no answer.”
He pauses a second before tappingYes.
“You’re doing great, Matthew. Don’t worry about a thing.”
He smiles and I click off the mic.
—
I set up the photo sequence and press start.
A photograph of an empty beach.
His eyes flick fast over the image, pupils dilating fractionally, he inhales sharply.
I watch the fMRI light up. His cortex now aglow, pulsing, as it processes the image. Then his amygdala, the fight-or-flight center, blazes, processing his emotional response to the stimuli. Immediately followed by a flare in his hippocampus—relevant memories are being sourced. Memory Retrieval 101.
Matthew remembers being on the beach. But then, we knew that, didn’t we?
I check the video link; he’s very pale. I check his vital signs: his pulse is slightly raised. To be expected; the last time he was on a beach must have been absolutely terrifying.
Now to test whether his memories go any further back than that day on the beach.
I flick to the next photo in the sequence.
A stock family photo—a young couple, each holding a child in their arms.
I watch the fMRI images as they register. Cortex firing, only a dim glow from the amygdala, and nothing from the hippocampus. Interesting. Either Matthew can’t remember having a wife and child or he’s never had either.
I flick to the next picture.
Another family photo this time from the 1980s—a couple in their forties with a seven-year-old son; it’s more formal in style.
I’ve chosen a stock image from the eighties so it will resonate more with Matthew’s memories of being a boy, and potential memories of his own parents, if he can access them.
I watch the fMRI screen. Visual cortex glows, and then the amygdala leaps to life, a burst of brain activity blazing on the screen. An extremely strong emotional reaction to the idea of parents or childhood. But as I study the dark mass of the hippocampus, there is nothing.Nothing.He has no memories of a family. I realize I’m holding my breath. I double-check the screen. No, there is no activation.
He really can’t remember.
A fizz of excitement thrills through me. Matthew might be the first fully verifiable case of fugue.
In spite of everything that’s happened over the last two days, I feel a bright burst of joy inside. I can’t help but smile to myself. Buoyed, I flick to the final image.
A thick green forest fills the screen.
I watch his face on the screen, his pupils widening as he makes sense of it. Last night Matthew mentioned having one clear memory, of being in a wood.
I look to the fMRI screen. His visual cortex activates, but his amygdala is strangely subdued, given how he spoke about the memory. I study the screen and then a sudden flash, an intense burst of activation in the hippocampus. A flash of memory. I jolt forward, leaning into the screen, and a constellation of areas in the cerebral cortex glow in answer to the initial flash. I’ve never seen anything like it, such a localized and specific reaction. I glance at his amygdala again. There’s hardly any emotional engagement. No emotional connection to these memories. My focus is pulled by a sudden low beeping below the screen.
The lower screen is flashing—Matthew’s heart rate has soared well above the recommended level. I hover my hand above the fMRI’s emergency stop button and turn to check on his face on the video screen. Then I pull back my hand in surprise. Matthew’s face is utterly calm. His breathing is normal. I check the readouts again. His heart is pounding. He should be hyperventilating, but none of it is visible. The bright areas of his brain’s center for self-control, the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex, are glowing with vivid intensity. Somehow he’s masking it, suppressing it, he’s using self-control.
Incredible self-control.
I click off the last photo and reset the system, taking a second to shake off the oddness of what just occurred. I let his heart rate settle.
We need clear readings for the next portion of the test. The most important portion.
