Beyond the Horizon

40. Rumblings

"You've lost weight."

          Nezumi didn't say anything in response. Firstly, because he had learned in the last week and a half that check-ups with Lab Coat were a lot easier when one spoke as little as possible. Secondly, what was one supposed to say to such an obvious statement? He was under a lot of stress and hadn't been left a meal in the last two days. Of course he was losing weight.

          "Are you starving yourself on purpose?" Lab Coat's cool blue eyes studied Nezumi's blank expression without censure, but there was a sigh expressed in his words. "Or are you going to tell me you're too stressed to eat?"

          Nezumi stared at a line of clear jars on the counter opposite. Each was filled to the brim with what he assumed were objects with medical uses: cotton balls, cotton swabs, band aid packages that looked like they held the wooden spoons that came with lemon ice cups. Then there was one filled with candy. Nezumi wondered if the stash was a treat for Lab Coat, or if this, too, was a tool in his arsenal, aimed at soothing the frightened children that had fallen into Horizon Labs' clutches.

          He fisted his hands in his lap.

          "We'll have to feed you intravenously if you don't start eating, 221."

          Nezumi turned his gaze away from the jars and onto the doctor's gaunt, dispassionate face. "If you have any licorice in that jar, I'd be happy to eat some."

          Lab Coat's mouth twitched into a pallid smile. "You're not the first to ask for candy. Though, you are the first to ask for licorice." He peered back at the candy jar. "I don't think there is any in there, but I do have..." The man rose from his chair and crossed the room to the desk situated there and began to root around in the drawers.

          Nezumi leaned his head back against the sticky, sickly green chair to which he was strapped. He was tired. Grief had wrung every bit of energy out of him, and the lack of food was not helping things. Even talking now was a chore, which he vaguely realized was a tragedy, because verbal sparring used to be one of his favorite pastimes.

          His listlessness had begun to piss him off. Nezumi was a wanderer by nature and by necessity. He didn't sit too long in one place or one attitude. The fact that he now was trapped in both respects made his stomach twist and churn like an angry sea.

          Nezumi found he was looking forward to a piece of candy, if only to have a small hit of something other than his own self-loathing.

          "Ah-hah. Here we are," Lab Coat crooned. He approached with a small, black plastic bag and pulled the freshness seal on the top open.

          The smell hit Nezumi like a slap. Sharp, cloying, the kind of scent that sticks in your nose and the back of your throat for hours and hours afterward. Black licorice.

          Nezumi turned his face aside and hissed, "Not that kind. It's revolting."

          "It is an acquired taste, I suppose," Lab Coat chuckled. "I like it." He popped a piece in his mouth and laid the bag on the counter near the candy jar.

          Nezumi wrinkled his nose; now he would have to smell the rancid candy throughout the rest of the consultation. He wished he had never mentioned licorice.

          "I've never understood what about black licorice is so polarizing to the masses. Though, if it's the smell you hate," Lab Coat said slowly as he chewed, "I don't think you have much room to judge at the moment. You do realize there is a shower in your cell? I'll insert feeding tubes when the occasion calls for it, but I will not bathe my subjects. The officers will have to intervene, if you don't do something about it yourself."