The Ballad of a Buried Beast

Chapter 26.

"Jason C. Davis. Let's start with you."

The music fritzed, the lights flickered. The music transitioned from strings to piano.

"How do you know my-?"

"Beethoven, Moonlight Sonata," the doctor's smile widened as he interrupted Jason, "First movement, a wonderful choice."

We stared at him, and he took a breath and stared back.

"Assume I know everything about you, Mr. Davis," he responded. "From the breakfast you had three mornings ago to the color underwear you sleep in--red, by the way... You're college educated, only two semesters in but showing promise. Straight A's, a B in physics," he made a face and grabbed a file before standing in front of him, "Excellent health, perfect dental. Brother of two young boys--Ellias Davis and Carter Davis--single mother, Marry Davis-"

"Ay!" Jason moved against his bindings, garnering the doctor's toothy attention, "Don't say anything about my ma."

The doctor put his hands on his knees, staring Jason down as he got eye level with him. "Touchy subject?" he asked. "Very well, then I won't. You talk, and I'll listen. You've had contact with the anomaly, haven't you? Why don't you share with me some things I might not know about it--its name, for instance. What's this 'Mal' talk I've heard so much about?"

I looked at Jason; he didn't bat an eye.

"Contact with what?" he asked, tilting his head. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, 'doctor.'"

The man kept his smile.

"Very well," he straightened his posture and referenced the file, "On August 14th, an opportunity was robbed from you, Mr. Davis. Bluehill Pharmaceuticals, am I correct? A paid Summer internship with a starting wage of $17.65 an hour, enough to help support your mother's debts--she does struggle, doesn't she?"

Jason's face burned with anger, "I told you not to talk about-!"

The doctor took a step forward and leaned, surprising Jason into silence as he grabbed his chair by the ear and got close to his face.

"We can raise that salary for you, Mr. Davis," the doctor's smile gleaned glinted in his eyes, "$25.50? $30 flat?" he tapped the chair as the music quickened, "No, that's not enough--why stop there? Complete alleviation of all financial burdens; we clear her debts--your loans--and your mother never has to worry again. You'll even be set up with a sponsored grant on graduation, and just to sweeten that honey'd pot, how about we get your brothers into that private academy down by Midwest? Hm?"

"What-?" Jason cocked his eyes at the doctor, and in turn the doctor reached into his file and brought out an envelope.

"Unlike the grunts who shot you, if you work with us, then we'll work with you," he dropped the envelope into Jason's lap and pushed himself away, reentering the center of the room. "Mr. Samuel A. Wiser!" his toothy grin widened as his feet tapped to the music, "Highest SAT scores in the county, few marks off from a certified genius. Currently on full ride, and son to a George Wiser and Marry Wiser. They must be very proud of you."

Sam made no comment, instead opting to try and lean away from the doctor as he approached.

"But, what about your uncle? Retired Lieutenant Tarry Wiser, now legally known as Stan Young since his name change in 2013. Is it true he's suffering from PTSD, paranoia? Chronic depression, bouts of BPD?"

The tapping of his feet grew louder; his cobbled shoes echoed, "If I'm not mistaken, he and your father used to be closer when you were younger--is that right? Family vacations, family dinners--Christmas! He hasn't been seen with you all since his official diagnosis of schizophrenia in 2010, and that was due to an outburst that led to severe injury--assault with a deadly weapon--attempted murder," he blew out a whistle, "Your father believed it was best to distance him from the rest of the family after that, didn't he?."