Captive

Chapter 29

Nathan lost track of his days cooped up in his offices at both the psychological facility and at the main Algern Pharmaceuticals building. When he was not scrambling to catch a meeting set up by one of his secretaries, he was at his desk with his eyes and ears fixed on his laptop. He played hours and hours of video and audio feed from the Tower hard drives. He was obsessed, seething with hatred and contempt for the relationship between his prisoner and the guard assigned to keep her in line. Office Matthews, the hired help, was cavorting with Bridget, his prized experiment, at every opportunity. There were countless conversations with twinges of flirtatious remarks and others that demonstrated that Matthews knew too much about his employer. Nathan watched as the guard led the prisoner down corridors while his fingertips grazed her skin ever-so-gently. The doctor's blood reached a soft boil, simmering just beneath the surface.

Naturally, the situation needed to be handled. Nathan considered charging the guard with sexual harassment and firing him. It would surely damage the young man's chances of working in any law enforcement field for the rest of his life. Still, evidence of the physical relationship seemed scarce on the video feeds. A person could argue that the footage was not clear enough to accept a minute finger twitch as an unwanted sexual advance. Furthermore, an investigation of that sort would definitely involve detectives and officers from outside agencies setting foot in the research facility. They could ultimately shut the place down for its unethical practices. Even if Nathan fired Matthews, the guard was sure to bring a counter lawsuit against Dr. Spencer Lewis, which would also lead to an eventual shutdown.

Nathan considered having Matthews killed. It would not be the first time he had someone permanently removed. There was just one problem with this solution: Matthews had a family. He had a mother, father, and stepfather. He also had a sister who, coincidentally, worked in the genetics laboratory. People would notice if the man went missing. That option was far too risky, and while he relished the idea of telling Bridget that her knight in shining armor was dead, he knew that it would still be too difficult to dispose of a man who had ties to the area.

The best option was to replace the insubordinate Officer Matthews with a docile and less inquisitive clone. Therefore, he shot a message to Madeline asking her to put her best man on the job. What Nathan did not know, surprisingly, was that the "best man" was actually dating the officer's little sister. Despite his accumulated intelligence and information gathered via the surveillance cameras throughout the entire umbrella corporation and despite his paranoia, Nathan Arthur Jones failed to link the obvious. He never watched feed from the genetics lab; and since his relationship was Madeline was strictly one of "working" status, he stayed away from the research conducted in her building. He only took an interest when it was sure to benefit him. He never conversed with the staff, and he rarely spoke to their supervisor. He missed the glittering link in the connected chain he might have noticed if he were not so consumed with hatred or blinded by vengeance.

When he finished combing the video and audio feeds, it was Thursday night. His phone had numerous messages from his girlfriend, the replicated Bridget Dunn, who really only wanted to know if he was alive. Nathan realized he had not spoken to her in almost a week, so to appease the gods, he called her for a quick chat. Naturally, she wanted to make plans for the weekend. He tried to be excited to talk to her, but his tone lacked the pizazz it usually had when they spoke. When he hung up the phone, he acknowledged that maybe he really did not love her. She was a tiresome creature that demanded his attention. Nathan was beginning to see her as the fifteen-year-old girl she was all those years ago when they first started dating. Back then, she was the best he could have, but now, she was mediocre. He had known and loved better women over the past decade and a half—they were smarter, sexier, and more entertaining. Bridget Dunn—the clone—was nothing special. Still, he could always have her memories and mannerisms changed if he decided he actually did want to spend the rest of his life with her.

Nathan stood, walked to his cabinet, and opened the top drawer as far as it would go. Behind numerous manila folders and stacks of paper set a bottle of Gentlemen's Jack Daniels and an old fashion glass. The man stared at the bottle for a brief moment, fighting with the demon inside himself. He sighed, opened the bottle, and poured the amber liquid into the cup before putting the cap back on and picking up his beverage. Nathan slammed the cabinet and took a swig of the smooth, burning whiskey. He moved to the window that overlooked the sparkling city. He needed a distraction tonight—something to clear his head and help him find focus once again. He needed absolute control; he needed to destroy something. In moments like these Nathan indulged his wants because he could. He finished the whiskey and paged his on-call secretary at the psychological facility.

"Yes, Doctor Spencer?" the silky voice cooed.

"I will be returning to the office tonight. I have some unfinished business with Patient 42," he replied. "I want you to make sure she has the cocktail before she heads to bed this evening."

"But sir, the patient finished dinner nearly an hour ago."

Spencer turned sharp, "I gave you an order, my dear. You need to follow it. I know the patient finished eating an hour ago. I designed her schedule. I still want you to give her the cocktail. If you're so concerned that she drinks it with some food, then give her a few cookies. Have the staff tell her it's a reward for her good behavior the past few days. I'm on my way."

"Yes. Doctor Spencer. Is there anything else I can do for you this evening?" The secretary asked. Her tone sounded a little too willing to be of service.

"Prep the room. You know how I like it."

"Of course, sir." The intercom went dead. Nathan shut down his laptop and gathered the materials he needed for the next day's meeting. He put on his North Face jacket and left his office, locking the door behind him. The elevator ride to the car park was long, but it gave him time to focus on his breathing and prepare for the impromptu evening ahead. It had been a long time since he performed this ritual, and he wanted his head to be clear. He knew his secretary would have everything ready for him when he arrived.

He hopped in his Sportback and took to the other end of the two-mile campus. He could have walked, but he intended to head home after he was done with his evening project. He zipped across the road and pulled into his usual spot. The lights inside the building shone brightly against the smog-filled night sky. Nathan swiped his thumb on the identification reader, and the doors opened for him. He swiftly moved to his office with an extra spring in his hurried step. As he rounded the corner, the sultry secretary with the silky voice was waiting for him.

"Everything is prepped as per your request, Doctor Spencer," she said with a devilish grin.

"Thank you, Sadie," he replied as he handed her his coat and briefcase. "Did the patient receive the cocktail?"

"She most certainly did, sir." The secretary stopped, as if she already knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. "Will you require my services after the experiment, Doctor Spencer?"

Doctor Spencer smirked, "Of course, my darling. You knowI always need you to assist me with the paperwork once the event has finished."The voluptuous night worker smiled and nodded her head as Spencer opened hisoffice door and waltzed inside. He found his necessities displayed neatly onthe sideboard. He ran his fingers across several of the objects, a cold smileforming on his lips. He picked up the special effects make up kit and went intothe personal bathroom annex next to the office. He applied prosthetic afterprosthetic, layered between shades of Ben Nye skin tone and fake blood. When hewas finished, he admired his work. His left eye was gone, leaving only a moundof burnt flesh and seared skin. His bottom lip had peeled back to reveal abottom row of razor-sharp teeth. His forehead bulged forth, puss dripping froman open boil. His nose was partially removed. Doctor Spencer, whatever he wasnow, saw himself as a work of art.