the Scientist

I slouch in my chair, staring at the man seated in front of me as he eases back to consciousness. He groans softly, probably absorbing the full effect of a massive headache caused by my reliable Taser an hour ago. I say reliable because it made my task a thousand times easier. I had lured the man-who was jogging at the time-to the back of my minivan, asking for assistance in carrying a heavy box. Gosh, men are just so simple. They'll help any woman with a pretty face. After I stunned him with the Taser, he collapsed in the back of my minivan before he had a chance to lift the box and realize it was empty. I have to admit, I laughed when he flopped onto the floor like a puppet. Wouldn't you after using a Taser on someone? It was satisfying, and he seemed like such a nice guy too, but then again, that's the mask they all wear.

When the man wakes up fully, he surveys my makeshift lab littered with various chemicals swirling in aged equipment on the black tables. It's a sorry excuse for a laboratory compared to the expensive white rooms I worked in as a scientist for the WHO, but it's the best I could muster. I don't need the WHO.

Muffled screams erupt beneath the duct tape planted on his mouth. Like my Taser, the duct tape is very reliable. I bound his hands and feet to the chair with layers of tape to reduce any chances of him wriggling his way out. He is essentially glued which I imagine only sprung more panic inside him. He is squirming and fidgeting with the tape in his chair unsuccessfully. I love it, watching him try desperately to break free. Powerless. Men need to know what that feels like.

I walk over to the man who is still screaming and shaking in his chair like a wild animal caught in a trap. "Morning sleepy-head," I say before I slap him hard across his right cheek. My red handprint swells on his skin. "Now, are you going to behave, or do you need another?" He shakes his head, so I grin, realizing how easy today's experiment is going to be thanks to this man who is kind enough to follow directions. I rip the duct tape off of his mouth to show how much I appreciate his kindness. Trust me, I am not that cruel. Only if I have to be.

"Who are you?" he says. I'm not surprised considering I did kidnap him. I'm sure he just wants to know who exactly is going to kill him instead of some stranger, so I gladly tell him. "I am Quinn Barringer," I say, "but you can call me Dr. Barringer, or just Doctor, considering I am one." I sigh. "Well I used to be, at least." The fear never leaves his eyes as I watch him which makes me feel kind of sad, honestly. I'm not a scary person really, so I'm not sure why he seems so afraid. In fact, I'm actually quite nice once you get to know me, but most men don't care enough to do so.

"Why am I here?" he replies. "Tell me!"

I slap his face again impulsively. Questions irritate me. "You know, I've been very nice to you, but now you're yelling at me, and I don't appreciate it," I say. He says I'm crazy and calls me a nasty name which earns him another slap that stings my hand from the impact. "I think you've talked enough today." I retrieve the silver roll of duct tape, tear a piece, a paste it over his mouth. The silence is soothing once again.

"To answer your question, I need you for an experiment," I say. I smile and clap my hands together. "Well let's get started!" I walk towards my small chemistry station, slip on latex gloves, and pick up a vial sealed with a cap before returning to the man. "Do you know what this is?" I say, dangling the vial full of a clear liquid in his line of vision. He shakes his head. I smile and say "it's anthrax."

His face goes cold after he learns the contents of my vial. Anthrax is one of those words that leaves people running scared like the word plague, yet they know nothing about this very common pathogen. It's a typical disease found in livestock (and sometimes humans) that causes various blisters with black centers. You may feel a shortness of breath or intense chest pain, but it's so rare that the fear of contracting anthrax is unbearably ridiculous. What people fear is not the anthrax itself, but bioterrorism, which I understand. Lord knows I tried to warn them, but the WHO was not aboard my plan to increase the crisis preparations incase some nut-job decides to release a batch anthrax or other dangerous pathogen into the world. I tried, honestly.