UNIQUE (A Powers Novel)

Nine

Forrest is talking again. I should be listening more intently, but I'm just too tired to try. Anxiety from a new place pestered me all night. Not to mention the warning both Forrest and Miller gave me about everyone else on the floor. Little happened over the last couple of nights, aside from the occasional shuffle of feet as someone made their way to the bathroom. Still, every whisper of bare feet on the floor woke me, and I held my breath, waiting to see if my door would open.

Forrest says my name and I blink at him, trying to regain focus. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stifle a yawn.

His shoulders slump. "You have to pay attention. This is important."

"Sorry," I mutter. "Didn't sleep well." The windows are so heavily shaded it looks like night outside.

"Did anyone bother you?"

Something about the way he looks at me makes me shift a little. Like he thinks it's a good possibility. I shake my head.

"Good. One more time. And focus." He looks back at his tablet, flipping his stylus back and forth between his two fingers. It makes a small ticking sound caused by the motion.

We are sitting across from one another in an isolated laboratory on the 42nd floor, somewhere in the belly of R&D. The room is small and, like a dorm floor, has barren white walls and tiled floors. The distinct scent of industrial cleaners is almost nauseating. My lab chair is hard and hurts my tailbone. Too many months of spending the day in this chair and I'm likely to end up with back problems.

Forrest is on a steel lab stool beside a matching steel table. For hours Forrest has done nothing but ask me questions, flicking that stylus back and forth. It's boring as hell, not what I expected from this clinical stuff. Still, seeing the drawer full of sterile needles, I can't help but feel relieved. It could be worse.

"How would you describe the color of the sea?" Forrest's eyes watch me critically, stylus hovering over his tablet.

"What time of day?" I can hear the snarkiness in my tone, but the questions are so annoying.

"Just answer the question." There's a hint of annoyance in his tone.

"Reflective." I cross my arms.

Forrest's lips compress, and he makes a note on his tablet with the stylus. "You're walking down a hallway and come across two doors. Both are open. You find a key on the floor in front of you. Do you pick it up?"

"Why should I? The doors are open." I scratch my eyebrow. He writes more notes and scrolls his finger over the screen. "What does any of this have to do with anything?"

"It's important to assess your logic and perception of the world, Ugene," Forrest says without looking at me. The stylus starts ticking between his fingers again. "I explained it three times already."

"Doesn't mean I get it."

Forrest ignores my comment. "What is your favorite shape?"

"Circle."

He nods, "Why?"

"Because then at least I'm not a square." I smirk at my joke, but he either doesn't get it or isn't amused.

"How big is the circle?"

"Infinite."

"That's not an answer, Ugene." He makes a note on the tablet, then lowers it and looks at me. "At least try. I need to know."

"Why isn't it an answer?" I want to throw that stupid tablet on the floor and jump on it until sparks fly out. "Just because you can't imagine an infinitely large circle doesn't mean I can't."