The Mind Virus

Chapter 1 - Part 2

The computer whirred to life. Back inside the police station, Jim was seated within one of the cubicles used primarily for writing reports. The day shift had ended, and Detective Miller had gone home, as had most of the staff. The rest, the swing shift, were either in briefings or out on the streets.

Jim liked this atmosphere. He didn't resent his coworkers, but it was abundantly clear to him that he was looked down upon by most of them. He had started working there as part of an internship while he was in college. His plan had been to do his time, graduate, and then take a "real" position as a police officer. Fate had not been so kind. He had ended up dropping out of college before his last semester for both financial and family reasons. His lack of degree didn't help his prospects, nor did the statewide slash in funding that meant that no law enforcement agencies were hiring regularly, least of all his own Cedar Grove Police Department, funded by a city whose primary economic driver, the Cedar Mall, had lost all of its customers to the Daisyville Galleria one city over.

The reality of his situation was not lost on Jim. He held on to his pseudo-internship in the hopes that it would eventually lead to a real career, but four years of no luck and derisive jokes behind his back had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The police was a brotherhood, and he was a cousin at best.

"Get off the computer, dipshit. I need to use it." Roberts' voice startled Jim as he came up behind him. Officer Chris Roberts was a tall man, heavy-set, but not fat. He looked like an ox in human form. He was now pulling Jim's chair right out from under him.

"There are seven other empty cubicles!" Jim's voice had lost the calm edge he had been attempting to put on since the conversation with Baldy. Maybe it was being shoved off his chair that did it, or maybe it was a sign of his dying patience.

"That's great, but this one's mine," replied Roberts, an unpleasantly jovial glint in his eye.

"Come on, man, why can't you just –"

"Relax, Jimmy, I'm just fucking with you," Roberts cooed, leaving Jim's chair alone and giving him a slap on the back that came across harder than he probably intended. "You're too sensitive."

"Yeah, well, I'm not having a good day, man," Jim was red-faced and possibly still buzzing from the adrenaline that precedes a full-blown freakout. In retrospect, he felt stupid for letting himself get to this point. Roberts would pick on him often enough, but there never seemed to be any real malice behind it. Not that Jim enjoyed constantly being hazed, but he preferred a loud jape to silent disrespect.

"So that run-in with Miller really got your blood pumping," Roberts said with whatever passed for empathy in a man like him.

"It was nothing. Miller was just –"

"Miller's a jerk-off, Jim. I don't know why you were even attempting to have a conversation with that prick." Roberts' candidness was somewhat refreshing compared to the typical apologetic tone everyone else took when talking about Miller and his poor anger management.

"I wasn't trying to make friends. They were talking about the suicides."

"And you thought they were overlooking the obvious," Roberts finished his thought for him.

"Well... yes, actually."

Truth be told, Jim had always considered Roberts to be a bit of a simpleton. He'd seen him as a jock more so than as a thinker. He was surprised that Roberts was on the same page as him.

"You're not the only one, Jimmy. In fact, you're late to the party. The boys have been discussing it since a few suicides ago. If you weren't such a lone wolf, maybe you'd know," Roberts said with a friendly smirk.

Jim thought about addressing his social situation, but decided against it. "Any theories?" he asked instead.

"I don't know about theories, Jimmy, but there have certainly been some interesting patterns. For instance, none of the suicides had shown any sign of being unhappy or depressed or any of that shit until a few weeks before their death."

"Go on," Jim nudged.

"That's it for now, but combine that with the statistical anomaly of so many suicides in such a small city in the short period of time that it's happened, and you definitely have cause to be suspicious."

Jim only stared, feeling vindicated.

"See, I'm not just a pretty face, Jimmy," Roberts laughed. "I gotta go do some paperwork. I'll be around the corner if you need me."

"Enjoy," Jim said, waving him off.

The computer had fully booted up in the meantime. Jim logged in and loaded up the weekly schedule and team lists. When he found what he was looking for, he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and jotted it down.

Cory Spaulding. Sergeant Brown's team. Thursday, swing shift.

Jim had three days before Spaulding would be back at work. He considered finding his home address or phone number, but figured that annoying the man on his days off wouldn't help his strained reputation at the station.

He logged off and stood up to leave, paper stuffed into his pocket. Before walking out, he stopped by the only other cubicle in use. "Officer Roberts, does –"

"It's just Chris, Jimmy."

"Does it seem weird to you how defensive Detective Miller was about the suicides?" Jim asked, tentatively.

"You know he was assigned to a few of the prior ones, right?"

Jim was surprised. "No, I didn't." He paused. "Why was a detective assigned to suicides?"

"Why do you think?"

Jim didn't answer.

"I told you you weren't the only one to think there was something suspicious going on, Jimmy," Roberts carried on. "One of our crime analysts – uh, what was her name – it doesn't matter – anyway, she picked up on the spike in suicides a few weeks ago and brought it to the attention of some of the higher ups. Like we talked about earlier, mostly just normal kids with normal lives. Miller was put on the case."

"And he closed it fast," Jim guessed.

"Yep, the three suicides he was given – he put them all down as just suicides."

"I see."

"So you can guess why he'd get a little defensive about it. No one likes being proven wrong, Jimmy."

"Yeah, but it almost seems like..." he's covering it up, thought Jim, but he didn't finish that sentence out loud. Even to a supposedly sympathetic officer like Roberts with no love for Miller, those were serious words. It was an absurd notion anyway, Jim decided. His distaste for Miller was clouding his better judgment. What could a detective possibly have to gain from somehow causing a bunch of suicides? Jim was clearly letting the events of the afternoon affect him too much. It was time to go home.

"You still with me, Jimmy?"

"Yeah, sorry, lost my train of thought. I gotta take off. I'll see you around, Officer Roberts."

"It's just Chris, Jimmy," Roberts called off after Jim, but he was already halfway to the door and with far too many theories swirling in his mind to hear.