Project X

Ruins of Many A Poor Boy

I refused Isbell's offer to go in and meet McKagan, claiming I was unprepared and had no idea what to say to the man. Truthfully, it was because I was shitting a houseful of bricks into my underwear and wanted some time to get myself together, but true to nature, Isbell nodded disinterestedly at my explanations, unlocked the door, and held it open. There's not much dignity to be had by hovering in the doorway like a sullen child, so I clenched my jaw, muttered a curse under my breath, and all but stomped past the smirking dickweed and into the cell.

"Don't worry. He won't bite when I'm around," Isbell breathed into my ear as I brushed past him, stepping in after me and closing the door. It clicked as he locked it shut. 

McKagan was still standing by the mirror. He'd turned his body so he was facing us, and I remember noticing with a clenching disquiet that he was still, unnaturally so. Only his chest moved as he breathed, and his pupils as they flickered between Isbell and I. I hate to admit it, but I did feel some degree of reassurance that Isbell was with me - I felt supported, somehow, assured that with him on my side, the power balance between McKagan and I was in my favour.

I examined him, my psychologist's training kicking in on autopilot, reading his body language. His expression was blank, but there was tension in the set of his shoulders, wariness. The way his head was cocked very slightly to one side, he was assessing the two intruders in his space, straight-backed with his knees slightly bent. Ready for fight or flight.

Axl had said not to act like they were my patients, but it was all I knew how to do, at least then. I returned his penetrating stare unflinchingly, waiting for my heart to stop thumping in my ribs and my hands to steady. I tried to picture him as another troubled individual in my clinic, seeking help, needing comfort and understanding, but still mistrustful, and carrying that burden of anger at the world that they always seemed to have.

"Michael?" I said, calm, in control. "My name's Saul. Do you know what I'm here to do?"

Those eyes flicked from me to Isbell, back again, and his lips drew away from his teeth.

"Head-shrinker."

I stopped myself from wondering how he knew that. I would get very good at stopping myself from wondering how people knew certain things. Focusing on his voice instead, I noted that it was raspy, low, the voice of someone who smoked regularly.

"Not exactly. I'm a psychologist, but I won't be doing any counselling with you."

Break the Russian.

"I'm going to be running some tests on you, seeing how you respond. A scientific study, with you as a - a participant." I swallowed, trying not to gulp. "You'll be seeing me around a lot."

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't interrupt. He didn't say anything.

"Do you have any, uh, questions?"

McKagan was motionless, not saying a word. I held my breath, waiting. Still, nothing.

Don't push too hard, and don't push too soon. That was one of the first things they'd taught us in college - patients will open up at their own pace, and attempts to speed up the process are, at best, counter-productive. At worst, they're the cause of several smashed vases and a fist-shaped hole that still resided in my office wall back at the clinic.

I glanced towards the door, eager to leave because it was the best thing to do for the patient - and yes, also because said patient made my balls want to crawl back up into my scrotum - but as my wretched luck would have it, Isbell's keys were dangling comfortably from his belt, and I knew that he wasn't planning on moving just yet. McKagan was returning his expressionless stare with interest, eyes roving from Isbell to me and back again.