The Mind Virus

Chapter 3 - Part 2

The drive home from the warehouse was serene. Old oak trees lined the small residential roads that Jim took to get home. He had always preferred taking this route rather than the main roads. The latter would have been faster, no doubt, but after a busy day at work, Jim enjoyed the decompressive effect of a quiet and picturesque drive back.

The warehouse was neither stimulating nor enjoyable, but it was his only source of income while at the same time not interfering with his volunteer work at the police department. Working part-time over there paid what little bills Jim had. No money was ever spent on any luxuries. The extent of his monthly expenses didn't go beyond food, utilities, gas, insurance and taxes.

Jim turned into the dirt road that flowed into the smaller dirt road that doubled as his driveway. Pulling up in front of his garage, he felt a warm sensation run through him. This was the house that he was raised in. His childhood hadn't been perfect, but the good times overshadowed the bad. His parents had bought the house a year before he was born, and his father maintained it to the best of his abilities before passing away when Jim was ten years old. From then on, he and his mother held the fort before she too passed away not long after Jim had started college.

Although her death hadn't been easy, her prudent planning in life had saved Jim from a lot of troubles. He didn't even know that she had taken out a life insurance policy until the man from the company knocked on the door to discuss how he'd like to receive the very generous payout. Well, it looked very generous to Jim, at least. The figure wasn't massive, but it was enough to pay off what little was left of the mortgage as well as act as a buffer that kept Jim from running out of money.

He walked through the front door, and the familiar smell of home filled his lungs. The golden rays of the sun streamed in through the windows, illuminating the time capsule that was Jim's home. His mother hadn't done much to update it in her life, and Jim kept that tradition going under his own stewardship of the house. Everything outside of a few items was a throwback from the 90s, and that's just how Jim liked it.

After cracking a few eggs on the griddle and leaving them to cook, he walked over to one of the few things in the open plan living room that was relatively new, his computer, and booted it up. By the time that was done, his eggs were finished cooking. He scooped them into a plate and sat down at his computer, starting up his preferred video calling program.

It rang. Jim answered.

"Hello, Cuddlebug," came the sweet voice from the computer.

"Hi, Sweet Pea. What have you been up to today?"

"Nothing much. Early morning classes all done, so just waiting for you to come online. How was the warehouse?"

"Well, you know, same old crap. There are only so many ways to stack pallets before the boredom sets in."

"Aw, my sweet little hard worker."

"You know it." Jim wasn't normally a very social person, but he never felt as comfortable with anyone as he did with Emma.

"I miss you, Jimmy. When are we going to meet up again? It's been too long," Emma cooed.

"I know, Em. It's just – between work at the warehouse and a new thing I'm doing at the police, I don't know when I can take some time off."

"Ooh, what's the new thing at the police, then?"

"Don't laugh, but I'm investigating some suicides."

Emma giggled. "They've got you investigating now? Don't you normally just make everyone's coffee?"

Jim ignored the jab. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say that they have me investigating. It's just a thing I'm doing in my spare time."

"Aw, Jimmy, don't you think you're diving into the deep end a bit? I don't mean to put you down, Cuddlebug, but you're not actually a cop yet. You remember that, don't you?"

"I know that, Em. I just want to do something useful. I'm getting pretty tired of being the station's paperwork bitch."

"And the coffee-making bitch."

"You know I don't make coffee for anyone." Jim had lost his patience with that line.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring you down, but I do think you're biting off more than you can chew here."

"You know that no one's investigating this? Can you believe that? A spike in suicides, and the department doesn't even care."

"It's not like they're murders, Jim. Why even bother to investigate?"

"I don't need to explain this to you."

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"So how will you be investigating this?" Emma asked, trying to save the conversation.

"I'll be doing what no one else seems to be doing – talking to the people that knew the victims, looking through their possessions, that kind of stuff."

"Uh, what is it you hope to find?"

"I don't know... stuff that... I won't know until I find it."

"Right."

Another uncomfortable pause.

"And I'm going to talk the officer assigned to the last suicide and see what he knows," Jim offered.

"I thought you said no one was investigating this."

Jim was sufficiently frazzled. "Look, I know what I'm doing. I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me."

"Jimmy, it's just that –"

"Can we please change the topic?"

"All right, Cuddlebug. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

The rest of the conversation went smoothly. They reminisced about times spent together, talked about the long interstate trips they'd endured to make such meetings happen, then the topic moved onto television, food, politics, and everything else under the sun. The awkwardness of the beginning of the conversation was quickly forgotten as they talked until dusk set in.

Jim went to bed contented that night. Emma's concerns hadn't put him off. He had decided it. He was going to visit the dorm of the last person to commit suicide first thing next morning.