Subject R - ON HOLD

chapter 6

I now sit in the infirmary, wrapped up in a blanket, a Styrofoam cup of water in my hand. Gazing into the lukewarm depths (the nurse insisted I drink warm water because it will agree with my system more than cold would or something stupid like that), I think back to my horrible run in with Hawk Nose.

After I'd been hauled into the infirmiry and tested five billion times (five billion different ways) and also wiped down from head to foot - I guess they fear that Subject R is toxic or something. WTF? - I was questioned. By Hawk Nose, who walked into the room and chased all of the nurses and wiper-people from the room with his cold stare.

I'd blinked at him from my cot, then tried to be polite. "Hello,"

He'd given me this cranky scowl down his nose, then crossed his thin little arms. The man is little. Like probably 5'1, and weighing in at a 110 pounds or something. I bet I have broader shoulders than he does, and trust me, I'm not beefy by any standards.

Hawk Nose's voice also shocked me into the next solar system.

"Ms. Cecily Flanchard," He'd began in a tone so deep and resinous I practically choked on the air in my mouth. Holy crap!! Freaking baritone here!!! He continued to introduce himself as if I'd hadn't audibly snirfed in shock. "My name is Marlin Roopolo."

Again, I embarrassed myself by making another conspicous nosie. This time by almost laughing. Because, seriously, Marlin Roopolo?! Jeez...the guy's just begging to made fun of and laughed at.... Roopolo's shrewd, beady little eyes narrowed enough to make me cut off my chuckle instantly, and I flushed a deep red.

"I-I'm sorry."

He gave me a cold scowl but then looked down at the clipboard that I hadn't realized he was holding. He pulled a fancy looking pen from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and clicked it ominously.

"Now," He began, his voice sounding like it should be introducing some big movie instead of speaking to me. "I have a few questions to ask you."

"O-Ok..." I said, nodding and looking down into the water cup clutched in my hands. Anything to avoid his shrewd little gaze...and not think about his name and start laughing again...'Roopolo'...ehehehehe...

And then he asked questions. A bazillion questions. Tons of questions. On things that were so insignifigant too! Where was Subject R when you entered the room? What was his stance? How was he sitting? Was he facing you? How fast did you walk? Did you make constant eye contact? Where did you look? Did his nostrils flare? Did he fidget with his clothes? Did...

And it went on and on and on...There were so many pointless questions, many of which I answered with a defeated 'I don't know...'. Like he expected me to remember all that crap?! Every time I didn't have an answer for a questions he'd frown and make some kind of mark on his clipboard.

After a lonnnggg time and a tons of seemingly useless questions, he finally got down to business and asked the questions that I figured he'd have asked in the first place.

"What did Subject R do to you?"

I'd sucked in a breath and explained that after he'd simply touched my wrist and I'd spazzed out, we had actually began to communicate. He'd come closer, given me reassuring expressions, and then grabbed me and forced me to press my forehead to his. I'd become paralyzed.

I'd felt silly saying that last part. I mean, 'paralyzed'? How cheesy and pathetic...

But Mr.Marlin Roopolo (ehehe) remained completely serious and and his remote amount of interest seemed to rise.  He asked how the parazylation had felt. Had I felt frozen, stiff? Or had my body gone limp? I'd responded that it was like my muscles had just suddenly locked in place, everything tense.