The Mind Virus

Chapter 8 - Part 3

"But I want to live! It's my choice!" Terry was getting flustered.

"You say that now because the infection is still in its early stage. But you're starting to feel it, aren't you? The emptiness? The despair?"

Terry hated to admit it to himself, and he certainly wasn't going to admit it to this snake, but he knew what the man was talking about. It was more than simply poor mood. He felt trapped. It hit him whenever he'd think about something, remember something from the past. It started with his favorite memories, the ones that had previously made him happy. Now they made him feel down instead. Not just down, but depressed, almost. They weighed heavy on him and ground him down.

"Yes, you know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?" the man beamed evilly.

"There must be a cure – a way to reverse it."

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I don't know anything about that."

"But there could be, right?"

"Sure, why not... in theory."

"So you could get in touch with your employers and get the cure for me."

"Could I, Terrence? Could I?

"You know damn well that you could!"

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks."

"What the hell are you talking about? Look, man, this isn't funny anymore. It never was. You got me into this mess, and you need to fix it."

"I said this earlier, and I'll say it again. Between you tracking me down, our little scrap, you choking me out, and then tying me to this chair, I am not in a very receptive fucking mood!"

"Yeah, that's what you said earlier, then you spilled your guts anyway, so am I that crazy for hoping for round two?"

"Spilled my guts?" The man laughed. "I only know a fraction of what there is to know about the weapon, and I've told a fraction of that fraction. You don't know shit."

"You're really not appreciating your position, sir. You're my hostage, and as we discussed earlier, there's nowhere for me to go from here but down. I have nothing to gain from letting you go. Now, on the other hand, if I were to torture you..."

"Torture me?" the man laughed. "You couldn't strong-arm yourself out of a paper bag."

"And yet I overpowered you earlier."

"Maybe I let you overpower me. Maybe I've just been buying time until my rescue arrives."

Terry was stunned. "What? No."

"Yeah, you're right. I'm just fucking with you. Or am I?"

"How can you find amusement in a situation like this?" Terry put on a brave face, but he was now considering the possibility that the man was telling the truth after all.

"How can I not? Look at you – a starving student playing interrogator. It's almost adorable."

"Is it?" Terry was pacing around the room now, fuming at the lack of progress he was making. "Fine, I didn't want to do this, but you've forced my hand."

"Ooh, what are you going to do, big man? Tickle me into submission?"

"Not exactly." Terry walked across the room to where his backpack was and put a hand inside.

"What you got there, sport?" The man tried to peer over Terry's hunched-over form. "Is that – wow, that's one menacing-looking hammer you've got there, kiddo."

"You still think this is funny?" Terry was now standing over him, claw hammer in hand. "You're going to tell me everything."

"Firstly, no, I'm not. Secondly, even if I told you everything, you wouldn't know enough about this weapon to do anything useful. You certainly won't know enough to save your life."

"Well then, we'll just have to start off with what you know."

"Aw, look at you and your pouty little face. Are you trying to scare me or make me feel sorry for you?"

"Last chance, 'Mr. Bach.' Tell me what you know, then we can make a deal about letting you go. I know you're not going to call the police on me, now that I think about it. I doubt you want them looking over your sordid endeavors. All you have to do is tell me what you know, help me find a cure, and we can both go back to our respective lives."

"It's ironic that you want me to talk to you, considering you obviously haven't been listening to a word I've been saying."

"No, I've been listening. I just don't believe you."

"You accuse me of being a liar? How dare you?" the man said, feigning offense.

"I see you still think it's funny. The time for diplomacy is over."

"I have to say, your diplomatic skills aren't exactly – hold on there. Whoa now, don't do –" The man's words were interrupted by a primal scream forcing its way out of his lungs as the hammer in Terry's hand shattered his right knee.

"Not so funny now, is it?"

"You little prick!" The man's face was twisted, not with the wide smile he often wore, but with seething rage instead. "Anything I have to say will be useless to you anyway. What do you hope to – no, no, no, wait –" Another strike interrupted his sentence, and another scream echoed from wall to wall.

"If the information would be so useless to me, then why bother withholding it?"

"Because I don't fucking like you," the man spat.

"What did I ever do to you, man? I was doing fine with life before you recruited me to your bullshit job. You ruined my life. You've basically killed me."

"What did you ever do to me!? Is your consciousness residing on another plane of existence right now? Have you not been aware of the events of today?"

Terry had to give him credit. The man managed to maintain a thorny demeanor even through a twice-busted knee. "Is this job worth dying for, 'Mr. Bach?' Just tell me what you know. No one has to know I got it from you. No one has to know I even know. All I want is a way to... disinfect myself."

"You seem unusually concerned about finding a cure for someone who mere minutes ago was saying they could resist the effects of the weapon with the power of their mind. More importantly, you seem to have not heard me tell you multiple times that there is no cure in existence."

"I don't believe –"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't believe me. You've made that clear. But have a think about it, Terrence. If there was a cure, why bother protecting our clients with people like you filtering their mail?"

"Because you don't want it to get out that the weapon isn't perfect."

"Or you could apply Occam's Razor and reach the conclusion that no cure exists."

"I don't –"

"Oh my God, you're like a broken record. I get it, you don't believe me. Why even bother interrogating me if you're simply going to disbelieve everything I say?"

A leer was the only response the deceiver got.

"It seems we're at an impasse, Mr. Howell."

Terry turned the hammer over in his hand and took a step toward the man. "We'll see about that."