The Mind Virus

Chapter 10 - Part 2

The tip of the shovel provided the soundtrack to Terry's walk back to the car as it dragged along the ground. The birds and woodlands creatures had gone silent as if revolted by the crime against man and gods that Terry had just committed. The silence was hanging in the air rather unpleasantly, but he was nonetheless thankful that at least the voice of the man he had just buried had gone silent.

"Were you just thinking of me, Mr. Howell?"

It's not real. It's not real. It's not real.

"Why don't we play I Spy?"

It's not real. It's not real. It's not...

"I'll start. I spy with my little eye... something beginning with... W."

Terry breathed deep and tried to filter out the voice.

"Aw, come on, my boy. Don't be like that. What have you got to lose by playing an innocent little game?"

A lump began pushing up against Terry's throat as he thought again about the prospect of being hounded by the voice for the rest of his life, although how long exactly that would be was up in the air. The man who was now dead had said that the virus would kill him. Terry felt confident that he could find a cure by using the man's phone – that he had been lying when he said that there was no cure – but even if that all worked out, he'd still have the interrogation and murder hanging over his head. The body would be discovered eventually. This was a desolate spot, for sure, but nothing stays hidden forever. Once the body's found, it was only a matter of time before the police would be knocking on Terry's door, and from then on, the only thing in his future would be a long stay on death row and the lethal injection.

"Sorry to interrupt your self-pitying thoughts, Terrence, but I'd like to make you a deal. You play one little round of I Spy with me, and I'll leave you alone for a while."

"How long is a while?" Terry said out loud, as if the voice that was in his head couldn't read the thoughts that were in his head.

"Ah, there you are. For a while I was worried that you were going to ignore me forever. It's awful lonely in here, you know."

"How long?" Terry repeated.

"How does a few hours sound?"

"I'll take it."

"Wondrous!"

Terry could almost envision the man's trademark large, toothy smile from better days.

"So then, Terrence, I spy with my little eye, something beginning with W."

"Woods?"

"No."

"Water?"

"Nope."

Terry thought for a while. "Walkway?"

"Not that either. Do you give up?"

"Will you still leave me alone if I do?"

"Of course I will, my boy. When have I ever reneged on a deal?"

"Fine, I give up."

"Do you want to know what the word was?"

"Not gonna lie – I don't really care."

"I'll tell you anyway. The word was 'witness,' or rather, 'witnesses,' like that hiking couple on the other side of the stream that saw you hauling my body into that pitiful excuse for a grave that you dug."

"Nice try. You're just messing with me again."

"I would never!" The voice sounded genuinely offended. "Well, come to think of it, I suppose I would, but I'm not doing so now."

"Shut up."

"They had their phones out. No reception out here, but I imagine they took some juicy photos. It's amazing the zoom you can get on these phone cameras these days. They're probably on their way to the police right now with a sufficiently zoomed-in, high-res photo of your mug."

"I don't believe you." But Terry did. The hammering in his temples was getting worse and worse. He wanted to crumple down to the ground and cry, but he knew that he couldn't. He had a lot of work to do if he was going to save his life, and the ramblings of a hallucination were not a good enough reason to stop.

"That's very true, Terrence," the phantom voice continued as if Terry's thoughts were part of the conversation, "but consider the following. You don't believe I'm a ghost, and that's fine. But if I'm not a ghost – if I'm just a voice that your own mind is producing – and if I'm being genuine with my tip-off of the hiking couple, that means that you saw them – probably from the corner of your eye – and your brain processed it all on a sub-conscious level."

"Thanks for the psychology lesson, professor."

"Don't try to sound smarmy with a lump in your throat, Mr. Howell. It's a little bit pathetic."

Terry didn't know what to say, not only because he was having a conversation with himself as a part of a painfully stretched-out emotional breakdown, but also because he was considering the chance that the voice was right – that he himself had seen the couple. It wouldn't be too far-fetched. He was focused so intently on the grave he was digging, that a pair of shadows in the distance may have gone unnoticed by his conscious mind.

"That's right, my boy. Harrowing, isn't it?"

Terry sighed in resignation.

"Anyway," the voice continued, "I do believe I promised to leave you alone for a few hours. Enjoy your me time." He cackled that unpleasant cackle that the man was known for. Or was it the voice in Terry's head that was known for cackling? He winced at the thought that he couldn't distinguish the two anymore.

The rest of the walk back to the car was an exercise in how wound up Terry could get while thinking about all the ways in which the day could have and maybe has gone wrong – probably has gone wrong – definitely has gone wrong.