The Mind Virus

Chapter 19 - Part 1

Jim jumped in his seat as a police car drove past him. It wasn't typical for him to be scared of the police, but this night he was. Perhaps it would have been more noble if the reason for his fear was the corruption and conspiracy he'd been slowly uncovering, but in truth, the only reason he was scared of the passing cruiser was because he was driving both without the use of his fingers and in a rather inebriated state.

Driving from bar to bar and getting wasted was far from Jim's idea of a good time, but he needed to do something different to escape the virus, at least temporarily. He was usually a creature of habit, and that made the virus so much worse for him as he found himself in similar scenarios, triggering the virus time and time again, and worse every time.

So here he was, pulling into the parking lot of yet another dive bar. He parked and turned off the car at the ignition, getting more adept at doing so with only a pair of thumbs to move. A graceless stumble out of his car attracted a few laughs from leaving customers, but Jim didn't care. His life had spiraled so far down through clouds of betrayal and dying trust, that he was mostly just bracing for the final impact. Nothing in between could really matter.

Of course the entrance has a fucking doorknob. Jim stood helplessly outside the door until another customer opened it and entered. Jim seized the opportunity and did so right behind him. The tables in this place were all taken and so were the places at the bar. Jim stumbled through, looking for an empty seat that he may have missed.

"Hey, you," called a voice from somewhere around him. Between the ambient noise and the drunkenness, it was hard to tell which direction it was coming from. Jim turned around 360 degrees, trying to isolate it. A whistle caught his attention again. He tuned into this one better. Turning to his left, he saw a man – hidden behind a hanging light and Jim's blurry haze of alcohol poisoning – signaling for him to come over. At least, Jim thought he was signaling to him. He looked behind him to make sure there was no one else. There wasn't.

He stumbled over to the table and sat down in the seat opposite the man. Looking up at him and seeing his face properly for the first time, Jim was more than a bit surprised.

"Detective Miller? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? Getting drunk. I'd ask the same, but seeing how you shambled through here, I doubt the answer would be any different."

"Yeah, I've already had quite a few," Jim slurred.

"I sincerely hope you didn't drive here."

Jim's words caught in his throat.

"Relax," Miller said. "I don't really care. With everything that's happened tonight, I reckon I've got far worse to worry about."

"What's happened tonight?"

"It's not worth talking about. Here, let me get you a beer."

"Oh, that's all right. You don't have to do that."

"Relax, kid. Think of it as a peace offering."

Jim stared at Miller, wondering what cruel trick this was.

"I know I haven't always been the easiest person to work with," Miller continued. "It's not your fault. Whenever I've been more... on edge, it's not because of anything you've ever done. It's just how I am."

"Right, OK." Jim didn't know what else to say.

"You do important work, you know."

Jim was waiting for the other shoe to drop, though he couldn't figure out what Miller's game right now was. Was he really just drunk enough to actually be nice? It couldn't be.

"What you do," Miller continued, "frees up time for the officers to actually do what they need to do, instead of getting bogged down by the bureaucracy and the drudgery of... whatever it is you do."

"Thanks, I guess." For all Jim knew, he was hallucinating this bizarre exchange. He wondered whether there would be any catharsis to be found in punching out the Miller hallucination.

"Let me get those beers. What do you drink?"

"Oh, thanks. Anything really. None of that light crap, though."

"That's my man," Miller laughed, forcefully slapping Jim on the back as he walked past him to go to the bar.

Contemplating his current situation was difficult with the copious amounts of alcohol in his blood clouding his thoughts. How ironic. He'd wanted to achieve exactly this state to fight off the virus, and now here he was wishing his mind was clearer. He scoffed and mumbled under his breath, "The grass is always greener."