The Virus (14 page)

“So, that’s what those
nasty things are called, huh?” Geoffrey said, looking at the
discarded cloth with more than a little distaste. Whatever mixture
of chemicals the cloth was saturated in felt like moist snot on the
skin. It was discombobulating in other ways as well. As soon as
Geoffrey applied it, it spread on clear and seemed to evaporate
into thin air, leaving behind only a sensation similar to being
covered in syrup. Moments after application, Geoffrey touched his
skin and found that it was perfectly dry as before, even though he
still
felt
the
chemical solution quite profoundly. Even now, it was like his skin
was gasping for breath beneath the layer of chemical syrup, but as
he lifted his arm to his face, there was no smell, no moisture, no
sign that he had anything on his flesh besides the clothes he was
wearing. “Yeah, this may be good for me, but I’ll tell you what, it
certainly doesn’t feel good.”

“The itching sensation from the shower
is gone though, isn’t it?” asked the doctor. Geoffrey thought for a
moment. It was, in fact, as well as the raw area on his arm. Both
uncomfortable sensations had disappeared.

“Six in one hand, half a dozen in the
other, I guess, huh?”

“If
you
say so.” Answered the doctor. He
grimaced at having a discovery of his treated so lightly. “If
everything is in order, Mr. Summons, then follow me, please.” The
doctor, held the door open. As the door shut behind Geoffrey, he
heard the electronic locking mechanism kicking into
place.

“You know, you say that we’re here so
you can maybe learn how to beat this virus, but it’s really looking
like we’re just prisoners here. I mean, can’t I call my dad just to
let him know that I’m all right?”

“Listen, Son, I don’t
handle all that. I have enough on my hands as it is…now, pay
attention.” They neared another hallway and the doctor stopped.
“Now, listen very carefully. The person you are about to talk to is
not the Mr. Reynolds that you remember. I’m sure it will be quite a
shock when you see him, but whatever you do—
whatever
you do—do not startle him.
He is in an extremely fragile position and it is imperative that we
get whatever information we can out of him before we lose him. Do
you understand?” Dr. Crangler drew his face close to Geoffrey’s,
and Geoffrey was a little frightened by the sudden gravity that
filled his features. In the short time he had known the doctor,
Geoffrey had never seen him so serious.

“I understand.” Geoffrey answered,
though he really didn’t.

“Now, I’m going to be communicating
with you while you’re in there.” Doctor Crangler handed Geoffrey a
small electronic ear bud. “I’ll be walking you through this, step
by step. Now, like I said, it is imperative that you not startle
him, so I need you to be calm. Take a deep breath.” Geoffrey
dutifully obeyed, though it did nothing to calm his increasing
tension. “When you enter the room, if he talks to you, talk back,
but keep the conversation light. Don’t mention anything that may
upset him.”

“What’s wrong with him? You sound like
he’s possessed…am I gonna be in danger going in there?” Geoffrey
interrupted.

“Not at all, Son. Not at all.” The
doctor answered hastily. Geoffrey knew he was lying. “Now, all you
have to do is stay calm. If he talks to you, talk about whatever he
wants to talk about. Tell him whatever he wants to hear. But if he
does talk to you, I want you to ask him what has he seen, what has
he heard.”

“What has he
seen
?” Geoffrey asked,
his concern growing by the second.

“Just do it, Son.” The
doctor said, shortly, “This is very important. Billions of lives
hang in the balance on what your friend may know. Now, just be calm
and I‘ll walk you through it every step of the way. Now, put the
earpiece in your ear.” Geoffrey did. “Good. Good. Take another deep
breath.” Geoffrey did that as well. He was thoroughly frightened by
now, but what alarmed him more, was Dr. Crangler’s behavior. He had
never heard him repeat himself so many times, had never seen him so
wound up. He almost sounded as if
he
was the one going into the danger
blindly. Geoffrey did his best to steady his nerves (he did a
miserably poor job), and followed the doctor down another corridor.
At the end of this corridor were two doors. One was the room were
Mr. Reynolds was being held, and the other was the observation room
on the opposite side of the one-way mirror from which Geoffrey had
gazed into the astronomer’s iris-less eyes when they first arrived.
Suddenly, it seemed like he had been here for months, years, maybe.
As he neared the door to where Mr. Reynolds was, he remembered how
he had thought, that the observation room must be the worst room in
the world. Now, he felt there was a room worse than that—the one he
was about to enter. “Is everything ready?” the doctor asked into
the open air.

“Everything is in place.” A genderless
voice answered.

“Good. Good. Now remember,” he spoke
to Geoffrey again, “remain calm. You are in no danger. I will walk
you through it, just stay calm.”

“I will.” Geoffrey lied, as
the locking mechanism on the door filled the air with the
tell-tale
hiss
click
that it was opening. Dr.
Crangler nudged him a little, and he stepped into the room in the
dreamlike state of reserved terror. He didn’t know what to expect,
but even his wildest fears paled in comparison to what he
eventually saw. When Geoffrey entered, he could see Mr. Reynolds’s
special seat. It was still facing the one way mirror, was in a
seated position, and looked empty. Almost. It looked like it had
been lined with flesh colored cloth. The cloth lined the seat and
back portion, and a thick strip of cloth lay on each armrest.
Geoffrey looked cautiously around the room.

“Mr. Reynolds?” His mouth was dry. He
wet his lips and whispered again, a little more loudly this time.
“Mr. Reynolds?” There was a nearly imperceptible grunt from the
upper back area of the bed. Geoffrey was about to call for Dr.
Crangler and ask him if this was some kind of joke. He had been
brought here to speak with Mr. Reynolds, but there was no one in
this room, just a strangely-colored cloth-lined seat.

Instead, he took a closer look at the
seat. Now that his nerves had calmed a bit, he could appreciate the
unusualness of this bed/seat—or anything else in this
facility—being draped with any material that wasn’t white. He took
slow, calculated steps toward the chair. As he neared it, it seemed
to him that he felt warmer, but not enough for him to be certain.
Once he had reached the seat, he noticed that the cloth held a
certain vibrancy. He drew closer still and lowered his head to
inspect the cloth more carefully. It was glowing, a faint kind of
glow that Geoffrey had never seen before, as if a light was stuffed
inside the deepest folds of the cloth. The quality of the glow was
such that Geoffrey knew the light must be the same as he had seen
encasing the fragment. Thinking this over, Geoffrey looked over the
rest of the seat. He looked down at the seat and noticed that the
cloth was cleaved into two identically-shaped pieces, hanging
loosely down to the floor, eerily resembling what flattened human
legs may’ve looked like. At that moment, there was another, more
profound grunt coming from the upper back area of the chair where
Mr. Reynolds’s head would’ve been (if he’d been in the chair, of
course). As he followed the thick padding of cloth up to where the
grunt was coming, he noticed that this portion as well assumed a
strange shape, strongly resembling a flattened human
torso.

A highly unpleasant thought
finally coalesced in his mind. He looked into the flattened face of
this human effigy and his horror was confirmed. The head of this
flattened cloth effigy bore two glowing eyes, the eyes of what was
left of Mr. Reynolds and they were looking directly at Geoffrey.
Geoffrey started backward, putting about ten feet between himself
and the living remains of Mr. Reynolds. One thing, and one thing
only, went through Geoffrey’s mind as he stared at the
impossibility before him:
What the
Fuck!?

It went through his mind so
much that when he thought he could finally open his mouth to say
Mr. Reynolds’s name—to see if it was really him, if he’d
respond—the only thing that came out was, “
What
the Fuck?” He balled up his
fists and rubbed his eye sockets with them. He did it a second
time. Sure enough, the impossible reality before him was…well,
still before him. “Mr. Reynolds?” he finally gasped. The glowing
eyes were intent upon Geoffrey, but the only audible response was
the same faint grunt. Geoffrey took a single step closer. Now that
he was sure that this patch of flesh cloth, this…this thing, was a
living person, a living person he had once known, he felt
incredibly sorry for Mr. Reynolds. He took another cautious step
forward. His entire body was trembling badly, but he paid it no
attention. From the other side of the one way mirror behind him,
multiple sets of eye watched (chief among them, Dr. Crangler) as he
took yet another calculated step forward. The spectators on the
other side of the mirror heard every sound made in Mr. Reynolds’s
room. They heard Geoffrey whisper Mr. Reynolds’s name a third
time.

They clearly saw everything as well.
They saw after this third whisper from Geoffrey, he straightened up
stiff as a board. Geoffrey looked around frantically in every
direction as if he was hearing something, though the men on the
other side of the mirror only heard Geoffrey’s frantic shuffling.
Then, he clapped his hands over his hears. “Stop!” he yelled,
“Stop!” One of the spectators on the other side of the mirror
jumped from his seat and was about to go remove him from the room,
but Dr. Crangler lifted an authoritative finger.

“Sit down.” He commanded.

“But if he agitates the
subject,”—referring to Mr. Reynolds—“with the state he’s in…” the
concerned spectator tried to point out.

“If my assumption is
correct,” interrupted Dr. Crangler, with menacing calm, “this is
the
subject’s
doing. Just give it a few moments, let me see what happens.”
Dr. Crangler tapped a small ear bud in his ear. “Mr. Summons. Mr.
Summons.” Geoffrey showed no sign of response. In fact, he had not
responded to anything the doctor spoke into his ear bud since he
entered the room.

A few long, tense moments passed and
Geoffrey slowly calmed down. He stared at the living remains of Mr.
Reynolds more acutely as he took less cautious steps toward the
flattened body. Dr. Crangler couldn’t see Geoffrey’s face directly,
but the cameras hidden in the walls showed every aspect of both men
on separate monitors he had set up for the purpose. From these
monitors he could see that as Geoffrey approached Mr. Reynolds, he
had an expression on his face as if he was, indeed, listening to
something.

Dr. Crangler gasped. “I was
correct. The subject
is
communicating with Mr. Summons.”

“But, he isn’t saying anything.” the
spectator from earlier observed.

“He’s communicating with
Mr. Summons…
telepathically
.” The doctor was now
standing inches away from one of the monitors, as if he could
somehow delve into the phenomena better, the nearer he drew to the
image on the screen.

“Are you sure?” one of the others in
the room asked, with more than some excitement in his voice, “If he
is, then this changes everything.”

“Silence!” Dr. Crangler demanded.
Geoffrey was calling for something.

“Notebook and paper!” he
yelled.

“Notebook and paper!” echoed Dr.
Crangler from the other side of the mirror. The doctor sent one of
his assistances to carry them to Geoffrey, while he continued his
observation of the situation. The assistant stood at the door until
the locking mechanism unlatched, opened the door to as small a
crack as possible, and threw the pad and pen into the narrow
opening. Geoffrey retrieved the pen and pad and returned to his
telepathic friend. Standing in front of him, he began to write
furiously. He wrote like this until he filled the entire notebook.
He called for another, and then another. This went on for almost
three hours, until he had filled every page of every notebook,
front and back. Other than occasionally halting to retrieve another
hastily tossed notebook, he didn’t stop for a break or a breath, in
between. He didn’t stop to look up at Mr. Reynolds. In fact, barely
anything of him moved aside from the hand that held the notebooks
and the hand that filled each of them to the brim with cryptic
writing. When he finally finished the third notebook, he backed
into the mirror behind him and slid slowly to the floor like a man
exhausted. The last of the notebooks was still clutched tightly in
his grasp.

For a few long moments, he didn’t move
a muscle, but remained transfixed on the severely deflated Mr.
Reynolds. The wasted astronomer’s glowing eyes returned the gaze.
The two sat in this posture, completely still—it didn’t even look
as if Geoffrey was breathing—until at last, a startling and sudden
change took place in Mr. Reynolds. He opened his eyes wide as if he
was suddenly alarmed. He leaned the deflated oval of his head back,
pressing hard into his chair. He held this taut position for a few
long seconds and gradually the glow that characterized his shrunken
flesh faded from his extremities, moving into his eyes. As this was
happening, the light in his eyes intensified. Geoffrey gazed on
motionlessly, and so did every person watching from the other side
of the mirror. Once the last of the glow had gathered into his
eyes, it loomed there for a moment and from there, faded as well.
It dissipated from his open sockets like thick steam and
disappeared into the open air of the room. In a flash, the lights
went dark and the every monitor on the other side of the mirror
filled with static. The listening devices wired into the walls of
the room also went dead.