The Virus (19 page)

When it came time for her
to leave the compound on the so-called mirror truck, Delilah was
like one trapped in a dream. A single word—
pregnant
—dominated her thoughts and
rendered everything else somehow unreal. She followed the doctor’s
two assistants through the maze of corridors until they came to the
large entrance hall to exit into the mirror truck waiting just
outside. The walls and ceiling were comprised of one way mirrors,
giving it its nickname. The outside of the cargo area looked like a
huge five-sided mirror. A thin but dark layer of film tinted the
outside of the cargo area for obvious reasons and provided an ideal
means of transportation where a person could be given a complete
view of their surroundings without being seen themselves. Any other
time, Delilah may’ve been brainstorming ways to use this
opportunity to escape, but now, she was too consumed in her own
thoughts to consider the possibility. One of the assistants sat in
the sealed off cargo area of the truck with Delilah and the trip
began. She had no way of knowing it, but she had been confined in
this secret place for nearly three months, and had she had more
wits about her, she would’ve been looking around to see where she
was. As it stood, she just sat with her head down in the back of
the mirror truck as it drove about a quarter of a mile, and came to
a city street.

Delilah’s gaze, not to
mention spirits, were still down, until about thirty minutes later,
when Dr. Crangler’s assistant lightly whispered her name. She was
stuck in her own world and didn’t respond, so he called her name
again. And then again. The third time he called her name, she
finally looked up.

“This trip is for you,
Miss Hanson.” said the assistant, “You might want to, you
know…enjoy it.” At that, Delilah finally took the opportunity to
look around.

She had no idea what city
or even state she was in, but wherever it was, it was simply
gorgeous. The truck drove down a four lane highway that was
surrounded by a dense patch of forest with perhaps a few homes and
a convenience store or two interspersed here and there. Apparently,
fall was in full bloom, because all the foliage was fantastically
colored in varying shades of orange and red. The setting sun
cascaded over the horizon and Delilah thought to herself that it
was one of the most beautiful scenes she had ever beheld. After
seeing nothing but white for months, all these vibrant colors
looked like heaven. In her time, Delilah had seen the sparkle of
diamonds, the glisten of the most expensive cars, and virtually
everything in between, but all of it suddenly seemed to pale in
comparison to the gorgeous countryside that was zooming past her
now. She looked out of the mirrored truck bed walls, enthralled
with the miracle of nature that she had never really noticed
before, until one car in particular passed by the truck. The car
was no Bentley or Ferrari. In fact, there was absolutely nothing
noteworthy about the vehicle at all from Delilah’s perspective,
except that in the passenger seat of the car sat a woman who was
well advanced in her pregnancy. The car was a convertible and the
top was down, so Delilah could see quite clearly the woman’s belly
bulging excessively beneath her thin shirt. From her vantage point,
Delilah could not see the smile on the woman’s face as she enjoyed
the cool breeze outside, but the natural deformation of the woman’s
body was enough to nullify everything else. Rampant thoughts of her
effortlessly-maintained midsection being invaded by some foreign
entity plagued her even more from that moment on. She didn’t know
much about pregnancy—only that she didn’t want to be involved with
it. In her mind’s eye, it may be fine and dandy for the woman in
the car as well as the other women of the world (though that was
certainly not the case now that The Virus had arrived), but not for
her: Definitely not for her. Besides the irreparable damage she was
sure it would do to her awesome figure, she was much too young to
be shackled with something as consuming and needy as a kid. It made
her nauseous just to think of it and had it not been for the fact
that there was nowhere to throw up in the truck that she wouldn’t
have to see and smell until the ride was over, she would’ve vomited
more than once right where she was.

The truck drove for nearly
an hour more through equally beautiful and majestic scenic routes,
and though the assistant encouraged his charge to enjoy the
sights—“Who knows when the next time, if there even is a next time,
you’ll get this opportunity.” the assistant counseled, Delilah was
too distracted to fully enjoy anything. She stared out at the
virtually limitless panorama of the free world, but the only thing
she could see was the hideous stomach bulge of the woman in the
convertible. Once the ride was over, she was ushered back to the
facility and into her room, in the same despondent state. It would
seem as though Dr. Crangler had won this round.

Back in Geoffrey’s room,
without a television or a radio, things were pretty quiet, but such
was not the case in his head. At varying intervals, he faintly
heard what he thought were voices. The sounds were too faint for
him to be sure, and he knew well that the walls were soundproof, so
he wouldn’t have heard people talking outside his room even if they
were yelling at the top of their lungs, but still, the vague
voice-like sounds were there. They would come and go sporadically
and he couldn’t decipher what was being said (if, in fact, anything
was being
said
at
all) and before long, Geoffrey began to toy more seriously with the
possibility that he was finally coming unglued. Perhaps he was
finally going crazy.
After all, isn’t
hearing phantom voice the first and most recognizable sign of
impending dementia or outright insanity?
he mused to himself.

“Well, at least they’re
not telling me to kill someone.” He tried to jest with himself, but
found that he was in no mood to laugh at the situation. No one had
come after he’d finished his last meal, even though he was certain
someone saw him beckoning toward the camera, so he stood up and
motioned to the camera again that he had trash that needed to be
taken out. He heard the vague voices again and sat back down. “I’m
gonna need some interaction. I can’t just sit here and go crazy.”
He advised himself, “A radio, a video game. Hell, I’ll even settle
for a book.”

Just then, the hiss-click
of his room door’s locking mechanism filled his ears. It was a
welcomed sound, not only because it meant that some other human
being was coming to break the monotony, but it also assured him
that there were still
actual
sounds in the world and not just the phantom
voices in his head. He would’ve been grateful to see any living
human being, but he was especially grateful to find that it was the
doctor who entered his room.

“Hello, Dr. Crangler.”
Geoffrey greeted, with obvious eagerness. “Listen, Doc, I need to
talk to you about something.”

“And what would that be,
Son?” The doctor was distracted by the trash on the floor. His tone
was equally distracted.

“I need some kind of
interaction, I don’t know, a radio, a…”

“What is this?”
interrupted Dr. Crangler, suddenly intensely alert, as he bent down
to pick up the food container on which Geoffrey had
scribbled.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just
trash.” answered Geoffrey, looking somewhat confused. He wondered
why a simple piece of hole-ridden garbage had attracted the
doctor’s attention so.

“Did
you…d-did you
draw
this?” the doctor asked. Geoffrey was now alarmed
as well as confused. The doctor stood silently for a moment and so
did Geoffrey. Meanwhile, the voices (or rather, voice) in his head
returned. This time, it was distinct enough for him to hear exactly
what it was saying.

“Sure, why?” Geoffrey
answered, though he was nearly as shaken as the doctor appeared.
Though the doctor was speaking to him verbally, the voice in his
head was also the doctor’s.

“Amazing!” the doctor
exclaimed, more musing to himself than in answer to Geoffrey’s
inquiry. He lifted his gaze from the foam plate and addressed
Geoffrey directly. “Geoffrey,” said Dr. Crangler, “this is a
perfect representation of…”

“Of the aliens you’ve been
studying?” Geoffrey answered in a highly concerned voice. The
doctor peered at his patient deeply.

“Yes, Son.” he answered,
maintaining an unshakeable gaze, “Yes, Son, that’s exactly what it
is.” The doctor licked his lips slowly. “Have…have you seen this…in
your head?” he asked cautiously.

“No, I don’t think so, Dr.
Crangler. I was just doodling…but I can hear you in my
head.”

The doctor took an
involuntary and alarmed step backward. “What do you mean, exactly,
Mr. Summons?”

“I can hear you in my
head, Doctor…I think I’m hearing what you’re thinking.”

Chapter 19

Dr. Crangler took a step
forward and seated himself in a chair near the door. The frown on
his face made the furrowed lines in his forehead prominent. His
gaze looked inward and every so often the frown deepened. Geoffrey
looked down at the doctor and after about five silent minutes
passed, he, too, assumed a seat on the only other place there was
to sit—on his bed—three feet or so from the doctor. He needn’t ask
the doctor what he was thinking—he could hear his thoughts.
Meanwhile, Dr. Crangler began wringing his hands—a sign that he was
sinking deeper and deeper into whatever weighty musings were
plaguing him. What felt like a very long time passed like this with
the doctor, wringing his hands and moving his eyes back and forth
as his mind raced, uttering only the periodic, “Amazing” as if he
could think of no other word to describe what Geoffrey had just
told him.

In reality,
amazing
(or
perhaps
absolutely
amazing) would be the best description of what Geoffrey had
recently proposed to the doctor.
Unfuckingbelievable
may’ve been an
even better description, but it was not likely that a professional
like Dr. Crangler would’ve used the term.

“You said you could hear
sounds that you thought may’ve been voices, earlier, right?” asked
Dr. Crangler. He intended to employ a test to see if his patient’s
telepathic assertion was true. Geoffrey nodded.

“Yeah, here and there, I
think.” Geoffrey indicated areas of a far wall of his
room.

The amazement already in
the doctor’s face grew a little. “Okay, now, this is very
important, Mr. Summons,” the doctor leaned in close, “can you
remember just how far apart these voices were?”

“Well, you know, Doc, it’s
not like I have a clock in here…”

“Just do the best you can.
Whatever you can remember.” The doctor looked and sounded
increasingly anxious.

“Well,
I’m still not 100 percent sure they were voices, they were
sounds
like
voices, but…” and Geoffrey told, as best as he could, when he first
started hearing them and how far apart they were. Dr. Crangler
heaved a light gasp, and sat down on Geoffrey’s bed. Collapsed
really. He looked like a man who’d just had the wind knocked out of
him.

“It can’t be coincidence.”
The doctor said to himself.

“What can’t be?” Geoffrey
asked.

“The times when you heard
these…voices. They were all remarkably close to the times that my
assistants would’ve been attending to another of my patients. This
patient is not far from here and it’s likely that my assistants
would’ve been passing by in the hallway on the side of that wall,”
the doctor pointed at the wall nearest Geoffrey’s bed—the very
place Geoffrey indicated hearing the voices “but you wouldn’t have
heard them.”

“Why?”

“Because every room in
this facility is soundproof.” Neither said anything for a
moment.

“And another thing too.”
Geoffrey said after a while. “I get the distinct feeling that I’m
being watched by three men in another room.”

“There is, and there are.”
The doctor answered simply. He gazed intently at Geoffrey, then
turned away to stare at nothing and do nothing more than wring his
hands and whisper “Amazing!” from time to time.

Geoffrey sat, looking on at
the doctor for some time in silence. Every now and then, certain
expressions crossed his face as if he was engaged in conversation
with some unseen person, but other than that, he didn’t speak a
word. Eventually, he broke the silence. “Who’s Delilah Hanson?”
Geoffrey asked, abruptly. “There’s somebody else like me here?” By
‘like me’ Geoffrey meant someone else that had been stolen from the
outside world, someone who had been used to wearing and living in
something other than
white
at some point in time. At these questions, the
doctor looked at Geoffrey with alarm etched on his face—he had been
so caught up in the implications that came with Geoffrey being able
to read his thoughts that he completely forgot that Geoffrey
could
read his thoughts.
He was about to rush out of the room as fast as he could, but
Geoffrey, being much younger and faster than the doctor, cut him
off at the door.

“Look, Dr. Crangler,” he
said, holding his arms out so the doctor couldn’t pass him, “you
can’t just keep leaving me here alone like this. If there’s
somebody else here like me, then maybe we can keep each other
company. I need something to do besides stare at these damn walls
all day, Doc!”