The look on Dr. Crangler’s face suggested that he just said something profound and was expecting a livid response from Delilah, but she had no idea what he was talking about. “I don’t understand.” She said, shaking her head.
“Miss Hanson,” said Dr. Crangler, “in order for us to synthesize a cure, you’re going to have to get pregnant.”
Chapter 18
The cry Delilah released upon being informed that she was be impregnated and experience the untold horror of child bearing, was excessively loud, long, and intoned. Just as Dr. Crangler had promised, she would briefly be released from her current confines via a scenic ride in the countryside, but it would not be a ride that she could enjoy fully, not with her mind occupied as it was with the information she recently received. This was precisely the doctor’s plan. He knew that a former ardent socialite like Delilah would not see pregnancy as the blessing that it was, and that furthermore, it would dampen her spirits no matter what unorthodox privileges she wrangled from him. With Delilah finally understanding the considerable power she wielded, even in this place, this was the doctor’s ace in the hole—his only ace in the hole—and he was certainly not going to let it go unused.
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!”
“Yes, sure, Mr. Summons.” The doctor answered hastily as he waved behind him toward the corner camera for someone to open the room door…now. The locking mechanism unlatched and he shoved Geoffrey aside before nearly running out of the room. Geoffrey certainly didn’t like being handled so roughly, but he fully understood the doctor’s angst. It wasn’t every day that he found out that someone could read his mind, after all. Now, unfortunately, Geoffrey had time to be ushered back to the reality at hand, himself. He had tried to get the doctor to understand that he needed something, anything, to occupy his mind during his many solitary hours—especially now that he had foreign voices in his head—but suddenly, the main concern seemed to be what in the world would happen to him now that he had become the first professionally witnessed and soon to be documented mental telepathy. Just as importantly, what did this mean to Geoffrey himself? He had thought that perhaps he was going insane before, but now that he knew that wasn’t the case, he had to decide how he felt about his new and unexpected abilities. Right now, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he had just found out that he was good at math, he could hear people’s thoughts (whether or not he wanted to) for goodness sake. It would definitely take some time for him to process this new reality.
Then a completely unexpected benefit to his freshly-forged telepathy occurred to Geoffrey. With nothing of interest to look at, no one to talk to for long periods of time, and no escape in sight, honing this telepathy thing would definitely give him something to do with his time, and, surrounded by such an interactively sterile environment, it should be like studying for an exam (albeit, a very unique exam) alone in a quiet room. So, he set to the task. Remembering how urgently the doctor had vacated the room, Geoffrey was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be seeing him for a while and there was a good chance he wouldn’t lay eyes upon his assistants for a while either.
“Well, since there’s no one to talk to, maybe I can find someone to listen to.” Geoffrey mused as he positioned himself on the far edge of his bed closest to windowless wall that separated him from the neighboring corridor, and, unbeknownst to him at the moment, from Delilah’s room. He massaged his temples in an effort to co
ncentrate. He heard nothing. “Well, if I don’t have anything else, I have time.” He observed, and continued his experiment.
Dr. Crangler watched from the monitors in his office as Geoffrey rubbed his temples and squinted in deliberate concentration. The doctor shuddered to think just what his patient was trying to do, but along with that apprehension was a distinct fascination. Proven telepathy carried with it a number of profound implications. Perhaps Geoffrey could somehow connect with the alien intelligence on its own level and supply the doctor with even more pertinent information than what Geoffrey had written in the notebooks. Geoffrey’s new abilities could endow mankind with greater technologies, but more importantly, it could help mankind develop defenses against further alien assaults. Maybe it could even result in the development of advanced weaponry by which mankind could take the offensive against hostile alien intelligences for a change. Either way, it was too promising to leave unstudied, but the doctor had no desire to perform any up-close study of his telepathic patient any time soon. It was too unnerving to be around someone who could read every thought and there was nothing he could do about it. Nevertheless, he knew that he would personally have to deal with Geoffrey eventually. This was not something he could leverage upon his aides indefinitely, and furthermore, if his superiors ever got wind of this, he was certain that considerable pressure would be applied to him to document the full extent his patient’s ability.
The Virus Page 14