Stephenie Meyer - The Chemist

“Wait a minute – what do you mean you have pictures of me with the drug guy?”

She walked to her desk and pulled the appropriate photo.

“In El Minya, Egypt, with de la Fuentes,” she announced as she held the photo in front of his face.

Finally, a reaction.

His head jerked back; his eyes narrowed, then opened wide. She could almost watch his thoughts move as they ran through his brain and settled in his face. He was analyzing what he was looking at and making a plan.

Still no sign of the other Daniel, but at least he seemed to recognize that other part of himself.

“Do you want to tell me about Egypt now, Daniel?”

Tight lips. “I’ve never been there. That’s not me.”

“I don’t believe you.” She sighed. “Which is really too bad, because we’ve got to move this party along.”

The fear came back, fast and hard.

“Alex, please, I swear that isn’t me. Please don’t.”

“This is my job, Daniel. I have to find out how to save those people.”

All the reticence disappeared. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want you to save them, too.”

It was harder not to believe his sincerity now.

“That picture meant something to you.”

He shook his head once, expression closing up. “It wasn’t me.”

She had to admit, she was more than a little fascinated. This was really something new. How she wished she had Barnaby to consult! Oh well, she was on the clock. She didn’t have time for wishing. She stacked the syringes one by one onto her left palm. Eight this time.

He stared at her with terror and… sadness. He started to say something, but no sound came out. She paused with the first needle ready in her right hand.

“Daniel, if you want to say something, do it quick.”

Dejected. “It won’t help.”

She waited another second, and he looked straight at her.

“It’s just your face,” he said. “It’s the same as before… exactly the same.”

She flinched, then pivoted and moved up the table to stand beside his head. He tried to strain away from her, but that just better exposed his sternocleidomastoid. Usually she’d save this particular muscle for later in the interrogation; it was one of the very most painful things she could do to a subject under her current limitations. But she wanted to leave quickly, so she stabbed the needle into the side of his neck and pushed the plunger down. Without really looking at him, she replaced the gag as soon as his mouth opened. Then, dropping the other syringes, she escaped the room.

She was rusty, that was all. It had been three years. That’s why she was feeling things. That’s why this subject was affecting her. It was nothing except her having been out of the game so long. She could still get her groove back.

She entered the room once during this session to keep the computer alive but didn’t stay to watch. She came back only after the dose was waning, about fifteen minutes later.

He lay there gasping again, but this time he didn’t cry, though she knew the pain had been much worse than before. Blood from his chafed skin now stained all the restraints and dripped onto the table. She might need to paralyze him for the next round so his injuries didn’t get any worse. That was a frightening feeling, too; it might help.

He started to shiver. She actually turned toward the exit one millisecond before she realized that she was heading out to get him a blanket. What was wrong with her?

Focus.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asked gently when his breathing was more even.

His answer came out in exhausted, breathy gasps. “It’s not me. Swear. I’m not – planning – anything. Don’t know the drug guy. Wish I could help. Really, really, really – wish I could help. Really.”

“Hmm. You’re showing some resistance to this method, so maybe we’ll try something new.”

“Re… sistance?” he croaked in disbelief. “You think… I’m resist… ing?”

“Honestly, I’m a little worried about messing up your head with hallucinogens – seems like there’s already enough trouble up there.” She tapped her fingers against his sweaty scalp as she spoke. “Maybe we have no choice but to try old-school…” She continued to absently tap his head as she glanced at the tray of tools on her desk. “Are you squeamish?”

“Why. Is this – happening to me.” Totally rhetorical, he wasn’t looking for an answer to his broken whisper. She gave him one anyway.

“Because this is exactly what happens when you plan to release a lethal influenza virus in four American states, potentially killing a million citizens. The government takes exception to that kind of behavior. And they send me to make you talk.”

His eyes focused on her, horror suddenly overtaken by shock.

“What. The. Actual. Hell!”

“Yes, it’s horrific and appalling and evil, I know.”

“Alex, really, this is nuts! I think you have a problem.”

She got in his face. “My problem is that you aren’t telling me where the virus is. Do you have it already? Is it with de la Fuentes still? When’s the drop? Where is it?”

“This is insane. You’re insane!”

“I’d probably enjoy life a lot more if that were true. But I’m beginning to think they sent the wrong doctor. We need the doctor for crazies here. I don’t know how to get the other Daniel to show up!”

“Other Daniel?”

“The one I can see in these pictures!”

She whirled and grabbed a handful from the desk, jabbing the computer once angrily in passing.

“Look,” she said, shoving them toward his face, peeling off one after the other and dropping them to the floor. “It’s your body” – she smacked one photo against his shoulder before letting it fall – “your face, see? But not the right expression. There’s someone else looking out of your eyes, Daniel, and I’m not sure if you’re aware of him or not.”

But there it was again, the recognition. He was aware of something.

“Look, for right now, I’d settle for you just telling me what you see in this picture.” She held up the top photo, Other Daniel skulking in the back door of a Mexican bar.

He looked at her, torn.

“I can’t… explain it… it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You see something I don’t. What is it?”

“He…” Daniel tried to shake his head, but it barely moved, his muscles were so fatigued. “He looks like…”

“Like you.”

“No,” he whispered. “I mean, yes, of course he looks like me, but I can see the differences.”

The way he said it. Of course he looks like me. The transparent honesty again, but something still withheld…

“Daniel, do you know who this is?” A real question this time, not snark, not rhetoric. She wasn’t playing psychiatrist – badly – now. She felt for the first time since the interrogation started that she was actually onto something.

“It can’t be,” he breathed, closing his eyes less out of exhaustion and more to block out the picture, she thought. “It’s impossible.”

She leaned forward. “Tell me,” she murmured.

He opened his eyes and stared at her searchingly. “You’re sure? He’s going to kill people?”

So natural, his use of the third person.

“Hundreds of thousands of people, Daniel,” she promised, earnest as he was. She used the third person, too: “He’s got access to a deadly virus and he’s going to spread it for a psychopathic drug lord. He already has hotel reservations – in your name. He’s doing this in three weeks.”

A whisper. “I don’t believe it.”

“I don’t want to either. This virus… it’s a bad one, Daniel. It’s going to kill a lot more people than a bomb. There’ll be no way to control how it spreads.”