Chapter Three

He tried to move from the bed, but couldn't. His legs felt weak, numb, as though they were not really his legs at all, and his head was spinning, causing him to be dizzy, almost to the point of nausea.

Two of them had come to his room just a few hours before and injected him with two shots in the thick muscle of his thigh. The liquid burned as it coursed through his veins, and it didn't take long before the medication took affect, causing him to lose control of, not only his limbs, but his bladder as well. He had fallen to the floor, urinating all over himself, as one of them laughed, taunting him, as he tried to crawl away from them with fail. He couldn't move and he felt dirty. He wanted so badly to strip himself of the dirty, ragged sweat pants and boxers, and crawl into that small sink to soak himself, but the struggle to continue to stand exhausted him.

The room had become pitch black as he lost consciousness, but their voices still rang loud and clear through his ears as their conversations continued.

"Keep your eye on him and report any sever changes to me immediately. That son of a bitch won't die on me, not yet."

"Yes sir."

He could hear the thick door being closed, but this time no locks were heard bounding him to his room. Someone had stayed with him, he was pretty sure of it, but moments passed before the person let his presence be know, and he felt them lift him from the hard surface of the floor to the semi softness of his worn out mattress, covering him with a blanket.

He had fallen asleep, but couldn't remember when exactly. He had been restless, and his heart raced as though he had run a marathon and now as he awakened he felt exhausted, and still unable to move.

His eyes opened and it took him a moment to focus, spotting a man sitting across the room from him in a hard back chair, and he struggled with his tired mind, trying to remember who the man was. His face was new, but he vaguely remembered earlier his step-brother yelling at the man, reminding him he was just an assistant, but the strangers name was unknown to him.

It had become obvious to him not too long after he arrived at his prison, that his step-brother was the leader of the group that put him through so much torture. The man had been jealous of him from the moment their parents married, and why he had, still remained a mystery to him. His step-father had never showed him any sort of love, never spent any time with him, and it was him that had taken the abuse from sun up to sun down, so what there was to be jealous of mystified him, but still, his step-brother never hid his angered feelings toward him when he would come around.

The strange man, the assistant as he knew him, stood from the chair and cautiously moved across the room, stopping to stand at the end of the bed watching the young man as he tried to move his limbs. The assistant had been told by the others that the experiment had escaped from a mental ward, and was hunted until he was found and brought to where they had imprisoned him. The mans family released him to their group of doctors for experiments, or so he had been told, and he was clearly instructed not to develop any emotions toward the human.

Somehow he was having a hard time believing all that he had been told, but still, he slid his hand into his white coat pocket, gripping the tranquilizer gun for safety sake.

"Sir...how are you feeling? Is there something I can get for you?"

**

He watched the man standing nervously at the end of his bed, and wondered what they had done to convince the assistant to be part of their sick group. He wasn't like the others, his voice was tender, caring, showed concern, where the others laughed and made fun of him, wanting to hurt him more than they already had.

He laid silent and continued to stare at the man, no matter how much he felt he could trust the assistant he knew from experience that they were all the same and he too would end up like the other doctors, a cold heartless son of a bitch.

Another thing he had learned was that silence was better than the begging, pleading, and crying he had done at the begining when they brought him there. With silence they did what they came to do and would leave quicker, not wanting to have to deal with him too much.

The assistant walked back to the chair picking up a clipboard from the floor and held it in his hands, jotting notes quickly, while occasionally looking toward the man on the bed, cutting his eyes away to take more notes, and clicked his pen, holding it tightly in his hands, while clutching the clipboard to his chest.

"I'll be here with you tonight, but I've got work to do right now. Should you decide you need anything, just yell, or do what you can to make some noise. I'll be back to check on you."

The assistant left, closing the door tightly behind him, and slid one lock into place, securing it, before heading down the tiled hallway to the office.

He sat down in the oversized black leather office chair, and laid the clipboard on the desk in front of him, thumbing through the pages as his eyes scanned over the words that had been written.

Troubled, murderer, convicted, and dangerous appeared quite often in the pages, but no name had ever been mentioned on any page. He grabbed the file of the man he had just left down the hall from the desk, and opened it slowly, carefully reading over the first page that had been placed there.

The subject seems distressed, weeping constantly, but is alert and willing

to cooperate with the team. Shows no signs of regret for his

actions of the murder. Reports of abuse never filed.

He thumbed through more pages and stopped, coming to the next list of notes that had been taken.

Subject becoming hostile toward team, refusing to allow

injections. Restraints used, 5cc's of medication

injected into upper left bicep, no signs of side affects.

Second dosage injected, same location, 10cc's.....subject has calmed.

He read through the list of medications mixed, some local sedatives, and their dosage, and sighed, flipping through to the next page.

Subject continues to be distressed.

He closed the folder, rubbing the heel of his palms against his eyes, and blinked away the tiredness that was begining to take over him. He had been part of the team for three months now, but this was the first night he had actually been allowed around the patient, and he wasn't going to allow a little tiredness to ruin any trust they were giving him.

With a yawn, he closed the folder and tossed it to the side, grabbing his cup of coffee, bringing it to his lips, wincing in disgust as the now cold liquid slid down his throat. Standing from the chair he stepped into the small bathroom located in the office, and poured the liquid down the sink drain, heading to the coffee pot to pour himself a fresh cup. He had a lot of work ahead of him, something about the stranger intrigued him, and he wanted to learn all he could on his new subject that he possibly could.

@2004Lancesharmony