CHUPACABRA

Chapter Four: The Hypocrite

Dr. Taft lives and works on the highest floor of Project Chupacabra, an area no specimen has ever seen. This fact Forty is sure of, as even the specimens who were actually taken to that floor are never seen again. However, Forty has seen Dr. Taft, though in passing. He doesn't cut the figure she imagined. In her mind, he is tall, good-looking, maybe about fifty years old, and he carries himself like someone that is aware of every muscle in his body. When she happened to see the procession of frantic monitors that one day many months ago, she saw his conical head, bare except for a white patch on the peak that he wore like a cap. He was tall, though in an awkward way, and stooped at the shoulders. His gait was clipped, not unlike all the other perpetually busy monitors on the blue floor. In total, he is unremarkable, and Forty cannot understand why his name is uttered like a demon's among the humans and specimens beneath him.

Sitting across from him, she can sort of understand. She had been rather rudely pulled from her domicile by one of the younger monitors, a sallow, sandy-haired man, and brought to this decrepit room about a half hour ago. It was barren, gray as customary, with an off white ceiling and dark charcoal carpet. The desk she sits at is not unlike Jane's, which serves no purpose for her but to house her computer. This tabletop is bare as well, save for a singular manila file folder, it's cream hue outlandish among the sea of black and white. After twiddling her thumbs for a while, which are still sensitive from the incident with Thirty-Seven, Forty is greeted by the prophesied man, who looks much like shit warmed over. The sullen look in his eye is striking, and the redness of his sclera and the electric blue of his liquid eyes has Forty double take, thinking him a specimen. When he speaks, his voice is like metal in a blender.

"Specimen Four-Zero," he says to her, thumbing absentmindedly at the pen in his pocket. He regards her as one would a toddler, both annoyed but with a cursory gentleness. "I have heard about your fight with Three-Seven, and I have decided to investigate."

Forty does not know if she should respond, so she simply gives the barest of nods. Dr. Taft pays her no mind, instead focusing his attention on the file. It is rather thick, and though Forty cannot read its contents, she can see it holds papers of various shades of blue, then near the end some gray. Dr. Taft hums to himself, though it comes out as more an exhalation of air. Perhaps, Forty thinks, the fear of him came not from his strength or intelligence, but from his similarity to a corpse.

"Mmhmm, Ah yes. Mmmmm hmm, as I suspected," Dr. Taft mumbles, finally closing the folder and sliding it to the side just out of Forty's reach. He turns his watery eyes to her, and she finds it difficult to hold his gaze. His nonchalant intensity makes her dizzy. "You have a long standing history of issues with aggression, adrenaline, and hunger. I guess perhaps this is good news." He takes a deep sigh, as if it really isn't. "But you are not sick. This is not a disease I have seen transmitted among these walls, and your vitals show no signs of attempting to fight off a virus."

Forty nods again, this time harder, trying to read his blank expression. "Of course, that means some oddities have happened within my walls that I have been unaware of." He harrumphs, leaning back in the chair. The old thing shrieks under the movement, though Dr. Taft pays it no mind. "I am much displeased about that." He shakes his head. "Though I guess it can't be helped."

"What do you mean?" Forty asks, her voice small. Dr. Taft's eyes dart to her, and she flinches.

"That is no concern of yours, not until I say it is," the doctor snarls, swiping a wrinkled hand across the table and sending the file flying. The multicolored papers cascade out and drift around the room, stirred by the perpetual air filtration. Forty bristles at the sudden anger, feeling the hairs on her arms begin to rise. "You will not speak unless I say so, you hear me?"

Forty opens her mouth to respond, then clicks it shut and nods instead. "You have been hiding from me since you were born. You! Who could have solved everything!" Dr. Taft continues, pointing an accusatory finger at Forty. "You could have kept me from so much pain!"