Toxic Innocence

SEVEN

Beads of sweat, they trailed lower down his freezing forehead, disappearing by the thick collar of his dress shirt. The black tie in a careless, loose knot around his neck as chris sat with a glass of water in his hand, tightly clutched, his skin whitening beneath the clear nails as he kept sweeping his gaze when ever he thought Dr. Neil Smith was occupied by other things in his house.

But to his pure horror, the old man was least bothered about the lavish million dollar painting on his high roof study or the Chinese Ming vase. Apparently chris was far more worth his attention than those petty antiques.

"You look like a disaster Christopher" Neil smiles, the tipsy lisp and blood shot eyes narrated that the term disaster suited him aptly.

"You appear no better. I am sorry for your loss Dr. Smith" building up a wall of betraying confidence and genuine sympathy Chris straightens his shoulders. Neil pinches the tip of his nose, running a thumb across his he pushes his golden, metallic framed glass in an act of adjustment.

He was drunk.

And that was one of the most troubled thought Chris realized as soon as he opened the door and found his boss by the entrance.

"You mean the loss of my half a life spans research?" he dryly chuckles, taking a sip of the fine red wine. To dissolve the grimace Chris takes a sip of water. The cringe at the research remark fresh and heavy.

What is all he was to him? A research?

"You can start over any day" Chris says, regardless of how it made him feel dirty to suggest something like that. But it was a tactic to make sure Dr. Smith was convinced that Chris had no hand in the escape of his subject. He has been laying dignifiedly low, expressing his remorse on situation, attending meetings, acting clueless. A week has passed and since there was no call from the girl, he willed himself to believe that everything was fine.

But the dreadful theory was, was it a good sign?

"Start any day?" Neil humorously spits, downing the whole glass in one go. What was chris thinking when he served an apparent drunk man some more alcohol?

How about to blur off the suspicious he had on him?

That shuts up his internal debate.

But a new thrill surpasses Chistophers senses. No matter what good he did. His inner scientist did had a few query that demanded to be resolved.

"Why do you say it like that? As if it's hopele-"

"He was the only one who survived"

The low utterance was not intended to be heard. It sounded more like Neil was lamenting in his own head. But the silence between the two men in the room was so loud that they both were aware what they said and heard.

So he continued.

"Insanity, animalistic and dead. That's how every one ended up. But not him" pelting from the onset of rain, a silent awakening of storm could been seen from where they sat. Neil paid heed as he looked out of the window while Chris gaze was nailed on him "I started to work on his temporal lobe. Interviewing him for signs of his fear, interest, admirations and aspirations. He was five at that time, really intelligent boy with the face of an angel. By seven, his limbic system was strong enough for the drugs I had tested so far on people who were never able to reach past day three. He had no intention of showing vulnerability. The boy took them like _, like it was a fun meth expedition. Then some more, until I saw the first sign of his strength."