The Emotion Game

Chapter Twenty: A Hacking Hostage

Drew watched the man's elbow move in time with whatever he was writing. So they didn't know everything about him. A small victory. Drew slid his eyes over in their sockets towards the computer, jerking them back when Maxwell turned around.

"You're a very interesting young man. Mr. Cunnings." Dr. Maxwell raised his eyebrows. He was almost pleasant.

"Mr. Cunnings?" Drew let a small laugh slip from his mouth, "don't flatter me. I've already signed your contract. I'm assuming it was a contract? Neil wouldn't let me read its entirety." Drew was surprising himself. Where had his timidity gone? He didn't exactly mind though. He was on fire.

But it seemed Maxwell was also getting heated—and not for the better. His knuckles began whitening as he gripped the clipboard. "You'll know soon enough. Put your shoes on and stand by the door."

Drew's mouth fell open slightly. That was blunt. Where were his shoes anyway? He'd been in socked feet ever since he woke up. "Someone pilfered 'em." He huffed under his breath. "Probably Neil."

Dr. Maxwell sniffed a chuckle under his breath. "Did you try under the bed?"

Drew's gaze instantly flew to the indicated position, swallowing as his eyes found the tips of his Converse sneakers, the white matching the rest of the room. Who had taken them off him? He knew he hadn't—and they were gone when he woke up. Why were they taken off?

Drew put his brain to work as he shifted over towards the item, sliding them out from under the cot. He quickly eliminated the impossible reasons, leaving only two. He smiled as he made his conclusion. He flew his gaze up at Maxwell as he shoved his left foot into the shoe, tightening the laces around it afterwards, securing them into a double knot. He fixed the other, readjusting the laces when they felt too tight. Too tight Converse is like having your feet sealed in plastic wrap.

Drew erected his stooped over posture and stepped towards the door, raising his brows as he placed his hands on his hips, his arms sticking out akimbo. He cleared his throat and inhaled a breath, "so tell me. Is it a microphone? Or a tracking bug in the shoe?" He wiggled the toe of his left shoe from side to side, rolling his eyes when Maxwell remained silent, "Don't tell me it's both. Now that would be a surprise. Generally, it's one or the other." He should probably just keep quiet about it. But he was having too much fun showing off.

Dr. Maxwell's jaw tightened, but his eyes remained light; despite their glassy appearance.

Drew was surprised he hadn't already gotten mad. Why did he seem so interested? It was like everything Drew did made the guy more intrigued. Drew should be flattered. But it was eerie having someone write down everything you do or say. It's like he was being observed from the position of a lab rat.

"Tracking bug." Maxwell nodded and stepped towards the door, sliding his hand onto the handle.

The words drifted into the air. One sentence was all it took to make Drew feel like he was watching a robotics club practice before a big show. Why was his voice like that? And the way his doctor's coat shifted when he walked almost made it look like he was floating. Drew submitted to an involuntary shiver. Creepy.

Dr. Maxwell opened the door and stepped through the opening.

Drew followed. Who was monitoring the tracking bug? And why the need for one anyway? What chance was there of escape in a place like this?

Maxwell just took off walking. Was he supposed to follow? Drew scanned his surroundings. White walls, doors—who is that? Drew blinked at the metallic haired individual. It reflected the light so intensely that Drew had to narrow his eyes to compensate for the slow reaction of his pupil contraction.

"Is that him?" The metallic haired person voiced a phrase. The words seemed to cut the air. A British accent. Drew watched the transaction as Maxwell spoke an affirmative to the question. That guy was obviously another employee—if you could call them that. Neil was there also. He hovered around the other guy like a dog when you have food. Okay. So the white-haired dude is high in rank. Drew stuffed the info into his brain. He needed to gather all he could about this place. They kept walking. Drew glanced up at a noise—an air conditioner. His senses were on such high alert. It was good, though. He wouldn't miss anything.

Maxwell stopped in front of a door, then moved to pull a key from some pocket of his coat. Drew didn't see which one. Why was the door locked? Maxwell gained access and stepped inside, calling Drew in after.

Drew swallowed as he stepped through the doorway. The room was colder than the hall—Drew's mouth dropped open. The room was longer than it was wide, stretching to the left. An enormous display panel was situated on the back wall. It looked like a computer screen, only way bigger.

"Sit." Maxwell pointed to a chair.

Drew eyed the leather office chair. His eyes scanned back and forth across the room. Some might call it a hacker's dream. But this was more like a nightmare. What was this operation? Drew hesitated. He didn't want to sit. But he knew they would force it. A hacking hostage. His own conclusion dangled in the front of his mind like a fishing lure. He slid into the chair, the cold leather penetrating the material of his cargos and the middle of his back. Were there cameras in here too? Drew glanced at Maxwell and inhaled to speak—

"Don't." Dr. Maxwell's robotic voice fit splendidly in the room. It mingled with all the electronics like it belonged. "I don't want to hear any more of your deductions about me. You have a lot of work ahead of you."

Aaaand there you have it! A little more about Drew's situation! (If only a drop in the pool.) I really hope you liked this chapter for it was a blast to write! I love all the deductions and observations with Drew. It's so much fun to write someone who is a bit like me in that sense. Except for the inverted writing analysis which I wish I had the ability to do. Lol.

Copyright: B.G. O'Brien @Consulting_Artist: 2020: All Rights Reserved.