8. You Could Hear A Pin Drop

By the time the sun set of the horizon, I was back in front of Everett's office.

I wanted to sleep. God, did I ever. I rubbed off the eye-buggers from my eyelashes, but alas, it did nothing to fix the blurry vision. Whilst stifling a gigantic yawn, I knocked, and felt my eyes water in turn.

"Come on in, it's unlocked," Everett called from the other side of the door.

Without hesitation, I sprouted inside the Security office. Upon entering, I noticed that Everett had left all the light on for me. In the corner of the room a coffee was brewing and an additional chair had been added to his semi-circle desk.

The giant man was working hard on his laptop, and kept his back facing me, even upon my arrival.

"Hey," I yawned loudly. "Is that new chair for me?"

"It's there if you need it." Glancing over his shoulder, Everett let his blue eyes traveled across my facial features. "Looks like you could use a nap."

I laughed it off. "I'm fine."

He cleared his throat and gave a curt nod. "Whatever you say."

After one glance towards the far monitor, the one where Greyson was already lying on his bed, Everett turned back to his screen. I couldn't see Greyson's face, but I could tell something was wrong by the way he looked. He was curled up in a fetal position, nails digging painfully into his ribs, and breathing erratically between fleets of spasmodic shivers.

Not wanting to jump to any crazy conclusions, I played it cool: "Must have been a tiresome day for him too, huh?" I said, the edge in my voice betraying the way I really felt. "Is it bed time for the extra-terrestrials, already?"

When I was met with the sound of furious typing, the atmosphere between Everett and I became heavy. The air felt denser. Even the scent of fresh coffee seemed to turn rotten.

"What happened to him?"

Everett's fingers hovered over the keys, and he took a deep breath. "They did their experiments on him, and left him there to simmer in his pain," he filled me in, without once glancing in my direction. "He won't be moving from that bed, anytime soon."

A shiver crawled up my spine. "What kind of experiments were they doing?"

He bent down and opened a drawer to his left. Straightening, he reached over his right and laid a VHS tape in the middle of the desk. "See for yourself." He dipped his head towards the small cassette player under an old box-television. It was hidden on the far-right side of the desk, at the very tail of the multiple rows of monitors. "Put that VHS into the cassette player and press play." From his seat, while not quite looking at me, he added: "If you think you can handle what happened in that vault today."

The typing continued and I hesitated to take the black cassette from the desk. Like the Mothman flying over a doomed city, the presence of that unnamed VHS seemed to hang over me, forewarning me of a tragedy yet unseen. It didn't matter that it wasn't a moth-like bipedal creature with glowing red eyes, the contents of that tape sacred me just the same. I was afraid of what I would find once I pressed that play button. I knew I was about to watch something sinister. From the look of him, perhaps some kind of torture. That's what our scientists had done, wasn't it? Tortured him. It was evident, since no one shivered quite as violently as Greyson, from something as minimal as a blood test...

How bad were those so-called experiments exactly? I wondered, horrified by my vivid imagination now running wild.

With a rock lodged inside my chest, I walked to the black rectangular box and picked it up.

"Be warned," Everett murmured the instant my digits wrapped around the cool surface of the tape, "It's not a pretty watch."

Clenching the plastic surface tighter, I went over to the VCR machine and slipped the cassette through the thin slot. It was consumed and chewed by the machine, before I reached up and turned on the TV.

Bracing myself for the worst, I clamped down on my molars. The screen fuzzed with static just before a black and white image of Greyson appeared. He was standing in his enclosure, his head nearly touching the glass roof above him, and talking to three scientists who jotted down some words on individual clipboards. Two men, and one beautiful long-haired woman. They all wore long white coats, glasses and tightly fitted black gloves.

My heart went out to Greyson as they questioned him. He seemed genuinely frightened, with his fist formed into tight orbs, brows fiercely furrowed over troubled eyes, and quivers coursing through his entire body. He looked nervous every time he answered one of the multitude of queries posed by one of the three scientists. As if the wrong answer could somehow send a shock down his spine.

"It's going to be a long video." Everett rolled away from the desk and went to the counter. "Would you care for some coffee?"

"Please," I barely said.

"I'll find you a cup." He nodded towards the new chair. "You sit down and watch."

Lowering to the leather office chair, I didn't let my eyes stray away from the movie. One of the men, the blonde one with thick-framed prescription glasses, handed the long-haired woman a thick protective helmet. There were two more helmets, laying on the medical table in the middle of the room, I noticed, had an operating table shouldering it.

My stomach sank, as I recalled the multitude of operating apparatus I had spied on the small table when I had ventured inside the vault.

The woman adjusted the straps against her temples with one quick yank, and slid her hands into her pockets. She retrieving a dark card from her coat and proceeded to slam the thin plastic on a key pad, just by the cage door. A light flashed and the door popped open with ease.

My chest tightened, watching as Greyson cowered behind his bed. Evidently, he didn't want to experience whatever was about to happen to him. But he had nowhere to go; he was like an animal caught in a trap. He had no other choice but to let this woman and those two men - who were now fastening their own helmets - do whatever they wished with him.

"Here," Everett said, handing me a coffee mug. His hands were so big, I could barely see the porcelain underneath his hulk-like fingers. "I took the liberty of adding two creams and some sugar for you. I hope that's alright."

"Who is this woman?" I said, thoughtlessly taking the mug in my own hands.

"Her name is Zondra." Everett spat, obviously not a fan, and looking over the top of my head to see the screen. "She is the head of our science department. And a real C-word, if you asked me."

The steam swayed lovingly above the brew, dancing in front of my vision as I fixated on the two men forcing their way passed Zondra and into the enclosure. The tallest of the two, stepped forward and signalled Greyson with a finger, ordering him to step forward and come out from behind the bed. There was a bit of hesitation from the alien, which provoked the tall man - who looked a lot like an actor named DJ Qualls - into pulling a small tranquilizer gun from his belt. Greyson reeled back, but mustered enough courage to take a step forward and do as he was told.

Impatience running thin, the tall man grabbed onto Greyson's shoulder and yanked him through the door. My throat went dry when the second man, the blonde one with the smallest moustache hanging above his lips, fisted Greyson's jumpsuit and shoved him on top of the metal table. With a forceful push, they plopped the alien down on the surgical bed, and knocked him onto his back.

Greyson recoiled from their touch, as they secured him to the metallic surface, wrapping leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles.

With some semblance of decorum, they let Greyson rest a while in peace. He didn't even struggle as they trudged around to the other side of the surgical table. Both human males waiting patiently for their boss to join their charade.

Greyson's attention sliced towards the long-haired woman named Zondra, as she lifted his mattress and grimaced when she found nothing under it.

Zondra seemed to be assessing the alien's living quarters with acute attention. "What is she looking for?" I asked aloud.

"Making sure everything is up to snuff. Especially since the alarm was set off yesterday. She wants to make sure he isn't hiding anything."

"What happens if he is?"

Everett let out a troubled grunt.

"I see." I swallowed.

Zondra gazed over every nook and cranny. All the while, Greyson waited eerily still on the examination table. He looked petrified. And suddenly all I wanted to do was run inside the vault and hug him. I wanted to make him feel safe and take him away from those horrible people.

Watching helplessly the panicked rise and fall of Greyson's chest, I listened as Everett's every breath quicken with rage. My own intakes totally falling out of sync with his.

Was I even breathing anymore? I clenched my fist atop the desk.

Reassured that everything was to her standard, Zondra stepped away from the cage and walked leisurely towards her cronies. On her way, she wheeled a small table alongside her hip. It had a variety of medical instrument on its surface. The same table I remembered seeing yesterday.

Once she was looming over the poor petrified alien, she picked up a small syringe and leaned over. She lifted his sleeve, baring his forearm, and gripped his wrist to hold him still.

The long needle lowered towards the grey smooth skin above his elbow, and when it pierced through, Greyson squirmed. His hands clenched and unclenched as he desperately tried to jerk his arm away.

My hand shot to my mouth, gut churning, as I watched in horror the two man pinning Greyson's head and shoulders down with excessive force, as a strange liquid was forced into his arm. Greyson yelled, and even though the movie was muted, my blood curdled.

I tore my eyes from the screen, unable to bear the sight. It was like watching a puppy getting kicked over the edge of a cliff.

Sucking in a breath, I pressed the stop button on the VCR.

Time seemed to stretch, and clocks appeared to have stopped. The room was so silent, we could have heard a pin drop.

With a heavy breath, Everett headed back to his chair and I stared at the blue screen now facing me. The wheels of the chair swivelled back a few inches, as his weight crashed down on the cushion.

"He's nothing but a science experiment to them," Everett explained, a scowl heavy between his bushy brow when I glanced his way. "That's why I don't ever want to give them any reason to do worse than they already do."

"Like telling them he brainwashed me?" I scoffed, but there was no humour in it. "That's why you were mad at me, last night," I mumbled, trying to keep my guilt from showing in the form of tears. "I get it now."

He pinched the ridge of his big nose. "They have done everything they could to temper with his hidden abilities. They want to force him to use them. So that they can study how they work." Everett enormous hand ran down his face. "He's kept them hidden for as long as he could. But it's only a matter of days before they cut him up into a million pieces and he can't be put back together."

"How do you know about these hidden abilities?"

"He trusts me."

I frowned. "You care about him."

He let out a long and exhausted grunt. "He's a good kid." The corner of his lips tugged upwards. "It's just... no one seemed to be able to see past his alien appearance. People are always reminded of the creature that bred him, and so all they seem to be able to do is fear him."

"I don't fear him."

The corner of Everett's lip curled upward. "I noticed that. But you don't seem to act like most people."

I matched his silence. There was a new understanding between us, that wasn't there before.

"What exactly was Zondra injecting in his arm?" I braved.

"Drugs." Everett cleared his throat and scratched the tip of his nose. "They've tried different kind of drugs already. Lots of different dosage. If you kept watching you would have seen them attach Greyson to a bunch of machines. Then, they spend hours scanning his brain for unusual activity, you know, while the drug works its way through his system."

"Have..." My throat felt so dry. "Have they ever found anything?"

"Not yet."

"What exactly happens when they do?"

Everett lips thinned and he looked down at the floor. A simple shake of his head was all it took for understanding to dawn on me.

Wetness gathered in my eyes. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We'll see by morning."

I peeked up at present-time Greyson struggling to sleep. "Is there any way for me to talk to him? I'd like to... I don't know, see if he needs anything. Maybe apologize for things I've said yesterday."

"Not now, I'm afraid." Everett shook his head. "He'll be sobering up for hours."

"But it's possible?" I asked, hopeful. "It's possible from me to communicate with him?"

He hummed in agreement. "We can try tomorrow, or some other day."

With twinge of relief in my chest, I nodded. "I'll be back every night if I have to."

With that said, and perhaps because I needed to fill the total impact of the guilt still gnawing at my chest, I pressed play on the VCR machine.

"You're going to watch the end?" Everett said, incredulously.

Peering up, my gaze lingered over the live feed of the grey-skinned man that was barely clinging to reality. A dark cloud appeared to loom over him, as he gripped the fabric of his sleeves, and discomfort seemed to be his only option. As he bent and twisted in odd way atop the thin white blankets, my sympathy for him amplified, and my decision to save him solidified. I was going to free him, no matter what.

"I'm done being ignorant," I said, voice nearly devoid of emotion, as the image of Greyson thrashing on top of that medical table returned. "By the way, I need to ask. How long has he been stuck in here?"

Everett took a pause, watching me closely. "Since he was born," he answered. "Nearly twenty-three years now."

I can assure you, I'm not here for any good reasons, Greyson had told me. Realisation dawned on me that he wasn't lying.

He didn't belong in here. And I was going to get him out, one way or another.