gentle.”
“That hurts.”
“The truth has been known to do that.”
Sullivan looked down at his watch. “We don’t have
a lot of time here. I need some answers. I need them right now.”
“What answers?”
“Don’t play dumb. I read your letters, by the
way. Cute.”
“What do you mean, ‘cute’?”
Sullivan leaned in closer. “I mean, it’s cute
that you poor, ignorant fools think you can change things with just words
scribbled on paper.”
“You starve us, inject fear on us, and you think
that’s okay?” Miller started to get feisty. “Don’t think for a second that I’m
not aware of why you make us take those damn supplements every day.”
“The supplements are for your own health. Don’t
bring that conspiracy theory shit here. You’ve let those letters brainwash you.
Or maybe you’ve just grown too senile?”
“I remember…remember what it was like before your
government stole it all away from us.”
Leftovers, Sullivan thought, they always say the
damndest things during these interrogations. He stood from his chair and began
to crack his knuckles. The look in Miller’s eyes was a mixture of fear and
defiance. The suspect didn’t dare look away like a coward, but he still feared
what came his way.
“Enough games. You’ve worn my patience thin.”
“I’m telling you, you won’t get any—“
Sullivan walked behind the old man and pressed
both of his thumbs on top of Miller’s broken eye sockets. He applied a little
pressure; just enough to give this little prick something to think about. Quick
panting came, but no cries, yet. The hope remained that Miller would say
something—anything—so that an intense torture session could be avoided.
“Come on, Mr. Miller, think!” Sullivan ordered.
Nothing. Please, just say something, anything.
“I can’t hear you.”
Silence.
A full force of pressure on the shattered eye
sockets now. Something deep inside said to let go. Cries from Miller for the
pain to stop. Thoughts of little Davie in shock at what his father was doing. It
was all ignored. This man had information that the USR needed. Now was not the
time for guilty consciences.
Say something!
“Okay…okay…” Miller cried out.
“What?” Sullivan replied. He relieved some of the
pressure.
“I’ll tell you what I know!”
The Agent took in a deep breath before he let go
of Miller’s face. He took a seat back in front of his prisoner. Sullivan peered
into the man’s eyes…what he could see of them. He conceded for a few moments to
give his suspect a chance to collect his thoughts. He just hoped that the Intel
he might receive proved to be useful.
“Go on,” Sullivan finally said.
“Okay, umm,” Miller said in between pants.
“There’s this woman. She’s about my age, I think. She lives in an apartment,
near downtown.”
“Her name?”
“Jenna…Jenna…”
“Take your time.” Sullivan replied with a hint of
sarcasm.
The wheels inside Miller’s head started to turn.
Sullivan’s eyes never left the old man’s. Why was it so hard to remember?
“Kaspar…yeah, that’s it. She lives alone, all by
herself.”
“Is she the source, or just another carrier?”
“I don’t know…” Miller replied.
The ‘I don’t knows’ started to get under the
Agent’s skin. Miller had to give him something he could go to Fitzpatrick with
so the torture would stop. So Miller could go to his death in peace. A name
would do nothing; achieve nothing. A clinch of the fists, which caused cracked
knuckles in Sullivan’s hand, and the old man threw up his arms in defeat.
“I swear to God, I don’t know.” Miller pleaded.
“Please. I just know she sends them out.”
“What’s her address?” Sullivan demanded.
“2765 Sycamore Street. Her apartment number
is…oh, hell, I don’t remember. But that’s the building.”
Sullivan stood. “You’re sure that this is all you
know?”
“Why would I lie?”
“We’ll see if this checks
“That hurts.”
“The truth has been known to do that.”
Sullivan looked down at his watch. “We don’t have
a lot of time here. I need some answers. I need them right now.”
“What answers?”
“Don’t play dumb. I read your letters, by the
way. Cute.”
“What do you mean, ‘cute’?”
Sullivan leaned in closer. “I mean, it’s cute
that you poor, ignorant fools think you can change things with just words
scribbled on paper.”
“You starve us, inject fear on us, and you think
that’s okay?” Miller started to get feisty. “Don’t think for a second that I’m
not aware of why you make us take those damn supplements every day.”
“The supplements are for your own health. Don’t
bring that conspiracy theory shit here. You’ve let those letters brainwash you.
Or maybe you’ve just grown too senile?”
“I remember…remember what it was like before your
government stole it all away from us.”
Leftovers, Sullivan thought, they always say the
damndest things during these interrogations. He stood from his chair and began
to crack his knuckles. The look in Miller’s eyes was a mixture of fear and
defiance. The suspect didn’t dare look away like a coward, but he still feared
what came his way.
“Enough games. You’ve worn my patience thin.”
“I’m telling you, you won’t get any—“
Sullivan walked behind the old man and pressed
both of his thumbs on top of Miller’s broken eye sockets. He applied a little
pressure; just enough to give this little prick something to think about. Quick
panting came, but no cries, yet. The hope remained that Miller would say
something—anything—so that an intense torture session could be avoided.
“Come on, Mr. Miller, think!” Sullivan ordered.
Nothing. Please, just say something, anything.
“I can’t hear you.”
Silence.
A full force of pressure on the shattered eye
sockets now. Something deep inside said to let go. Cries from Miller for the
pain to stop. Thoughts of little Davie in shock at what his father was doing. It
was all ignored. This man had information that the USR needed. Now was not the
time for guilty consciences.
Say something!
“Okay…okay…” Miller cried out.
“What?” Sullivan replied. He relieved some of the
pressure.
“I’ll tell you what I know!”
The Agent took in a deep breath before he let go
of Miller’s face. He took a seat back in front of his prisoner. Sullivan peered
into the man’s eyes…what he could see of them. He conceded for a few moments to
give his suspect a chance to collect his thoughts. He just hoped that the Intel
he might receive proved to be useful.
“Go on,” Sullivan finally said.
“Okay, umm,” Miller said in between pants.
“There’s this woman. She’s about my age, I think. She lives in an apartment,
near downtown.”
“Her name?”
“Jenna…Jenna…”
“Take your time.” Sullivan replied with a hint of
sarcasm.
The wheels inside Miller’s head started to turn.
Sullivan’s eyes never left the old man’s. Why was it so hard to remember?
“Kaspar…yeah, that’s it. She lives alone, all by
herself.”
“Is she the source, or just another carrier?”
“I don’t know…” Miller replied.
The ‘I don’t knows’ started to get under the
Agent’s skin. Miller had to give him something he could go to Fitzpatrick with
so the torture would stop. So Miller could go to his death in peace. A name
would do nothing; achieve nothing. A clinch of the fists, which caused cracked
knuckles in Sullivan’s hand, and the old man threw up his arms in defeat.
“I swear to God, I don’t know.” Miller pleaded.
“Please. I just know she sends them out.”
“What’s her address?” Sullivan demanded.
“2765 Sycamore Street. Her apartment number
is…oh, hell, I don’t remember. But that’s the building.”
Sullivan stood. “You’re sure that this is all you
know?”
“Why would I lie?”
“We’ll see if this checks
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