Lost Time Incident

February 19, 2003

Nobody Tells Me Anything

"Look, we know you're a spy," Henry's captor was saying. Henry's captor was tall, blonde, wearing a suit and an eye patch and had a military haircut. "We've got all the proof in the world. I could show it to you, but why would I? Hmm? You know you're a spy too. I don't have to convince you."

Henry did not need convincing, it was true. He had been a spy for a few years but had yet to undertake any thrilling adventures. The most exciting thing to happen to him during his career as a secret agent was this: he had been captured.

He was seated in a chair in a Spartan room. His chair had arms, to which his wrists were tied. His head and legs were free. Henry could only assume that they thought that a heavy-set man such as himself was unlikely to possess the fierceness or flexibility necessary to kick someone to death from a sitting position. They would be correct.

The seat he sat on did not have any padding and the pressure was making it hard for Henry to overlook the fact that he desperately needed to urinate.

"But you're still not ready to talk," continued Henry's captor, whose name was Edgars. Edgars reached over Henry's head and tugged a dangling microphone a little bit further out of the ceiling so it was positioned about an inch and half above Henry's head.

"Maybe you think we're amateurs," said Edgars. "Maybe you don't think we know how to make people talk. Maybe—maybe you don't think we have anything on you! Yes! But we do!"

Edgars flipped through a notebook. "March 17th… fed pigeons for twenty-three minutes. No conversations. No evidence of code written on pigeon feed as determined by our Agency's pigeon-catchers and our forensic biopsy squad."

Edgars raised his eyebrows. "Do you deny it?"

Henry wiggled in his seat. "If I say no, can I use your restroom?"

"Yes, of cour—I mean NO! Not until we get some answers. And we will… get some answers." Edgars rubbed his hands together. It was a strange gesture for a tall blonde man in an eye patch to be making, Henry thought.

There was a polite knock on the door. A young man wearing a blue tracksuit entered, his eyes glued to the floor. His suit had white stripes down the sleeves and pants legs and he swooshed when he walked.

"Ah HA!" said Edgars. "Our secret weapon. You know who this is, you traitor? This… is a real hypnotist!"

"Hey," said the guy in the tracksuit. He pulled a watch out of his jacket pocket and let it dangle from a chain. Flicked it a few times with his index finger, gave it a practice swing or two.

"This guy," continued Edgars, "can make you believe anything. He can make you think you're on fire. Or unable to lie. He can convince you that your mother is here in the room and she wants you to talk. Or he can convince you that there's a face underneath the fingernail of your right index finger and it tells you awful truths about the universe when you pick your ear and we have the surgical means to remove it. But only if you talk."

Henry sighed. "You know, at my age, not being able to go to a restroom could mean that I'll damage my bladder. Could develop lesions."

Edgars scratched at his eyebrow, then looked over at the hypnotist. The hypnotist was checking the time of his fancy pocket watch against the cheap digital watch on his wrist. Looked back at Henry, chubby, tied down. "Seems to me like there are worse things that could happen to a traitor than bladder lesions."

"Okay," said the hypnotist, taking a seat in front of Henry. "I'm ready to get started if you are."

"Sure," said Henry. He cleared his mind of all thoughts. He fingered the wedding band on his left ring finger. He clenched his thighs together and took a deep breath. "Let's get hypnotized. I've got all the time in the world."

The watch swayed back and forth in front of Henry's eyes and he waited patiently to see what was going to happen next.

Posted by Michael at February 19, 2003 10:04 PM