“Good, good. Now, in the case of Harold Zinney—he says on the one hand there are no absolute truths; on the other hand, there are absolute truths, as you’ve already admitted. Are we in agreement here?”
“I feel bad, doctor… I just don’t feel clear about this.”
“Did you understand what I just asked, Eugene?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
“You aren’t sure because you’re fighting me. Your mind knows that Zinney is a liar, but you can’t come to terms with it. Did you notice your brain spectrum got darker when you began fighting me?”
“Yes, doctor. I’m trying to be truthful.”
“Not hard enough, Eugene. Now tell me the truth. How can he say you can’t discover truth except when you have to admit you can? If there are no truths, then there are no mathematical certainties either. Am I correct?”
“Yes, you are correct.”
Dr. Sistrunk frowned.
“Do you now believe Professor Zinney is a fraud?”
“Yes,” Eugene said.
Dr. Sistrunk frowned again, and then he glanced over to the assistant.
“Do you believe you’re better now?”
“Yes. I’m much better. You opened my eyes.”
Dr. Sistrunk shut the machine off, and then took off the goggles and helmet. He was visibly upset now.
“Were the colors dark or light, Mr. Sulke?”
“I… I don’t remember.”
Sistrunk motioned to Hurd. “You are a liar, Mr. Sulke, and you know very well those colors nearly went black. Liars are punished, Mr. Sulke.” Turning to Hurd, “Throw him back in his closet.”
As Hurd unstrapped him and began leading him to the closet, Sistrunk called over to him. “I had prepared a nice meal for you. Guess I’ll eat it myself.”
Eugene was in the closet for a few hours. He was angry and bitter. What do they want? What do they expect from me? Resisting them got me slapped and punched, but telling them what they wanted to hear got me the same treatment. I just don’t understand. What I must focus on is getting out of here. I can’t run when they unstrap me, but what if I can get the gun away from Hurd? With a gun I can force my way out of here to freedom; but how am I going to do that? Hurd keeps it holstered, and the odds that I can distract him while lifting the gun are pretty slim. It will certainly get me beaten again.
Perhaps, if I can force him to turn over the gun to me… yeah, that’s it. If I can get one of those scalpels out of the cabinet… but what if it’s locked? I don’t actually know. If I could only get something I can use as a weapon…. Frankenstein looks easy to grab hold of. I could threaten to kill him; force Hurd and the upstairs guy to turn over their guns to me. It could work. I’ll have to be more focused on what Hurd and the doctor do all the time: check for weaknesses, get to know their patterns. I’d also have to gain their confidence; demonstrate to them that I could be trusted. It may take a while, but I know I could hold out, especially if I could keep from being beaten.
Suddenly the overhead light came on, and Hurd came to get him. He responded with a little more alacrity this time so Hurd wouldn’t feel the need to drag him to the chair or gurney or whatever that thing was called. Nevertheless, he secured him to the hideous chair by its straps. Then Hurd strapped his feet in too.
“Alisha,” Sistrunk said. “Get our sheers and shaver, and cut off Sulke’s hair.”
She fetched them from the bottom shelf of the cabinet. Eugene noticed she didn’t need a key to open it. He tried to stay focused on what everyone was doing. Hurd was to the left of him, at parade rest; the doctor went in the other room; and Alisha was playing her barber role. Once this was finished she put the sheers back in the cabinet. She didn’t lock it, and then she went into the other room. Eugene could hear her talking with the doctor, and then Sistrunk came out with the dreaded helmet, but not the goggles. Alisha put the helmet on him, but this time it was hooked up to a different machine; a box he never saw before. A cable connected between the box and the opened laptop.
“Are you familiar with an fMRI, Mr. Sulke?” said Sistrunk.
Eugene indicated so.
“This is a bit more advanced. With this scan we can decipher just how your brain sorts information. Once completed, we can begin curing you.”
The doctor turned the machine on, and Eugene could see some lights flicker and come on. There was a soft humming noise, and Eugene felt a slight tingling sensation from under the helmet. It didn’t hurt, and after a few minutes he barely noticed it.
“This will tell us a lot about how your mind works. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to both say and think about the answer. You must keep thinking about the answer until I ask you another question. Do you understand?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Don’t try to fight me because I’ll know, and it will only prolong your treatment.”
“I understand.”
“How much is ten times ten?”
“100.”
“Good! Now picture that equation in your mind.”
Sistrunk asked about a dozen more math questions, progressively harder to solve. By the last question Eugene was unsure of the answer, and waited a couple of minutes before providing the wrong answer.
The questions now turned to social issues. “Mr. Sulke, what is your favorite thing to do outside of work?”
Eugene thought about the answer. “I like to watch a little TV sometimes; other times I like to read; maybe listen to a little music.”
After reminding Eugene to keep that thought in his head, the doctor asked several more questions like it. Following these were questions about his boss, co-workers, and casual friends; then of family and relatives.
Sistrunk then began asking questions he didn’t know the answers to—questions about work. “I want to know how your brain handles logic,” Sistrunk said.
The grilling went on for hours, and then stopped. The helmet was taken off, and his straps were released. He was given an opportunity to stretch, and then get something to eat. Hurd stayed close to him at all times, so there was no opportunity to steal a scalpel from the cabinet, and initiate his escape. He realized that it may be several more days before he could create the trust that he could use to carry out his plan.
Eugene had no breakfast, so he was given an extra-large meal, and was allowed about a half hour to consume it. He was brought back to the interrogation chair, and strapped in it—feet and arms. Sistrunk spent the whole time at the computer desk printing something out, and then studying the results.
Eugene heard footsteps coming down the steps again, and then Sistrunk spoke up.
“Ahh, Peter, good, good; right on time.” A man Eugene saw at the metal table or gurney earlier, entered. He was more of a boy than a man; not older than twenty. He looked like he might be a soldier because of his lean and muscular build. He marched right over to the desk the stenographer used—he was gone now. Sistrunk came over and shook his hand, and then showed him something. “Peter, here is his chart.”
Peter studied it a while, and then carried it over to Eugene. Alisha then came from the back room carrying a marker. She handed it to Peter, who began drawing on Eugene’s naked scalp.
Eugene flinched. “What are you doing?”
“Please don’t move a muscle,” Peter said. “This is very sensitive work. I am attempting to sketch all the different parts of your brain on your head.”
The drawing went on for about an hour. Eugene could feel the marking pen all over his scalp. Peter would draw some, and then stop to examine the paper; then he would continue. The act of drawing on Eugene’s head caused him to flinch repeatedly, always drawing a rebuke.