An Innocent Man

by Mark Z. Kammell

I shouted, leaping forward and grabbing his left arm, my cuffs preventing me from moving properly, No! You can’t do that! X had pushed himself back as far as he could into his seat as I stood over him. You can’t I said hoarsely.

  Let go of me X said, steadily, calmly, and I looked into his steel eyes and pulled back. He shifted his huge bulk uncomfortably in his chair and leaned forward, looking at me seriously. Now he said, now, listen to me, Sylvain. Whatever you think, is irrelevant. Whatever you believe, is irrelevant. Whatever your twisted mind has conjured up for you to make sense of this situation, is irrelevant. All that matters now is that you are here, sitting in this room with me, for the last time. All that matters is that you have one more choice to make. You understand? He tapped the folder. Your choice is in here. Either you walk back out of this room and back to whichever cell you were holed up in, or you sign the document that is in here. You understand? Good. Now. The contents of this document state, briefly, that, you will be released into our custody, and that all legal proceedings against you will be dropped, on condition that you agree to be subject to any activities, exercises, or, ahem, experiments that are asked of you. X opened the file, pulled out a piece of paper, turned it over to me and put a pen on it. All you have to do is sign, Sylvain, and you can walk out with me.

  Living with the beast

  Dredd refused to undo my handcuffs so I had to travel with them on and my wrists still bleeding when they took me somewhere, nowhere I had been before, some sort of research lab set in the depth of the countryside. They at least had the cuffs removed, allowed me to shower and patched up my wounds pretty well, then put me in a small room with a bed and a television and allowed me to rest. I don’t remember much about the next few days, lots of sleep, lots of tests, little explained, no contact with X or anyone from the outside (anyone I knew who wasn’t dead, that is), then more sleep, more tests, more exercise, lots to eat and drink, with a notable lack of alcohol. I wondered about Lou and how she was doing, I even asked one of the people I came in contact with (a psychologist, I think, given the questions I was asked), but she looked at me as if I was mad. Who knows, I have started, honestly, to doubt myself, at my lowest points, whether somehow my thoughts and actions had become confused, whether everything I remembered was real or whether somehow my dreams had bled into my consciousness. But then I looked at the scars on my hands, at the wounds on my face and body and their reality and pain reassured me, at least kept me anchored to something that I could feel, as I was herded like an animal through those strange days.

  One morning, after having eaten the standard breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, tomatoes, mushroom, sausage and bacon, I wasn’t sent back to my room as per the procedure that I had got used to, but taken instead to the interview room, where I had previously endured a whole barrage of strange questions about my physical and emotional health and wellbeing. I braced myself for something similar; this wasn’t an experience I enjoyed. I had always thought that to have a therapist in what I thought of as real life, but what I really meant was the outside world, you had to be fairly self-obsessed, otherwise the thought of spending ninety minutes talking about yourself and your feelings must be pretty abhorrent. It was for me, at any rate, and the reality of it was quite as bad as I expected. People poking through your mind was far more invasive than people poking through your body and who were they to be able to share your innermost thoughts and fears, your dreams and desires and fantasies. That they couched it in some trite statement of doctor patient confidentiality didn’t help; that they talked about a safe zone where you could say anything you really felt just made it worse; things were only safe when they existed in the shadows of your mind, and as soon as they had words, they had form, and as soon as they had form, they were real. And only the truly narcissistic would be arrogant enough to want to create something real out of their hidden desire, only they would think something good could possibly come out of that. So yes, I’m not ashamed, I’m proud, in fact, to admit that I resisted all forms of psychology as strongly and as bravely as I could, and not because of fear of what it might reveal about me (as one particularly difficult doctor suggested). X didn’t agree, though; X thought that I didn’t want to have to face up to myself and the things that I had done, and he, as always, refused to listen, telling me that I was creating all sorts of weird and wonderful conspiracies just as a means of escape, but I certainly was not going to go down that rabbit hole with him again.

  I was sure I had worked it out, you see. (And I am yet to be proved wrong). I had already worked out that Mark was in charge, and the slight change in people’s looks at me when I mentioned his name, that I had noticed over the last few days, proved me right, yet again. And then I had realised, when a psychologist by the name of Mary (they didn’t use last names here), had started questioning me about escape – had I taken the G6 to escape, to the land of unicorns, or whatever they believe it was? Had I thought I could pursue my crazy killing spree and then step out into an alternate universe where I could avoid any accountability? Was that why I had started taking it, and in such massive doses? I didn’t bother answering these questions – they had clearly been primed and given a false history, and would have just seen my denials as proof of my guilt and paranoia rather than the statements of fact that they actually were, but it made me understand what should have been obvious from the start. It was a brilliant plan by Mark – because he was in charge, and of course he would be going to G with his cronies, and so he could do anything he wanted, and then just leave. I got dragged in only by mistake, only because Lou stopped taking her pills, and only because I didn’t charge my VDE properly, and Mark saw no reason to spare me, only getting frustrated when Beryl started chasing him down and then threatened to expose him before he left. But then he dealt with me and he dealt with Beryl, and, because he was petty and vindictive, he chose his victims to cause me maximum pain, whilst I could only stand on the side-lines and watch. Well, here I am, Mark. For all the years we’ve know each other and all the pain we went through together, do you worst, now, because it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all over.

  I keep telling you, he can’t come himself, because he’s dead. X started banging his fist into his open hand. Listen, Sylvain. We have kept you here for five days, to restore your health and to make sure you weren’t utterly insane, because it may have an impact. We’ve fed and watered you and I think we can put a big tick against health. Whether you’re insane or not, the jury’s out, but to be honest, I don’t really care. I’m only sitting here, with you now, because we have history, and because through some sort of stupid sense of loyalty I felt I should, but I am fast losing patience. Today, we are starting with the experiments. Ready or not. I wish you the best of luck. And he got up, and walked from the room, ignoring me as I shouted that I would only, only participate in the experiments, if Mark came here to talk to me himself. I will fight anyone who comes close to me, I will not let them succeed.

  I recognised the woman. Alice Stevens, and the last time I had met her, we were sitting in a comfortable conference room sharing information and secrets. Now the tables had turned somewhat, and it was there for both of us to see. She didn’t feel any need to call it out, in fact she didn’t act as if she knew me at all, but her smug, self-satisfied air was enough. She asked me to remove my top – a dirty green sweatshirt to match the dirty green slacks that I had been given, and with the number 07485 written on the front. I pulled it off slowly and allowed it to drop to the floor in a tiny effort of rebellion – which she ignored; instead she glanced at my body in a critical, dismissive way and walked back to the table, where there were all manner of instruments. She left me standing, shivering in the cold of the room as she took her time reading through some notes, looking at the equipment, and very occasionally glancing at me. I stood, my hands crossed in front of me, trying to maintain an air of dignity after they had dragged me here unceremoniously, and thrown me onto the floor of this lab (I think?) at the feet of Alice Stevens. My initial thought
had been to stay there, curl myself up into a ball and let them do their worst, but the futility of that was obvious. In your own time, Alice had said in her quiet, steely voice as eventually I uncurled myself and pulled myself up. There were two chairs and a table in one corner, but she didn’t offer me a seat and I couldn’t ask. If you’d wanted to rebel you should have started a hunger strike when you first got here, she said, but it’s a little late now, so I suggest we both just get on with it.

  When I looked at her blankly (to be fair, this hadn’t even crossed my mind) she added

  You’re weak, like all of them. Strength isn’t something that comes to men easily, and you’re no exception. She was holding some paperwork and she glanced at it quickly. Sylvain Jones. I suggest you do what I ask, without resistance. It is unlikely to be painful if you cooperate. )Now she was standing beside me, holding my left arm in her hand and tying a tourniquet round it. She fetched a syringe filled with a green liquid and started tapping a vein. I