Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Chapter XXI: Interrogation
Tracy’s skin chafes as she shifts uncomfortably in the hard metal seat next to Jill. She makes out footsteps trampling across the cold concrete floor, papers ruffling, and klaxons bleeping. A recorded voice flows through a nearby intercom, admonishing all to be ‘vigilant’ in the face of ‘breaches of security’. The low hum of the A/C clicks on then clicks off.
Sweat pours down her face. Her throat is parched. The things she’d do for a cup of water pressed against her lips. She hates the darkness more than anything else—the shroud of blackness enveloping her face. Tracy strains her ears, hoping that someone would be so kind as to take the damned blindfold off.
A klaxon whirs as a sleek metal door slides open, announcing the arrival of yet another person. The familiar pitter-patter of feet reverb through the room then suddenly stops in mid-step. The guttural clearing of throats catches her off guard as the hood is removed.
She averts her eyes from the blinding light.
“Tracy Elgin and Jill St. John; never in my wildest dreams would I imagine the two of you ending up here.” Frank Ennis’s shadow looms large over the shackled prisoners.
“Where am I?” Tracy asks.
“Undisclosed location.” Her captor smirks. “Do you know how far underground we are? Very far. Far enough that nobody will know what happened to you. Needless to say, you both fucked up real good.”
Tracy glances at her friend, no worse for wear. Jill’s eyes flit across the room as her eyes adjust. A point of light shines off the crown of her head, as if she were a saint—a surreal image, considering the events of the past few weeks.
“I want some water.” Her voice creaks.
“Get this woman some water!” Frank barks at an assistant nearby. “The other one too.”
Within moments an assistant returns with two gleaming, unmarked bottles of water. The women waste no time chugging them down, wiping the excess with their forearms. The liquid hits the back of Tracy’s throat with a refreshing coolness.
“Where’s Matt?”
“He’s in a solitary cell on the other side of this complex.” Arrogance creeps into Frank’s voice. “He’s fine for now. Though I have a feeling he won’t be in a few hours.”
Tracy spits into her ex-lover’s face.
“Now, now, that’s not the way to treat your lover.” He wipes his face with a napkin.
“Trust me, in the next few hours he’ll be nothing but an unpleasant memory. But first, I want to know how you found out about my little pet project down here.”
Tracy spits on him again.
“Don’t ever do that again!” Frank slaps her.
“Fuck you.” Her voice is barely audible.
“Very well.” Frank fishes out his walkie-talkie. “Security, would you please escort Ms. Elgin to interrogation?”
A Pair of strong armed women unshackles Tracy and drags her through a narrow corridor. She barely puts up a fight as she’s hauled through the hall. Posters of a beatified Frank line the walls. Yet she barely takes notice of them.
They lead her into a darkened room and strip her down to her underwear, attaching wires to her chest and head. EKG and EEG machines whir as she’s strapped into a plush seat. She remains motionless as a doctor walks in to check her pulse. Once her vitals are established she gives the thumbs up sign to the one way mirror facing their subject and leave.
Tracy barely notices them exit as a sweet scent descends from vents in the roof. Her shoulders relax while an earthy, sandalwood-like smell invades her nostrils. Her heavy breaths slow to a crawl as she wonders what will happen next.
“Hello.” A pleasant male voice pipes in through the intercom. “My name is Trace. I will be your interviewer today.”
“Hello Trace.”
“Before we begin, tell me more about yourself. What’s your name?”
“Tracy Elizabeth Elgin.”
“Date of birth?”
“August 29th, 1990.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
Tracy shakes her head.
“Very good. Now let’s play a game. Do you like games, Ms. Elgin? Or do you go by Tracy?”
Tracy nods again.
“Close your eyes and imagine you’re on a deserted island. You’re reclining in a deck chair. The breeze is balmy and calm. The sun is bathing you as the wind blows across your body as you fall asleep. Are you falling asleep, Tracy?”
“Yesss...”
“Now here’s the tricky part. Before you fall asleep, I want you to listen only to the sound of my voice, my sweet, monotone voice. It’s really important, because you won’t fall asleep unless you listen very carefully. Are you listening?”
“Yesss...”
“Good. Now I am going to ask a series of questions. I want you to answer with a yes or a no. Is your name Tracy Elizabeth Elgin?”
“Yesss...”
“Were you born on August 29th, 1990?”
“Yesss...”
“Are you now, or have you ever conspired to surrepticiously obtain confidential information from Frank Ennis or the Divinex Corporation in any way?”
Silence.
“No.”
“Are you twenty seven years old?”
“Yess...”
“Is your hair red?”
“Yes.”
“Have you had contact with a reporter named Matt Lewis in the past 60 days?”
More silence.
“I’ll repeat the question. Have you met a reporter named Matt Lewis in the past 60 days?”
“No.”
Growing tired of the game, the psychologist decides to switch tack. Grinning, he leans into the microphone, his mustache bristling sinisterly.
“Tracy, may I ask a personal question?”
“Yes.”
“Are your panties wet?”
More silence.
“I’ll repeat the question. Are your panties wet?”
Tracy pauses. Come to think of it, her thighs are pretty damp. She runs her hands along them just to make sure. Sure enough, they’re wet. But it could just as well be sweat—it’s not that cool in the room anyway and besides the climate control in the bunker-compound-cumDr.—No-Fortress isn’t that great anyway.
She flashes back to the torrid night of lovemaking with Frank, crying with pleasure as he rode her hard. Part of her wants to be ridden that way again. She moans as her hands explore her body, getting hot just thinking about it...
“Ahem.” Trace interrupts.“As I was saying?”
“Oh.” She snaps out of it.“Could you repeat the question?”
“Are your panties wet? Yes or no?”
“I...guess...” Her voice trails off.
From his vantage point in the control room, Trace’s assistant looks on with shock and disbelief, not quite registering the question himself. He glances at his superior with a mix of incredulity and awe.
“What kind of question is that?” He spits out his coffee.
“I’m trying to trick her.” Trace answers coolly. “Catch her off-guard.”
“By asking about her private parts? How is that supposed to yield intelligence?”
“It’s not. I just wanted to see how she would react. Judging by her noncommittal answer, I’d say her responses to the last five questions were just as informative. Look at her vitals. They don’t lie.”
The psychologist’s jaw drops at the sight of the data streaming from the laptop on her desk. Despite putting her in an intense trace, the subject’s brain waves haven’t altered once since the session began. It goes against all logic. Whether by training or dumb luck, she’s beating the odds, and the doc doesn’t like it one bit.
“Look at this.” He motions toward her assistant. “She’s unresponsive.”
“Unresponsive? Or lying?”
“She’s barely suggestible. How are we supposed to get a reading with results like this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Page the boss and tell him we have to pull her out. He isn’t going to like it, but we have no choice.”
Without much ado the scent disappears and the guards drag her back to the where she was before, no closer to attaining an answer than before.
“Very well.” Frank Ennis answers affirmatively through his walkie-talkie. “According to the docs they got nothing out of you. I wonder why...”
“Where’s Jill?” Tracy glances at an empty chair.
“Being interrogated. Hopefully she’ll be more forthcoming. Unlike you.”
“I told them what they wanted to know.”
“Bullshit!” Frank screams. “I know your secret!”
Tracy shakes her head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me. I read your medical reports when you applied to work here. The EEG charts were above normal. Your metabolism was unusually high, too. By rights you should either be infected with cancer or dead by now. Don’t even get me started on the estrogen.”
Tracy shakes with fear.
“Please, whatever you do, don’t hurt me...”
“Something is keeping you from falling into trance. I want to know what that is.”
“I swear for the last time, I don’t know.”
Frank glowers with rage.
“Hand me the jewels.”
“Huh?”
“The ear rings. Hand them over.”
Tracy reluctantly complies. She looks on in horror as he cradles them in his hand, gazing at them in awe. looks on in horror. How such a minute thing could give a person so much sway over people baffles him. He resolves to get his R and D team on it as soon as humanly possible. God help the soul who decides to blow the whistle the next time.
Tracy feels her stomach turn from the inside out, making her nauseous. She struggles to keep the acid reflux down. Yet with each passing minute it forces itself up more and more in defiance. Her eyes beg for her former lover to let her go. Her pleas go unheeded.
“May I please go to the bathroom?” She manages to say in the calmest voice she can muster.
“Not until I learn the truth about these.”
“They’re just a pair of earrings, Frank.” She struggles to keep the vomit down. “Please, I’m dying here.”
Her ex-lover pulls himself away from his astonishment long enough to acknowledge her.
“No.”
Waves of nausea rack her body as she hurls onto his shoe, eliciting a grimace of contempt.
“Morning sickness, I see.” He wipes it off with a napkin from his back pocket. “You should’ve listened to me about the condom.”
“Fuck you.”
Tracy crawls on her knees toward Frank, begging him to take pity on him. As she wraps her arms around his legs he can’t help but feel a measure of sorrow for the poor girl. She nuzzles him as he watches with befuddlement, taken aback by her strange behavior.
“You’re right.” Her voice is soft. “Not just the condom—everything. You were right all along. I never should’ve gone behind your back at all. Would you take me back?”
“What about the reporter and the girl?” Frank strokes her hair.
“Frauds, both of them. I never should’ve let myself fall into their trap. But I did master, and I’m sorry.”
“What did you call me?”
“Master.” Tracy reclines on her knees.
She slowly inches her hand across the crotch of his pants. He watches with disbelief as she unzips his khakis, seeming to reach for the joystick inside. His penis stirs with anticipation. Watching her so broken, given in to his hidden desires is just as erotic. He tilts his head, ready to receive the tongue lashing of the century.
Tracy watches herself with disgust. How could she surrender to him again, after holding back so long? Does he really have that much power over her-when she’s done so much to expose him? Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be after all?
Forget Jeremy. Forget Jill. Forget Joanie. Forget Suzy. Serving him is all that matters.
Or is it?
She feels so conflicted.
To her great surprise—and his—what he receives instead is a fist of fury. He doubles over in pain as she watches him groan. As she towers over him, she struggles to figure out why she chose such a different course. She picks up the earrings as she bends down, smiling devilishly at him.
“That’s for Jeremy.” She whispers in his ear before running after her two best friends.