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The light of the lamp hits Tim in the eyes. His vision is blurred, he does not understand where he is, the last memories do not clear up. His name is Tim Wright, today he had a working day at the warehouse where he works, in the afternoon he met a guy named Jay, who is going to shoot a movie... the month, date and day of the week do not pop up in his memory, and Wright barely remembers that it's, like, 2012?
He seems to feel a metallic taste in his mouth. It seems that there was something frozen on the back of his head that did not portend a good development of the situation, and his eyes still could not focus on anything. A migraine engulfs his consciousness. What time is it now? Where is he? Is there someone here who can help him? How long has he been taking his pills? He was almost ready to blame himself – he probably forgot to take his medication and now ran away somewhere. God forbid for a long time, he has to go to work tomorrow... and whether tomorrow at all? Tim weakly moves his hand in an attempt to lift it and put it on his head. It doesn't happening. He jerks the limb again, again without getting a result. Wright is desperately trying to move his legs.
He is in a reclining position, his arms and legs are obviously tied or shackled, however he cannot move them, there is dried blood on the back of his head and a terrible headache that overcame him. He doesn't remember what happened before he woke up here, but instead of "Is there anyone here?" only a cough escapes from the throat. Panic is getting stronger, it fills his chest and twists his stomach. Eyes blinking rapidly, Tim hears footsteps from the supposed corner of the room in which he was. These footsteps are dusty, as if destroying something, breaking. Wright is cold, he's wearing only a T-shirt. There is a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of jeans.
"Tim," the appeal in an indifferent, calm voice cuts through the silence with a sound even too unnatural and indistinguishable from turning steel. The light of the lamp disappears, it is turned off and the person continues to approach "Tim, this is an extreme measure." Wright feels this look physically, the eyes, or rather the glasses of the man in front of him, reflect the clear moonlight. The new moon in the sky is visible quite well, the firmament, as in the morning, is clear. Tim's cough is getting worse.
"Tim, I wanted to keep you alive. But you got in touch with Jay! You see, I couldn't leave it," the steps flow to the right, the voice becomes more hysterical, the intonation changes quickly. At the end of the phrase, a noisy intake of breath is heard. It seems as if there was someone else here besides this person. Hanging over him is the real cause of coughing and clouding of reason.
"Who are you?" the feeling of pressure disappears abruptly, or at least goes into the background enough to ask this question. Wright squints in an attempt to see the threat.
"Alex." the man stops, his tone returning to its former poise. Tim doesn't remember him, this name doesn't tell him anything, and that makes it even scarier "You don't remember, do you?" a grin can be heard on the lips of a stranger "Then I'll help you remember."
"With what? What do you want to do?" Wright is again helplessly moving all his limbs in an attempt to get out, like a fish stranded on the shore. Whatever Alex has in mind, it will not lead to anything good. If this guy just wanted to rob him or, for some reason unknown to Tim, kill him, then he probably would have already done it. The lack of an answer from Alex makes him remember everything he was guilty of. Who did he cross the road to? Or was he just the victim of a crazy maniac? As mentally unstable as he is? "Can we just talk?"
The man leaves his seat and turns on the lamp again. Wright still can't see his face-the surroundings are lost in the light of the switched-on device, and now it's not so important where he is. The heart, it seems, is about to jump out from the inside or Tim will throw up right on the stranger. Maybe after that he will let him go? Will he understand that there is nothing to catch here?
The lamp moves away from his face at a sufficient distance to make out some of Alex's facial features. Triangular flattened nose, ears pressed to the head, practically missing cheekbones. It looks familiar, but the memories still don't come.
The man disappears from view, to the right again, causing a new panic attack. In his head, it starts to sound again, and already disorderly thoughts stop coming at all under the onslaught of the situation. Tim was ready to hold his breath from waiting if not for another coughing fit. The man puts his hand on the top of Wright's head, forcing him to jerk his head in resistance. He is practically powerless, his impulse is almost completely suppressed and he cannot give out any cry for help. Only wheezing, sore throat and head, and a willingness to cough up your lungs.
"You know, we're in your hospital. The one you burned." Alex is impartial, he sounds arrogant, looks down at Tim's convulsion from above and does not let Wright turn his head to finally see his face in more detail. What is his eye color? Will Tim survive after their meeting?_
The man's words are mixed up and are not fully realized. Why did he say that? Wright hears metal banging against each other. It's like sorting through cutlery in search of the fork that you like the most or the sharpest knife. Tim tries to focus his vision on what Alex is doing, and the feeling of someone being present is amplified. He jerks his head, arms, legs, but all to no avail - the metal stops making noise and something touches the upper part of Wright's head, near his forehead. It's "something" with a blunt tip, shining in Tim's peripheral vision in the lamplight.
"I have no experience as a surgeon. Even hands are shaking." the guy lowers his hand and an object appears in front of Wright's eyes that has similar features to a thick ice pick, a wide and long awl. His head is still securely pressed into a chair, apparently a hospital one, and the thought of what will happen to him next is already creeping up. "Have you ever heard of a lobotomy, Tim?"
Heard. Saw its consequences in the same clinic - a four-year-old boy who underwent this terrible operation under the guidance of his own father, a psychiatrist. He was afraid to be in his place. He saw him more than twenty years ago, but Tim still remembers this devastated, calm, glassy look. He had the same one, but because of the drugs. Realizing your future destiny takes time. One second. Two. The awl rises, disappearing from sight, and something cold is pressed against Wright's head again. This time he knows what it is and what will be done to him.
Alex seems to be teasing him, enjoying this primal, animal fear. The pain in the back of the head, as it seems to Tim, disappears or simply becomes so insignificant in front of the looming threat. He coughs, kicks and closes his eyes, his heart is ready to stop, the thought, highlighted in bold, "FIGHT OR DIE" is spinning. The man swings, all delaying the moment. Everything that is happening resembles a cruel, perverted slaughterhouse.
The hole is made. The scalp under the device dissects easily, as if impaling cheese on a wooden skewer. The skull emits an unpleasant, painful crunch. It even becomes a fun and surprisingly simple action. Wright screams in piercing pain. His skull has been split open, and blood is dripping onto his right eye. He feels it trickling down his forehead forward. He feels as if his brain is beating and throbbing, as if it is boiling. It's all a hallucination. It's unreal, it's just a nightmare, an invention of his sick brain. This pain is phantom, nothing really happens. Involuntary tears appear in Tim's eyes, he continues to howl. Alex pulls out the awl, Wright feels it with his whole head. The man casually notices that he has slightly touched the white substance. This is uncritical, the next thing he needs to do is rummage in the upper layers and keep Tim conscious until the creature, the Operator, who has been chasing him all his life, disappears.
The stranger puts the instrument on a metal tray and it lies down with a characteristic ringing sound. Alex unwittingly picks up an object lying next to him, something in the shape of a syringe with a long rod and an iron wire at the end.
"It's leucotome, Tim." The name "Tim" is pronounced with a special sweetness and stretching. The man drives the instrument in front of Wright's nose, who is completely not up to it.
"You sick bastard." Tim wants to shout it, but it comes out weakly. His voice is hoarse, his mouth is dry. He stops jerking his head, fearing that it might harm him, but continues to move his arms and legs in despair. The ties unpleasantly squeeze them, it seems to Wright that they go numb and he ceases to feel his limbs. Tears continue to flow down my face.
"No!" Alex protests vehemently, raising his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I didn't mean it! But you see," he lowers himself to the level of Tim's face, looks into one open left eye while the right one is flooded with blood. "Either you. Either me." it is pronounced clearly, almost spelled out. Tim could probably even feel the stranger's breathing if he wasn't so focused on the pain coming from his skull. Wright can't answer anything-instead, he growls through clenched teeth.
Alex straightens up, squeezing Tim's short hair and forcing him to lift his head up. His slightly trembling right hand with a leukotome touches the place of the hole in the skull and passes through the white matter of the brain. Wright hears, or maybe just imagines, this vile, sobbing sound. He shouldn't feel it, as he knew the upper layers of the brain are not sensitive, but phantom sensations haunt him. A fluttering, slimy brain, its bursting white fibers, an object going deep. He is deafened by his own scream, Tim is either dizzy from fear or lack of oxygen.
Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop._
The leukotome enters to the end and now the sensation is no longer phantom. There's a thing inside his head._ This thing is tearing him apart from the inside, it's somewhere in the center of his brain. Alex sighs heavily and adjusts his glasses falling off his nose. He presses the plunger with his thumb and the wire loop tightens right in his brain. Wright is already screaming despite the pain in his throat. It seems like it's starting to bleed too.
"Tim, don't switch off, do you hear? If you pass out, I'll kill you." the man waves his hand in front of Tim's eyes, as if trying to leave him conscious. "I don't have any painkillers and, in general, a special plan for all this."
Wright grins and lets out a growl with the last of his strength. Better death than this pain! As long as his thoughts are clear and not meaningless, he should be fine. Alex dispassionately turns the leukotome to the right, moving it. Tim cannot, does not want to scream, he chokes in tears, breathes heavily and loses willpower. It's really better and easier for him to just die now. He stops kicking in the chair, tries not to make any more sounds if possible. He already has enough of his squelching, shortness of breath and languid muffled deep wheezing. The urgent need to cough disappears, the phonation stops in my thoughts. Wright understands that he can't fight anymore. His consciousness is emptied, his senses are dulled. Silence cuts through the air and Alex stops twirling the leukotome. They both felt better.