Chapter 4

Scott Finley had writhed and screamed for three days under his captors' attention. They started by leaving him strung up by his wrists, teasingly close to food and water but not close enough to touch either. On the second day, they soaked his body with a fire hose, his nerves screaming in agony at the icy blasts. Attaching electrodes to his exposed armpits, stomach, and inner thighs, they watched as they shocked him with low voltage. Eyes glowed in silent contempt for him as his body arched, screams tearing from his throat. Another blast of the cold water revived him repeatedly, refreshing his pain.

Ah, but the best they saved for last. They released him from his manacles, strapped him into a chair, and belted his hands to a butcher-block. With surgical precision, they amputated each finger, cutting through flesh and bone a layer at a time, ignoring again his screams of agony. After removing each digit, they went back to the first nub, now a bloody stump and began the agonizing process of cauterizing each one with a white-hot iron poker.

Scott passed out before they finished his first little pinky. They brought him back to consciousness with strong smelling salts. They had just turned their interest to Scott’s testicles when Sir’s orders reached them.

~

The guards dumped Scott’s barely recognizable form into a chair. Sir strolled around the seat, knowing silence can be its own torture. When his muteness finally produced a defeated whimper from the form, Sir spoke softly, continuing to circle the chair. “Tell me--as I have no idea--what did it feel like when that electrical current surged though your body? Did your teeth break? Did your muscles cramp? Did you scream?”

Silence.

“They say you were hung from the ceiling by your wrists; that you haven’t eaten since we arrested you, and weren’t allowed to drink either. I’m told the human body can survive for a long time without food, but without water, internal organs begin to fail after three days.”

Again, silence.

“I am really disappointed in you, Scott. How does it feel to have no fingers? Is it painful, still? Do they still burn from the hot irons? Tell me and perhaps I will ease your pain.”
     What was left of a pitiful excuse for a man refused to look at him.

Sir walked around the chair again. He ran a finger along one of the gaping wounds on Scott's body, causing the man to scream. He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction.

With casual contempt and the precise control any neurosurgeon would envy, he invaded the protected vaults of Scott’s mind.

Scott’s head shot back as though someone had punched him in the face. His eyes bulged, coming out of their sockets. He screamed and grabbed the sides of his head. Pale, thick liquid oozed from his ears through the still bleeding stubs that had been his fingers. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth. He went still, his arms dropping to his sides, his head falling forward.

Sir glared at the men still in the room. “As you all know, I’m not a cruel man. However, loyalty is tantamount to Project EVAH’s success. I recompense loyalty. I will spare Patterson Finley’s life. He had enough loyalty to turn in his own brother. Let this one,” he pointed to the body, “be a lesson to you; insubordination carries a heavy penalty.”

Sir dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Chapter 5

Patterson Finley typed in the name he had discovered; Sirius, which meant, “the name of a bright star in the constellation Canis Major--the dog star--derived via Latin from Greek meaning “burning.” Not only that, but the site referenced an ancient biblical prophecy naming him as the catalyst for the coming of the Antichrist.

Patterson and Scott grew up pounded with religion--literally. His mother especially, would take her large family Bible and beat him and Scott with it every time she thought they needed punishment. She preached for hours after she beat them, telling them how evil the world had become, how evil they were. Then she would place them both in a special “cell” she had built in the basement of their home. Sometimes, they stayed in there for days, and were only allowed bread and water.

     Their father was no better. He and Scott knew he was spineless. He gave in to the witch--as they called her--on everything.

     Patterson was fifteen and Scott was eighteen when they burned down the house with their parents trapped inside. They had so ingeniously devised the plan that they had gotten away with it. Now, his mother’s sermons echoed through his head. What he discovered about Sir made his blood run cold.

At last, he had an ace to protect himself, to become one of the inner-circle. He could not believe his luck, but it put the fear of God in him, too. He needed to figure out how to use this knowledge to his advantage--and to ensure his life. He was always methodical in his endeavors. This was one area where he and his brother differed. Scott sealed his fate by his uncontrollable impulses. Patterson decided to make sure he controlled his.

     Who can I turn to? he thought. No one, was the answer.

     Was he brave enough to confront Sirius? He had never known him as anything other than Sir. What could he do now? He spent considerable time planning his strategy. Within three weeks, he had it all laid out. He requested an appointment with Sir.

~

Though reluctant to acknowledge minions like Patterson, Sir decided to grant him an audience. He wondered why Patterson became so bold. The man was up to something. As he drummed his long fingers against his teakwood desk, Sir concentrated on Patterson’s mind. He could see what his plans were. Stupid mortals--they are so easy to manipulate, so easy to read. He thinks he’s smart enough to blackmail me. There would be no surprises when Patterson showed up. Other men--better men than Patterson--had tried the same thing with him throughout the ages; all had failed. Their names ran though his mind and Sir toyed with his 'mice' again: Caesar, Alexander, Napoleon, Hitler, Fidel Castro, and more recently, Jim Jones. He especially liked toying with Jones.

     Sir smiled. He snapped his ice blue cell phone from the desktop and punched Dr. Hanson's number in on the redial. He was ready for Patterson.

~

Patterson stood outside the inner sanctum. He had never been this deep under Tanas before. His ears even popped on the way down in an elevator that Tanas made sure remained hidden. He made a mental note of its location. He also made a note on how to manipulate the mechanism to reveal it.

Patterson, in spite of his bravado, shook uncontrollably. He had heard of the ‘alien’ being who controlled Tanas, but now he knew who--what--he was about to confront.

As the heavy titanium doors to Sir’s domain slid open, they exposed a waiting area. Huge, oversized sofas and chairs dominated the room. Plush cushions insured comfort for those who waited. The walls, sparkled with opals and ice blue sapphires, made Patterson shiver with cold, while at the same time, his greedy side wondered how much all those gems could fetch.

On one wall, a cappuccino machine gurgled, promising cups of whipped coffee. The Gray who had accompanied him offered him a cup. 

     Patterson was very much aware of the Grays. He had worked with them many times before, whenever he delivered acquisitions. His hands shook as he sipped the frothy liquid.

     Gray-Four entered into what first looked like just another wall. She--at least he thought Gray-Four was female--touched the wall and another door opened. She disappeared.

     He calmed his nerves with a second cup of cappuccino. When the wall opened again, Gray-Four motioned for him to follow. As he stepped through the portal, he swore he smelled a sulfur-based stench, along with decaying flesh--which he knew all too well.

~

What--who, he saw, shocked him. Patterson did not know what to expect, but he did not expect a human-like form. He was rather good looking, in a shyster-lawyer kind of way. He reminded Patterson of a young Don Corlione from The Godfather.

 “Sit down, Patterson, and tell me why you’re here.” Although he spoke in a soft voice, Patterson knew it was a command, not a request.

“I…I mean…Sir, I know what your real name is, and--and I know…wh…what it means,” Patterson choked out.

Patterson watched as Sir sat behind his desk. He leaned back in his chair, softly rocking. His hands near his chin, he tapped his fingertips. He waited long moments before Sir spoke again. As he waited, Sir looked at him, staring through to his soul. Patterson struggled to keep from shivering. He did not want to appear the coward--like Scott.

“So, Patterson, what would you have me to do? I am not used to dealing with such resourcefulness,” he said. 

Patterson’s ego level rose. He knew a boldness he did not have before. “Sir--or shall I call you Sirius? I want in. I mean, I want in on the secret workings of Tanas. I believe I could be a real asset to you, and to Tanas. As you know, I have been loyal to the point of snitching on my own flesh and blood. There’s nothing I would not do for you, Sirius.”

Sir narrowed his eyes into slits at the insultingly familiar usage of his name. His jaw muscles flexed. “First of all, never call me that name again. You are quite lucky you are not a pile of ashes right now--and never forget that I do have the power to do just that. But, you do present a good argument. I believe you are correct. I think you would be a valuable asset to Tanas.”

Patterson swelled his chest out, feeling as if he finally made it into the inner sanctum. ”Sir, I will never make that mistake again. I am only too happy to handle any assignments you may have for me, Sir. I will never reveal your full name, or your origins to anyone.”

“Oh, I know you won’t, Patterson. Welcome aboard.” Sir offered his hand to seal the offer.

Patterson stood up to shake Sir’s hand. As he grasped it, he felt a hot sensation and instantly, he remembered nothing more until his mind screamed.

~

Patterson knew he was in liquid. His eyes burned as he struggled to open them, but he could still see. He could also breathe. Still groggy, he examined his surroundings.

His arms floated freely in the syrupy liquid. He could not move his head, so he felt his body. He was nude. His throat hurt. He placed his hand on the indentation at the base of his throat and felt a breathing tube.

He knew there was a face mask on his head. That must be there to keep me from drowning, he thought.

 He felt tubes in each arm, and felt a catheter coming out of his penis.

Within his line of vision, he noticed bubbles bouncing upward to some place beyond his sight. It reminded him of an aquarium. Then he knew; he had become one of the specimens he had collected over the years for Tanas.

He panicked, thrashing around in the fluid in a vain attempt to escape.

He watched one of the Grays approach his container. On the outside, he noticed an IV pole with a bag of fluid. It injected something into it. Immediately, he felt a familiar sensation and the acrid taste of ether--heroin--it had been so long since he had any. He soon stopped panicking.

In a drug-induced stupor, he watched through the blur of the very warm fluid as the Grays worked on other specimens. What happened? he wondered.

Patterson jerked awake. Hey! He knew no one could hear him, still his mind yelled out for someone to help.

~

One day, he saw Hanson approach.

He began taking notes, reading the data that tickered out of the various machines. Patterson could not tell what was on the thin ribbons of paper, but he knew Hanson could.

Hanson walked up to a microphone on the outside of the container and Patterson heard a click in his ears as Hanson turned it on. He watched Patterson’s eyes as he pinched the oxygen tubing, cutting off his only air. Patterson once again panicked.

Hanson released the tube, allowing the air to flow once more, waiting for Patterson to calm down. “I know you can hear me, Patterson,” Hanson spoke into headphones attached to Patterson’s ears. “What you’re floating in is not just a simple saline solution. Thanks to our alien technology, we’ve come up with a solution that will sustain you indefinitely. Did you know that without this chemical,” Hanson pointed at the bag of pink fluid, “your skin would already have sloughed off, and your internal organs would have shut down?

“The chemical solution for normal saline is NaCl. That is sodium (Na), mixed with chloride (Cl). If I were to pinch, or stop the flow of the precious fluid to your body, you would die. We want you alive. We have many wonderful experiments planned for you.”

When Patterson thrashed around in a vain attempt to fight his predicament, Hanson said, “Calm down, Patterson. You did say you wanted to help in any way you could. Now…you are.”

Hanson left.

Days, weeks, months could have passed and Patterson would not know the difference.

The day finally came when they let him out of his container. The Grays washed his eyes, removed the protective contacts, and showered him. Although he had suffered mild burns all over his body from the saline, his pain was mild.

His real pain had just begun.