I was excruciatingly aware of the box of mints in my pocket, it's shape straining against my lush green shirt, it's weight pulling lightly at my breast pocket. It rattled with with every breath I took, which by the way seemed unnaturally loud and ragged, or when I shifted in my seat or looked up at the clock, watching the black hands chase each other around and around.
Anticipation tightened in the pit of my stomach and despite my best efforts not to look, I found my eyes roamed the waiting room. I saw a blonde little boy and girl, both blond, both pale, probably brother and sister. ugging at their mom's hands, laughing and chattering. She smirked and a warm light glinted in her eyes. A young man sat patiently in one corner, a book in his lap. Occasionally his glasses would slip down to the tip of his nose and he would push them back up with a hint of annoyance. He would lick a finger every time he flipped a worn yellow page. An old couple sat huddled in a corner, holding hands and whispering solemnly. A nurse rested behind a desk, blond hair pinned to her head by a wide white cap. When All of them could be dead in five minutes, if my plan got out of hand. Which I had to admitt was the most likely scenario. Still, I had no urge to walk out of the room, to save them from myself. I still judged the collateral damage to be...acceptable. I hated myself for that. But I had become accustomed to self loathing in the past year.
"Simon Simpson, you're up" I heard a nurse call.
I struggled to keep a blank face as my pulse quickened. I took a deep, quiet breath. Then I stood up. As I walked to the door, I casually took the box of mints out of my pocket, then flicked it open. My hand turned the doorknob and I stepped in. I looked at the box of mints in my hand. It was mostly filled with ordinary white mints. But in the center lay a green pill. I snatched the pill from the box and sharply closed it.
The doctor began to spin around in his chair, speaking in a light, merry tone that told me he was grinning, "Hello Mr. Simpson, it's been such a long time! Tell me, how's your arthritis-"
He cut himself off when he saw my face. All the cheer drained from his features.
He asked calmly, "Is Simon Simpson still alive, by any chance?".
I said nothing.
"That's what I thought. Pity, he was a nice man. A commodity now a days." The doctor took another look at me, a bitter one. "So, what do I owe the honor of meeting the Bruce Lousky."
"How do you know who I am?"
"Your reputation precedes you. I've heard enough rumors to know why you're here. I know enough to say no."
My interlocked fingers created a platform to rest my chin on. I leaned forward, my voice soft and harsh, "What makes you think you have a choice?"
"There are always choices, Mr. Lousky. Sometimes they're just crappy ones."
"If that's the case", I popped a mint into my mouth, "Then all I have to do is make you the best offer. Or the worst." I held the green pill in his line of sight. His face whitened and he immediately shot to his feet.
"Do you even know what that is, what it could do?"
"I know it's going to do a hell of a lot more than make my breath minty fresh", I retorted, "That's for sure. Now, you can tell me about our friends upstairs or I can swallow this."
"You wouldn't", he said shakily, trying to call a bluff that was never made, "They would know the second it was in your body. You would die too." He searched my face, looking for any chink in my conviction. He found none.
"I learned about you before I came here", I urged "You're a moral man. Probably the only one who was ever one of them. Those people outside, you wouldn't let them die."
He snorted, "You need to recheck your sources, boy. I'm a coward. I ran away from them and I've been doing exactly that ever since. If, no when, they found out I helped you, do you have any idea what they would do to me? I know. I used to help them do it. What are planning to do against them?"
I didn't hesitate, "I'm going to bring them down."
He laughed darkly. "Your optimism is refreshing, boy, I'll give you that."
Then his hand flashed out and grabbed a syringe. My hand rushed to my mouth, carrying the green pill. He stabbed the syringe into his own neck, piercing the jugular vein. His thumb pressed down on the end. Clear, white liquid flowed into his bloodstream. The docter choked, strings of foam spilling from his mouth. I lowered my hand. He convulsed on the floor, eyes beginning to glaze over. I sped out the room and into the hallway. I heard the nurse call up another name.
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