The Boy in the Gray Hoodie

24...

24…

“Are you alive?”

James’ head snapped in Pam’s direction. She gave him a weak smile and shrugged, saying “We’ve been out looking for almost an hour and you haven’t said a thing.”

“I don’t care to fill empty air with meaningless conversation.” He told her agitatedly.

            “Are you thinking about something?” she asked instead, accelerating over a deep rut in the gravel road. They both bounced in their seats, the tires of the dark green Ford Ranger spitting rocks.

            “No.”

            “Nothing? Is that even possible? Can a human being be totally without a conscious thought?” she blinked.

            “Just look for the children.” He responded coldly, drumming his fingers against his thigh. There was still an uncomfortable amount of pain in his leg from the accident, but he’d managed to ignore it for the most part. The pain seemed to worsen when he got upset, however. Because of this, he imagined the injury might be more emotional than physical.

            “Children?” Pam snorted. “Lisa is seventeen. In case you forgot. Which, you kind of did…forget…” she chewed the inside of her cheek, absently glancing at James through her peripheral vision.

            “Trivial ceremonies take a backseat to more important issues.” James countered, glaring at the road. “And I don’t need to be reminded of my shortcomings, Pamela. My memory is excellent.”

            “Roy is sixteen. Do you ever forget his birthday?” Pam continued as though she hadn’t heard him. Perhaps she hadn’t.

            James shook his head. “I’m not going to talk about this.”

            “You never celebrated it, did you?” she sent him an accusing look.

            James gritted his teeth. “No.”

            “Why not?”

            “Because it wasn’t necessary.” He snapped.

            “You’re mean.” She huffed.

            James adjusted his seatbelt uncomfortably. “The recognition of passing time hinders the cell growth process. The fewer inclinations of time he has, the better.”

            “What?” Pam sent him a sideways glance.

            James sighed, rubbing his fingers against the grooves of his forehead. “Isolation from outside influences includes time, Pamela.”

            “And keeping him isolated from outside influences accomplishes, what, exactly?” she demanded, taking a sharp turn off the gravel road and onto patched pavement.

            “You wouldn’t understand.”

            “Try me,” she said as she narrowed her eyes.

            “You already know the answer.” He responded sharply. “Unless you’ve forgotten why you were involved in this project in the first place.”

            “I haven’t forgotten. Saving the world, right? Like all good doctors want to do.”

“This isn’t a comic book. I’m not a mad scientist. I’ve followed protocol and turned in my reports. This is sanctioned research.”