Instinct by Jason Hough (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

“I’m here,” a voice says. It’s Greg, in the room with me.

I’m lying down now on a mattress. I can feel the tightness of the bandages across my face. There are other voices, muffled, outside.

I try to open my eyes but can’t see much, they’re too watery.

“Mary,” Greg says. “I’m so sorry about this. I can’t control… well, you know, now. You’re one of us. We do as we’re told.”

I strain to see him, try to blink away the tears. It’s no use. When I try to wipe at my eyes, the straps prevent the gesture.

“Why—” I start to ask.

“Just a precaution. Doc was worried you’d try to touch your nose. He said—”

Suddenly Greg stiffens, eyes on the wall beside me. He nods, as if hearing a voice in his head. The earpiece, I remember.

“Acknowledged: I will get Dr. Ryan,” he says to whomever is on the other side of the line before standing abruptly.

“Wait,” I say, but it’s too late. Greg—the chief of police—my boss—is already out the door.

I’ve no real choice but to lie there and wait for my eyes to clear. When that happens I have to wait more for the room to stop spinning.

My whole head feels heavy and dull. My body lethargic. Medication of some sort. I wonder how long I’ve been out, and what time it is.

When Doc comes in a minute later I’ve already mentally braced myself for more tests. What will they order me to do next? I wonder. Shoot someone? Shoot myself? I’m okay with those, if only so they’ll give me a gun.

But when he sits beside me the first thing he does is undo the straps holding my arms down. Without thinking I begin to rub feeling back into my hands.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

Carefully I swipe the tears from my eyes. “Like I drank a bottle of NyQuil.”

He nods, watching my face carefully. “I’ve given you painkillers, and injected a numbing agent around your nose. It should get you through the worst of it.”

“Thank you,” I say, surprised at how heartfelt it sounds. A silence stretches between us, I suppose as he’s waiting for me to get my senses back. I have to force myself to remember that they think I’m under some kind of spell. But no one’s told me I can’t ask questions. Before they do, I figure I should try.

“What’s all this about, Doc?”

“The test?” he asks. “A crude method, I know, but we needed a foolproof way to make sure the treatment works. And, more to the point, to make sure you weren’t already exposed to the old version.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He smiles at me, almost fatherly. He’s leaning in and delicately checking the edges of my bandaged face. So close I can smell his lack of cologne, his breath like cheddar cheese. I can see the dandruff in his hair. I want nothing more in that instant than to grab two fistfuls of his gray mane and ram my forehead into his nose. Fair’s fair.

But I don’t do this. I want answers. As long as he’s buying my act I’ve got to keep him talking.

“It’s Ang’s invention,” he says, “and it’s going to change the world.”

I look at him, meeting his gaze and forcing myself to have at least a little of the reverence Doc’s voice holds. “Why isn’t your nose broken?” I ask.

He brightens. “Ah, excellent question! I was one of those affected by version one.”

“Doc, c’mon. I don’t understand what that means.”

Finally he leans back, satisfied my bandages are sufficiently in place. As he slumps against his chair he lets out a long sigh, perhaps debating how much to tell me or, I think, he may just be tired. He looks exhausted.

“It’s like… immunizing someone against a disease. You can’t un-immunize someone.”

“Still not following you.”

His chin falls in frustration. For a moment he casts about, trying to think of words that I’ll understand. Finally he sits upright. “How would you describe me, Mary? You will answer honestly.”

Well, that’s a gift horse I’ll happily ride.

“Socially awkward. Frumpy. Stodgy. Tall and gangly.”

“Okay, I get the—”

“Misshapen. Repulsive. Annoying.”

“That’s quite—”

“Flabby. Weak.”

“Ah,” he says with sudden vigor, snapping his fingers. “There! Finally at the heart of the matter!”

“Excuse me?” I ask, genuinely confused.

“Suppose I told you I used to be in perfect physical condition.”

My eyebrows shoot up involuntarily. Doc sees this, gives a sheepish shrug.

“Ever notice the sticker on the back window of my car?”

“A hundred forty point six,” I mutter, remembering it from the gas station. “That’s like a joke, right? A play on the marathon runner sticker? Like you could really run that far.”

He shakes his head. “I completed the Ironman triathlon twice, actually.”

I pull a genuine face. “Bullshit.”

“Honest truth, Mary. I did track-and-field in college, every sport you could imagine before that. Wrestling, swim team. Ever since I was a kid, exercise was in my blood…” His words trail off as he’s momentarily captivated by his own memories.

“Okay…?” I prompt.

He taps his breast with a balled fist. “It was a part of me, Mary. My drive to be active and athletic literally defined me.”

I wait, now. Through the haze of medication and a dull, distant pain, I finally understand where he’s going with this because of the changes I’ve recognized in myself. Connecting with people, building teams, and forging partnerships. It had been part of me. More than that. The core of my being. A defining trait. But no more.

So yeah, I know what Doc is saying. But I can’t let him know that. I have to keep up this charade a little longer.

Lost in his own little monologue, Doc continues, “After I met Ang, after I really understood what he was working on, I tried the treatment myself. Version one. At first we thought it had failed. We almost gave up, in fact, but then Ang noticed I’d stopped exercising. Completely. Didn’t think about it once. It was as if