Atemporals [Part Two]

[Part One] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritersCryWhiskey/comments/6kfeu4/atemporals_part_one/)

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"Drink this," said raven hair. "Caffeine straightens out the neurons. Helps with the timelag."

The mug felt pleasantly warm in my hand. I inhaled deeply and for the first time I was able to process my surroundings. They'd driven me for hours, so we were somewhere in the suburbs. By the looks of things, in a typical all-American living room. Checkered suit sat plump on a strained La-Z-Boy. On the walls sat tchotchke trinkets, carved out with words like live laugh love. It was so…normal--appallingly so. In fact, the only thing seemingly out of place was the chair I sat in. It resembled something out of a hospital. Or a spaceship. Spindly wires traced alongside the arms, splaying every which way. The steel felt cold against my legs.

The brazenness of my kidnappers was almost insulting. They hadn’t even bothered to tie me down. Each dose of caffeine sent more scenarios rifling through my mind. I could bolt, nothing was stopping me after all. Hell, I had my weapon right in my hands. I could toss this steaming coffee right in their faces--

My shaky arm spilled hot coffee on my knee. Checkered suit snorted, like he was trying his best to stifle a hiccup.

"Jesus Albert. I remember my first initiation."

"My name's Scott," I mumbled.

“Take it easy on him Nick, he’s still clueless.”

Raven hair whipped out a laptop and began plugging away. Briefcase man had set down his briefcase. He was peeking out of the living room blinds, rays of light gleamed through, casting his face in an effect straight out of a hardboiled detective movie.

"Crick, let's get the ball rolling here. They will have detected the anomaly by now."

The woman named Crick nodded curtly. She began twisting the wires, licking their ends. She moved with incredible efficiency, twisting the wires into rubber suction cups.

When she moved to fix them to my temple, I recoiled.

"No! Fuck off! This is batshit.”

I tried to stand, but Briefcase plopped a firm hand on my shoulder. The kidnappers paused, exchanged glances.

“Hook it up,” Briefcase ordered.

"Darwin," raven hair said. "It's a bit risky. He needs to calm down. If this is really Albert...can we really afford..?"

“His soul’d be deep fried,” Checkered suit said, a bit too happily.

Briefcase man—Darwin--rubbed the bridge of his nose. He leaned down and looked me square in the eyes, trying his best to smile. It came off more like a grimace.

“Albert, my friend, there’s no time for this. The Acolytes will have tracked us. They’ve grown stronger since we last met. We need to initiate your consciousness. Your answers will come in time. Think for a moment, deep down—they’re already there.”

This was crazy. Acid trip material. I rifled through my mind like the lunatic suggested, but turned up nothing but confusion. The look on the man’s face was so unnerving. Not because it screamed lunacy, but because it did not. To him, this was a walk in the park, a stroll through the streets. My heart fluttered in my chest. The mug in my hands—my time was now

I pitched my coffee right in his face. But by now it had gone tepid. Darwin blinked brown liquid from his eyes, frowning deeply.

“Start it up.”

I was thrown back into my chair. My vision went blurry, all shrouded in a thick haze. Shockwaves rolled through me. I felt myself grow smaller and smaller, like I was being rolled up inside myself. Like I was being boiled down to my very essence.

Suddenly, memories whirred by: there went my cramped cubicle, my toes in beach sand, a smiling brunette at Wolfcreek’s lodge. The images flew by, as if on fast forward. Except it was in reverse. I saw my highshool, a football field. Then my parent’s first home, a bottle put up to my lips. And then, nothing. Just the white fog.

I shuddered as a wave of emotions washed over me. Happiness, excitement, boredom, grief, anything and everything rippled through me in the wake of the images. I shook in the metal chair, and the kidnappers remained silent. Beside me came the soft hum of a computer screen.

“The feed’s ended,” Crick said. “It’s not him.”

"Who is he then?" barked Darwin.

"He's...nobody."

Nick laughed.

“So you’re saying?”

“Darwin. He’s natural.”

Silence.

Then:

“Let him up.”

My vision returned. I blinked dots from my eyes. Little by little, I made out Darwin’s face once more. The other two—Nick and Crick—stood behind him. Each and every one of them had a distinct lack of color in their cheeks.

“Scott?” Darwin said. “Whoever you are. You’ve no idea what you are."

An alarm blared from Crick’s watch. Her eyes went wide at the shrill sound.

“Sir, time’s up again. We have to move, before—“

Outside, tires screeched. Nick hustled over to the blinds and cursed.

“The Acolytes.”

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Part 3