The Waiting Room
~ Chapter Forty
Screwdrivers and Secret Ingredients
A
new day. And as always, things returned to normal...or as normal as
the Room could be. Mort saw with disgust as Chico unwound himself
from the nearby chair that the screwdriver had returned.
That’s
how it always was in the Room. If “he” doesn’t think it,
doesn’t do it…then everyday reverts back.
“Sorry Chico,
old pal.” Mort told his canine companion as Chico waddled over for
a morning pet. Mort touched the screwdriver protruding from the dog’s
head.
“I really thought you’d be good as new.”
Chico
gave Mort’s hand a lick then went off exploring the rest of the
Room, unfazed that the tool had returned.
How long had he
been here? He wondered. Not as long as some as he glanced over to
Hanson. He watched as the young cop held a discussion with Pvt.
Lerner. They seemed to be having a difference of opinion over the
Vietnam War.
A body crossed Mort’s line of vision and he
let his eyes follow as he watched Glen heading for the bedroom. Mort
checked his watch. Right on time. He knew that in a few hours the
screams would come, and like always, everyone would ignore them. Just
like clockwork.
His attention was caught by two of the
men, standing side by side, looking upwards to the top of one of the
bookcases. He let his mind wander a bit as he tried to imagine what
the two had in common. Didn’t matter, he thought, what Spencer and
Barrie were discussing. He had better things to think about and
opened his laptop.
Mort’s stomach growled. He realized that
Sam had not delivered breakfast. Where was that boy?
He
yanked open his top drawer to find an opened bag of Doritos. He
frowned at the prospect of chips for breakfast but it was all he had
at the moment. He filled his hand and stuffed his mouth, letting the
crumbs fall into his lap. He brushed his hands together, sprinkling
even more crumbs over himself. The chips' saltiness made him thirsty
but to his dismay there was nothing to drink.
He sighed and
rose from his desk, heading for the kitchen, knowing that there was a
cold Mountain Dew in the fridge with his name on it.
He
pushed the door to the kitchen open and was not surprised to find Sam
standing over a pot simmering on the stove. But he was surprised to
see Sparrow right next to him. Mort’s entrance had startled them
both. Sam quickly hid his hands behind his back; Sparrow
nonchalantly took one step back away from Sam.
Mort frowned,
his brow knitted behind his glasses as he shuffled into the room
towards the fridge.
He kept his attention on Sparrow and Sam
as they watched him move across the room, not saying a word. As he
walked past they both turned as to keep facing him. Sam still had his
hands hidden.
Mort opened the fridge and found the Mountain
Dew. Grabbing the cold can he let the fridge door swing shut by
itself. He popped open the top and took a long hard swallow.
When
he brought the can down he saw that Sam and Sparrow still had not
moved.
“What? Are you two posing for Madame Tussaud's Wax
Museum or something?” He asked as he started back towards the
kitchen door.
“Eh, no, no” Sam answered. “Just fixing a
little breakfast. I know I’m running behind. But it will be out
shortly I promise.”
Sparrow remained silent.
“Yeah,
well” Mort motioned to Sam “that better not be another secret
ingredient behind your back. I think I’m allergic to whatever
you’re putting in the food.” Then pushed himself past the door.
Sam and Sparrow waited a few seconds, making sure that Mort
would not return unexpectedly. When they were sure the coast was
clear they turned back to the pot, and Sam dipped out a bowlful of
hot, creamy oatmeal.
He then pulled out the packet from his
back pocket and ripped it open, dumping the contents on top of bowl
contents. Sparrow watched with devious delight as Sam stirred in the
fibrous product until it was well blended into the oatmeal. Once
done, he handed the bowl to Sparrow who held it up like a precious
gift.
“Bon Appetit, Mr. Rainey!” Sparrow said, flashing a
gold-filled smile.