“What about Loui?” I asked again. He hesitated, then drew in another breath.
“Loui was born the moment that whore bit his penis off. Loui is the embodiment of every bit of anger, despair, rage and hatred Harry has ever experienced. Loui is the younger brother but also the most dangerous. He is the one I have been experimenting with. It’s him I have been trying to control” He coughed again.
“Is he the one you’ve been using MD17471 on?” His eyes grew wide as he heard the name.
“How do you” he began, then realised, “, ah of course, Tami,” he said, nodding a little, understanding that she must have left a message. “Do you know what that serum is for, Jim?” I shook my head. “It’s designed to reduce the gaps between the personalities in someone suffering from multiple personality disorder. It’s supposed to bring them together. Think about the millions of people that suffer from this condition. My work was going to help them all.”
“Your work killed innocent people. Is that the price for helping people? To kill more?” It was too late to try and make this man see sense. Even if he did understand his crimes, he would never see the inside of a jail cell. His days had come to an end and he knew it. He would never pay for his crimes and the monster he had created was now out, back in the real world, free to wreak havoc.
“One of the side effects of MD17471 is the propensity for extreme rage. When Loui had too higher dose, his violence grew off the scale. He was uncontrollable. Jim, he’s taken the vials.”
“Vials?”
“He’s taken the entire supply. He can turn himself into-” A coughing fit grabbed him, shaking him violently. I sat, waiting for it to subside
“Was it him that killed the Chief?” I asked when it finally did. The doctor nodded, looking away. I wanted to punch him then, right in the face, remembering what had happened to the chief and his wife. “What about Tami?” I asked, my own anger now growing, my fingers grasping his jacket tighter and tighter. “WHAT ABOUT TAMI?” I screamed into his face. I wanted to grasp the handle of the knife and plunge it deeper, pushing it down until the blade exited through his back, ending his life. But I took a deep breath, fighting my fury and relaxing my grip. I needed this man’s information and needed to keep myself under control. Killing him now wouldn’t bring Tami back, but his information would help me stop Lightman from killing another. His eyes drifted away from mine as he coughed again, a large chunk of congealed blood landing on my hand. I grimaced as I wiped it onto his jacket.
“I’m sorry about Tami, I really am. She threatened me, threatened to end my research. I didn’t want to hurt her, I truly didn’t. But Harry asked to finish what he had started the first time and threatened to expose me if I didn’t help,” he paused.
“And? If he did expose you?” I asked, but he either chose to ignore me or didn’t hear my question.
“And he promised me it would be quick and painless. I’m sorry, I know I was blinded.” He suddenly reached into one of his jacket pockets, feeling around. For a moment, I panicked, expecting to see a gun or something, but then saw him pull a small black book with a leather strap and metal clasp out of his pocket, instead. He held it out to me as he coughed again, the blood now thick and spraying almost fountain-like from his lips. I pulled away a little, shielding my face. He held the book up to me, holding it out. “I need you to have this, Jim.”
“What is it?” I asked, taking it. I could hear footsteps coming back down the tunnel. I hoped it was Steph returning, her own shock under control. I turned and strained my eyes, a dark shadow slowly emerging. Her head was lowered, her face looking grave and angry, but I felt relief seeing her walking back. I needed her with me, needing her to hear and remember, to corroborate in case there were questions.
“It’s his diary, well, their diary. All of Harry’s personalities have written in it, but I think you will understand him a lot more once you’ve read it for yourself.” I opened the clasp and flicked through the book, writing filling almost every page. There were blank ones towards the back, but for the most part, it was filled.
“When did he start this?” I asked, reading a couple of words here and there.
“Harry began that diary his first year in prison. But he writes a lot about the time before then, his childhood, his youth and yes, about the murders he committed back in the 30s.”
“Why didn’t you give this to anybody?” I said, anger building again, shocked that this piece of shit withheld such crucial evidence. He coughed again, long and bloody and I had to wait a few moments for him to catch his breath again. His eyes suddenly closed and for a moment I thought I’d lost him, that he had finally departed, but then he opened them again,
