Day 50: Waiting Room/Lobby 1 (4th Shift)
When the nurse came to tell him he had a visitor, Indy's immediate response was to retreat into the bathroom, briefly contemplate being sick to his stomach, decide against it, and hurry instead to the mirror to try to finger-comb his hair into some semblance of respectable neatness. Then he squared his shoulders and marched out to take whatever was about to happen like a man. However unpleasant (and painful, he could admit privately) another visit was likely to be, it was that much worse for Dad, actually being the one brainwashed. He needed to knock it off with all the damn fretting and figure out some way to do something.
Actually, he'd been assuming all this time that it would be Dad who would visit him if anyone did, but after last night Indy wasn't sure anymore. Landel had demonstrated that he had some kind of control over Marcus, Irene, the kids in his Archaeology 101 sections--maybe even Marion, if that photo wasn't faked somehow. He wasn't sure whether to hope that his father would come again so Indy would at least know he was alive and all right, or that it'd be anyone other than Dad.
He took a seat in the waiting room and concentrated on sitting up straight and trying not to fiddle with the two photographs in his pocket. At the same time, he was running back over what he knew about his "real life": he was Harry Lucas, Jr. ex-janitor, who'd stabbed a "Nazi" professor in the arm in the middle of class and whose delusions of archaeological grandeur had been prompted by books from his father; Marcus was his uncle "Lodi" and Sallah was "Shakkah" the car salesman. And he was supposed to like being called "Junior."
Well, if the nickname was the worst thing he had to endure this afternoon, he'd count himself lucky.
Actually, he'd been assuming all this time that it would be Dad who would visit him if anyone did, but after last night Indy wasn't sure anymore. Landel had demonstrated that he had some kind of control over Marcus, Irene, the kids in his Archaeology 101 sections--maybe even Marion, if that photo wasn't faked somehow. He wasn't sure whether to hope that his father would come again so Indy would at least know he was alive and all right, or that it'd be anyone other than Dad.
He took a seat in the waiting room and concentrated on sitting up straight and trying not to fiddle with the two photographs in his pocket. At the same time, he was running back over what he knew about his "real life": he was Harry Lucas, Jr. ex-janitor, who'd stabbed a "Nazi" professor in the arm in the middle of class and whose delusions of archaeological grandeur had been prompted by books from his father; Marcus was his uncle "Lodi" and Sallah was "Shakkah" the car salesman. And he was supposed to like being called "Junior."
Well, if the nickname was the worst thing he had to endure this afternoon, he'd count himself lucky.