Scott had witnessed numerous criminals respond in all kinds of ways during drug interrogations. Some would remain silent as if the drugs had no effect, while others would continue to lead the interrogators in circles, every answer bringing them back to square one.
But Shiller, he created a new style.
He would start a new topic, then begin to rant, curse and exclaim on his own. He was indeed being interrogated, but the object of his interrogation may have been his own illusions, having no relation to reality at all.
In the following period, Scott tried to use the interrogation techniques he had learned to steer the conversation back around, but to no avail.
What he found was that Shiller would switch from one topic to another, using vitriolic language that Scott had never heard nor imagined before, cursing and reviling people whom Scott didn't know.
Honestly, Scott had never thought the English language had such a rich vocabulary of abusive and sarcastic words.
At first, he regretted not bringing a recording device, but later, he felt that this secret scene might be even more appropriate. If the involved parties were to hear this, they might face even more terrifying retribution.
Then he came to a conclusion: perhaps everything Shiller said from beginning to end was nonsense. He wasn't a planner or leader of any Central American revolution. He was just a madman, spouting gibberish and talking to himself.
Scott stood up and turned to Shiller: "You'd better say the same thing at your trial in Washington. That way, they can diagnose you with a mental illness and you can be treated in a psychiatric hospital instead of being sent to prison."
Shiller finally quieted down a bit. He sat there with his head lowered, his face murky and indistinct. Scott bent down and spoke to him: "Stand up, Professor, we have to leave here."
"No, no, you shouldn't rush me like that," said Shiller, swallowing. "You never got to the point, which is uncharacteristic for an experienced agent like you."
Scott crouched down somewhat helplessly, looking into Shiller's face, asking him with the patience of someone dealing with a mentally ill person: "Then, Professor, what would you like me to ask? Or rather, what are you trying to say?"
Shiller shook his head: "Haven't you realized? I don't need to ask. You can say whatever you want. No sane person can stop you because you're mad."
"Indeed, I am mad," Shiller turned to look at Scott. "I have introduced you to many of my friends, but I forgot one person, a child I'm very fond of. His name is Jason."
Shiller, somewhat wobbly, stood up from the ground. Scott sighed with relief. Turning around, he began to walk away, saying while he did: "Professor, you finally decided to move. We really need to leave this place promptly..."
But the next second, he felt Shiller pressing against his back. Before he could react, a tie was pulled tight around his neck.
While exerting force, Shiller whispered into Scott's ear: "Jason... Jason... such a good boy, always remembers every word I say."
"Urgh...Urgh...Urgh!!!"
Pale knuckles turned bloodless from the exertion, the dark checked tie dug deep into the throat. After Shiller let go, Scott fell silently to the ground, but Shiller did not leave.
As if he was completely oblivious of what he had just done, he crouched down looking at Scott: "Forgive my rude comments just now. I wasn't speaking ill of my friends behind their backs. Every one of them is a good person."
Shiller extended a hand, covering Scott's eyes, pushing his bulging eyeballs back and closing his eyelids.
Then he stood up, leaning against the corridor wall. Staggering, he headed deeper into the tunnel, leaving only his low voice echoing:
"But I have a particular blade, designed especially to deal with good people—precise, elegant, and deadly in one strike."
"Its name is Guilt."