Falling Into Place (30 page)

“I’m off to therapy with Mr. McIlroy,” the doctor said with a smile.

“Don’t let The Director hear you call him that,” joked a nurse sitting behind the counter. “You’d be in big trouble, mister.”

“Yeah, Yeah. I’ve heard the Director’s directive so often I recite it in my sleep,” Carrasco said. “Maintain the integrity of the identity at all times, whether in their presence or not.”

“Learn it. Know it. Live it,” the nurse said in return.

“Yeah, if you call this living. Catch ya later, Carla.” Carrasco walked down the hallway with Jill close behind. She hadn’t yet seen a therapy session during her wanderings and was eager to observe this one. She knew from experience that every therapist has their own style, their own way of helping a patient face their issues. Jill always found it fascinating to sit in on another doctor’s session. When she walked into the therapy room after Dr. Carrasco, she realized this one might be slightly more intriguing than most. The man standing at the window was instantly recognizable.

“How are you feeling today, Achilles?” Dr. Carrasco asked.

“Fine, I suppose,” Achilles replied, walking over to shake the therapist’s hand. “Should I lie down today?” Jill was standing right next to the hero, a big smile on her face, almost out of her mind with excitement.

“No, Achilles, that won’t be necessary. Let’s just sit and talk for a bit.” Carrasco responded, pointing to the two beige arm chairs near the center of the room. The doctor sat in the chair next to a small end table, keeping the file folder in his lap as the superhero took the other. “Achilles, I’d like to talk about your dreams again, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, sure,” the hero replied unconvincingly.

“Did you have one last night, Achilles?” the therapist asked. Jill wondered why Carrasco kept repeating the hero’s name with each question. It was a strange verbal affectation.

Achilles paused for a moment, swallowed hard and sucked in his lips. Jill knew from her studies that his body language was a telltale sign of uncertainty. She couldn’t imagine what the leader of The Power Elite could ever feel unsure about.

“It was the same one,” Achilles said quietly. “I was at the amusement park enjoying the rides with those people again.”

“The man, the woman and the little girl?” Dr. Carrasco asked.

“Yes. It’s always them with me,” he answered. “I seem to know them, I – I – I feel like I’m one of them but I can’t remember who they are.” Achilles fidgeted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand before saying loudly, “They call me Jimmy, Doctor. Why do they keep calling me Jimmy?”

“Now, Achilles, we’ve been over this,” the therapist said sternly. “It’s perfectly normal for someone in your position, someone with your responsibilities to dream of a less complicated life. A life of fun, free of the pressures you face on a daily basis.” The doctor smiled broadly at the confused hero. “And what represents fun more than an amusement park, Achilles?”

“I guess that makes sense,” the hero replied, still agitated. “It just seems so real, like a memory more than a dream.” He clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. “I want it to be real, Doc! I need it to be!” The fear and panic on his face almost broke Jill’s heart.

Dr. Carrasco stood and placed the file folder on the end table. “Monkeyshine,” he said calmly. Instantly, Achilles fell into a deep trance-like sleep. The doctor paced in front of the hero. He removed a recorder from his coat pocket and placed it next to Achilles’ head on the hero’s shoulder.

Jill walked over to the end table. The file was opened to the patient history page. It read James McIlroy, born July 17, 1989, in Sandusky, Ohio. Parents: Phillip and Helen, deceased. Sister: Jennifer, institutionalized 2010/diagnosed with schizophrenia. James diagnosed with schizophrenia/delusional disorder in May 2012. Exhibits highly developed organization and strategical skills. Highly susceptible to suggestion. Joined Section 8, November 2013.

“My God!” Jill said out loud. “He’s not who they say he is. He’s...”

“You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal. You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal.” The recorder played that mantra over and over as Dr. Carrasco sat back down and picked up the file folder once more.

He turned to the page marked progress report and began to write. Jill read his notes over his shoulder. “Subject continues to require identity reinforcement. His reversions becoming more frequent. Since his abilities make him immune to the machine, unlike the other team members, I suggest post hypnotic suggestion daily instead of weekly. Should this fail, suggest termination of subject’s involvement with The Power Elite program.” Jill took a swing at Dr. Carrasco from behind. Her hand went right through his head instead of slapping him, giving her absolutely no satisfaction.

Unable to take any more, she left the room feeling despondent and disheartened. She wandered aimlessly, watching the men and women going about their appointed duties. She wondered how these people could be a part of this? How could a medical professional treat a person in need like this? How could anyone be a party to this kind of twisted game? Every new piece of information she learned about the NDSA was worse than the one before. The job she hoped would be a fresh start and a chance to move forward in her life was now a nightmare of epic proportions. She felt sick inside, helpless and disconsolate as she stopped and sat alone in the hallway.

To see this kind of horror perpetrated on innocent people just so the government could exploit their superhuman abilities was wrong on so many levels. It flew in the face of everything Jill had dedicated her life to doing. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to help others, to ease the burden of suffering for veterans and their families. Now she was a part of an agency that actively caused that suffering. She wanted nothing more than to bring this house of cards down around DeVane and Harkness’s heads, to drag them both out into the light of day and show the world exactly what kind of human garbage they were. Sitting there alone, more apparition than human, Jill Musik vowed to do whatever it took to stop this travesty.

The more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. She stood and marched with a purpose through the lower level. She entered General DeVane’s office through the North wall. The Director was seated behind his large, oak desk talking on the phone while Harkness and Deputy Director Allen sat quietly in matching chairs waiting for him to finish. Jill walked up to the desk and screamed, “Fuck you, DeVane! Fuck all of you!” Of course, no one heard her but she felt a little better. She walked behind Harkness and used his head like a boxer uses a heavy bag, repeatedly punching him even though her ghost hands went right through his skull. “You smug, self-important sack of shit! You’re the worst of all, you motherless douche!” she shouted.

“Yes, make sure it gets done. No mistakes,” the General said before hanging up the phone, causing Harkness and Allen to sit a little more upright in their respective chairs. Jill stopped punching and turned to leave.

“Is everything set?” Harkness asked. Jill stopped in her tracks.

“Yes. By this time on Friday,
The Washington Times
building will be nothing but a bittersweet memory,” DeVane replied coldly.

“No!” Jill screamed.

“Maybe then that Crenshaw bitch will finally stop calling me,” Deputy Director Allen said with a guffaw. “It’s been non-stop the past two days.”

“Of course it has, her best friend hasn’t been home or returned her calls for almost three days now. It appears both Ms. Crenshaw and Dr. Musik share a similar...single-mindedness, for lack of a better word. Which is why this is the best solution to all our problems,” Harkness said. “Once word gets out that the international terrorist C-4 has taken over the building, panic will spread through this city like a virus. The Power Elite will be sent to thwart the dastardly villain’s evil plan. Once they fail to save the building and all those innocent people, Congress will have no choice but to pass the measure currently on the Senate floor expanding the NDSA’s powers.”

“And give us all the funding we request for the foreseeable future,” Allen added.

“Yes. Even more importantly we can rectify this Musik situation without any danger of it leading back to the NDSA,” DeVane said.

“Once we place the good doctor’s body in the lower stairwell just before the explosion, it will simply look like she was there to visit her best friend. There will be nothing linking her death with this agency.”

“You bastards!” Jill raged.

“I have to admit, Harkness, you were right when you suggested we offer Musik the position here,” the Deputy Director said. “The bugs we planted in her office, car and apartment certainly helped us find out what the
Times
knew about the NDSA and The Elite. Now we can take the necessary steps to rectify the situation.”

“Yes, the Meadows situation complicated matters, but it all worked out neatly in the end,” Harkness said looking at his watch. He turned his head with that gruesome smile plastered on his ugly face. Jill could swear he was looking right at her. “In fact, the asset should be taking care of Musik even as we speak.”

“Oh my-” Jill said. She turned and ran through the wall. As she ran through the corridors as fast as she could, Harkness’s words filled her with an all-consuming fear.
They’re going to kill me,
she thought.
Somebody is in that room about to kill me right now!

When she got to the room she saw a lone figure standing at the bedside, his back to her. She phased through the door and approached the bed cautiously, fear gripping her heart, afraid of what she might see. Suddenly, she put her hands up to her throat, unable to catch her breath. She staggered to the bed, eyes wide with terror as she saw the plastic bag around her own head, the front sucked into her mouth as her lungs fruitlessly tried to draw air. The man was dressed in black from head to toe, including a full face mask, gloves and a bizarre set of goggles. They looked like an updated version of the goggles from a World War I flying ace. The killer calmly wrapped the bag around Jill’s comatose body, her astral form getting weaker by the moment.

“No, I won’t let it end like this!” Jill screamed, her fury greater than ever before. “I won’t! Do you hear me? Stop it!” She threw herself at the assassin, her hands reaching for him. She hoped for a miracle. The instant she touched him, both Jill and her assailant were transported elsewhere, to some kind of jungle. Both of them were disoriented by the sudden change in location, each looking around hesitantly.

“You!” the assassin yelled. “What did you do?”

“You can see me?” Jill asked.

“Of course I can see-” the killer stopped in mid-sentence, looking around nervously. “Wait, I know this place. It can’t be. I can’t be here. It’s impossible.”

He turned around quickly and saw her: The Sandinista rebel from 1990 walking into the clearing. “How?” he said softly. Suddenly the rebel was attacked by a man, then thrown to the ground violently. The man, whose features were hidden in shadow, beat her into submission before ripping her clothes off. He climbed on top of her, his intentions clear. Suddenly, his face became visible and Jill’s assassin screamed, ripping off his own facemask as he fell to his knees. It was him raping the rebel, him beating her and him finally slitting her throat in that jungle clearing. The assassin writhed in agony, feeling every iota of pain he inflicted on the woman.

“What is going on?” Jill yelled.

The assassin said morosely, “She was my first. My first kill.” He looked up at Jill, his face full of pain. “I never knew how she felt, the pain of it. All I knew was...I liked it. I liked killing and once my superiors found out...well, the government can always use men like me.”

“Who are you?” Jill asked.

“They call me The Poltergeist,” the killer said, his face twisted in emotional turmoil. “They think it’s appropriate because no one ever sees me, but wherever I go, bad things happen.” He gave a weak smile before another wave of pain shot through his body causing him to clutch his chest.

The landscape changed again in an instant. Jill knew intuitively it was the Afghanistan desert. The Poltergeist was there, massacring a small village with the ease most people swat houseflies. He killed haphazardly, enemies and innocents alike, and he reveled in it. With each kill from the past, the killer now experienced all the death and pain he had inflicted on his victims. He shrieked out in anguish, his body convulsing in torment, as his counterpart murdered each Afghani.

Then it came faster, the landscape shifting each second. Hundreds of images: every casualty he was responsible for, every injury he had ever inflicted and every person he ever murdered was reflected back on him a thousand fold. The killer’s body shook uncontrollably, writhing in agonizing misery. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he gouged his head, desperately trying to claw out the memories.

He let out one last ear-shattering howl before collapsing at Jill’s feet. She looked down at him with more pity than hatred.

When she looked up again, they were back in the NDSA room with her body. Somehow she knew that the bizarre trip through The Poltergeist’s psyche only took a few seconds. The first thing Jill noticed was the alarms blaring once again. Her attempted killer lay in a heap on the ground, drenched in sweat, eyes vacant and jaw slacked, with drool running down his face. Dr. Musik turned to see if her body was still alive, trying to remove the plastic bag with her intangible hands. That’s when she noticed something different about her hands and arms, a feeling of warmth running through them. They seemed to be glowing with energy. Her whole body was awash with the same yellow and blue energy from the accident.

She heard multiple footsteps in the hall and began to panic, knowing what would happen when the others arrived. She looked once more at her comatose body, feeling a sudden calm overtake her. She felt at peace as it came to her in a revelation. Jill knew exactly what she had to do. She dove into her body just as General DeVane, Harkness and Sandra Allen entered the room with a half dozen armed guards. All of them stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Jill Musik standing in front of her bed, her body aglow with a blinding, white light.