I can't believe I'm ready to post the second part already!
I think my renewed interest in this story is motivating me, not only to perform better, but to keep going with the story to see where it goes.
Please, though, consider yourselves warned--I rated this part R for a very good reason. There is a graphic part that is not for the sensitive. It doesn't last long, but I wanted you to know about it, so please...reader discretion advised.
I hope you enjoy!
When He Wakes…
Part Two
Rated: R (some gruesome depictions)
“Wow, that’s quite a shiner, Mr. Thornton,” Brandon Scott said as he entered Pete’s office. “Where did you get that?”
He was a new, young recruit in his late twenties who seemed to idolize and want to emulate MacGyver any way possible, copying his wardrobe and hairstyle. He had read, absorbed, and memorized every detail from MacGyver’s mission reports, devouring them with deep interest and fascination. His technical expertise and background also made him very similar to his older, legendary counterpart.
Pete sighed, feeling drained and not in the mood to match the freshness and enthusiasm of the energetic young man. “It was MacGyver…again,” he said, touching the swollen bruise around his eye and staring blankly at the papers scattered across his desk. “His flashbacks are getting worse.”
“That bad, huh?” Brandon asked. “Man, I’m sorry. I…know all about that assignment. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for him. He was strong enough to survive, though. I’m sure he’ll come out of this as well. I know he will.”
Pete wasn’t sure he shared the young man’s optimism, his despondent mood making him feel annoyed by his presence in his office. Brandon’s ridiculous and blatant matching of MacGyver’s hairstyle and clothing irritated him even further, as if he were looking at a sophomoric, prepubescent fan club member—a mere boy, certainly not ready for the dangers of the field. All day, rumors of MacGyver’s deteriorating mental condition had circulated through the Foundation, and he had to deal with the incessant condolences and well wishes for his star employee’s rapid recovery and return to operations. It seemed every five minutes, someone new was popping their head into his office to say something, and Brandon happened to be the latest, only exacerbating his grouchiness and depression.
“Is there something I can do for you, Brandon?” He asked, growing impatient.
Brandon shifted uneasily on his feet, detecting Pete’s hostility. “Well…I know this probably isn’t the best time to ask, but you know I’ve been here for six months and have yet to see any field action. I was…well…wondering if you would consider…giving me an assignment that you had in mind for MacGyver. I mean…well…considering his current state and all…you have to keep running the Foundation somehow, and if MacGyver isn’t up to it, well…someone else has to take his place. Don’t you agree? Sir? I…I do have pretty much the same skills as he does, and I could…handle things…just fine. I think.”
He was sweating profusely from nerves after delivering this stammering speech, and Pete looked at him, incredulous.
“I haven’t made any decisions on replacing MacGyver, even if it is only for the short term,” he said. “Do you understand?”
“Sure Mr. Thornton. I just thought…”
“Let’s just see how he does before I start divvying out his assignments, all right?”
Brandon cleared his throat, growing more uncomfortable. Pete Thornton was a formidable, venerated man in the Foundation, and he understood that he sounded like an upstart.
“Yes, Sir,” he said. “I understand, Sir. I meant no disrespect.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Pete said.
“Have a good day. I hope MacGyver gets better.”
Pete nodded curtly, watching Brandon leave. “I hope he does, too,” he said quietly after the young man was gone.
Nikki Carpenter passed Brandon in the hallway and had to stop for a moment to get a closer look, thinking MacGyver was back until she realized she was looking at a completely different person. Only the clothes and the hair were identical.
“Who on earth is that? A MacGyver clone?” She asked, entering Pete’s office.
Pete looked up at her and managed a slight smile. At least he had requested to see her, and she was expected, unlike all the other intruders of his busy day.
“That’s Brandon Scott,” he said. “He’s a new recruit desperate to prove himself in the field. Do you believe he actually had the temerity to ask me to give him one of MacGyver’s assignments?”
“From the looks of things, it seems he worships him,” Nikki said, grinning in amusement.
“Well, he does have similar interests in the technical,” Pete said.
His expression grew serious, wondering if Brandon was indeed the next generation and MacGyver was finished, simply too impaired by his mental condition to continue his work. He never thought he would have to replace his beloved friend, but given the circumstances he realized he might have to resort to it. Despite his inexperience and immaturity, Brandon seemed to be the likely candidate. Also, the young man had been right, even in his audacity—he could not allow important cases to remain shelved. Someone had to work on them, and if it wasn’t MacGyver…
“Pete, are you all right?” Nikki asked.
“Yeah,” Pete said, sighing. “I was just thinking about MacGyver.”
Nikki looked at the bruising on his battered face. “I still can’t believe he did that to you,” she said, thinking about the horrific torture he endured, reading about it in detail. It had been five years, but what she had read made a lasting, indelible impression on her. She couldn’t begin to fathom what it was like for MacGyver to actually experience it. “He must be far gone.”
“It’s not good, that’s for sure,” he said. “I’ve never seen him act on his flashbacks before, as if he believes he’s really reliving them. They must be intense.”
“What did the toxicology report on him say?”
“No drugs were found in his system after being rescued from the desert that could have influenced him to have these hallucinations,” Pete said, glancing at the reports on his desk. “There were no marks on his body to indicate a physical attack from anyone, no injection sites on his skin…it was as if he just wandered off into the desert and passed out from heat exhaustion.”
“But, why? Pete, this makes no sense. As spontaneous as MacGyver is and how much he likes to improvise, he wouldn’t trek into the desert unprepared. Something else had to have happened out there, something we’re missing,” Nikki said.
“I agree,” Pete said. “I just wish I knew what it was.”
“Maybe I should go see MacGyver, see if I can help him remember.”
Pete looked at her with sad, bloodshot eyes. “I don’t know how far you’ll get with him,” he said. “I could barely get through to him before he started experiencing another flashback. Dr. Ladd is working with him now, but there have been no results from his therapy yet. It’s going to take time, I’m afraid. You can certainly visit him, though. Just be warned…” Pete’s eyes filled with tears. “You won’t be seeing the Mac you’re used to seeing.”
“I know, Pete,” Nikki said, placing her hand on his trembling shoulder. “I know it’s going to be hard for all of us to see him that way, but still, we have to try to help him sort out the broken pieces of his life. We owe it to him.”
***
As MacGyver regained consciousness after passing out from the excruciating pain of being whipped and then dragged for miles, his torn open flesh digging into the ground and rubbing roughly against it, he nearly vomited at the overwhelming stench that greeted him. He found himself locked in a tight, cramped, hot room, piles of severed body parts in various stages of decomposition surrounding him, the angry din of flies buzzing over the rotting, decaying remains so loud they seemed to be drilling into his ears. Disgusted and terrified by the gruesome sight that looked like something out of a horror film, he began to search the room, feeling the walls with his hands, trying to discover and plot a means of escape. When he made contact with a slimy, sticky substance that turned out to be blood, he shuddered in revulsion. He could barely move inside the room of death, the body parts covering him nearly up to his waist. Turning in one direction, his eyes met those of a head without a body, the eyes filmy, staring at him lifelessly… “Try to concentrate for me, MacGyver,” Dr. Ladd said, watching as his patient wandered around the room, searching the walls with his hands, whimpering and trembling in fear, his eyes wide. He clawed at the walls as if desperate to flee something, pulling himself along as quickly as he could, making repetitive circles around the room. “Where are you now? What do you see?”
“Bodies…they’re everywhere…” MacGyver whispered. “Have to get away…so much death…so…no! No! Oh, God!” He shrieked and slid to the floor, huddling in the corner of the room, sobbing. “It’s horrible…so much death…so much death…”
“This is what happens if you disobey me, dog,” El Diablo said, entering the gory room. “Consider this my welcome to you. If you behave yourself, a similar misfortune will not befall you. If you don’t…” he grinned maliciously. “A part of you will become a part of my collection…” “No! Oh, God!” MacGyver screamed.
Snapping his thick, calloused fingers, several of El Diablo’s men entered the room, pushing the body parts out of their way to grab MacGyver, dragging him outside. “No! No! Please…let go of me! Stop! No!” MacGyver shouted, struggling even though no one was holding him.
“Listen to me, MacGyver,” Dr. Ladd said, his voice firm. Still, no matter how many times he had seen a patient relive an unpleasant memory, believing they were actually experiencing it as if it were real again, it never got any easier to watch, the effects of absolute cruelty and deprivation on the mind devastating. “Nobody is holding you. You’re free to move. I want you to try to remove yourself from that awful place you described. I want you to try to find your way back to the present. It’s over. Do you understand? You’re not really there. You’re home, safe. Can you hear me?”
El Diablo and his henchmen faded, the room of unspeakable horrors and atrocities becoming a plain, bare, and harmless room. There was a woman standing in the room, holding a syringe. It seemed she was standing over him, as if he was lying down on something. “He won’t remember a thing,” she said, her voice echoing around him. “MacGyver? MacGyver, can you hear me? I want you to try to come back to the present, to reality as it is now. I know it’s hard, but you have to try. Please, MacGyver,” Dr. Ladd said.
The woman vanished, her voice lingering and then slowly dissipating like a breeze in the air. MacGyver closed his eyes tightly, gasping and clenching his fists, trying to reorient himself.
“That’s it, MacGyver, it’s over,” Dr. Ladd said.
MacGyver heard him now. Opening his eyes again, he stared vacantly around the room, a frightened, perplexed expression on his face. “Doc?” He asked, his voice sounding distant and fearful, like a lost child.
“That’s right, MacGyver,” Dr. Ladd said. “You’re back. It’s safe now. No one can harm you here.”
“So…real,” MacGyver whispered, his eyes wandering around the room.
“I know, but I’m going to try to help you realize that they’re illusions of the mind, that you can battle them, that you can realize you’re not really back in that terrifying time. You have to learn to control them, to not allow them to take over so completely that you lose your sense of reality.”
“Did…I didn’t h-hurt anyone, did I?” MacGyver asked, his haunting dark eyes moist with tears.
“No, MacGyver. Fortunately, this time, you didn’t physically harm anyone.”
“I d-don’t want to hurt anyone again.”
Dr. Ladd smiled sympathetically. “I know you don’t,” he said.
“I’d rather…stay drugged than hurt anyone again. I can’t sleep…please…give me something…” MacGyver said, staring blankly.
Dr. Ladd was shattered to hear him plead for medication, knowing his patient usually eschewed all drugs, not wanting his mind to be altered in any way. That he was so insistent meant that the anguish of relieving so many traumatic memories was beginning to take its toll on him. He could tell that MacGyver felt guilty for savagely beating Pete, for hitting other hospital staff. Dr. Ladd knew his profile well enough to know that he was a gentle, pacific, generous, and caring man who only used violence as a last resort against his enemies, never wanting to harm anyone he knew. He knew he had to try to remain professional and detached, but it grieved him to see MacGyver reduced to what he now was—condemned to helplessly grapple with haunting memories, unable to distinguish between reality and hallucination any longer, unable to prevent another violent outburst, unable to trust himself.
“I’ll see what I can arrange,” he said, holding back tears at the sight of his pitiful patient. Even though he had been discovered in the desert, burned beet red by the sun, that color had drained from him, leaving him pale and gaunt, stubble growing on his face from a lack of shaves, his hair unruly. “In the meantime, I want you to try something for me.”
“What?” MacGyver asked, still staring, his voice flat, lacking interest.
“I know it will be difficult, almost impossible at first…but I want you to slowly begin trying to confront these flashbacks. I want you to prove to yourself that they can’t harm you, that they don’t exist except for in a dark time in your past.”
“No…I couldn’t…”
“I know you’re afraid, but you have to try. Remember who you are. You’ve been in many challenging situations, but you’ve overcome them. You’ve come up with the solution. I know you can do it again. You can fight and beat this. After all, you’ve done it before. You can do it again.”
MacGyver nodded slowly. For once, he looked up at Dr. Ladd, acknowledging him. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try.”
***
Later that day, after he was given the relief of drugs to help him sleep undisturbed and began drifting away in his room, he thought about what Dr. Ladd said and began to grow curious about the woman with the syringe that kept appearing along with his flashbacks. He figured it was safer and easier for him at that point to start with her, trying to learn her identity. He had never seen her before, so why did she keep appearing? Was she a vague memory left over from his time in the hospital after his torture, or was she something else? Puzzled, he tried to think about it, but the drugs coursing through his veins didn’t allow him much time to do so as he began to fall into a deep sleep, losing touch with the external world once again.
To be continued…
"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer."
--Henry David Thoreau
brains+brawn+beauty+personality=MacGyver
Great chapter, MacsChick! 
>
Interesting story you did a vary good job. 
