I bring you...the next part!
When He Wakes…
Part Four
Rated: R
El Diablo smirked. “It is pathetic of you to think you can escape me, dog,” he said. “I own you. I own your soul, and I will destroy it piece by piece. I will haunt you eternally. You will never rest. You see, I live up to my namesake.” He released a deep, wicked, and brutal laugh, his apparition standing in the corner of the padded room where MacGyver lay. MacGyver strained to see him, his vision fuzzy, the room blinding white.
“No…you’re dead…you’re not real…” he muttered, rolling around on the padded floor, hovering in a semi-conscious state, his eyes half open to slits, unsure whether he was dreaming or not, unsure of where he was, losing all concept of time.
MacGyver re-experienced the painful sensation of jagged bone splintering into fragments, piercing his skin and nerves. He felt the stinging lash of the whip tear across his tender skin. “Is that real enough for you?” El Diablo said, laughing. “No! Oh, God! Stop! Please stop!” MacGyver screamed, writhing on the floor, wincing, tears squeezing from his now tightly closed eyes.
Gradually, the pain lessened, and MacGyver’s screams and howls died in his raw, hoarse throat. El Diablo was no longer a presence. Instead, confusing images flashed through MacGyver’s mind. He was driving in the desert, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the dry, hot breeze through his hair. Rapidly, that image shifted to some unknown, sterile room where he saw himself lying on what appeared to be an examination table, restraints encircling him. The room faded abruptly, and next he saw the woman with the syringe again, standing over him menacingly. “He won’t remember a thing…” “No…please…what’s going on? Why…? Please, tell me who you are…I-I don’t understand…where is this place? Who are you…?”
“MacGyver,” a familiar male voice said, bringing him back to reality.
The ghosts tormenting him evaporated into nothingness as he opened his eyes, regaining full consciousness. His eyes burned, feeling dry and hot, as if there weren’t any fluids left in them, the skin of his sockets pulling tightly around them. He felt weak and exhausted, unable to sit up, the room spinning. After taking a few deep breaths, the spinning stopped and he tried to orient himself, trying to see the source of the new voice. Dr. Ladd stood over him, a kind expression on his face.
“MacGyver, you have visitors,” he said, doing his best to smile and reassure his patient.
MacGyver’s eyes wandered around the blank white room where he now was, even though it took effort to move the muscles around his eyes at all, feeling stiff and sore. He noticed immediately it wasn’t the familiar surroundings of his room, that it was stripped bare except for the padding that covered every square inch. Pain returned to him, but it wasn’t as intense as the pain from his torture. It was new. Looking down, he saw that he had fresh bandages on his arms and he saw some purplish bruises on his skin. He moved his lips to speak, but his throat was so dry he could barely even release a squeak.
“It’s for your protection,” Dr. Ladd said. “You…injured yourself last night. Fortunately, you only managed to cut and bruise yourself. They’re superficial, and you didn’t break any bones. Still, we couldn’t risk that you would do something far more destructive to yourself.”
MacGyver licked his lips, swallowing the remaining saliva he had in this mouth, trying to remove the filmy, cottony feel in his throat. He couldn’t believe where he was. A padded room? That was something for lunatics, not him. He couldn’t believe how far his mental state had deteriorated to warrant being placed in such an extreme, restrictive environment. It appeared that no one was immune to the powerful, devastating force of his violent outbursts—not even himself.
“I…don’t…remember…” he said, his voice barely audible.
“I know,” Dr. Ladd said. “We had to administer a stronger dosage of sedative to calm you, which explains your current weakened, groggy state. The effects of the drug are only now beginning to wear down. I’ll get you some water to reduce the dryness you probably feel in your mouth. Would you like me to help you sit up?”
MacGyver threw his bandaged arm over his face, finding the light in the room unbearably harsh to his sensitive eyes. “Please…” he said.
“All right, take it easy now,” Dr. Ladd said, gently taking his arm and trying not to touch the bandages. “You might want to take deep breaths, as sitting up too quickly might make you dizzy.”
MacGyver nodded, doing as his psychiatrist instructed, breathing heavily as he was pulled upright. Almost immediately, colorful sparks of light exploded in front of his eyes and he gasped, leaning against one of the padded walls for support, his head swimming. For a moment, things went black and he thought he was going to faint, but he recovered, trembling and remaining in a seated position as well as he could. He drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his bandaged arms around them, feeling more protected, secure, and stable that way.
“Are you all right?” Dr. Ladd asked, feeling as if he was looking at a lost, vulnerable boy instead of a full grown man, MacGyver’s deep brown eyes wide, sad, and pleading, his hair tousled.
Attempts had been made by the hospital staff to make his appearance more presentable for his visitors, shaving his face while he was unconscious and grooming him as best as they could, but their efforts had been undone as MacGyver slept and thrashed around wildly in his disturbed sleep, suffering from more visions. New stubble grew on his face. His disheveled appearance was apparently unavoidable and unmanageable as he continued to suffer, becoming external evidence of the internal chaos of his disordered mind.
MacGyver nodded, hugging his knees tighter against his body, shivering even though the padded room’s temperature was moderate.
“H-how…long do I have to be in here?” He asked, his voice still sounding small and distant.
“We’ll see,” Dr. Ladd said, smiling briefly, trying to be comforting. “I don’t like having to keep you in here, either, but it’s preferable to you harming yourself further.”
MacGyver looked around the padded room, the harshness of the light and the brightness of the white now reduced as his eyes adjusted and grew used to them.
“Would you like to see your visitors now?” Dr. Ladd asked.
MacGyver nodded again.
Dr. Ladd smiled again, gently patting his patient on the knee. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go get them and tell them it’s safe to enter now.”
MacGyver hated that he had to be treated this way, as if he were a dangerous, uncontrollable maniac. In some ways, he knew he was, and that did little to improve his mood, either. It seemed his sanity was unraveling more each day, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
***
“Pete…no…y-you shouldn’t be in here…I might….hurt you…” MacGyver said, drawing his knees tighter around him as if that would prevent him from lashing out again. He noticed that Pete’s bruises had faded and his cuts were healing, momentarily relieving his anxiety over his friend, but the possibility that he could inflict new wounds was very real and it concerned him deeply.
“MacGyver, it’s all right,” Nikki said, taking his hand. “He wanted to come. It will be fine. You won’t hurt him.”
MacGyver read their expressions, knowing they were desperately trying to hide the pity they felt for him. They had been briefed before entering the padded room about his reasons for being there, Dr. Ladd explaining the bandages and his current drowsy state resulting from the medication they had dispensed.
“How are you feeling, Mac?” Pete asked, sadness in his voice.
MacGyver managed a slight smile. “Fine, for a crazy person,” he said, trying to joke, but it revealed the pathos of his present situation.
Pete crouched down along with Nikki to be nearer to him. “Now, we’ve talked about that,” he said. “We’re going to figure this out together and get you well. Do you understand?”
“Actually, that’s why we’re here,” Nikki said. “We wanted to talk to you about your hallucinations and flashbacks.”
MacGyver sighed, staring blankly at the padded floor, despondent, feeling hopeless. “I already do enough of that in sessions with Dr. Ladd,” he said. “What good has it gotten me so far? What progress has been made? I’m still in here.”
Pete and Nikki exchanged glances. Hearing him this way-- incurious, lethargic, giving up—it was worse than they had imagined. It was as if any remnant of the MacGyver they knew had perished along with his sanity.
“Well, is there anything you haven’t mentioned about them?” Pete asked. He reached out and squeezed his knee. “Please Mac…try to think. It could be the key to getting you out of this place.”
“What Pete means is, it could explain why you’re in here at all,” Nikki said. “There has to be some connection to your recent behavior and being found in the desert somehow. What else could explain it? You were doing fine before you took that trip.”
MacGyver felt disconnected and numb, as if he were floating. His eyes wandered around the padded room in a daze, the drugs still having a strong influence over his system.
“Please try to focus, MacGyver,” Pete said. “This is very important. Can you hear me?”
MacGyver’s eyes shifted back to Pete and Nikki, his concentration returning. “Sorry…” he said. “I just…feel weird…tired…”
“I know. It must be your medication. Please try to stay with us, okay?”
“Okay.”
“When I was here to visit you the other day, you said my name, but then you asked someone who wasn’t there who they were. What did you see?” Nikki asked.
“I…I d-don’t know…most of the time I barely remember what happened, and when I try to think about it, the flashbacks increase and get worse,” MacGyver said.
“Maybe someone doesn’t want you to remember,” Nikki said. “Maybe someone did something to you to make you this way.”
“Nikki, that is mere speculation at this point,” Pete said.
“Well, it’s the best theory I have.”
MacGyver thought about the recurring presence of the woman with the syringe in his nightmares, hallucinations, and flashbacks. He also began to remember the room he saw, where he was strapped to a table and the images of him driving his jeep through the desert. Those had only recently started to appear along with the woman. At first, he thought there was nothing connecting them, but now he began to wonder if they were somehow.
“He won’t remember a thing…” her voice echoed in his mind. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Nikki, you might be right. I…keep seeing this woman along with my flashbacks. I’ve never seen her before, and she doesn’t seem to fit within the context of what happened to me during my torture. She’s always standing over me, holding a syringe of something, preparing to inject it into me.”
“What does she look like?” Nikki asked.
MacGyver closed his eyes and tried to conjure up her image, picturing her standing there, emerging from the misty fog and shadows of his mind. “She has strong features, but she’s attractive. She has…auburn hair…tied back in a clip…” he said, describing her as best as he could from memory.
“You said she’s always holding a syringe. Is she dressed in a nurse’s uniform? Could she be a nurse from your earlier time in the hospital, or a nurse from here?” Pete asked.
“I…I don’t know,” MacGyver said, rubbing his eyes. They still felt raw and dry and itched. “I don’t think so. She looks like a business professional of some kind. She’s…wearing a suit.”
“Well, that makes no sense,” Nikki said. “MacGyver, have you seen anything else that doesn’t relate directly to the time of your torture?”
“Yes. Uh…they have only just started showing up in my dreams and flashbacks, but…well…I’m driving…through the desert…then there’s this table…I’m…strapped down on it…and the woman…I forgot to tell you…she keeps saying I won’t remember a thing…” MacGyver’s eyes searched the room again as if he were looking for answers in the empty, padded space.
Nikki looked at Pete. “That has to mean something,” she said. “It could be that someone abducted him while he was out in the desert and did this to him.”
Pete shook his head. “Remember what the doctor at the hospital said and what the toxicology reports said. There was no evidence of foul play whatsoever—including injection sites from needles,” he said.
“But…it has to come from somewhere, Pete,” MacGyver said. “Why do I keep seeing her? And why is she now appearing along with images of me driving through the desert and this exam table? I’ve never seen or experienced those things before, and they’re not from any memory I have, except for driving through the desert.”
“He won’t remember a thing…” the woman’s voice echoed around him again. “I don’t know,” Pete said. “I do know you should tell Dr. Ladd the same things you’re telling us. Maybe working together, we can figure this out. Nobody wants to see you healthy again more than we do, believe me. If these visions you’re seeing can provide us with any clues…”
“Mac, we could be so close to solving this,” Nikki said. “Don’t give up on us, okay? Keep trying to see if you can learn more details about this woman, about this place you keep seeing.”
“I…will…certainly…try…” MacGyver said, yawning, his voice trailing away after he had to labor to form each individual word.
He began to slump against the padded wall, sliding down to the floor, closing his eyes and drifting back into sleep. Nikki caught him before he hit the floor completely and then lowered him down, even though she knew the padding would have protected him.
Pete smiled affectionately at him. “We should let him rest,” he said. “Let’s go tell Dr. Ladd what he said.”
***
After Dr. Ladd had been informed about MacGyver’s other visions and they had returned to The Phoenix Foundation building, Pete and Nikki were confronted outside his office by Greg Downs, another colleague. His concerned expression alerted them immediately that something was wrong.
“What is it, Greg?” Pete asked.
“Thank God you’re back, Mr. Thornton,” Greg said. “Where have you been?”
“Visiting MacGyver. Why?”
“There is an urgent, pressing matter I need to discuss with you. Please…can we use your office?”
“Of course. Come on in,” Pete said, unlocking the doors and gesturing for Greg to enter before him.
After he entered the office, he glanced distrustfully at Nikki. “I think I need to tell you this in private,” he said.
“Nikki is as much a part of this Foundation as you are,” Pete said, closing the doors behind them. “Whatever you have to say to me, she has clearance to hear as well.”
Greg sighed. “All right,” he said. “It’s just that this…news…well, it could be potentially damaging.”
“What is it?” Nikki asked.
“It’s the East Germany assignment Mr. Thornton gave to Brandon Scott and five other DXS operatives.”
“What happened?” Pete asked, already knowing a disaster had occurred.
“Sir, there was a case of sabotage. A bridge they were crossing...it exploded. All the men were killed—except for Brandon.”
“Oh my God,” Nikki said.
“Was he hurt?” Pete asked.
“No. Somehow, he managed to escape unscathed.”
“Where is he now? I need to talk to him about what happened,” Pete said.
“In good time, Mr. Thornton. He’s on his way home now.”
“Sabotage?” Nikki asked. She looked at Pete. “How is that possible? Didn’t you tell me the mission was highly classified and that the enemy wouldn’t even be aware of our presence there?”
“Yes, but unfortunately, as you know, these assignments are unpredictable. You never know what will happen in the field or who will be waiting for you. It sounds as if they were ambushed.”
“How?” Nikki asked. “Still Pete, you have to admit that makes no sense. Who would have advanced knowledge they were going to be there?”
“It could have been an enemy agent working as a double agent,” Greg said. “It’s been known to happen. Perhaps he infiltrated our organization somehow and obtained the intelligence information he needed to know when to strike, learning of their route ahead of time.”
“Maybe,” Pete said, looking at Nikki, knowing she was silently wondering the same thing as he was, their suspicions aimed at Brandon. It was the next logical conclusion to draw, after all. How else would he escape from the explosion unharmed unless he knew something about it? “I guess these are all questions we’ll have to ask Brandon when he returns.”
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
Yay! Another great chapter! 
Heh, what can I say? I'm still a sucker for Mac whump. 
