There are some violent images in this part. They don't last too long, and I know I've rated the whole story R, but I want to warn you anyway.
Poor Mac! Things are about to get worse...
When He Wakes…
Part Seven
Rated: R
Nikki knocked politely on Pete’s office door. Even though it was wide open, she still liked to be respectful of her boss and observe proper etiquette, not wanting to barge in while he might be in the middle of something.
“Come in,” Pete said, his head bent over a large stack of papers on his desk.
“How is the investigation into the bridge explosion going?” Nikki asked, entering the room.
Pete sighed. He looked up at her over the rims of his reading glasses, his eyes tired and bloodshot from stress as well as bereavement for the lives of the good men he lost. He rubbed his forehead as if he were getting a massive headache. “It’s slow,” he said, dropping the paper he was reading and focusing his entire attention on her, settling back in his chair. “How’s MacGyver?”
“About the same,” Nikki said sadly. She took a seat across from his desk. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Remember that woman with the syringe he keeps seeing?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now he’s seen a few more details. He’s in a room, strapped to some table. There’s a man in the room with the woman, something he hadn’t seen before. Whenever he tries to see the man more clearly, his flashbacks become more vivid and violent. Pete, it’s almost as if someone programmed him to have that kind of response so that the identity of the man can’t be revealed.”
“But what about the woman? He described her to us. He could see her.”
“Maybe that’s because she’s someone he doesn’t know.”
“Are you suggesting this man might be someone MacGyver knows?”
Nikki shrugged. “I don’t know, Pete. It’s the best explanation I have,” she said.
Pete looked around his office, thinking about what she said. At last, his eyes settled back on her. “Well, who do you think it could be?” He asked.
“I don’t know. You know he has many enemies. I encouraged him to keep trying to see the man, see if he could get a description.”
“If someone did something to Mac to make him behave this way, they had to be professionals,” Pete said. “As I’ve said before, there was no evidence anyone had done anything to him when they found him out in the desert. Whoever they were, they were thorough, covering all traces of their activity.”
“Of course, this could all be a product of MacGyver’s paranoid mind,” Nikki said. “Dr. Ladd thinks he might be remembering brief moments of consciousness before his surgeries for his broken bones, which could account for the appearance of the woman with the syringe. Combining that frightening and bewildering experience of waking up and not knowing where he was with just being rescued from torture and captivity, it is conceivable that he would get those things confused, equating a painful medical procedure with his torture somehow. Perhaps he hadn’t been fully under anesthesia yet and was hallucinating. I just don’t know. The problem is, with MacGyver’s sanity doubtful at this point, there is a credibility issue. Did what he keeps seeing really happen? We can’t know for sure, but I want to believe him, Pete, I do.”
“Yeah,” Pete said. “I do, too.” He stared mindlessly down at the papers, his brain feeling numb, inundated with hours of text he had read, the letters on the page becoming blurry and bleeding into each other until they lost all meaning. “We lost some of our finest men in that bridge explosion, and now we’re losing MacGyver.”
“Haven’t you made any progress at all?” Nikki asked.
Pete leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, pushing up his reading glasses with his hands and rubbing them. He released an exhausted groan. “As I told you, it’s been slow,” he said. “My contacts have been unable to find anything useful, and Brandon…well, let’s just say we’ve triple checked his background information that was given to us at the time of his hire, and it all checks out. He’s clean. He’s cooperated fully with us, and his answers have been honest and straightforward. We even ran a polygraph examination on him, and could detect no evidence of evasion or deceit. His story about what happened appears to be true.” Pete sat back up in his chair, looking at Nikki, tossing his glasses aside. “That doesn’t mean, however, that we’ve completely eliminated him as a possible suspect in this incident. At this point, we’re not ruling out anything.”
“Well, that’s good,” Nikki said, “because something unusual is going on, here. I know we don’t have any reliable evidence yet to make any accusations or form any conclusions, but…it just feels like there’s a link between what’s been happening to MacGyver and the loss of those agents somehow.”
“I know. That’s the feeling I get, too, but Nikki, it could also be a coincidence. We have to consider that.”
Nikki nodded. “Still, after five years…it was all so sudden and unexpected, Mac’s behavior,” she said.
Pete thought back to when he discovered MacGyver sobbing in the shower, a broken man. He had been so effective at hiding his pain and emotions. “Maybe he was on the verge of a breakdown all along,” he said. “He was just doing the best he could to cope with the trauma he experienced when finally it became too much for him.”
“I guess we won’t know for certain until we get more information,” Nikki said. “Who knows how long that will take?” Tears formed in her eyes. “I hate seeing him in there like that, Pete. I can’t stand it. He doesn’t belong in there. That’s not the Mac we know. That’s some stranger who has taken his place.”
Pete thought about the irony of her words. Brandon was also some stranger taking his place in the field. If only they could find the evidence they were missing…
His phone buzzed, indicating he was being paged. “Mr. Thornton,” the nasal voice of his secretary said.
He pressed the button to respond. “Yes?” He asked.
“Dr. Ladd is on line one. He says it’s urgent.”
Pete and Nikki exchanged worried looks. Nikki bit her lower lip, dreading what he had to say.
“Put him through,” Pete said, still staring at Nikki, silently sharing her concern. His eyes never left her while he was having the conversation with MacGyver’s psychiatrist. She watched him carefully for clues as to what the doctor might be saying to him. When it was over, Pete hung up the phone with a shaky hand, the phone feeling like a brick of lead in his hands.
“What is it? What did he say?” Nikki asked, growing impatient and unable to contain the anxiety she felt any longer.
“Dr. Ladd wants to see us immediately,” Pete said, his voice distant, indicating his shock. “It’s MacGyver. His condition has grown worse.”
***
A few hours earlier…
“All right, Mr. MacGyver. It’s time for your bath,” an orderly said, opening the door to the padded room, a nurse with him. Both of them gasped in shock at what they saw, even though they had seen many strange things during their time working there and should have known to expect it. Still, the sight was alarming at first glance for anyone.
MacGyver’s arms were bleeding. He had ripped off his bandages and dug deeper into the scratches with his fingernails, reopening the skin. When he saw them, he screamed and charged at them, knocking the nurse to the floor. The orderly tried to stop him, but MacGyver punched him and brushed passed him, running down the hallway. Barely having time to recover from the punch, dazed and dizzy, the orderly pressed the security alarm, alerting the attention of all the guards on the floor. As the alarms blared and wards were locked down, security guards swarming the corridors, one of them reached the stunned orderly and nurse, seeing the door open, the padded room’s occupant missing.
“What’s the situation?” He asked, yelling over the alarm.
“He’s escaped!” The orderly shouted, touching his throbbing cheek.
“Which direction?”
The orderly pointed down the corridor. “To the right,” he said.
“All right, thanks.” The guard pulled out his radio. “We have an escaped patient on floor five, section ten. I repeat, we have an escaped patient. Search all areas!”
After delivering this information, the guard rushed passed the orderly and nurse, also on his way to find MacGyver.
“Are you all right?” The nurse asked, raising her voice above the alarm, inspecting the orderly’s red cheek.
The orderly nodded. “How about you?” He asked.
“I’m fine.”
Both of them struggled to get back on their feet, helping each other up when Dr. Ladd appeared.
“What’s happening?” He asked.
“Your patient…he’s escaped again,” the orderly said.
“Oh God,” Dr. Ladd breathed. “Where did he go? Did you see?”
“He ran off to the right.”
“All right, thank you. Are you going to be okay?”
The nurse nodded. “He knocked us over, but we’ll be fine,” she said.
“That’s good. I’m going after him.”
The nurse and orderly watched him as he ran down the corridor, following the security team. They admired him, taking a huge risk of endangering himself like that, inserting himself in the middle of what could become a violent situation. He was the most dedicated psychiatrist they had seen, truly caring about his patient’s welfare.
Catching up to one of the guards, Dr. Ladd placed his hand on the man’s broad shoulder to get his attention.
“Any news?” He asked.
The guard shook his head. “They haven’t found him yet, but they’re looking everywhere,” he said. “Everything is secured. He can’t get far.”
“Let’s hope not. He could be anywhere.”
The hospital grounds seemed to grow more expansive and labyrinthine as they searched, the halls continuous and winding, small, dark, tiny corners and endless rooms where a patient could hide revealing themselves. The hospital became like a gargantuan monster, devouring them, making them small and insignificant inside its spaciousness. Dr. Ladd followed the guard he was with closely, almost stepping on his feet, hanging on him as if he were a creature attaching himself to another in some kind of symbiosis. He listened to every crackle and static that carried itself over the radio, anxiously awaiting any new information on his patient’s whereabouts, hoping he hadn’t severely injured himself or anyone else.
“We’ve found him!” A voice said at last on the radio. “The patient is in the kitchen. I repeat—the patient is in the kitchen.”
“Thank God,” Dr. Ladd whispered, his entire body shivering with adrenaline.
“We are engaging him now. Advise caution. Patient has found a utensil…it appears to be a knife…he is threatening us with it. Approach with caution. I repeat—approach with caution. Over?”
“I read you,” the security guard with Dr. Ladd said. “I am on my way.”
“Don’t let them shoot him,” Dr. Ladd said, gripping the guard’s sleeve. “Please.”
The guard glanced at him and then spoke into his radio. “See if you can try to hold him off,” he said. “Do not fire unless absolutely necessary, and even then, only fire a warning round. Understood?”
“Yes sir. Over.”
The guard stopped walking, almost causing Dr. Ladd to trip over him.
“What is it?” Dr. Ladd asked.
The guard placed his large hand on Dr. Ladd’s chest. “Perhaps you should stand back, Doctor,” he said. “We don’t know what your patient might do.”
“He’s
my patient,” Dr. Ladd said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere except to see him. Maybe I can communicate with him, try to get him to calm down.”
Even though the burly guard was several inches taller than the psychiatrist, he knew there was no way he could stop the doctor, seeing the determination in his eyes.
“All right,” he said. “Come on.”
When they reached the kitchen, MacGyver was cornered. He looked wild and fierce, pointing the kitchen knife threateningly at the guards.
“How could this happen?” The guard with Dr. Ladd asked another guard. “I thought the kitchens were locked to prevent this exact scenario from happening.”
“I don’t know, sir,” the other guard said. “Somehow, he found a way in.”
“That’s his specialty,” Dr. Ladd said.
The guards looked at him, puzzled.
“On the outside, he could easily get in and out of any place he needed to. He’s an expert at it. Gentleman, he has a clever mind, so I’m not surprised he found a way to get in here,” he said. An immense sadness filled him as he considered his options for what to do with MacGyver once they had succeeded in disarming and subduing him. If he could manage to escape and get into any room in the facility…he would rather not think about it, refusing to do it for so long, holding off on it, but he knew he had to…
“MacGyver, can you hear me?” He asked gently.
MacGyver’s dark eyes darted wildly from one man to the next, untrusting and fearful, defending himself against an invisible foe, pointing the knife’s large, sharp blade at his attackers.
There was no way he was going back into that hell to face El Diablo. He had to fight them off, any way he could, if he was to survive… “MacGyver, it’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let them,” Dr. Ladd said. “You’re going to be fine. Do you understand?”
Slowly, somewhere in the back of MacGyver’s unraveling mind, he seemed to hear Dr. Ladd’s soft voice and soothing words. He began to lower the knife.
“Good,” Dr. Ladd said to him. “Yes, that’s good. It’s all right. Nobody is here to hurt you.”
When it seemed safe to approach him, several guards were about to take the knife from his hands when his grip on it became stronger again. Without warning, he thrust the knife into the leg of one of the men and began fighting the others viciously, punching and releasing inhuman howls and screams, struggling against them as they tried to contain him. Dr. Ladd watched in horror as it seemed the situation was almost out of control, MacGyver wriggling furiously against the thick arms that held him, one of the guards wrapping his arm around MacGyver’s neck in a chokehold.
“Careful,” he said. “Watch his cuts. Please, be careful…don’t hurt him…”
At last, they were able to force MacGyver to the ground, although his strength seemed to match theirs, all of them large, muscular, well-trained, athletic men. MacGyver’s shouts, pleas, and grunts continued as they held him, preparing to sedate him. Once they found a good vein and were able to inject it, he gradually began to cease his struggles, moaning and mumbling weakly, his body growing limp. They picked him up and dragged him, still half conscious, back to his room. Dr. Ladd stopped them.
“Wait, not there,” he said. “He…has to be placed somewhere else for now.”
“You wish to restrain him?” The nurse who had injected the sedative asked.
Dr. Ladd nodded sadly. He hoped it wouldn’t have to come to such drastic measures, trying to be as kind and considerate of his patient’s traumatic past as he could, knowing that restricting his movements could only worsen his condition. Still, he now knew he had no alternative, not if MacGyver could escape and use his inventive but damaged, delusional mind to harm himself or others. The guard who had been stabbed in the leg was not far behind him, the nurse having made a makeshift tourniquet out of torn strips of his uniform to stop the bleeding temporarily until she could attend to him further. He was limping badly, a grimace of pain on his face. Dr. Ladd realized he could have been hurt a lot worse or perhaps even killed, something he knew would devastate his patient once he became lucid again. He kept reminding himself that restraining MacGyver was for his protection, that he was not trying to be cruel the way El Diablo had been. He was doing it out of kindness. He couldn’t allow MacGyver to do something far worse next time.
“Are you all right?” He asked the wounded man.
“I think so,” he said through grit teeth.
“That’s good to hear. It will probably need stitches.”
“Yeah.”
“I hope you understand that he didn’t mean to hurt you. He doesn’t even know where he is right now. He thinks he’s back in some horrible time in his past.”
The wounded guard nodded, wincing. “I know that, Doctor,” he said. “I feel sorry for him. I can’t even imagine, being trapped in my mind like that. Poor man. I hope they can find a cure for him, sir.”
Dr. Ladd turned back to his patient. They had reached the room where there was a bed with thick leather restraints. He felt helpless as they lifted MacGyver onto it and tightened the straps around his wrists, ankles, and torso.
“I’m sorry, MacGyver,” he said quietly, fighting tears. “I had to.” He supervised them as they secured the straps, making sure they were doing it correctly. “Try not to pull them too tightly,” he said, his voice shaking with emotion even though he tried to remain professional. “We don’t want to cut off his circulation. We just want to keep him from harming himself.”
The nurse was treating his cuts again, re-bandaging them, careful not to allow the restraints to touch them. MacGyver stirred, still not completely unconscious. His movements became more frantic when he realized he couldn’t move, that something was holding him down. He struggled violently, moaning pitifully.
He was chained to the sacrificial pallet in El Diablo’s shed, arching his back to avoid painful contact between the hard slab of rock and his torn open back, pus and blood still weeping from the deep whip slashes. El Diablo stood over him menacingly, his eyes glinting unnaturally, making him appear almost satanic, possessed by pure evil. He held a saw in his hands and began cutting into MacGyver’s leg, the sharp, jagged edges tearing into his skin. The images shifted, and they were now in El Diablo’s room of death, surrounded by body parts, MacGyver’s leg about to become a part of it. It didn’t matter that this never happened to him, that he returned home with all his limbs intact. He could no longer distinguish between what really happened in his flashbacks to what didn’t, all of it seeming so real, so terrifying… MacGyver screamed loudly, thrashing around against the restraints, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, sweat beading on his forehead, his face twisted in agony. Dr. Ladd couldn’t bear to watch him. He almost wanted to order that they remove the restraints, wondering if he made a mistake.
“I thought he was sedated,” he said to the nurse.
“He is. It must be taking longer than I thought to take effect,” the nurse said.
“Give him a stronger dose. Please. I can’t hear him suffer like this.”
Obeying his order, the nurse prepared another injection of sedative and administered it. MacGyver’s screams and movements soon reduced. He was still struggling weakly, moaning and whimpering, fighting to remain conscious, his eyelids fluttering, his eyes rolling back.
His body was spinning, rolling sickeningly. El Diablo’s men were laughing and kicking him, using him as a toy as he lay chained, broken, beaten, and helpless, unable to brace himself as he rolled, unable to see from behind the blindfold, unable to know when his body would stop rolling and dropping, feeling as if he was about to fall off a giant precipice… The nauseating, dizzying spinning began to slow. Instead, he now felt a jostling, rocking motion as if he were in the back of a vehicle. He tried to open his eyes, but he still couldn’t see anything but darkness… Next, he felt intense, sweltering heat bearing down on him. His once blindfolded eyes now flooded with bright light, images of the desert filling his field of vision, vast canyon lands spreading out before him as he wandered, stumbling, groping, disoriented, unsure of how he got there or where he was going, his throat dry, his head aching. The incredible, overwhelming heat of the blazing sun overhead claimed his body, and he collapsed on the desert floor, unable to go any farther… The sedative had taken full effect, MacGyver now lying motionless. Relief washed over Dr. Ladd, hoping his patient could finally get some rest.
***
The present time…
“I didn’t want to put him in restraints,” Dr. Ladd said as he, Pete, and Nikki stood over MacGyver’s still body. “God knows how reluctant I was, but given the circumstances, I had no choice. He’s grown increasingly violent and unpredictable, and he keeps escaping. He stabbed a guard. Fortunately, it was only in the leg. He’ll need a few stitches, but other than that, he’ll be fine. I’m so sorry…”
“No, don’t worry about it Doctor,” Pete said, staring down sadly at his friend. “You did what you had to.”
“Well, I wish I didn’t have to.”
Nikki gently stroked MacGyver’s stubbly face and newly bandaged arms as if she could heal them by her touch alone.
“How long does he have to be like this?” She asked, tears in her eyes.
Dr. Ladd sighed. “I hope not for long,” he said. “Ultimately, it is up to him, but as I said over the phone, I’m afraid any improvement will take some time.”
The three of them fell silent, standing over MacGyver’s body, tearful as if they were at his funeral. In his current condition, he almost was dead. It seemed as if El Diablo had at last succeeded in killing his soul, after all.
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
Thank you Ghostdoll! Your reply made me laugh out loud 
