Whew! I'm sorry it took me so long to post this next part. It dragged a little for me, writing it. Also, I was busy. It's here now, though, and ready for your reading pleasure!
When He Wakes…
Part Thirteen
Rated: R
A few weeks later—federal penitentiary
“Why do you look so smug?” Nikki asked, entering the prison’s visitor area, Brandon on the other side of bulletproof glass and handcuffed. She now knew his real name, but she had forgotten it. It didn’t seem important to her. “You’ve confessed to everything. The evidence against you is mounting.”
An arrogant smirk curled on Brandon’s lips. With his small, boyish features, it made him look impish. He said nothing, glaring at her in defiance. Nikki sat down across from him, trying to control every impulse she had to beat him senseless for all he had done, her facial muscles twitching with anger. She stared at him.
“What do you want?” She asked, sighing.
“Me? I don’t want anything,” Brandon said, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me. You may have caught me, but I’m just one man. There are many more of us out there—nameless, faceless, all part of an organization whose members operate in the shadows. Our network is vast, covering every part of the globe, our methods and motives so complex they’re beyond your understanding. Even if you were to interrogate me and attempt to coerce me into revealing the information I know about the organization I work for, you would never find them.”
“Well, we found you,” Nikki said, smiling triumphantly, deliberately mocking and taunting him. “There’s a chance we will locate the others as well and bring them to justice.”
Brandon chuckled in amusement. “You’re so naďve,” he said. “You don’t even know what kind of world this is, what kind of world we’re trying to create—and we will get there, too, believe me. Things will change dramatically. I was unfortunate enough to make a stupid mistake, a slight misstep, a loophole that allowed you to arrest me. My misfortune and error in judgment was your gain. I assure you--that will never happen again. This isn’t over, you know. Next time, things will be much worse—and there will be a next time. You may have stopped me, but you haven’t stopped them. Your pathetic Phoenix Foundation will still topple, crumble into ruin. You’re still an item on their agenda. MacGyver could be in a straitjacket again in no time.”
Nikki leaned forward, getting closer to him to show him that his ominous words did little to intimidate her. “You think you can frighten me,” she said quietly, “but you can’t. I don’t believe you. All you have are empty, veiled threats. I think you’re afraid. You’ve been caught, so you will say anything.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Brandon said. “You’ve already seen proof of our capabilities. We’re more powerful than you can imagine. Our scientists have developed pharmacopeias of drugs designed to perform multiple functions, all undetectable by conventional laboratory analysis. MacGyver’s insanity, dear Pete’s heart attack—they were all a product of careful planning, consideration, and chemistry. It was all so seamless. We knew the best way to begin to disassemble The Phoenix Foundation was through MacGyver. It could have been just as easy to kill him, but we decided that destroying his mind was a much more effective and satisfying result. We knew about his torture in South America and that he suffered from post traumatic stress—nightmares, flashbacks—we simply…enhanced the condition until he was completely debilitated, unable to function normally or sanely—the crazier the better. Remarkably, he still managed to escape from us, but the damage to his brilliant mind was already complete. As for the bridge explosion? Well, I can’t think of a better way to dispose of several top agents than to bribe East German spies into fulfilling their desires to kill some American agents they hated with a passion in a gruesome, spectacular fashion, providing them with the intelligence and the means to do so. Pete became the last part of our first phase of destruction, of gutting The Phoenix Foundation, infecting it internally like a cancer, eating away at it until it was in complete shambles and disarray. His heart attack could be attributed to the emotional stress he felt for MacGyver being locked away in the loony bin, unable to help him, and the bridge explosion investigation he was unable to solve. Feeling old and incompetent, he would quite literally collapse in his failure and his ill health brought on by that failure. It was all so beautifully executed—and we’re not finished. The people I work for will return to continue what I started, and you won’t know when or who they are. You won’t be able to stop it next time.” He leaned back in his chair, resting his handcuffed wrists on his stomach, a self-satisfied grin on his face.
“Yeah, well there was one flaw in your plan. Pete’s alive.”
“Yes, I know,” Brandon said. He leveled a cold stare at her. “He may not be next time.”
“I need to know…what you did to MacGyver…is it reversible? Will he recover?”
A dark, cryptic smile crept across his lips. He said nothing.
“Is there an antidote to the drug you gave him to make him lose control of his sanity?” Nikki persisted.
“Do you want to know why I dressed like him?” Brandon asked, ignoring her questions. “It wasn’t all false admiration, you know. I actually do find him to be an incredible man. If he had worked for our organization, his ingenuity might have amounted to something. What a pity.”
“Answer me!” Nikki shouted, bolting out of her seat and pounding her fist on the glass partition that separated them, unable to contain her rage any longer, tears forming in her eyes.
Brandon continued to smile darkly at her as the guards came to lead him back to his cell, revealing nothing.
***
Brandon’s words left Nikki shaken and disturbed. She didn’t know what to believe, if what he told her about a malevolent secret organization whose goal was to slowly infiltrate government agencies in order to destroy them from within was the truth or not. It certainly seemed he had the power to do so. He hadn’t acted alone. If MacGyver’s vision of the woman with the syringe was any indication, there were others—but how many? They would have to be vigilant, prepared for the next threat—but how do you protect and defend yourself from an invisible, unidentified enemy? MacGyver was a greater concern to her. If his sanity was never restored to him…well, she didn’t want to think about it. She tried not to. She visited him, once again alone, Pete still recuperating in the hospital. Before entering the padded room with Dr. Ladd, she told him about what had happened to MacGyver to cause his mental instability.
“A drug that causes insanity? Well, it’s not uncommon,” he said. “After all, look at the potential lasting and harmful effects of LSD on the brain. Did this man give you any information on how to reverse its effects on MacGyver?”
“No,” Nikki said, staring angrily at a distant point on the bland tiled floor. She looked up at the psychiatrist, her eyes hard and flinty. “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”
Dr. Ladd sighed. “Unless his condition improves significantly, he might have to be held here indefinitely,” he said sadly.
Nikki swallowed hard, her throat constricting as she choked back tears. “I know,” she said.
He carefully unlocked the door to the padded room, entering with Nikki and quickly closing and relocking it behind them. MacGyver was circling the room, in distress, gesticulating wildly, his horrified, haunted eyes wide with confusion and filled with tears of frustration. He shook his head several times, bringing his hands up to his face, burying it in them. He bumped into one of the padded walls and slid down it, curling up into a fetal position on the floor, trembling.
“What’s the matter with him?” Nikki asked.
“This is a recent phenomenon,” Dr. Ladd said. “He seems to not be able to understand me anymore, or anyone, as if we were all speaking some language foreign and unrecognizable to him. At times, he is completely bewildered, not even knowing who I am or where he is.”
Nikki approached him, sitting on the padded floor beside him where he rocked his body and sobbed quietly. She stroked his back, feeling his raised whip scars through his starched hospital uniform, ugly, brutal reminders of his torture. “MacGyver,” she whispered. “Please hear me. Please look at me.”
He didn’t respond except to release a gasp and a sniff from his sobs. Gently, she slid her fingers beneath his chin and coaxed him to lift his head. He looked at her with a puzzled frown, a lost, blank look to his moist eyes, struggling to know her but unsure of who she was. She had seen that same vague expression in her grandmother’s eyes, her identity and memories stolen from her. Now, it was happening to MacGyver. It was almost unbearable for her to see him that way, but she was determined not to give up on him, hoping for a breakthrough of some kind, no matter how small. Communicating with him the only way she could at that point, she touched him on the cheek, trying to reassure him, attempting to smile at him despite her sorrow. She had tried the same technique with her grandmother, to let her know that she was not alone. MacGyver closed his eyes and moaned softly, leaning into her hand, responding to her. Nikki embraced him tightly.
“Oh Mac, it’s going to be all right soon,” she said. “It’s going to be fine. You’re going to get through this, and you’re going to know and understand me again.” She looked up at Dr. Ladd, both of them exchanging doubtful looks, unable to know how potent the drug was that kept him that way or if he would ever return to the MacGyver they knew before, all of it resting on a desperate hope and wishful thinking at that point.
“Agua…” MacGyver said softly. “Agua por favor…”
Nikki released him and looked at him. He was staring beyond her, beyond the room into some part of his traumatic past, looking miserable and pitiful, his eyes pleading and frightened. He pushed hard against the padding as if he could enfold himself in it and hide from the terror he was reliving.
“I guess he wants water,” she said. “He might be thirsty, and this might be the only way he can tell us.”
Dr. Ladd nodded. “I’ll get him some and come right back,” he said.
Nikki held MacGyver again while she waited for the psychiatrist’s return, trying to soothe him.
“Agua…” MacGyver said again, his voice muffled from his face being partly buried in Nikki’s shoulder.
“It’s okay Mac, it’s coming,” she said even though he couldn’t understand her, stroking his hair.
He grunted and released a cry, beginning to squirm in her arms.
“It’s all right,” she said, releasing him. “It’s okay. I’ll let you go. I won’t hurt you.”
MacGyver looked at her again, trying to identify her, searching her with his eyes. She smiled at him again, trying to calm him.
“That’s right, it’s only me,” she said. “I won’t hurt you.”
His eyes left hers and wandered around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings, babbling a few loose, disjointed, incoherent phrases. When Dr. Ladd re-entered the room with a Styrofoam cup of water, he didn’t even notice. Crouching down close beside his patient, Dr. Ladd grabbed MacGyver by the shoulder and gently shook him, trying to get his attention. At last, MacGyver’s cloudy, dazed eyes rested on him. Dr. Ladd pointed to the cup, even showing him what was inside it.
“This…is this what you want?” He asked as if talking to an infant or an animal, speaking slowly, carefully enunciating each word as if that would help him understand.
He didn’t know why he did it. It was never effective on infants or animals, so he didn’t know why he tried talking that way to MacGyver. Perhaps he still had the hope of getting him to hear him and know what he was saying again. He pointed to the cup again for emphasis, and MacGyver nodded, reaching out and taking the cup, gulping the water greedily. As he drank, images of the boy being shot in front of him for giving him water exploded before his eyes, followed by the intrusive feeling of the tube of toxic gruel not fit for human consumption being shoved down his throat, causing intense pressure around the walls of his throat and inducing the gag reflex, causing him to cough and choke violently, almost spilling the water all over himself. Quickly, Dr. Ladd took the cup away from him before this happened.
“Easy, take it easy,” Nikki said, wiping away the water that had gurgled and dribbled down the sides of his mouth as he coughed and spluttered.
Dr. Ladd rubbed his back, trying to get him to ease his breathing. Gradually, MacGyver relaxed again and looked at the two strangers sitting near him, smiling faintly at them, thanking them. It relieved both Nikki and Dr. Ladd that he smiled, but they could tell that he still didn’t know who they were.
“He has to get well,” Nikki said, on the verge of tears once again. “He can’t live this way. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“I know, but there’s not much we can do,” Dr. Ladd said. “I’ll keep trying different approaches to therapy with him, but it would help me if I knew more about this drug that was injected into him to cause his current mental state.”
Nikki sighed. “I don’t think we’re ever going to know,” she said. “It’s all up to MacGyver now to fight his way out of it.”
“Do you think he can?”
Nikki smiled halfheartedly. “He can get out of most any situation,” she said. “I have to believe he can get out of this one, too.”
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
