Phoenix Field Agent
Posts: 1,889
Joined: 11 Jan 2006
Gender: Female
Country: USA
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Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
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Programmed Part Four
Rated: R
Dr. Ladd entered the padded cell where MacGyver was being held, carrying a neatly folded sheet of notepaper.
“I have something for you that I thought you might like,” he said, smiling at his patient. “It’s a personal message from Nikki.”
MacGyver didn’t respond, still curled in the corner of the room, a blank, empty stare in his dark eyes. He had been cleaned up and seemed to be much calmer, but Dr. Ladd could tell he was still melancholic over the results of his violent behavior.
“She doesn’t blame you,” he said. “You have to understand that by now. She just thought you might want some company through this note she wrote, since you can’t see her just yet. I don’t know the contents, but she assured me that what she had to say would make you feel better.” He reached out, trying to hand the note to MacGyver, encouraging him. “Go ahead, take it. She wants you to read it.”
MacGyver snatched the note absently from him. For the first time, he looked at his psychiatrist, his eyes filled with sadness. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible, a mere faint whisper. He looked down at the folded paper in his hands, studying it.
“I’ll leave you alone so you can read it,” Dr. Ladd said, still smiling at him. “I’ll come back later to check on you, all right? It’s going to be fine. We’ve come so much closer. We’re going to solve this soon and have you out of here, I promise. Just…don’t give up hope and keep working with me, okay?”
MacGyver said nothing in reply, his mournful eyes now focused entirely on the note. Dr. Ladd took one final look at his patient before leaving the room, hoping he would find some comfort in the message. Once MacGyver heard the door shut and lock electronically, keeping him held in the maximum security institution without chance of escape until he was declared fit and sane enough to return to society, he gently unfolded the note and sighed, beginning to read it.
MacGyver,
I will be released from the hospital today, and the doctor says I’ll be fine, that I’ll heal and recover. You didn’t cause any major damage. It’s important for you to know that I still love you. I forgive you for what happened because I know that you were not in control. Now, you must forgive yourself and understand that you did nothing wrong. We will find a solution to your current situation and get you out of there, of that I have no doubt. We will see each other again; you just have to persevere. Don’t let what happened destroy our relationship, because I haven’t—it hasn’t made me love you any less. I will always love you, don’t forget that. You are the most caring, compassionate, and dare I say unique man I have ever known. You’re better than this malevolent force controlling you, and you will defeat it, as you have defeated so many setbacks in your life. You’re stronger than it, and you will overcome.
Pete sends his best wishes. He will be sending you his own message soon. I know that words on paper do not compare to an actual visit from either of us, but at least you know that we still care about you, that you don’t have to be locked away in there, forgotten. Get well, Mac—I know you can. Remember that this forced separation from us is only temporary. We will be seeing you again soon, as healthy as you were before. Remember also that we still love you, despite what happened. I’ll write you again soon, I promise.
Love,
Nikki
After he was finished reading the note, MacGyver dropped it to the floor of the padded room and stared at it, studying Nikki’s neat, precise handwriting and her practical prose, nothing too flowery or sentimental, yet conveying just enough deep, tender emotion to show her concern for him. Even the folds and creases of the paper were exact, as if she had taken extra time to prepare it so that its presentation would be perfect, nothing hurried or careless. He felt uplifted, his melancholy diminished. She had obviously taken great care to deliver the note to him, and his guilt over what he had done to her--although he couldn’t remember committing the atrocious act, reports of it coming to him through secondhand sources--was reduced. She still loved him. Pete was still his friend. The note proved and confirmed it. They hadn’t abandoned him or blamed him. A few stray tears filled his eyes. He missed them and wanted to see them, but he knew he couldn’t, not yet, not until what had happened to him to turn him into a killer had been resolved.
“Now you know what you must do,” a malicious voice whispered to him, taunting him.
Confused, MacGyver looked around the padded room. “Who said that?” He asked. “Who’s there?”
“You failed. You can’t kill them now, not locked up in here. They can’t even see you. Now you know what you must do as a consequence of your failure…”
“What are you talking about? Who are you? Please, tell me...”
“Now you know what you must do…”
The voice repeated this mantra several times in his mind until he no longer questioned it or its source, accepting what it said. He pulled out a makeshift weapon he had constructed out of items he found around the hospital during his recreation periods. Separately, they were harmless—items from craft activities, plastic utensils that were not sharp by themselves, posed no threat, and were barely suitable to use for eating—but combined together, they created something dangerous and sharp enough to cause harm. He stared at the weapon for a long time, studying it calmly.
“Yes, now I know what I must do,” he said, repeating the voice’s command.
Without thinking, he held the weapon, pressing it against his wrist…
***
“Well, Mr. Thornton, fancy seeing you here in my dark little corner of the world,” Brandon said in an insincere, mocking tone, smirking playfully from behind the glass that separated them, his small, beady eyes twinkling. “I must say I’m quite surprised—and delighted—to receive a visit from you. What a pleasure and an honor. It’s been awhile. You look quite healthy compared to the last time we parted. I’m glad to see you well.”
“Cut the nonsense,” Pete said. “You know damn well why I’m here, and it’s not to chat.”
Brandon settled into the hard, uncomfortable plastic chair the prison provided for inmates when they received visitors, folding his cuffed hands on the table. Despite still looking small and dainty, Pete could tell he was agile, robust, and easily underestimated, still cunning and lethal as before. Prison life seemed to have strengthened him.
“You know, I love how both you and your colleague Nikki assume I automatically know the reasons for your visits,” he said, grinning. “Where is she, by the way?”
“She’s not doing well,” Pete said gravely. “MacGyver hit and strangled her. Not only that—he chased me with a butcher knife and nearly stabbed me. He seemed completely unaware of his actions at the time and has no memory of doing such things.”
“So I guess it’s safe to assume that he’s back in the loony bin,” Brandon said, looking pleased, smiling and staring down at his fingernails. “What do you want from me?”
“I want to know if your organization is responsible. His psychiatrist is convinced that he’s been programmed somehow to inflict harm on those closest to him.”
Brandon scoffed, looking back up at Pete. “I love this,” he said. “Every time there is a problem with poor dear old MacGyver you come running to me and ask if my people are involved, as if I would provide you with the answer and magically everything would be all right again. Talk about naïve. Not to mention foolish and stupid. How the hell should I know what my people are up to now? Both you and Nikki seem to forget that I’ve been in here and have had no contact with them.”
“Are you sure about that? All we have is your word, which to be honest isn’t very trustworthy.”
Brandon leaned forward, the same arrogant, impish, and mocking grin on his youthful, boyish features, his eyes sparkling with a teasing, playful glint. “Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Thornton, that MacGyver may be mentally unstable on his own and does not require any assistance from my people to get that way?” He asked.
“Well, your people sure had a hand in it last time,” Pete said in disgust and contempt.
“True, but that does not mean they do now,” Brandon said, leaning back in his chair, looking quite at ease. “Come on, Pete. MacGyver was tortured. It was a traumatic experience for him. I know all about it. After all, I had the same access to the report that you did. Several of my operatives that infiltrated your beloved Phoenix Foundation long before I did were more than willing to provide me with that information. Severely beaten and whipped, bones deliberately broken, starved, chained, psychologically abused and manipulated…some rumors even suggest that he was raped. Now you cannot deny that such an experience wouldn’t leave a permanent, damaging scar on his psyche.”
“I don’t deny it,” Pete said firmly, “but I also don’t believe that he would lose complete control of his sanity. I know MacGyver. I know him in a way you never could. He’s stronger than you think. I was there with him during his recovery, and I’ve never seen anyone handle himself so well and so bravely, especially given the circumstances. Did he have emotional breakdowns? Of course he did. It was natural, after everything he had been through. But never once did I see him react violently. Never once did he lose complete control of his faculties and try to murder me. That’s not MacGyver. He has a stronger will and more self-control and awareness than that.” Pete blinked rapidly, realizing that there were hot tears stinging his eyes as he recalled that horrific, painful time.
Brandon laughed slightly. “Well if he does, how come you’re accusing my people of programming him?” He asked. “According to you, he should be able to resist that.”
“He can resist many things, but whatever your people do makes it more difficult to do so,” Pete said.
Brandon grinned. “That’s right,” he said, “and you’ll never be able to learn how we employ our methods. They’re simply beyond your current level of understanding.”
“All right, so then tell me more,” Pete said. “Tell me, are they capable of programming someone without leaving a trace?”
Brandon shrugged as if the question was absurd. “Of course they are,” he said. “They can do anything.”
“Then tell me how they would program someone. What methods would they use?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Brandon shook his head. “Nice try,” he said, “but I’m not telling you. Besides, they may have changed their methods by now. After they do something one way, they often change and improve the formula. That way, it keeps us ahead and makes it more difficult to trace.”
“Well, then just give me some idea of what they would do. What would one of their methods be? Would they use hypnotic suggestion, drugs of any kind? MacGyver told his psychiatrist that he thought he heard voices whispering the suggestions to kill in his sleep.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Brandon said, a cryptic smile on his face. “It could be all of those or none at all. I just don’t know, and, as I’ve told your lovely, darling colleague Nikki before, even if I did I would never tell you, even under the harshest forms of interrogation and coercion.”
“Just tell me one thing you do know—anything. Please.”
“See now, you asked nicely, Mr. Thornton, and I appreciate that, even if it was a tad pathetic,” Brandon said. “Still, I don’t know anything. I don’t have the information you desire. Quite frankly, I grow tired and bored of your questions. I find them dull and uninteresting.” He stood and pounded on the door, summoning the guards to return him to his cell. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said. “This conversation has concluded.”
“Wait a minute! We’re nowhere near finished!” Pete shouted angrily and in frustration.
“Oh yes we are, Pete,” Brandon said, smiling. “If you truly want to help MacGyver, try doing it on your own instead of wasting your time asking me. You knew this would happen if you visited me and asked me your silly questions. Why did you come at all if that’s the outcome you expected? You could have been helping MacGyver, but instead you were in here with me. What a shame. Ah well, I hope you find what you’re looking for, because it isn’t going to come from me. Have a nice day.”
Pete stood, flabbergasted, unable to speak, watching as the guards led him away.
***
A nurse in charge of checking on MacGyver gasped when she opened the door. He was lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood, staining the white padding a deep crimson. Rushing to his side, she felt for his pulse and found it still present, but fading. A deep gash was cut into his left wrist, the crude, homemade tool he had used to slice it open by his side. Quickly, she pressed the alarm, summoning other staff on the floor to assist her.
“What happened?” Another nurse asked, entering the room and checking on the patient.
“An attempted suicide,” the nurse who found him said.
Others soon gathered in the room, working to stop the flow of blood and stabilize him. He looked near death, the color completely drained from his complexion, his body limp and motionless.
“Call Dr. Ladd immediately and notify him of the situation,” the nurse who found him said.
***
Pete was leaving the prison, going through the necessary security procedures to check out properly, still infuriated about his futile visit, learning nothing new from Brandon that would be of any use or help to MacGyver. He knew Brandon had been right. He knew from the beginning that his visit would be in vain, but a part of him had hoped for a piece of information, no matter how small and insubstantial. Instead, Brandon had wasted his time, teasing and playing with him as usual.
A squat, stout guard ran over towards him, half-waddling, his stride wide. “You have a phone call, Mr. Thornton,” he said, pointing in the direction where he could take the call.
Draping his trenchcoat over his shoulder and sighing, Pete grabbed the phone from another guard, wondering what was next.
“It’s Nikki,” she said on the other end of the line, her voice tearful.
“What happened?” Pete asked.
“Dr. Ladd just called me. It’s about MacGyver. He’s been placed under heavy guard on suicide watch.”
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
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