Phoenix Field Agent
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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 Three
Rated: R
A soft white haze enveloped MacGyver when he next awakened. Gradually, as he became more aware, he realized that he was in the padded room, a room he hoped he would never see again. Dr. Ladd had placed him in there after it appeared he was not a perceived immediate threat to either him or any of his staff, seeming only to have violent outbursts around Pete and Nikki. Still, he was enough of a danger to himself that he had been confined in the room as a precaution should he attempt to damage himself. Dr. Ladd preferred it to restraints, wanting to use them on his patient as seldom as possible.
MacGyver’s eyes wandered around the room, a puzzled, frightened expression on his face. He explored the padded walls with his hands as if by touching them he could make sense of what happened and orient himself to his new surroundings. “Where’s Nikki?” He asked. “I was just talking to her, and now…how did I end up in here?” He asked wearily.
Dr. Ladd looked at him in deep sympathy. “You don’t remember?” He asked, taking notes.
“No…remember what? What happened? Tell me.”
Dr. Ladd sighed. “There is no easy way of telling you this,” he said, “but you attacked Nikki, too. You hit her and tried to strangle her.”
MacGyver’s wide, terrified eyes looked at him. “No…no, that can’t be possible,” he said.
“I’m afraid it is. You honestly don’t remember at all?”
“No, I swear,” MacGyver said, trembling, tears forming in his eyes. “The last thing I remember was talking to her. I would never hurt her.”
“You were talking to her, and everything seemed fine when your behavior changed dramatically. You became violent and uncontrollable.”
“I don’t know how I…I don’t remember…is…is she…?”
“She’ll be all right,” Dr. Ladd said. “She’s in the local hospital recovering.”
MacGyver sobbed quietly, leaning against the padding for support, never feeling weaker in his life, his eyes closed. “Nikki,” he said. “I’m so sorry…oh God, I’m sorry…what have I done?”
“She knows you weren’t responsible for your actions,” Dr. Ladd said. “She forgives you. Unfortunately, since it now appears that you react violently to both Pete and Nikki, your visits with them are going to have to be further restricted until we learn more about what has happened to you to make you behave this way.”
MacGyver didn’t respond. He continued to sob, drawing his knees close to his chest and hugging them tightly, curling into a fetal position, shuddering in horror over what Dr. Ladd had described, appalled and disgusted with himself, never feeling more isolated and alone in his life.
“It’s going to be all right,” Dr. Ladd said, his voice calm and controlled when in reality he felt tremendous pain and grief for his patient’s suffering. He looked small and fragile in his white hospital uniform, blending in with the white padding on the walls, his stubble growing thicker and his hair longer and wilder. It almost looked as if he would disappear completely. “We’re going to figure this out, I promise, but I need you to work with me, all right? Do you understand?”
MacGyver nodded slightly. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist. This action caused the sleeve on his uniform to pull back, revealing the patient bracelet tag encircling it along with the ugly, brutal scars remaining from his torture, old ghosts returning to haunt the present.
“Good. Now, I want you to try something. This isn’t going to be easy and I want you to take your time, but the sooner we work on this and get a breakthrough the sooner you can see Pete and Nikki again, all right?”
MacGyver nodded again.
“Okay. What I want you to do is go back through everything you remember, all the events leading up to before this happened. Start with your evening routine. You said you went to bed, and that’s the last thing you remember before attacking Pete, correct?”
“Yes,” MacGyver said, his voice distant.
“All right. Tell me what happened after that. Just anything else you can remember. Try to be specific as possible…”
***
The nightmares that constantly assaulted MacGyver’s tormented sleep happened in rapid succession, brief images and flashes of memory returning to haunt him, no less traumatic than what he actually experienced. One moment, he could hear his bones snap and feel them splinter into small, jagged fragments, stabbing him internally. The next moment his body jolted and went into spasms as jumper cables were dragged across his naked, scarred, abused body, electricity flowing painfully through him, burning him. Always, he could hear his screams combine with El Diablo’s sadistic laughter. The fiend stood over him, jamming a shotgun down his throat, pulling the hammer back, prepared to fire, a cruel, teasing grin on his face. When he saw that MacGyver stared defiantly up at him, almost pleading with him to pull the trigger and end his misery, it disappointed him. He was no longer enjoying his amusement, expecting pure terror in his victim’s eyes instead of resignation. Frustrated and angry, he removed the gun from MacGyver’s mouth and smashed it hard against the side of his face, nearly breaking his jaw. He continued this savage beating for several minutes until his helpless prisoner collapsed in unconsciousness. He stood over his crumpled, battered body, triumphant, satisfied that he could at least inflict more harm, that he was still in control, still powerful and dominant over his pathetic slave, his possession for eternity…
MacGyver awoke with a start, gasping. His eyes darted frantically around his bedroom, struggling to make sense of his surroundings, profuse sweat dripping from his sodden face and matted hair that was plastered to his forehead. It took several minutes before the gruesome, brutal scenes of El Diablo’s crude torture chamber faded and were replaced with the more innocuous items of the bedroom and he realized that he was all right and in the present. He was greeted with the complete silence of his houseboat that should have calmed him after such an ordeal but instead unnerved him. Even though he knew he could never rely on them to comfort him after every nightmare, he missed Pete’s and Nikki’s soothing, reassuring words, finding their absence that evening even more unsettling than usual. Trembling, he stumbled out of bed, having to lean against it to brace himself for a moment before continuing, still recovering from shock and struggling to return completely to the present. Once he felt steady enough, he descended the stairs, heading towards his kitchen.
In the darkness, he fumbled for the refrigerator door handle and pulled out a container of juice he had made earlier that day, drinking it thirstily directly from the container, not even bothering to grab a glass from his cabinet. He continued drinking, not stopping once to take a breath, greedily gulping down the sweet liquid, barely noticing its taste. Closing his eyes tightly, he fought against the image of the boy being shot in front of him as punishment for quenching his dying, dehydrating thirst, continuing to suck down the juice as if he were reliving the moment, having nothing to drink for several days except a few meager drops of muddy water dripped down to him through the bars of his cell in The Tomb. His stomach swelled and protested just as it had when El Diablo and his men force-fed him through a tube with nearly inedible and indigestible gruel, signaling to him that he had been satisfied and that he had more than adequately slaked his thirst, but he continued drinking, almost mindlessly, until the container was nearly empty, slamming it on his counter when he was finished and gasping for breath. Trembling once again, he leaned against his counter, trying to steady his shattered, frayed nerves, closing his eyes and sighing, rubbing his tired, haggard face with his hands and still battling his unpleasant memories.
As he tried to recover, he thought he felt a breeze that seemed to be coming from his front door. He knew he had closed and locked his door before going to bed. He had made certain of it. Yet he felt a draft coming from that direction. Along with the breeze he thought he heard voices whispering, carrying through the air. Their words were vague and faint so he could barely hear or understand what they were saying, but he recognized their intonations as human.
“Kill…you’ll kill them…”
He heard what sounded like his door shutting. The voices and the breeze abruptly stopped, and he heard nothing but silence once again. Opening his eyes and turning in the direction of his front door, he inspected it carefully. Yanking on the handle, he found it locked, just as he knew it had been. There was no sign of any broken glass or forced entry of any kind. Everything appeared to be normal.
“It was just a dream,” he muttered. “I wasn’t fully awake.”
Looking at the crushed, almost empty container of juice on his counter seemed to confirm this theory to him, since he had barely been aware of drinking it, his mind in a daze. Feeling his stomach now ache with the fullness of liquid, his body fatigued, he staggered over to his sofa and collapsed, falling into another fitful sleep plagued by nightmares, hearing the voices again but not understanding their significance or presence in his mind, unable to connect them to anything.
“Kill...you’ll kill them…”
***
“This is fascinating,” Dr. Ladd said, scribbling in his notes. “This further reinforces my theory that you have been programmed. Somehow, someone has made you highly suggestible and gave you the directive to murder your friends. Now what we have to do is figure out who it was and how they managed to do it so that I can successfully de-program you.”
MacGyver appeared not to be listening, still sobbing and huddling in the corner of the padded room, staring emptily. “Nikki,” he whimpered. “Tell her…I’m sorry…”
Dr. Ladd smiled sympathetically. “She already knows,” he said.
***
Pete received a call from Dr. Ladd after his most recent session with MacGyver. Apparently, he had made progress and learned that his patient had indeed been programmed somehow, but questions still remained as to how and who the perpetrator was. Anxious to convey this new information to Nikki but also concerned about her condition, he visited her in the hospital, finding the dark impressions around her neck disturbing to look at, made more so with the knowledge that MacGyver had been the one to cause them. He found her sleeping peacefully when he entered and settled into a chair by her bedside, waiting for her to awaken. Seeming to be aware of his presence she did moments later, staring up at him in a manner reminiscent of MacGyver whenever he was hurt and in the hospital, her eyes glazed and filled with pain.
“Pete,” she croaked. “How long have you been here?”
“I just got here,” he said. “God Nikki, I’m so sorry this happened. To think that someone turned MacGyver against us, made him into a murderer…”
“How is he?”
Pete sighed. “Dr. Ladd just spoke with me,” he said. “He tells me that MacGyver is terribly distraught. Naturally, like the last time when he attacked me, he doesn’t remember doing it.”
“I knew he wouldn’t,” she said. “This just has to be awful for him. Trying to kill those close to him without having any knowledge or awareness of doing it? I just can’t imagine. We have to help him somehow. We have to get him well and out of that dreadful place where he doesn’t belong. Has Dr. Ladd told you anything else that could be of use?”
“Well yes, actually,” Pete said. “Remember how MacGyver said the last thing he remembers with clarity is going to bed the night before he attacked me? Well, Dr. Ladd had him relive that night, recounting as many details as possible. He tells me that MacGyver heard what he thought were voices murmuring.”
Nikki felt the tender bruises stretched across her neck throb painfully. When she heard what Pete said she wondered briefly if MacGyver had not been programmed but was instead schizophrenic, crazy after all, suffering from and acting out on delusions and hallucinations. She considered it as a possibility, but she did not think it likely, not after everything else he had already been through that could be connected to some outside influence acting to destroy him. She still vividly remembered the suddenness with how twisted and distorted his usually pleasant, attractive features became in anger as he clamped his hands down on her throat, snarling and looking like an inhuman, vicious brute—a monster. The image haunted her in her sleep.
“What did these voices say?” She asked.
“They said ‘kill,’” Pete said, staring at her gravely. “They were faint and indistinct, but somehow MacGyver heard them and couldn’t make sense of where they came from, thinking they were a part of his nightmares. He told Dr. Ladd that he was not fully awake or aware when he heard them, after all.”
“What does Dr. Ladd think?”
“He still maintains that he’s been programmed, that the word was implanted in his mind through some kind of hypnosis when he was in a highly receptive, pliable state, such as that period between sleep and waking. Now we just have to find out how, and who did it to him so that we can remove the suggestion from his mind, which won’t be easy.”
“Then I guess we start with Brandon,” Nikki said.
“I’ll visit him. You still need rest,” Pete said.
Nikki nodded and closed her eyes. Pete looked closely and thought he saw traces of wetness seeping from beneath her eyelids.
“I wish I could see MacGyver,” she said. “I wish I could tell him that I know this wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t mean to do this to me, that I understand and want to help him. I care for him, Pete.”
“I know you do,” Pete said. “So do I.”
She opened her eyes and smiled faintly. Pete noticed that they were indeed moist and red, and that she had been suppressing tears. “Maybe we can communicate with him through correspondence of some kind until he gets better, you know? Like letters, personal messages…I’m sure he would appreciate that. It would be much better than keeping him in complete isolation from us. At least he would know that we still care for him, that we haven’t abandoned him.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Pete said. “I’d like to do that for him. I’ll run it by Dr. Ladd the next time I talk to him. I think he would agree that contact of any kind with MacGyver would be better than none at all. He still needs our support.”
Any trace of a smile that had been present on Nikki’s pale face now vanished, her mood once again turning serious and reflective. “Do you know that MacGyver once told me his greatest fear when he was being tortured was not the pain, the trauma, or that he might die—it was the fear that no one would ever find him, that everyone he knew had given him up for dead,” she said sadly, tears threatening again.
“I never knew that,” Pete said. “It was never even in the official released report of his captivity.”
“When he was suffering from severe starvation, dehydration, and infection, lying chained, broken, and brutalized in that God-awful pit, blindfolded and gagged, he would see hallucinations of either you or I leaving him, turning our backs on him, ignoring his plight. He would try to call out to us and plead with us to stay and help him, but he couldn’t speak because of the gag over his mouth.”
Pete remembered MacGyver’s pitiful whimpers when he first awoke in the hospital…Pete, don’t leave me, no…I n-need you…don’t go…
“I’m sure he told Dr. Ladd, and I was surprised he was willing to open up and tell me. After all, I would think he would want to keep the most private moments of his suffering confidential,” Nikki said. “I think he was ashamed. He didn’t want to appear weak or dependent on either of us or have us think that he blamed us for what happened, because he doesn’t, you know.”
“He must care for you a great deal to have told you that,” Pete said. “I’ve known the man for years and I consider myself his best friend, and he never told me that, at least not in so many words.”
“He loves me, Pete,” Nikki said, deciding not to hide it any longer.
“I know he does,” Pete said.
Nikki looked at him in surprise. “How did you know that?” She asked.
Pete smiled. “I’ve been around both of you long enough to see the signs,” he said.
Nikki closed her eyes again, using her eyelids as a solid barrier to prevent her tears from spilling over onto her cheeks. “I love him, and that’s why I worry about him. After what he’s done to me…he has to know I still care…”
“He will,” Pete said. “We’ll get the message to him. In the meantime, I want you to rest. I’ll meet with Brandon tomorrow and tell you what happens.”
“Probably nothing,” Nikki said, opening her eyes again once they had been sufficiently dried. “I’ve been to the prison to see him many times, and all I get in response to my questions is an arrogant smirk.”
“Still, we have to try,” Pete said. “As you told me once, he’s our only link to this secret organization. He might be our only chance at helping to de-program MacGyver.”
“You think they’re involved, don’t you?”
“So do you,” Pete said. “It’s only logical. No chemical traces in his body, mysterious circumstances—it all fits with their M.O. I’m going there tomorrow. I’ll try to obtain any information I can out of him, no matter how minor. It could make a difference.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt,” Nikki said. “Anything could help at this point. Anything to keep Mac from feeling so alone. I don’t ever want him to feel that way again.”
Pete stared at her, his eyes sincere and earnest. “Neither do I,” he said.
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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