Phoenix Field Agent
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Joined: 11 Jan 2006
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Country: USA
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Season: season 3
Episode:Passages
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Black leather
House: House boat
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Wandering Blind Part Five
Rated: R
“Is this where you want to go?” An elderly driver asked after MacGyver handed him the directions he had written down to the houseboat.
MacGyver nodded, still not speaking.
The man studied the note. “Well, that’s pretty far from here, but I suppose I can accommodate you and take you there. Get in. Oh, mind my cane, though,” he said, moving a cane out of the front seat. “I have a gimpy leg.” He smiled apologetically. It was a warm, genuine smile, and MacGyver knew he could trust him.
Smiling to show his appreciation, he got inside the sedan. The driver began to pull away, and soon they were heading down the lonely, isolated stretch of highway back towards the civilization MacGyver had fled many days earlier, in search of something he couldn’t define, something he’d lost. As the pines blurred past him in the windows, he began to wonder if he was doing the right thing, already missing the security and friendship D.B. provided. When he reached his destination, he wondered what he’d find. He still wasn’t sure why it felt so imperative that he return to it. Once he got there, he didn’t know what he’d do, still uncertain about his past and his identity. It seemed easier to begin a new life at D.B.’s cabin than it did to return to the ghosts of his old life and try to reconstruct it. Somehow he knew he was hiding from something, but what it was he did not know. He wondered if it had something to do with the man who tried to kill him, and he thought back once again to the night when he shot him without thought, without acting on reason. That man was still out there somewhere, seriously wounded but no doubt still alive. Would he return? Again, MacGyver didn’t know. He felt he was wandering again, without clear intent or purpose, running from something in desperation and fear, unable to find a permanent, safe refuge, belonging nowhere in an aimless, rootless existence, everywhere feeling unsafe and unwelcome to him, feeling unwanted and unneeded, nameless. His unease and distress increased when he realized that the driver was occasionally glancing at him, making him nervous.
“You’re not much for conversation, are you?” He asked.
MacGyver shook his head and stared straight ahead, feeling uncomfortable but unsure why.
“Well, that’s okay, I guess,” the driver said. “There’s nothing more annoying or irksome to me than some jabberbox who doesn’t know when to keep his trap shut, you know what I mean? It can make for a pretty unpleasant ride, let me tell you. I’ve picked up many hitchhikers in my day, and I have to say I always prefer the quiet types to the ones who talk nonstop. I guess it just helps me concentrate on my driving.”
MacGyver looked at him and saw the same friendly smile and easy manner in the older man, but something about his eyes seemed familiar, even slightly disturbing beneath the folds of wrinkles that creased around them. He couldn’t explain why, as he had never seen the man before. Nothing else about the man’s appearance suggested anything menacing or threatening—on the contrary, he seemed rather harmless, vulnerable, and even frail with his handicap, the tone and inflection of his voice sounding pleasant, cheery, lilting, and innocent, the image of the perfect grandfatherly figure. Still, the eyes had a chilling, piercing effect to them, as if they were concealing something from him, deceiving him, luring him into a trap. For awhile he observed the man as closely as he could without being detected, waiting for any sudden change in behavior that would signal danger. When it didn’t come, he slowly began to relax, deciding that it was merely his paranoia, left over from all the torment he had experienced and had to suffer at the hands of the madman who had tried to murder him.
The old man began to whistle, and even though it sounded pleasant enough, something about it sounded empty and flat, almost tuneless. “Do you mind if I turn on the radio, son?” He asked. “I don’t mind if you don’t want to talk, but I have to admit this total silence thing is starting to get on my nerves a little.”
MacGyver shook his head, indicating that he didn’t mind. Looking out the window, he saw that the population was beginning to increase and the trees were beginning to thin. Soon, he would be back at the houseboat. From there, he didn’t know what would happen next or if he could ever regain his lost identity. He heard the car’s stereo crackle to life, radio stations fading and blending into one another, ghostly, faint voices speaking in the background of music.
“I can’t seem to get much out this way,” the man said, sighing. “And here I was going to listen to the game. Oh, well. I guess I’ll find something soon. You like baseball at all?”
MacGyver was unsure if he did. At that point, his identity still in question, he didn’t know what he liked or disliked.
“I had a wager on today’s exhibition game with some of the old boys at the retirement center,” the man said, smiling. “I guess I won’t know who won until tomorrow when I lose all my money, right?” He chuckled.
Beginning to feel more at ease and growing tired, MacGyver began to nod off to sleep, slumping in his seat, the scenery outside a blur as it rushed past him. He began to feel assured that he would reach the houseboat soon, and that he would be able to learn who he was. Soon, he was lost in a deep, dreamless sleep, unable to be roused even when the sedan pulled up to the marina and stopped. The old man grinned, transforming his benign, kindly features into a vicious leer, almost a snarl.
“Welcome home, MacGyver,” he said, his British accent once again noticeable, the American one a façade along with his disguise.
Reaching over MacGyver’s sleeping form, he quietly opened the door and carefully unfastened his seatbelt. He had parked the car near the edge of the water, and he worked quickly to push MacGyver’s limp, sleeping body into the bay, the darkness of night concealing his actions. He watched as MacGyver hit the water face down with a slight splash, smiling in satisfaction as the body began to drift out into the open ocean.
“Sleep tight,” he said.
***
The Present…
“This is where your jeep was found, abandoned,” Sheriff Roger Hemmings said as he, Pete, and MacGyver walked around the dense woods, searching for more clues to his strange disappearance weeks earlier. “Does any of this look familiar to you?”
“No,” MacGyver said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before.”
Roger looked at Pete. “That explains what Doc Harris said about his fugue condition,” he said. “It looks like he really did just wander off, without a clear purpose in mind.”
“But why? Why here?” MacGyver asked.
Pete shrugged. “I don’t know, but I will tell you that my cabin is on the other side of these mountains,” he said. “Maybe a part of your subconscious mind was aware of that and was trying to find it somehow.”
They continued walking until they came upon a cabin surrounded by trees.
“There,” Pete said, pointing at it. “Maybe someone lives there and saw something and can shed some light on what happened to Mac all that time.”
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “The place looks uninhabited if you ask me.”
They heard a click behind them. Turning slowly, knowing and dreading the source of the sound, they saw a rather large, scraggly man pointing a rifle at them.
“You’re trespassing on private property,” he said. “You’d better have a damn good explanation for why you’re on my land.”
“We do,” Roger said, showing his badge. “Actually, we have a few questions to ask you.”
The man with the rifle looked at the badge with a combination of disgust and suspicion. “So, what’s this about?” He asked. “What do you want to know? I’m a law-abiding man. I’ve done my time. So if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop harassing me and go back to where you came from.”
MacGyver had been a few steps behind them, going more slowly, examining every acre of the woods carefully for anything that would help him recover the missing pieces of his life and finding nothing, only land he felt with conviction he had never traversed before. When the man with the rifle saw him appear, his glower quickly faded and turned into a broad grin.
“Handy?” He asked. “Handy, is that you?”
MacGyver stared at him, confused, knowing the rough, wild-looking man was addressing him, but he had never seen him before and didn’t recognize the name he was calling him.
“Oh my God! Handy! You’re back! It sure is good to see you! I thought you were gone for good!” Laughing and lowering his rifle, D.B. ran towards MacGyver and gave him a tight bear hug, squeezing his ribs painfully and nearly lifting him off the ground. “Thank God you’re all right!”
MacGyver looked imploringly at Pete and Roger, pleading to have them help him and get this strange man to release him, squirming helplessly under the man’s tight embrace.
“What are you doing? You know him?” Pete asked.
“Of course I do,” D.B. said, releasing MacGyver without any interference necessary from the other two men. “I took care of him for awhile and got to know him. We became good friends.”
“What do you mean, ‘took care of him?’” Roger asked.
“Well, it’s a long story,” D.B. said. He looked at MacGyver and noticed how confused and even somewhat frightened he looked, staring at him warily. “What’s the matter, Handy?” He asked. “Don’t you recognize me at all? Don’t you remember me?”
MacGyver shook his head and looked at Pete and Roger, uncertain.
“Why do you keep calling him ‘Handy?’” Pete asked.
D.B. grinned sheepishly. “That’s my nickname for him,” he said. “He fixed a few things around my cabin.”
“His real name is MacGyver,” Roger said.
“MacGyver…yeah, that was what the man who tried to kill him called him.”
“Tried to kill him?” Pete asked, looking alarmed, exchanging glances with Roger.
D.B. looked around the woods as if expecting a sudden, surprise attack, afraid someone might overhear their conversation, even in the isolation of the woods.
“Normally, I don’t like cops—no offense there, Sheriff,” he said. “I just don’t trust them, is all. I don’t really trust anybody if you want to know the truth. But since you’re here with Handy and you want to know the answers to your questions, I’ll cooperate. Come on, let’s go inside my cabin. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
***
D.B. recounted the events surrounding the missing three weeks of MacGyver’s life, from finding him hanging by the neck from a tree and saving his life to fending off another attack by Murdoc, even showing them the note MacGyver had left him, the handwriting unmistakably his. The three men sat spellbound and speechless as he told the story, unsure how to react. MacGyver was the most affected, not remembering any of the details, feeling as if he had just awakened from a dream he couldn’t remember.
“Well, that fits with the doc’s diagnosis of him having a fugue,” Roger said.
“What’s a fugue?” D.B. asked.
“That’s what MacGyver was suffering from when you found him,” Pete said. “In a fugue state, a person will wander from home and have confusion about their identity, sometimes assuming a new one.”
“You mean like amnesia?”
“Yes and no. It’s more selective and usually brief, lasting about a span of a few days.”
D.B. glanced at MacGyver, who was staring blankly, a haunted look in his dark eyes. “So…what you’re telling me is that he doesn’t remember me at all?” He asked.
“No, he doesn’t,” Roger said. “Nor will he ever remember what transpired during those three missing weeks of his life. At least you could provide us with the details, and we appreciate it. It helps answer a lot of our questions about his whereabouts during that time.”
“I…I don’t know what to say,” D.B. said, looking at MacGyver again, directly into his soulful, emotive eyes. “I mean, we knew each other. We became friends…now, he doesn’t remember me?”
“I’m sorry, D.B.,” MacGyver said sadly. “I wish I did, but I just don’t. I can’t.”
Despite the confusion and sadness he felt, D.B. smiled at him. “So you can talk, after all,” he said.
“Yes I can,” MacGyver said, smiling slightly in return. “Sometimes, anyway.”
“Well, I’m glad you got your life back,” he said. “I just wish it still involved me. I was really starting to like you, Handy.”
“Just because I don’t remember you doesn’t mean we can’t start over and still be friends,” MacGyver said. “I’d like to know you, especially after all you’ve done for me. I could never thank you enough for saving my life.”
“So I guess you were right in your note,” he said. “You really can’t forget a friend, even after what happened to you that made you forget everything else.”
MacGyver smiled at him. “No, I can’t,” he said.
“The question still remains what should be done about Murdoc,” Roger said.
“Who is Murdoc?” D.B. asked.
“He is the man who tried to kill MacGyver,” Roger said. “He’s a professional killer. MacGyver may have succeeded in wounding him, but he is still alive and still a threat.”
“But why is he after MacGyver?”
“It’s complicated,” Pete said. “It has to do with what he does for a living.”
“I knew it,” D.B. said, looking at MacGyver. “I knew it watching you that you were something special with all those skills. So…what? What did you do to get this guy so riled up?”
“It’s more like what I didn’t do,” MacGyver said, his eyes burning with intensity that D.B. remembered well. “I didn’t die.”
“It seems that this Murdoc has been trying to kill him for years out of revenge. Isn’t that right, Pete?” Roger asked.
Pete nodded. “He could never accept that MacGyver is too clever for him and can escape his deathtraps,” he said. “It frustrates and angers him and makes him persistent in his efforts. He refuses to fail. His ultimate goal is the death of MacGyver, and he will stop at nothing to obtain it, employing a new strategy each time, hoping it will at last prove successful.”
“It really makes you wonder about people like that,” D.B. said. “What does he think will happen if God forbid he ever wins? What will he do then? Most of his life sounds like it has been focused on achieving this one goal, fueled entirely on rage, determination, and a sick, twisted desire for revenge. What would be left for him if he succeeded? Sounds like a rather pathetic, empty life if you ask me.”
“Yes well, don’t think for a moment that would stop him,” Roger said. “Pete here suspects that he might have made another attempt on MacGyver’s life shortly before we found him.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Coast Guard found him floating face down in the water near the marina where he has his houseboat,” Pete said. “At first, we thought that maybe he accidentally stumbled into the water after another fugue-like, wandering state, but now after what you’ve told us about Murdoc trying to hang him, we suspect that he might be involved in the attempted drowning, as well. He’s learning the value of patience, learning not to prey upon MacGyver until he is at his most vulnerable, when he cannot escape using his clever stratagems, and I’m afraid that eventually he will succeed in his plans.” He looked gravely at MacGyver.
“Sounds like he could use some protection until you catch this loony toon,” D.B. said. “I can volunteer if you want.”
“We appreciate that, but we have our own security teams and systems in place,” Roger said.
“No,” MacGyver said, looking at them, his eyes still ablaze.
“MacGyver, what do you mean, ‘no?’” Pete asked.
“I mean ‘no,’ Pete,” MacGyver said, his tone forceful. “I refuse to be placed in protective custody. I can take care of myself.”
“Are you sure about that? You had nightmares about this man that were so terrifying and powerful that you ended up in a forgetful, fugue-like state that placed you directly in his hands,” Roger said. “You were absolutely powerless and defenseless against him, and he would have killed you had D.B. not found you and rescued you.”
“I know, but I’m fine now, I’m back and I’m once again in full possession of my faculties,” MacGyver said, almost defiantly. “I can handle him if—when—he returns. After all, I have before.”
“I know, but this time it’s different,” Pete said. “He’s playing on your weaknesses. Who knows what he’ll try next? He’s completely unpredictable. He might try to drug you in your sleep or something. I’m just concerned, Mac. You know me.”
“I know, and I appreciate it, but I really think I need to confront Murdoc on my own.”
“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” D.B. said. “I saw what that butcher did to you first hand. He was merciless. What makes you think you can get to him first and stop him?”
“Because I have before.”
D.B. remembered how he shot Murdoc without hesitation or flinching in self-defense. “Yeah, I suppose you have,” he said. “Still, it doesn’t seem right, not allowing us to help you stop this guy.”
“He’s stubborn,” Pete said. MacGyver glared at him. “Well, you are.”
“The point is, what are we supposed to do? There is a wanted killer out there. Do you expect us to just stand back and not hunt him down?” Roger asked.
“No, I’m not saying that,” MacGyver said. “Of course I want you to bring him to justice. I just don’t think having a bunch of guys camped in vans outside my house is going to keep me safe, either. It will attract too much attention and arouse too much suspicion. I want him to think I’m weak and vulnerable. I want to lure him into a false sense of victory the next time he shows up, make him believe that he will win handily. That’s how I’ll stop him, by using my perceived weaknesses against him. He’ll never suspect it.”
“You really are a bright guy,” D.B. said. “Do you think it will work?”
“There’s no guarantee anything will work against Murdoc,” Pete said, looking sternly at MacGyver. “He keeps coming back, even after we think he’s dead.”
“I know that, Pete, but I have to at least try,” MacGyver said. “He’s going to come back looking for me now that he realizes his last plot to kill me failed. When he does, I’ll be waiting for him. I’ll have every advantage I need this time. I know who I am, I know where I am. He’ll be the stranger this time, a guest in my home. I know how to use what I have while he doesn’t know what I have available at my disposal. It will work.”
“I sure hope so,” D.B. said. “Still, just in case, you might need me as backup.”
“You might need all of our resources to bring this guy down,” Roger said. “We’re prepared to provide them should we need to. He can’t elude justice much longer.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, all of you,” MacGyver said, looking at D.B., wishing he really knew this man he had met but couldn’t remember. “But I’m confident that I can handle him this time.”
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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or else I would be agonizing without access to the internet 
