Forging the Nightmare: A Jarrod Hawkins Technothriller

by J. J. Carlson

“I’ve thought about that,” Emily said. “And I think his therapy needs to happen somewhere private, but also somewhere we would normally go. It can’t be the same place each time, either, or someone might catch on.”

  “I think Jarrod will know what to do,” San said. “We should just act like everything is normal for now, and I’m sure he’ll contact one of us. If he reaches out to me, I’ll tell you where to meet. We could use a codeword. I could tell you to ‘bring your notebook’ to the meeting, and you could do the same for me if he contacts you first.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Emily said. “Although it will probably start to look suspicious if we keep leaving work at the same time.”

  “Especially to my wife,” San said with a laugh. “But don’t worry about Hillcrest catching on. I’m resigning my position.”

  Emily’s mouth dropped. “Resigning? But, you can’t. I need your help. Project Lateralis just got green lit.”

  “I’m done,” San said. “No more compromise for me. No more blind steps down the road that leads to destruction. I’ve got plenty of prospects on the outside, and I won’t judge you for staying, but I can’t do it anymore.”

  Emily’s reached out and took San’s hand. “I understand. I’m just going to miss having you around.”

  San shrugged. “I think we’ll be seeing a lot of each other through our mutual friend. Keep your chin up. Maybe you can try to make things better from the inside.”

  San notified Wagner of his resignation the same morning. Considering recent events, few questions were asked. From Wagner’s perspective, San probably felt responsible for the loss of Jarrod’s life, or somehow knew that Jarrod was still alive and was leaving out of fear. He filed San’s paperwork without digging too deep.

  San had several weeks of vacation to use up before his employment would be officially terminated, but he still cleaned out his office so his assistant could move in and take his place. There was no fanfare, no going away party. When he was all packed, he put his things in the break room and the other employees took turns saying goodbye to him there.

  Emily spent most the day in the mental conditioning room, which she needed to adapt for use with Project Lateralis. Then she visited Sub-Level Six and tried get acquainted with the engineers she would be working with. It was a frustrating endeavor. Because of her restricted security privileges and the compartmentalized nature of the project, no one seemed to know exactly what they could share. Everyone viewed her suspiciously, and spoke to her in vague terms.

  “Fine!” Emily snapped at a man in blue scrubs. “Why don’t you just leave a list of things that I can do on my desk.” She stomped away from him, a green light on the floor preceding her every step.

  She took the elevator to the above-ground portion of the facility and headed toward the breakroom for some strong coffee. San was sitting at one of the tables, leafing through a magazine. Emily grabbed a cup of black coffee with a double shot of espresso and slumped into the chair across from him.

  “Rough day?” he asked.

  “Just tedious. There is nothing I like better than a challenging project, but it drives me crazy when rules and protocols slow everything down.”

  “You could always quit,” San said with a wink.

  Emily shook her head. “I’ve been pushing this project for years, and now that it’s finally moving from concept to reality, I’m barely involved. I have to see this through, if only to make sure Wagner doesn’t botch it up like he did the last one.”

  San nodded and gave a sympathetic smile. “I hope they loosen up the reigns for you. It would be to their benefit, you do good work when you have some elbow room.”

  “I hope so, too.” Emily sipped her coffee. “What about you? Is your resignation all taken care of?”

  “I’ve done everything I need to do on my end, and the rest will be finalized while I’m on vacation.”

  Emily grinned. “I’m jealous. I don’t remember the last time I took a day off.”

  San dropped the magazine on the table and stretched his arms above his head. “I’m looking forward to it; I might even sleep in for once. Are you ready to go? There’s no hurry, but I am your ride.”

  Emily put a hand on her forehead. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.” She looked down at her watch and thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’m going to get anything else done today. Let’s get out of here.”

  The drive away from Hillcrest was much more lighthearted than the drive in. After pulling into her driveway, San walked Emily to the door. It may have looked like friendly chivalry to an unknowing observer, but he secretly hoped to find Jarrod inside. There were no traces of an uninvited guest, so Emily bade him goodbye. San marched back to his car and climbed in. He took a moment to survey the neighborhood before putting the sedan in gear and, as he backed out onto the street, he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was being watched.

  27

  Santiago’s wife, Anita, took the news of his impromptu resignation surprisingly well. She had secretly hoped for this day to come. San had hidden his guilt about the things he did at Hillcrest from himself, but not from his wife of nearly eighteen years. She could see it grinding him down day after day, and she often advised him to look for work elsewhere.

  Over the next few days, San made inquiries for new employment. His unclassified work in prosthetics was well known in the medical field, and he soon had six different interviews scheduled for the following weeks. In the meantime, he spent a lot of time reading, drinking coffee, and having long conversations with Anita.

  He hadn’t forgotten about Jarrod, but the nagging feeling of being watched gradually faded. The time he was spending at home took a toll on the refrigerator’s food supply, so he grabbed a jacket, kissed his wife, and left for the grocery store.

  It was harder than he expected to find the items on his list. Hillcrest often required him to work long hours, so Anita normally did all the shopping. He wasn’t well acquainted with the layout of the supermarket, so he considered the six laps he took around the store to be practice for future visits.

  As San unloaded the shopping cart into the back seat of his car, he heard a gruff voice calling out to him. A portly, bearded man in a ragged flannel shirt rolled toward him in rickety wheelchair. The man wore a baseball cap and aviator-style sunglasses and had a frayed blanket draped over his legs. San unloaded the last bag of groceries, pushed his cart over to the cart return, and met the wheelchair-bound man behind his car.

  “Could I have a moment of your time?” the man asked.

  “Sure thing,” San replied. “What can I help you with?” He was already digging his hand into his pocket to retrieve his wallet.

  “I was wondering if you have a phone I could borrow,” the pitiable man said. “My daughter is supposed to meet me here, and I don’t have one of my own. She’s late, and I want to make sure everything is okay.”

  “Of course,” San said, smiling. He pulled a cell phone out of his back pocket and handed it to the man. To his surprise, the elderly man produced a waterproof container from under the blanket and opened it. It was filled with blocks of foam insulation, which he wedged the phone between and closed the lid.

  “Help me into the car,” the man whispered. “Then put this into the trunk with the wheelchair.”

  San stood awestruck for a moment. When he came to his senses, he mouthed the word “Jarrod?” and the man nodded. Glancing around the parking lot, San pushed the wheelchair around the car and helped Jarrod into the passenger seat. He fumbled with the chair as he loaded it and the plastic container into his trunk. Hurrying to the driver’s side door, he climbed inside the sedan.

  “Try not to look so worried,” Jarrod told him. “It’s perfectly natural for you to give a ride to someone in a wheelchair.”

  “I’m sorry,” San said, finally noticing the grayish skin between the sunglasses and the beard. “I honestly had no idea it was you.”

  “That was the idea. Drop me off at Druid Hill P
ark.”

  “Sure thing.” San put the transmission into reverse and backed out. He tried to act naturally, but couldn’t keep from staring nervously at every pedestrian that passed by.

  “You can relax,” Jarrod assured him. “We are not being followed. No one is watching us.”

  San glanced over at Jarrod and took a deep breath. “You’re the expert. If you aren’t worried, I guess I shouldn’t be.”

  After pulling out of the parking lot into the steady morning traffic, San said, “So…what have you been up to?”

  “Surveillance.”

  “What kind of surveillance? I mean, who were you, uh, surveilling?”

  “You, Emily Roberts, Dean Wagner, and Daron Keeler.”

  San shifted uncomfortably at the idea of being watched. “And how is Daron doing?”

  “He has broken phalanges in his right index finger, is sleep deprived, and exhibits high levels of stress, but is otherwise physically healthy.”

  San raised an eyebrow. “Right. Glad to hear he’s okay. What else have you been up to, other than surveillance and procuring a disguise? Have you been getting enough to eat?”

  “The caloric demands of surveillance are low. I have not needed to eat.”

  “Sure,” San said, shaking his head. “Food is for suckers. I have some water in the back if you’re thirsty.”

  Jarrod looked into the back seat, then grabbed several water-bottles out of a bag. He twisted off the lids and drank each of them in quick succession. San watched the road, pretending it was normal to drink a gallon of water at one time.

  When Jarrod had finished, San asked. “Do you remember what your life was like before Hillcrest?”

  “I remember certain things about myself, especially skills that I acquired both as a child and an adult,” Jarrod answered. “But actively trying to remember events from my past has unwanted side-effects.”

  “What kind of side-effects?” San asked.

  “Partial loss of situational awareness, hallucinations, elevated heart rate, and confusion.”

  San shot Jarrod a sideways glance. “Wow. That’s terrible. So, what do you see when you hallucinate?”

  There was a long silence, so San decided to change the subject. “What made you decide to spy on me and the others?”

  Jarrod snapped his head up as if he was coming out of a trance. He glanced around with the sharp movements of a frightened bird, then settled into a relaxed demeanor more fitting to his disguise. He answered San’s question with the monotone voice of a train conductor announcing the next stop. “I conducted the surveillance to assess the risk posed by individuals that are aware I am still alive.”

  “Sure, I can buy that,” San said. “And what made you decide to meet me in the parking lot?”

  “To pass along procedures for future meetings.” Jarrod took a deep breath, and gave his instructions without pausing to take another. “I will leave you written messages that contain the appropriate times and locations. I will leave the same messages with Doctor Roberts, so there will be no need for you and her to contact each other. After meeting in the first location, we will proceed to a secondary location for treatment to take place. If all parties are not present, or if I perceive any threat, I will not make contact.”

  San nodded. “Sounds smart, and I’m glad you’re handling the communication. Where should we expect to find these written messages?”

  “They will be easy to find,” Jarrod answered.

  “Alright…” San said. “Is there anything else we need to do?”

  “Leave your cell phones and any other devices with wireless connectivity in your vehicles. Do not bring them to the meeting.”

  “That’s easy enough. What else?”

  “That’s all. Meetings will take place at random intervals, no shorter than two days apart, no longer than one week.”

  San was surprised at how frequently Jarrod was willing to meet. “Good,” he said. “I think it’s better for you to get this treatment done quickly. What do you plan to do in between sessions?”

  “Whatever I need to do.”

  Jarrod’s stiff responses made San uneasy. He needed more time with his bio-mechanical friend, and they were only a few minutes away from the park. Putting on his turn signal, San opted for a more circuitous route to their destination.

  “Jarrod, I want to talk to you about something. At Hillcrest, they did their best to change you. They used technology to alter the way your brain works because they wanted to make you less like a person and more like a weapon. But nothing they did changed who you really are. You have value that has nothing to do with the way your body looks or the way your brain functions.”

  Jarrod fell back into silence and stared at the dashboard in front of him. Fishing into his pocket, San pulled out a strand of beads connected to a small wooden cross. He handed the rosary to Jarrod, who took it without looking.

  “You are more than just flesh and bones and metal and cold logic,” San said. “You have a soul, just like me. Just like Melody and Joshua.”

  Jarrod set the rosary down, and his head started to bob slowly from side to side.

  “Emily gave me her notes on you. I know that you believe what I’m saying. Before Hillcrest, you could have killed yourself and ended the pain, but you didn’t. Deep down, you knew there is purpose to life, and the world is made of more than what we can see. That is why you need to go on living. You have to let your emotions and your sense of morality back in. It’s not enough to just survive and wait for death. You don’t have to be the weapon they designed you to be. You can be more than that. You can still have a meaningful life.”

  “Survival…” Jarrod said, his head still bobbing, “is of primary importance.”

  “And what about Justice?” San demanded. “What about love? Would you take the life of an innocent person in order to ensure your own survival? Will your logic and your instinct save you from the guilt?”

  “Guilt…”

  “Decisions lead to actions,” San continued, “and actions have consequences. If every decision you make is purely selfish, you are eventually going to hurt someone that doesn’t deserve it. You used to be able to tell right from wrong, and they tried to take that from you. I helped them take it from you.” San bit his lip. “Don’t you see? If you do something wrong, it’s partially my fault. If you decide to kill someone without any thought of good and evil, I will share the blame.”

  Jarrod’s head suddenly froze. The black armor began to creep up from under his collar, then withdrew. “Let me out,” he said.

  San pulled the car over, and Jarrod jumped out. Without a word, without retrieving the wheelchair, he sprinted away and vanished behind a building.

  Hot tears filled San’s eyes, and he banged a fist against the steering wheel.

  28

  San felt miserable about the way he and Jarrod had parted. He worried he might have done more harm than good, giving advice to Jarrod while his mental state was so fragile. The following day, he asked Emily to meet him for lunch.

  They met at a small sandwich shop, and San grabbed a corner booth. He made sure to leave his phone in the car, and Emily did the same.

  “Is everything alright?” Emily asked as she bit into a tuna sandwich.

  San leaned forward and spoke into a low voice. “I met with our friend yesterday.”

  Emily set her sandwich down and glanced around before speaking. “Where? How?”

  “He met me while I was grocery shopping. He was in disguise, and I gave him a ride in my car.”

  “That’s fantastic! Did he say anything about coming in for treatment?”

  San nodded. “He said he would let us know where to meet with written notes. He said he would leave one for each of us so we wouldn’t need to contact each other, and that we shouldn’t bring our phones or any other wireless devices to the meeting.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. I’ll have to move some of my therapy programs from my computer to an old laptop. What else
did he say?”

  “I—he said he was watching us.”

  Emily nodded. “I thought he would. No one else really knows who he is or what he is, so if there is any real threat to him, it’s probably one of us.”

  Emily noticed San looked worried, so she leaned forward and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Well…” San said, wringing his hands together. “I tried to give him a pep talk. He seemed so distant, so…robotic. I was worried he might hurt someone if they caught him at the wrong moment and he felt threatened. I tried to encourage him to listen to his heart, not just his head. Then he seemed to get agitated. He told me to pull over and he just ran off.”

  Emily stroked her chin for a moment. “You said he looked agitated?”

  “Well he was kind of staring off into space, then rocking his head from side to side. Then he wanted to leave all of a sudden, like he felt trapped.”

  Emily patted the back of San’s hand. “You don’t have to feel guilty about that. It’s actually really good news. Jarr—our friend’s emotion center has been damaged. Any indication that he can still feel is a good sign.”

  “I just hope I didn’t scare him off.”

  Emily shook her head. “If he wants to get better, it has to be his own decision. We can’t force him come in for treatment. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  Emily grabbed a napkin and wrapped her sandwich in it. “I’m going to go home while I’m still on lunch break. I want to make sure the laptop is ready when he contacts us.”

  “Oh, okay,” San said. “Good luck.”

  Emily smiled and rushed out the door. San was left to finish his sandwich alone, feeling anxious about the upcoming therapy with a living weapon.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Jarrod made contact. The following morning, San got up, used the restroom, and went to brew a pot of coffee. In his early-morning grogginess, he didn’t immediately notice a slip of paper inside the glass carafe. He held it under the sink, and it was half-filled with water when he finally saw the note.