“Love?”
“That’s the word. I don’t . . .” Dean graveled out then spoke rapid. “I love Misha.” He cringed. “See? See? And Hal he’s not . . . Hal’s not . . . Hal’s not a nice guy. I hate him. Wait, I can do this.” Dean tried. “Josephine is a wrinkly, drunken . . .” He exhaled. “Sweetie pie.” Dean slammed his hand on the table. “Fuck.”
“Dean. Calm down.”
“I can’t Frank, I can’t control my thoughts or what I say. It’s like I have no control.”
“This should prove even more that it’s not a mental break down, but the chip.”
“It’s ridiculous. They would have to get to the chip.”
“I thought of that too. How, Dean? How would they zap the chip other than shocking you?”
“Through my ear.”
“And . . . how would they do that?”
“My headset.”
“Or?”
Dean saw the smile on Frank’s face.
“Say it. I know you’re thinking it.”
“The phone.”
“Exactly.” Frank nodded. “So going on that angle I decided to go to communications. Figuring it happened while I was gone, I pulled up every phone call made to your personal cell phone because no one calls that line.”
“Oh my God, you’re brilliant.”
“I am.”
“And? Did you come up with anything?”
“Oh, yeah.” Frank bit his bottom lip. “Two calls, both on the same day, a short span of time apart came to your phone. They were both from the same number and both from a phone that normally wouldn’t call you.”
Dean grinned. “Who?”
“Ready.”
“Yep.”
“Unique Boutique.”
Dean shrieked, “Ben and Todd from Fabrics!”
“Makes perfect sense. To do something like this, you got to have a motive. They have a motive.”
“They hate me.”
“Exactly,” Frank spoke like a detective, “Think about it. What did they do for a living before the plague?’
Excitedly Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. What?”
“I don’t know.” Frank shrugged. “I thought you did. Anyhow . . . even if they didn’t have the knowledge to pull it off, they could find someone to help. They suck, Dean. Not in you know, that way, well, they do, but in the way where they would be heartless enough to do this. Once we solve this problem, I promise I’ll take care of them and get to the bottom of it.”
“If it really is the chip can we solve it?”
“The note said that a chip tune up would make you normal.”
With his enthusiasm gone, Dean sat down with a sulk.
“Dean? What’s wrong?”
“A tune up. Frank,” he whispered. “That could fry the chip. There’s a chance of that. I’m not due for another couple weeks.”
“Danny said it should be safe in about three or four days.”
“Should. Should.” Dean shook his head.
“Should is better than shouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Or can’t. Right?”
“Right.” Dean nodded.
“Okay, so we have four days. But until then, there’s no reason we can’t try to reverse it.”
“Reverse it?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, I was thinking about it. If it’s a post hypnotic suggestion, then it’s like a form of brainwashing. So . . . why not reverse it and brainwash you back.”
“That doesn’t sound . . . brainwash me?”
“What’s it gonna hurt. You’re already fucked up, right?”
“Right. Who’s gonna do it.”
Frank only grinned.
“No.” Dean stood. “No.”
“Dean. Fuck. I’m not gonna do anything to fuck with you. I promise. I want to help. I really do. Helping you will . . . It will help me. Trust me.”
“I do, Frank.” Dean sat back down. “I trust you. I’m glad you want to help. It means a lot.”
“Yeah, well . . . it’s not just for you. Or for me. It’s for El and the kids because your fucked up new personality is affecting them. I don’t want them affected anymore.”
“I understand. So . . . when do we start?”
“Why not now?” Frank pushed the box forward. “I have the first step right here.”
“You came prepared.”
“Absolutely. Wanna give it a shot.” Frank asked.
“Let’s do it.”
^^^^
The journey down the clinic hall was long enough, but the wait outside Robbie’s room with his father seemed like an eternity to Hal. Not that his father’s company was boring, it was just that they needed to see Robbie.
They waited.
Few words were spoken. It was more idle conversation than anything, but it seemed to be breath stealing when Andrea walked out of the room.
Joe, so fatherly, rushed. “How is he?”
“Our boy’s fine,” Andrea gushed. “He’s strong. Vitals are stable. The EEG looks good. But, as you know, he’s out and will be for at least another eight hours.”
“Can we see him?” Hal asked.
“Oh, yes,” Andrea answered. “But I wouldn’t recommend waiting for him to wake up. I’d go, get rest, and come back in about six hours. That would be safe.”
One eye closed and in a near whisper, Joe spoke, “I just need to see him.”
“You two go on.” Andrea stepped from the door. “Oh, one thing.” She stopped them. “It’s very important. We have Robbie covered up. I especially think it would only be right that Robbie see his arm first.” She winked. “So don’t peak.”
Joe shook his head. “We wouldn’t dream of it.”
“That’s Robbie’s honor,” Hal said. “I would like to share in that moment. We can wait.”
“Good. I’ll see you boys at home.” She leaned in to Joe and kissed him. “Where’s . . . where’s Frank?”
Hal answered. “He’s with Dean, trying to help him.”
“Is he shooting him?” Andrea asked.
“Christ, Andrea,” Joe griped.
“Sorry. The man is working my nerves but . . .” She sighed and started to walk away. “Killing is not Christian, is it? Then again neither is . . .” She stopped, shook her head, and giggled. “Never mind. I won’t say it.” Letting out another chuckle, she walked away.
“Whacked,” Joe said as he opened the door. He let out the long breath he held when he saw Robbie lying on his back. The beeping monitors filled the room and a heavy breathing sequence came from Robbie.
Steady.
Inhale. Exhale.
Peaceful.
Hal smiled. “Look at him.” He neared the bed. “And the covers are pulled up.”
Joe nodded as he observed the heavy blankets that came to Robbie’s shoulders. “Can’t see a thing, can you?”
“Nope. That arm is hidden.”
“Very hidden.” Joe stood side by side with Hal next to Robbie.
“Blankets are up there,” Hal said.
“Andrea wants it that way.”
“Robbie deserves to see his arm first, doesn’t he?”
“Oh boy, will he be happy.”
“I can’t wait to see his face and feel that emotion,” Hal spoke with passion.
“It will give a rush.”
“It certainly will.”
Silence.
“So.” Joe looked at Hal. “You want to lift that blanket or me.”
“You do it,” Hal spoke excitedly, like a kid. “He’s your son.”
After a twitch of his head, Joe inched to the bed. Hal was over his shoulder in a hover as Joe reached.
“I’m a little nervous,” Joe said.
“Me, too. Do it.”
“Is it right?”
“Of course it’s right. What if something’s wrong with it? We need to be ready for Robbie’s reaction if Dean attached the arm backwards or something.”
“Normally I would call that a Frank comment, but seeing how Dean’s been the wa
y he’s been . . .” Joe let out a breath and lifted the edge of the blanket.
Slow. Slowly, until the new right arm was exposed. A thick bandaged covered Robbie’s arm all the way to the knuckles. Joe and Hal couldn’t see any details of the new limb, but it didn’t matter. The arm was there. Robbie had his arm again. All Joe and Hal could do was smile.
^^^^
The bright yellow sign with the bold black name ‘Ellen’ written on it looked entirely ridiculous hanging over Frank’s neck, but it held a purpose in association with what Frank was trying to do.
“Ok,” Frank said. “History didn’t work. I didn’t think it would. Visuals will.”
“What if it doesn’t?” Dean asked.
“Then we’ll keep trying, right? Every day, a couple times a day. Hey, who knows, maybe Danny won’t have to tune you up until you’re due.”
Dean held up crossed fingers. “Let’s hope.”
“No, let’s do it. Ready?”
Dean nodded.
“All right.” Frank lifted the lid to the box. He pulled out a picture. “I went to great lengths for this one.” He turned it over and holding it up, showed Dean.
Dean sighed and smiled. “Misha.”
“No. Dean. Look.” Frank placed the picture next to the big yellow sign. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s . . . she’s . . .” Dean’s hand went up to block the view of the sign. “She’s wonderful.”
“Ellen, Dean. Think Ellen.”
“Ellen. Yes. I love . . . Misha,” he gasped out.
“Dean.” Frank was stern. “Think of what she did. Sexual harassment.” He inched the picture next to Ellen’s name. “You don’t love her Dean. You hate her. Hate her. She’s a spoiled rotten little girl who’s out to start . . .”
“Frank!” Dean snapped. “I wish you wouldn’t talk about her like that.”
“Ok, you know what?” Frank put the picture away. “I can see that may be the strong point of the hypnotic suggestion. Good thing Ben and Todd didn’t make you gay.” Frank rummaged through the cigar box. “Or else I’d be in trouble. All right. Next picture.” He looked, shuddered and turned it over.
“I hate him.”
“Yes, I know you hate him. But . . . he’s my brother.”
“He’s an asshole.”
“Dean,” Frank spoke passively. “Let’s try to think of positive points. Hal started the UWA. He’s a good guy, right?”
“Arrogant shit. He thinks he’s all that.”
“Dean, I know Hal is arrogant and . . .”
“Let’s not forget he thinks he’s the favorite with Joe.”
“He does, doesn’t he?” Frank said.
“I think he is.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Frank asked.
“Also, he’s always trying to win Robbie over. He thinks he’s better than you.”
“You think he thinks that?”
“He acts like he is.”
“Fucker.”
“Asshole.”
“Okay.” Frank put the picture away. “We’ll move on from Hal since I can’t argue with you on him. However, I can argue any point you make with . . .” Fast Frank whipped out the next picture. “Her.”
“Wow.”
“Dean!” Frank yelled. “Look at her!”
“Oh, I am.”
“It’s Josephine. Joe . . . sa . . . feen! Old. Wrinkly. Drunken. Slut.”
“Her finest qualities,” Dean smiled.
“Dean, her breasts hang to her stomach.” Frank bobbed the picture around.
“It’s easier when she’s on top.”
“Okay!” Frank lowered the picture. “That was more information than I needed.”
So confused, Dean shook his head. “Why am I saying these things, Frank? Yes, I know it’s the chip but . . .” He saw Frank put the photograph away. “Hey, can I have that picture?”
“No.”
“See? See? Why did I ask for that?” Dean lowered his head discouraged.
“The chip. This isn’t working, yet. Let me sift through some more ideas. I’m determined, Dean. We’ll cure you. Reverse that brainwashing. If all else fails, hey, at least you will get that tune up when Danny says it’s fine.”
“But that will take time.”
“At least four days, no more than two weeks.” Frank smiled. “Not much time at all. You can do four days.”
“Frank . . .” Dean shook his head. “I’m scared.”
“You’ll be fine. Out of sight. Out of mind.”
“No, Frank. If it works like that then why did I go to New Bowman last night to talk to Misha through a window at the House of Lesbians? And, Frank . . . Frank . . .” Dean dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think I told her I was gonna marry her.”
“Don’t.”
“I feel like I should but I don’t know why. I’m confused and worried. You say four days to two weeks. Yeah, that’s not a lot of time. I’ve already done so much damage to my life in less time than that. Imagine what I can do to my life in two weeks.”
“Dean, I promise I won’t let that happen.”
“Can you?”
“If you really don’t want anything to happen, I can help.”
“I don’t want anything to happen. I’ll do anything. But how?” Dean asked. “Until the tune up, there’s nothing that can be done.”
“Dean.” Frank tilted his head. “That’s not necessarily true.”
^^^^
Behind her desk in her Containment office, Ellen sat picking apart an apple, feet kicked up while talking to Elliott. “Creed had this awesome lavender soap.”
“You know. I smelled that when I was there.”
“It didn’t even aggravate my sinuses.” Ellen placed a piece of apple in her mouth. “We left there on good terms. I should have asked for some.”
“Well, the lines of communication should be open with him soon. We could send word,” Elliott suggested.
“Do you think Joe would get mad if I asked for lavender soap?”
“Not as mad as Henry. No scratch that . . .” Elliott smiled. “Henry would get jealous because he would want to know what was wrong with the soap he invented.”
“Let’s not forget Danny Hoi,” Ellen stated. “He’d flutter those lips, speak all cocky, and assure me he’d make a better bar of lavender soap.”
“He’d probably name it Hoi-scents.”
Ellen started to laugh. “That’s pretty . . .” A knock on her door caused a chain reaction that was comical instinctual. Her feet went down and Ellen sat up–just in case it was Joe. “Yes?”
“Hey, El.” Frank poked his head in the office.
“Frank, this is a surprise. What are you doing here?” Ellen asked. “I thought you’d be with Robbie.”
“I will be, but I had to take care of something.”
“Here?”
“Yes.” Frank nodded. “You have a new resident. Temporary, but new.”
Curiously, Ellen looked at Elliott then down to her desk. She immediately started to look through papers.
“El?” Frank questioned. “What are you doing?”
“I didn’t know we picked anyone up or that someone came in.”
“They didn’t. We didn’t.”
“Huh?” Ellen scratched her head.
“El, meet your new resident.” After a flash of a grin, Frank moved back, extended his arm, then just as he appeared in the door way, so did the new resident.
Slowly and in shock, Ellen stood up when Dean stepped inside.
CHAPTER FIVE
February 1st
The Queen of England from the 1980's looked absolutely hot. Though in her late fifties, round and firm, hair puffy and short, in Robbie’s dream perception she was hot. He winked once at her when a sexual innuendo with her handling of her royal scepter was made.
He took his place beside the Queen, knowing full well why he was there. In the dream he was aware of the plague, but somehow, for some strange reason, Beginnings had a calling f
or a pilot from Her Majesty’s Royal Air Force. Robbie was selected to go through the Quantum Regressionator.
Before he knew it, he was back in the era of big hair, really cheesy techno music, and the Queen of England was promising him all the riches of the world. She asked him to not only be her love bauble, but to also beat up her son Charles who was as close to a pedophile as one could get by marrying his teenage virgin bride.
Beginnings? King of England? It was a tough call, but one easy enough to make. Figuring he’d survive the plague anyhow and if he did, he’d stay behind in time Princess Di may not have to die tragically either, Robbie accepted the Queen’s marriage proposal.
It was a typical rapid eye movement event. Robbie didn’t dream of the wedding. All he dreamt was her asking him to marry her, his saying of ‘I do’, and a curtain opened.
It was a royal bash to put all others to shame. Queen Elizabeth, as expected, didn’t wear white. Instead she wore some flashy pearl colored gown that upped her breasts like in the sixteenth century. She sat on her thrown. Just to be respectful, the urn containing the ashes of her two-day-dead-husband was at her side. She sat perky, while occasionally–just to be taunting and teasing–would play with her nipples through the heavily breast padded garment she wore.
Spandex was a plenty and pretty much the outfit of choice for the invited guests. The Solid Gold Dancers were the entertainment. They danced wearing skimpy suits in a scathing manner, while taking a break every once in a while to run from Prince Andrew who seemed to chase after them while holding his crotch. Of course, he showed no favoritism in his taste for dancers. He pursued both the men and women with the same determination. Then again, the men didn’t run quite so fast.
Robbie searched out the other and better known members of the royal family. He spotted them. As expected, they were dull in his dream. Charles was digging in his ear for wax balls while Diana looked miserable and thin. Though all he could think about was all the hot sex he and the Queen would have on their wedding night, Robbie took his place next to Her Majesty.
“Time to greet your peasants,” she said to Robbie.
“Cool,” Robbie responded.
Scepter in hand, the Queen gave an anointing point to the first woman in a long line of people. The woman wore rags and was dirty.
The Next Ten: Beginnings Series Books 11 - 20 Page 330
