by Scott Young
“Good, good,” DeVane said as he ran his left hand through his short, cropped hair. “That will be useful in the days to come. What about Constantine?”
“I have that right here, sir,” an African-American woman in a light grey pant suit said. “Joshua Constantine has recently moved his base of operations to New York City. The move was quite sudden and came after a fire demolished his home on Puget Sound.”
“Will he be a problem for us, DuBois?” DeVane asked.
“No, sir,” the woman answered. “He seems utterly obsessed with something new these days. He signed off on all the contracts with no negotiation or counter offers. He is now our biggest tech supplier. The first shipment of his new Zappers should be here by the end of the month.”
“Hmmm. It’s not like Constantine to roll over that easily,” DeVane said. “Something big must have his attention. Find out what it is.”
“Yes, sir,” DuBois replied, scribbling notes in a yellow legal pad. “I also have a report on the other New York issue: Lucifer Luongo.”
“What problems is that bastard causing now?” the Director asked with a sneer.
“Shockingly, none at the moment, sir,” DuBois answered. “Much like Constantine, he is focusing all his attention on something else.”
“Do we know what?” DeVane barked.
“Yes, sir,” The woman answered. “There is a gun for hire named Hardline in NYC making life very difficult for the Manelli family in general and Mr. Luongo in particular. I believe the crime boss will be sufficiently distracted until that situation is resolved.”
“Excellent,” DeVane said with a grin. “Send a squad there to watch the situation. Maybe even discretely help out this Hardline. The longer Luongo is focused elsewhere, the better it is for us.”
“I will handpick a squad for your approval by the morning, General,” Harkness said.
Jill listened to all this with shock and sadness. She’d thought something was wrong at the agency but she never dreamed of something like this. The NDSA had its fingers in every conceivable, illicit pie including espionage, organized crime, and the surveillance of private citizens. Her head was spinning from these astonishing revelations. It seemed like maybe she owed Colleen an apology.
“Anybody got anything else?” the General asked.
“No, sir,” each person said in unison.
“All right. Dismissed,” DeVane said. Everyone but Harkness stood and filed out of the room.
“About the good doctor, sir?” Harkness asked.
Suddenly, Jill felt a sharp pain in her left arm causing her to cry out. The two men kept talking but she could no longer hear them, their voices fading more each passing second. All she could hear was a rhythmic pounding in her ears. Forgetting about DeVane and Harkness she walked through the wall, her ghostly hands holding her intangible head. Just as she made it through the wall, the doctor felt something pulling on her, urging her down the hallway. This unknown force took her all the way back to the room where her body was being kept. She rushed to the bedside to see what was happening. A nurse was taking blood from her left arm, a lot of blood. Each time the needle pierced her body’s skin, Jill felt it in her ghost form.
“So, apparently I can feel what happens to my body in this form.” Jill hypothesized, instantly realizing the ramifications of that statement. “Holy shit! That must mean if my body dies, I will too.”
Once the nurse left, Jill stood at her bedside staring at her own face. It looked odd since she was so accustomed to seeing it reversed in the mirror her whole life. Instinctively, she reached out to touch it. Just as her astral fingers reached her face, she felt a small shock through her hand. It felt just a little stronger than the static electricity she’d built up when she rubbed her feet on the carpet and touched David to annoy him when they were kids. What did it mean? Could she simply re-enter her corporeal form, merge back together just by trying?
Concentrating as hard as she could, Jill sat on the bed and swung her feet up, trying to match her body’s position exactly. The electrical charges increased as she matched up her feet, legs and hips. Jill took a deep breath before lying back, focusing all her mental energy on uniting her two forms, desperately trying to make it work. Just as her ghostly head hit the pillow, an alarm sounded as the machines monitoring her vital signs went haywire. Her heart rate spiked, her breathing became erratic and her body started to convulse. Jill jumped off the bed and the moment she left her body, all her vital signs immediately returned to normal. The hospital staff rushed in with a crash cart, ready to resuscitate their patient, but by the time they approached the bed everything was completely fine. After a quick examination, they chalked it up to a technical malfunction but Jill knew better.
There was a very good chance she would never be able to get back into her body and an even better chance that if she tried again, it would kill her. Jill Musik sat in the corner of the room, watching her own comatose body all night long. The deep breaths of her body’s lungs creating a soothing cadence while she endeavored to understand what was happening to her, reconcile what she’d learned about the NDSA and tried to figure out what she could do about either. How long could her consciousness exist outside of her body? Which would deteriorate faster, her body or her ghost form? What is DeVane and Harkness’s endgame? How much does The Power Elite know about the NDSA’s shady dealings?
With no answers forthcoming, and apparently not needing to sleep, she spent most of the night lost in her own thoughts. She tried to remember when life was good, when she was happy, but those days seemed so long ago now. She thought of the simple joys of life, a good glass of merlot, the first taste of lamb vindaloo or the hug of her best friend. Would she ever experience any of them again? Would she ever know the sensation of another person’s touch? Jill cursed the heavens for this cruel fate, trying not to lose all hope. She didn’t want to give in to despair, to depression, but the truth was she felt lost and alone, like a fading memory in her own mind.
Jill stayed there watching over her body for the entire next day, watching the various scientists, doctors and technicians attempting to repair the machine the government used to fuck with people’s minds. Try as she might, she couldn’t make heads or tails of how that damned machine worked. Except for the nurse assigned to monitor Jill’s progress, no one seemed to even notice her comatose form was in the room. That night she paced back and forth in front of her own body, trying to work out a solution to this dilemma, struggling to maintain focus. She refused to give in to hopelessness, believing she could find a way out of this.
When the technicians came into work around 8 a.m. the next day, Jill left the room. She spent the majority of that morning trailing various members of the hospital staff around the facility. It was more out of boredom than fortitude that set her on this path but she kept telling herself to be strong and find answers to the questions that still plagued her. If she was indeed trapped in this ghost form, at least she could continue to gather as much information as possible. Just before noon she noticed a doctor with the same James McIlroy file from two days earlier standing at the central station. There is a continuity problem I didn’t notice before. His nametag read Dr. Carrasco.
“I’m off to therapy with Mr. McIlroy,” the doctor said with a smile.
“Don’t let The Director hear you call him that,” joked a nurse sitting behind the counter. “You’d be in big trouble, mister.”
“Yeah, Yeah. I’ve heard the Director’s directive so often I recite it in my sleep,” Carrasco said. “Maintain the integrity of the identity at all times, whether in their presence or not.”
“Learn it. Know it. Live it,” the nurse said in return.
“Yeah, if you call this living. Catch ya later, Carla.” Carrasco walked down the hallway with Jill close behind. She hadn’t yet seen a therapy session during her wanderings and was eager to observe this one. She knew from experience that every therapist has their own style, their own way of helping a patient face their issues. Jill a
lways found it fascinating to sit in on another doctor’s session. When she walked into the therapy room after Dr. Carrasco, she realized this one might be slightly more intriguing than most. The man standing at the window was instantly recognizable.
“How are you feeling today, Achilles?” Dr. Carrasco asked.
“Fine, I suppose,” Achilles replied, walking over to shake the therapist’s hand. “Should I lie down today?” Jill was standing right next to the hero, a big smile on her face, almost out of her mind with excitement.
“No, Achilles, that won’t be necessary. Let’s just sit and talk for a bit.” Carrasco responded, pointing to the two beige arm chairs near the center of the room. The doctor sat in the chair next to a small end table, keeping the file folder in his lap as the superhero took the other. “Achilles, I’d like to talk about your dreams again, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, sure,” the hero replied unconvincingly.
“Did you have one last night, Achilles?” the therapist asked. Jill wondered why Carrasco kept repeating the hero’s name with each question. It was a strange verbal affectation.
Achilles paused for a moment, swallowed hard and sucked in his lips. Jill knew from her studies that his body language was a telltale sign of uncertainty. She couldn’t imagine what the leader of The Power Elite could ever feel unsure about.
“It was the same one,” Achilles said quietly. “I was at the amusement park enjoying the rides with those people again.”
“The man, the woman and the little girl?” Dr. Carrasco asked.
“Yes. It’s always them with me,” he answered. “I seem to know them, I – I – I feel like I’m one of them but I can’t remember who they are.” Achilles fidgeted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand before saying loudly, “They call me Jimmy, Doctor. Why do they keep calling me Jimmy?”
“Now, Achilles, we’ve been over this,” the therapist said sternly. “It’s perfectly normal for someone in your position, someone with your responsibilities to dream of a less complicated life. A life of fun, free of the pressures you face on a daily basis.” The doctor smiled broadly at the confused hero. “And what represents fun more than an amusement park, Achilles?”
“I guess that makes sense,” the hero replied, still agitated. “It just seems so real, like a memory more than a dream.” He clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. “I want it to be real, Doc! I need it to be!” The fear and panic on his face almost broke Jill’s heart.
Dr. Carrasco stood and placed the file folder on the end table. “Monkeyshine,” he said calmly. Instantly, Achilles fell into a deep trance-like sleep. The doctor paced in front of the hero. He removed a recorder from his coat pocket and placed it next to Achilles’ head on the hero’s shoulder.
Jill walked over to the end table. The file was opened to the patient history page. It read James McIlroy, born July 17, 1989, in Sandusky, Ohio. Parents: Phillip and Helen, deceased. Sister: Jennifer, institutionalized 2010/diagnosed with schizophrenia. James diagnosed with schizophrenia/delusional disorder in May 2012. Exhibits highly developed organization and strategical skills. Highly susceptible to suggestion. Joined Section 8, November 2013.
“My God!” Jill said out loud. “He’s not who they say he is. He’s...”
“You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal. You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal.” The recorder played that mantra over and over as Dr. Carrasco sat back down and picked up the file folder once more.
He turned to the page marked progress report and began to write. Jill read his notes over his shoulder. “Subject continues to require identity reinforcement. His reversions becoming more frequent. Since his abilities make him immune to the machine, unlike the other team members, I suggest post hypnotic suggestion daily instead of weekly. Should this fail, suggest termination of subject’s involvement with The Power Elite program.” Jill took a swing at Dr. Carrasco from behind. Her hand went right through his head instead of slapping him, giving her absolutely no satisfaction.
Unable to take any more, she left the room feeling despondent and disheartened. She wandered aimlessly, watching the men and women going about their appointed duties. She wondered how these people could be a part of this? How could a medical professional treat a person in need like this? How could anyone be a party to this kind of twisted game? Every new piece of information she learned about the NDSA was worse than the one before. The job she hoped would be a fresh start and a chance to move forward in her life was now a nightmare of epic proportions. She felt sick inside, helpless and disconsolate as she stopped and sat alone in the hallway.
To see this kind of horror perpetrated on innocent people just so the government could exploit their superhuman abilities was wrong on so many levels. It flew in the face of everything Jill had dedicated her life to doing. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to help others, to ease the burden of suffering for veterans and their families. Now she was a part of an agency that actively caused that suffering. She wanted nothing more than to bring this house of cards down around DeVane and Harkness’s heads, to drag them both out into the light of day and show the world exactly what kind of human garbage they were. Sitting there alone, more apparition than human, Jill Musik vowed to do whatever it took to stop this travesty.
The more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. She stood and marched with a purpose through the lower level. She entered General DeVane’s office through the North wall. The Director was seated behind his large, oak desk talking on the phone while Harkness and Deputy Director Allen sat quietly in matching chairs waiting for him to finish. Jill walked up to the desk and screamed, “Fuck you, DeVane! Fuck all of you!” Of course, no one heard her but she felt a little better. She walked behind Harkness and used his head like a boxer uses a heavy bag, repeatedly punching him even though her ghost hands went right through his skull. “You smug, self-important sack of shit! You’re the worst of all, you motherless douche!” she shouted.
“Yes, make sure it gets done. No mistakes,” the General said before hanging up the phone, causing Harkness and Allen to sit a little more upright in their respective chairs. Jill stopped punching and turned to leave.
“Is everything set?” Harkness asked. Jill stopped in her tracks.
“Yes. By this time on Friday, The Washington Times building will be nothing but a bittersweet memory,” DeVane replied coldly.
“No!” Jill screamed.
“Maybe then that Crenshaw bitch will finally stop calling me,” Deputy Director Allen said with a guffaw. “It’s been non-stop the past two days.”
“Of course it has, her best friend hasn’t been home or returned her calls for almost three days now. It appears both Ms. Crenshaw and Dr. Musik share a similar...single-mindedness, for lack of a better word. Which is why this is the best solution to all our problems,” Harkness said. “Once word gets out that the international terrorist C-4 has taken over the building, panic will spread through this city like a virus. The Power Elite will be sent to thwart the dastardly villain’s evil plan. Once they fail to save the building and all those innocent people, Congress will have no choice but to pass the measure currently on the Senate floor expanding the NDSA’s powers.”
“And give us all the funding we request for the foreseeable future,” Allen added.
“Yes. Even more importantly we can rectify this Musik situation without any danger of it leading back to the NDSA,” DeVane said.
“Once we place the good doctor’s body in the lower stairwell just before the explosion, it will simply look like she was there to visit her best friend. There will be nothing linking her death with this agency.”
“You bastards!” Jill raged.
“I have to admit, Harkness, you were right when you
suggested we offer Musik the position here,” the Deputy Director said. “The bugs we planted in her office, car and apartment certainly helped us find out what the Times knew about the NDSA and The Elite. Now we can take the necessary steps to rectify the situation.”
“Yes, the Meadows situation complicated matters, but it all worked out neatly in the end,” Harkness said looking at his watch. He turned his head with that gruesome smile plastered on his ugly face. Jill could swear he was looking right at her. “In fact, the asset should be taking care of Musik even as we speak.”
“Oh my-” Jill said. She turned and ran through the wall. As she ran through the corridors as fast as she could, Harkness’s words filled her with an all-consuming fear. They’re going to kill me, she thought. Somebody is in that room about to kill me right now!
When she got to the room she saw a lone figure standing at the bedside, his back to her. She phased through the door and approached the bed cautiously, fear gripping her heart, afraid of what she might see. Suddenly, she put her hands up to her throat, unable to catch her breath. She staggered to the bed, eyes wide with terror as she saw the plastic bag around her own head, the front sucked into her mouth as her lungs fruitlessly tried to draw air. The man was dressed in black from head to toe, including a full face mask, gloves and a bizarre set of goggles. They looked like an updated version of the goggles from a World War I flying ace. The killer calmly wrapped the bag around Jill’s comatose body, her astral form getting weaker by the moment.
“No, I won’t let it end like this!” Jill screamed, her fury greater than ever before. “I won’t! Do you hear me? Stop it!” She threw herself at the assassin, her hands reaching for him. She hoped for a miracle. The instant she touched him, both Jill and her assailant were transported elsewhere, to some kind of jungle. Both of them were disoriented by the sudden change in location, each looking around hesitantly.
