Between Two Minds: Revelation

by D C Wright-Hammer

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. You know how women do. Anyway, as crazy as the day has been, I’m finally starting to settle down. Let’s just shower and get some rest.”

  “Sure.” I shrugged.

  We both got cleaned up and arrived back in our room at the same time. I laughed as we both stepped in and looked at each other. “Top bunk or bottom?”

  “I’ll be on the bottom, thank you.”

  “Hey! I was just joking.”

  “I’m not.” She smiled and winked. “Now, please leave me be. A woman needs her beauty rest.”

  I returned the grin and shook my head, then climbed the ladder and laid down. Exhaustion quickly set in, and I was nodding off. I was nearly asleep when a familiar feeling overcame me. It was difficult to pinpoint at first, and I thought it was nerves from the day or for the procedure the next day. But it was something else entirely.

  You’re mine, Ryan. A voice hissed in my head. You’re mine!

  Chapter 18:

  Body, Mind, and Spirit

  “You’re mine!”

  Ernesto was awakened by an ominous shout that was swallowed by silence as soon as his eyes opened. He was still strapped to the same table in the same room, but Garfield was nowhere to be found. He took inventory of himself, and confusion set in. His white clothes were no longer drenched in his blood. All the wounds from the scalpel were gone without a trace. He specifically recalled being cut and sliced precisely to produce the most agony with the least chance of unconsciousness, but his memories appeared to be the only evidence. It made him proud that he hadn’t shown an ounce of emotion or said a word while the vile acts occurred. The only thing that mattered to Ernesto, his one purpose for living at this point, was to force his captor to analyze his mind for the information he sought.

  Ernesto’s situation didn’t change the fact that he lived by a few principles. One was that snitches were the lowest class of people. Like rats, they needed to be dealt with or their way of living would spread. He’d rather die than see himself become vermin.

  Another was that every man has his limits. At some point, everyone caves. If he couldn’t ensure death, he’d ensure that he pushed his limits to their furthest boundaries.

  He scanned his surroundings again for anything that might help him. There were no obvious signs of a camera, but the assumption was that he was being watched. The straps on his wrists and ankles were made of tan leather, worn and frayed at the edges. His mind could hear the horror stories that the straps told. He inhaled deeply and blew the thoughts out.

  With a beep and a click, the door popped open. An expressionless man in black entered. He had a silenced, automatic rifle strapped to his shoulder. He was followed by a woman in blue scrubs, pushing a metal cart.

  The woman said softly and sincerely, “Hello. I’ve been instructed to complete your medical evaluation and provide you with a meal.” She wheeled the cart next to Ernesto’s table and obtained a pair of blue latex gloves from a box, snapping them on. She swiped up a small device from the cart, held it just above Ernesto’s face, and pressed a button. A light flashed on and a puff of air blew into Ernesto’s face. He didn’t flinch, so he noticed that her eyes darted back toward the guard and then back at him.

  “Body temp is good. Pupils look fine. Oxygen levels are normal. Brain waves are slightly out of range, but nothing too alarming.”

  She put the device down and placed two fingers on Ernesto’s wrist just below the strap. She looked at her watch and stood in silence for a few moments. Ernesto could feel her hand trembling ever so slightly.

  “Fifty beats per minute.” She stretched across the cart to obtain the blood pressure sleeve. It was just out of her reach, so she extended a little farther and grasped it between two fingers. The cart began to move, and she stumbled trying to stop it, only pushing it harder. She was about to fall to the floor but grabbed onto Ernesto’s arm to stop herself.

  “Oh, no!” she shrieked.

  The cart crashed against the wall, dropping everything to the floor.

  “Idiot!” The guard dashed over to assist, and the woman began to cry. The walkie talkie on the man’s waist blared. “Is everything all right down there?”

  “Yes, the dumb doctor made a mess. I’m sending her back to the kitchen for more food.”

  “Need backup?”

  “I’ve got the situation under control.”

  “Roger that.”

  Ernesto paid the commotion behind him no attention. The woman had not only grabbed his arm, but bumped against his wrist strip, loosening it just enough to free his arm.

  “I’ll be reporting this incident to the boss. Now, go get another meal!”

  She crept out of the room with a red face and closed the door behind her. The guard clanked items onto the cart while intermittently cursing.

  He came back and looked Ernesto in the eye. “The bullshit they put us through for you assholes. A bullet to the head would save us all a lot of trouble.”

  Ernesto couldn’t stop the tiniest of smirks from forming on his face.

  “You think this shit is funny?”

  Ernesto wrinkled his forehead and gently nodded.

  The guard winded up a slap. “I’ll show you funny, you piece of—”

  Ernesto’s freed hand crushed the man’s testicles. The man’s jaw dropped but before he could make a sound, Ernesto had let loose of his manhood and delivered a chop to his throat, crushing his vocal cords. The man melted to the floor with a murmur.

  Ernesto wasted no time freeing his other hand and feet before sliding off the table. He pulled the weapon off the man, and using the butt, cracked him in the head. The man went limp, and Ernesto immediately stripped him and put on the black clothing and boots. He clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt as he made his way to the door. He put his back against the wall with the weapon pointed up, steadied his breath in preparation for a confrontation, and grabbed the handle, turning it quickly, then flung the door open. No one stood guard.

  He spun out of the room with his rifle aimed out. He was alone in a dank basement. There was a stairwell fifteen meters ahead of him, but he saw light coming from a room down a narrow corridor to his left and skulked in that direction. Again, back to the wall, he peeked in to see it was a makeshift kitchen. Without a sound, he pounced into the room to find the woman in scrubs with her back to him. He seized her from behind and put his hand over her mouth. She didn’t resist or make a sound.

  “Why are you helping me?” Ernesto whispered as he lowered his hand just a bit.

  Her breathing was erratic, but she spoke with confidence. “I’ve been on the other side of his knife.”

  “The torture,” Ernesto sighed. “It was real?”

  She nodded. “It was.”

  Ernesto was puzzled at first, but then he panned his gaze at his hands. It all made sense. He’d been migrated out of the body that had been mutilated. “How do you know all this?”

  “I oversaw your migrations. I…I work for him. But I hate him.”

  “Are we being watched?”

  She shook her head. “No cameras down here. He worried the footage could be used against him. He doesn’t want the world to see who he really is.”

  “Anymore guards?”

  “One at the top of the stairs with a rifle. The front and back door men only have stun guns.”

  “Are we in the city?”

  Another nod. “The northeast side, by the lake.”

  “I’m your ticket out of here?”

  “No. He always finds me. I just need you to knock me out.”

  Ernesto only had to think about it for a moment to understand her logic. “Well, thanks…”

  “Deloris. Don’t thank me. Just get your ass out of here.”

  He took a breath, a step back, and whacked her in the head with the gun butt. He was already out of t
he room by the time she hit the floor.

  Ernesto eyed the stairwell and approached with caution. Peering up, he saw the guard standing outward, obviously unaware of the situation below. He grabbed the walkie talkie, and muttered nonsense into it.

  “Eddie? Dammit!”

  Ernesto could hear the click-clack of the man readying his weapon. His steps were loud coming down the old stairs, but he moved deliberately. When he was two steps from the bottom, Ernesto rolled out and squeezed his trigger twice.

  He caught a glimpse of the guard’s face as his soul left his body. The guard fell back and slid down the steps awkwardly, toward Ernesto.

  Ernesto rolled out of the way and popped up. He took each stair cautiously, and it finally hit him that he’d been given a strong, nimble, and athletic host. His instincts flowed to his extremities with extreme precision, something he wasn’t used to in the woman’s body nor his biological one. He felt unstoppable. It would be something that Mr. Garfield would come to regret, Ernesto thought.

  Pop! Zip!

  The sound instantly alerted Ernesto to lean slightly to the left. He felt the breeze of the stun gun prongs as they sailed past his shoulder. He dove to the top of the stairs with his barrel pointed and pulled the trigger.

  Dart! Dart! Dart!

  Thud!

  Ernesto heard a footstep to his right, mindlessly rolled in that direction, and squeezed.

  Dart! Dart! Dart!

  Thud!

  Ernesto jumped up and established his surroundings. An ancient house. Dilapidated would have been an understatement. A thick layer of dirt covered all the surfaces, including some antique furniture and appliances. He turned a corner.

  A mirror reflected Ernesto, causing him to grip his trigger, but he quickly realized he was looking at an oddly placed vanity. In the dim light, he could only make out a rough image of his face. He was pleased.

  With no guards around, his mind turned to escaping. He debated which door to take. The front door was an obvious choice, but then, he’d be vulnerable from many angles. The backdoor would probably be safer. Yet, once Mr. Garfield got wind his guards were down, it would be the first place to send backup. He tried to think outside the box while searching the house. He found a flight of steps going up, and he knew that was the way he had to go.

  Rifle aimed, Ernesto fluidly ascended. As he reached the top, he made out two doors on the left and two on the right. He moved his foot forward and froze in place. He’d kicked up the slightest dust and it revealed a red beam of light perpendicular to the hallway. He yoga-posed back down a couple steps and got eye level with the laser. After a moment, it became clear. The place was rigged. Ernesto nearly wrote it off as not worth the hassle and headed for the back door.

  But a voice inside disagreed. I want whatever he doesn’t want. I must go that way.

  He quickly devised a plan. He flung the rifle over his shoulder and found the dirtiest countertop. He scooped a pile of dust into his hand and wandered over to the steps. He aimed and blew back and forth until his hand was empty. The plumes revealed an insane 3D maze of crimson lasers with about a meter between each of them. Ernesto swallowed hard, more out of annoyance than fear, and headed for the vanity.

  Crack!

  The mirror spidered out, and with precision, he grabbed a couple pieces just to be sure.

  Back at the stairwell, Ernesto inched the tiny mirror toward the closest beam, and tripped it.

  Zap!

  The beam turned off. He steadily repeated the process a couple dozen more times. He got to the end of the hallway where the labyrinth had led him, readied his weapon with one hand, and grabbed the door handle with the other. He turned and gently pushed.

  The door creaked open, and he looked inside. It was only a long-forgotten bedroom, complete with a made bed. It begged the question, “Why the security?” That was when Ernesto saw outside the window. There was only a meter and a half from the next building’s window, and he would have bet money that it wasn’t guarded. The lasers had been just as much for keeping people out as for keeping people from escaping. He wasted no more time and got to work on the window. The rails were rusty, so opening the window was louder than he would have like. But it was still quieter than breaking it. A cool breath from the lake revealed how his nose had gotten used to the rank smell of the house.

  Ernesto extended his weapon first and tapped the glass across from him. Nothing unusual. He slowly peered down and found he was about ten meters above a narrow walkway between the buildings. He leaned out and attempted to lift the opposing window. It wouldn’t budge. His mind went to work plotting, and he turned back to the bed.

  Ernesto ripped off the blanket and grabbed a pillow. He hopped back to the open window and pressed the pillow against the pane. He propped it up with his gun barrel and pressed hard before clutching his trigger.

  Dud, dud, dud.

  It gave way to muffled, chiming shards raining inside the other structure, and Ernesto followed closely behind, landing on the pillow with the shards underneath. His barrel popped up and spun around to find another old bedroom. The door was open, and he headed that way. He dusted the hallway to check for traps. Nothing.

  He had an uneasy feeling about trying to leave. That was too simple. He looked up in the corridor to find the string to the attic door. He pulled hard, and the wooden ladder slid down on an angle. His rifle led the way, and upon entering, the smell of dry rot attacked his nose. But the place was empty.

  On one end, there was a shuttered window out to the front, and Ernesto made his way over. He flipped the wooden blinds, and more lake air puffed into his face. He could see a barren street. He looked up and down to be sure and was about to turn around when headlights in the distance caught his eye. A black car was heading his way. He waited for it to pull onto the block before turning around and vigilantly making his way down from the attic. He went out the backdoor and secured the perimeter as the car parked.

  Ernesto took the path between the buildings and waited in the shadows. Both front doors of the car popped open and similar men in black emerged. They walked back, and before they could open the door, Ernesto burst from the darkness.

  Dart, dart, dart, dart.

  Thud, thud.

  Ernesto calmly made it to the door. He reached for the handle, but the window rolled down instead. His rifle was poised to eliminate whoever revealed themselves.

  “Don’t shoot!” Mr. Garfield’s hands were up, and he was fiercely quivering as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

  Ernesto’s appetite for revenge was quickly being satiated, moments away from taking the life of the man who’d resurrected him only to placate his demented fetish. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”

  Garfield shook his head, and his expression melted away to a scowl. “Where’s the fun in that?”

  Ernesto smiled wide and squeezed his trigger with all his might.

  Nothing.

  He attempted to shoot again.

  Still, nothing.

  Ernesto’s grin betrayed him as it swapped places with Mr. Garfield’s frown. Only then did he finally look down to see why his weapon was malfunctioning.

  It wasn’t. His finger was merely perched on the trigger, and no amount of will or strength would allow him to pull it back and kill his nemesis. He fought with it.

  “I have to hand it to you, Ernesto. You made it much longer than anyone who’d faced my blade. Ironically, you got under my skin. After I went through the stages of grief and meticulously took each one out on you, I found myself settled on an unfamiliar feeling. Adulation.”

  Ernesto eventually peered back up from his weapon when it became hopeless. He was more frustrated than scared.

  “I said to myself,” Garfield continued, “even if you wouldn’t talk, it would be a waste to put you down. Instead, I looked into your thoughts and back
ground, and I found some remarkable things. As a result, I’ve placed you in our finest prototype host. Oh, and by the way, you’re also testing out our new safety mechanisms.” Garfield revealed his porcelain teeth.

  Ernesto couldn’t believe Garfield would put himself in harm’s way for a test. “What if it had failed?”

  The guards around Ernesto began to rise from the ground.

  “You would have been dealt with. Fortunately, you passed.” Garfield peered up slowly and looked Ernesto in the eye. “Now, get in.”

  Ernesto stared menacingly at the seven sculpted men who sat around him at the garage. All of them were ruthless killers who took pleasure in the suffering of others. Any one of them would have been a worthy adversary, but fighting a few of them at the same time would be more than challenging.

  Over the previous month, Ernesto had completed the world’s most grueling physical training—12-hour days of nonstop lifting, running, swimming, climbing, and jumping. He wanted more. He needed more.

  In his specimen of a host, Ernesto felt twenty all over again, and he had been certain that his imagination was the only limiting factor to his abilities. But then he’d been put in a position to read the body language of his squad mates.

  “I’ll raise fifteen hundred credits.”

  Ernesto looked around to assess the hand. He was the small blind, and the big blind had been playing timid all night. Three men across had folded, one called the big blind, and the man to Ernesto’s left pushed a large stack into the middle.

  The board was anything but exciting.

  6, 3, 8, J.

  Calling would only leave Ernesto with four hundred credits worth of chips. He eyed his hand. Red snowmen ogled back. Soft betting pre-flop had allowed him to stay in with an average pocket pair and catch the triple. He appreciated the Jack on the Turn because it meant someone might be dumb enough to stay in with top pair or maybe even two-pair.

  Ernesto looked at the man who’d raised. Prior to the latest mind migrations, Ernesto had prided himself on analyzing faces. He could quickly discover what made a person tick. He could look at a customer interested in his product and more or less know if there would be trouble. The Korean job didn’t surprise him at all. They were red-faced and nervous. On the Russian job, when the compressor failed, he knew those guys weren’t ready for a firefight.