by K Alexander
Claire nods. "That's what many doctors say in so many words."
"It's kind of ironic - that I'm told the only way to get past it is to accept that it was my own will."
"Ryan… "
"Do you understand that if I acknowledge that, then I'm saying that it's a part of me, the part that kills children? And women?" Ryan shakes her head abruptly. "No. If I admit to that then I might as well give this voice in my head a gun and point it at my temple. I don't want to be helped if I'm the kind of person who has that ingrained in them. I don't want medicines to suppress it, to sanitize it, to hide it away. I do not want to be alive like that. Can you understand that?"
"Okay. Hold on." Claire lays a gentle hand on Ryan's forearm. "It's only one of the theories. Not necessarily the right one, if there is one."
"But all of them start with me having killed unarmed people because of a voice in my head." Bitterness seeps into the hoarse voice. "I don't really care what the current theory is, doctor Walsch. What I care about is getting far enough away."
"You'll never get away from it if you don't confront it." The words are strong, but Claire's voice is soft and kind. Ryan glances at her, and then away. "Are there specific times when it's more prevalent? When you're under stress or unhappy, maybe?"
"I've heard all these question before." Ryan sighs, though she is calm again. "No, no, and no. It comes and goes."
"What does the voice tell you?"
Ryan chuckles, though it is completely without joy. "Do you believe in god?"
"In an abstract way, yes, I do."
"Then you might not want to hear what the big man has to say."
Claire takes a sip of her water. "Are you feeling okay? Sandwich staying where it should?"
"I'm fine."
"Really?"
"Touch of nausea. Fine."
"Okay." Replacing the bottle Claire twists in the seat so that she is facing the soldier. "What does the voice … god say?"
"You are unrelenting. Should have been a SEAL." Ryan clears her throat again. "Different things, but most of them unpleasant. In battle it was more geared towards how to approach certain situations."
"And at Fairwater?"
"That I had to kill to escape - doctors, guards, orderlies, no matter, whomever passed me by. Sometimes recaps, like running commentary, about previous things I had done."
Claire nods. "And now? Outside?"
"I'm only outside physically, doctor." The soldier's shoulders set themselves squarely. "I've heard a lot of things. Right at the beginning… " A small pause as she appears to be thinking about something, "right at the beginning it told me to kill you. That you were dragging me down." Claire can feel the blood drain from her face, and by the expression on her own, Ryan probably sees it as she glances over. "Sorry. If you believe it's my subconscious knocking on my skull, I've just freaked you out."
Biting her lip Claire takes one or two settling breaths. "It was true. I was dragging you down."
"Yes. Sure. Because I was dragging you along. It was my own choice." Ryan looks at the radio. "Can we listen to something besides me now?"
"Wait." Claire puts out her hand. "What else?"
The soldier sighs and shakes her head. "What else? You don't want to hear it, doctor. You really don't. You don't need to know that the person you're sitting next to is being told to blow up schools or churches or gun down civilians on a regular basis. To do atrocious things to people. To you. Is that enough information?" She clenches the steering wheel.
"Ryan, what… "
Suddenly the soldier wraps her hand around Claire's and holds it tightly. "Claire. Please. Stop. I have no control over what happens inside my head. Let me have some over what's outside it."
"All right." Claire places her other hand over the bandaged one and rests it there until the woman pulls it away. Then she reaches over and switches on the radio. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I didn't mean to push you so far. I wasn't thinking."
"You were thinking too much."
"That's just silly. There's no such thing." Claire grins a little to show she is teasing, and also in an attempt to lift the dark mood.
They spend most of the drive in relative silence, each deep in their own thoughts. What Ryan is thinking about Claire can only guess, though with what the soldier has told her today she does not have to work very hard at it. Her own thoughts feel a little more convoluted. She knows that she is growing closer to her captor than is wise, that she is investing injudicious emotion in the woman's situation, that having pushed Ryan so far in an attempt to get her to atone and release her captive she is slipping beyond the bounds of therapy. The soldier is right - when she should be thinking about her own survival she is wondering how Ryan made it with the burden she is carrying. It has not even been two days, and it feels like a lifetime. Talk about Stockholm Syndrome. She chuckles wryly to herself and is treated to a skew look by the woman next to her.
"What?"
"Nothing." She smiles at the raised eyebrows. "Nothing much. Thinking about a lot of things."
They pass through Chester and onto 80 towards Fort Benton. It is not long afterwards that Ryan suddenly swings the SUV off the road and steps on the brakes roughly. Thrown forward hard against her seatbelt Claire puts out her hands to shield herself, pressing them against the leather when they come to a halt.
"What… "
She turns to see Ryan crumpling forward against the steering wheel, her face contorted beyond the sunglasses. With a low groan the soldier begins to fumble for the button on her seatbelt, her bandaged right hand sluggish and clumsy.
"Ryan?" Claire lays a tentative hand on the woman's back, and then reaches over and unclips her seatbelt for her. Unexpectedly released from her confines the soldier rocks her shoulder against the door once before she manages to get the door open and fall out.
"Ryan?" Unclipping her own seatbelt awkwardly Claire cranes her neck and sees the woman appear in front of the SUV, her eyes clamped tightly shut and her teeth bared in a grimace. She is stumbling forward and as the doctor watches her legs give in beneath her and she goes down hard. She curls up and lies still for a moment before she struggles to all fours, her back arching as she throws up yet again. Quietly Claire climbs over the handbrake and out of the vehicle, casting one more glance at the convulsing figure before she begins to run in the opposite direction. When she hears the vehicle start behind her she veers off into the country, struggling through the growth underfoot and falling more than once, snagged by an errant vine or branch. As before she can hear footsteps following her, but this time she doesn't have a sense of panic, only of inevitability. When the footsteps are almost right behind her she slows down, causing the soldier to careen into her and wrap her arms around her in an attempt to stay upright. Ryan's body is warm.
"You should just have taken the car. Are you going to fight?"
"No." Claire turns and begins to trudge back to the vehicle. Ryan walks beside her in silence, her hand loose around the blonde's wrist. When they arrive at the car she leads Claire towards the open drivers' door.
"You have to drive for a while."
It is unexpected, the manner in which the doctor suddenly leans back against her hand.
"No. I don't drive."
"You don't? Or you won't?" By the silence Ryan can verify the answer. Leading Claire back to the passenger's side she lets her get in and closes the door before she slips into her own seat and pops two aspirin in her mouth. The blonde's face is rigid, and they drive for about five miles before she relaxes and speaks.
"You can't go on like this."
The soldier glances at her. "Why won't you drive?"
Ignoring the comment much as Ryan has hers, Claire lays a hand on the woman's forearm. "You're warm. Are you getting ill?"
"Tell me why you don't drive."
"This can't still be the tranquilizer, can it?"
"Why not, Claire?"
"For God's sake!" It is the first time the blonde raises her voice. "Just leave it
, will you?"
6.
"What, don't like your own medicine?" The soldier smiles slightly. "We're talking about this later." When the doctor turns her head to stare out of the window Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Later."
The radio fills the silence and when Claire finally looks back the soldier is quiet, her eyes somewhere in the distance. Without the large sunglasses, which she seems to have lost where they stopped, it is hard not to notice how haggard she looks. Her green eyes are glassy and darkly ringed, and there is a faintly waxy sheen to her pale skin. The bandage on her hand is dirty and seeping blood, probably from the fall, and there is a grimy abrasion on the right side of her forehead. Sighing, Claire slips the first-aid kit from the cubbyhole and takes out a pad of gauze, which she moistens with water before she shifts to the edge of her seat and begins to clean the ground from the scuff. Apart from an initial start at the touch against her scraped skin the soldier is quiet. Claire makes sure that the still bleeding area is clean before she dabs antiseptic liquid on another pad and presses it against the area, holding it there.
"I'm sorry, it must sting."
Ryan does not answer. The blonde presses the pad to the wound, lifting it every now and then, and when she is satisfied with the decrease of blood she wads up the gauze and discards it.
"Give me your hand." The soldier complies silently. Dexterously Claire unwraps the bandage and dabs the bleeding cuts with a piece of gauze. Covering them she wraps her smaller hand over Ryan's to hold them in place. Heat seeps from the other woman.
"How do you feel, Ryan?"
"Hm." The lean woman raises her eyebrows. "Fantastic."
Claire frowns. "Be serious."
"I haven't slept in a while, I haven't been able to keep anything down for days, and I'm bleeding sporadically." The soldier shoots her passenger a sardonic look. "But apart from that I'm great."
Claire frowns. "Surely the drugs should have worked themselves out by now?"
"I'd imagine so." Ryan shrugs. "It's fine."
"You're not. You can't function like this."
"All the better for you." Ryan purses her lips. "Wait until I fall over and then run."
Lifting the gauze Claire checks the bleeding, then wads up the stained pad and discards it too. "I'm serious, Ryan."
The soldier frowns. "So am I. You shouldn't be so concerned about me."
"You're driving. If something happens to you while you're behind the wheel I could get hurt too."
"Hmm. You could have prevented that by driving, Claire."
"We're not starting this." The blonde folds her arms.
With a slight smile Ryan flexes her hand and looks at the abraded surface. "Thanks for this, by the way."
"You're welcome."
When they approach the outskirts of Fort Benton and swing into St Charles Street, Ryan pulls over to ask a pedestrian for directions. Claire waits and wills the man to look in her direction as he speaks to the soldier, but his eyes remain fixed on the magnetic green eyes until they pull away. They turn left in 14th Street and then right into River Street. Ryan is looking to her left.
"Look for number 67."
Claire turns her head to the right and peers at the dilapidated mailbox they have just passed. "That's … 32 or 38, I can't tell. What are you going to do when you find him?"
"I'm going to have a conversation with him. He's an old friend, after all. 49, 51, 53…"
"It'll be on your side, then." In silence Claire watches the river as the sunlight sparkles off it, only glancing back when they pull into a driveway. Getting out Ryan looks around casually before she walks around and lets Claire out. "Come on." They walk to the front door and Ryan rings the doorbell once, then twice, with no response from inside. Walking the doctor around the back Ryan checks the back door, and then takes her cap off, gripping it in her hand so that the fabric protects her knuckles. With a firm blow she shatters the window and reaches inside to open the latch. Claire hopes that there will be an alarm, but after the breaking glass there is silence. They enter the house and find themselves in a small basic kitchen, the counters spotless and the shelves packed neatly. Pulling Claire towards the fridge Ryan opens the door and peers inside.
"Are you hungry? Some leftover mushroom pasta, looks like."
Claire folds her arms. "Are you going to steal his food?"
"He's a friend, doctor." Taking out the bowl Ryan lifts off the plastic wrap and sniffs tentatively. "Smells good. He won't mind." She presses the food into Claire's hand and begins to rifle through the drawers, finding a fork which she sticks into the pasta. "Here."
Claire looks at the food dubiously and then back to Ryan, who is checking the remaining drawers at random. Finally she lifts the fork to her mouth and eats the speared macaroni. It is surprisingly good. With an appreciative hum she chews. Turning around, Ryan looks at her.
"Good?"
"Mm." She nods and eats another mouthful. With a faint smile Ryan puts a hand on her back and propels her into the hallway, a narrow affair which leads straight to the front door and is laid with gorgeous mahogany floorboards. On the left there are three doors, two leading to small compact bedrooms and the one on the right a clean blue bathroom. On the right one doorway leads into a small study, its walls lined with bookshelves, and the second doorway leads to a sizeable dining room with bay windows which look out over the street and the river on the other side. From the other side of the dining room a door leads to a family room with two leather sofas and a wall unit to match the floor. Pulling out a dining room chair Ryan motions for Claire to sit, and then wanders around studying the surroundings with what the doctor assumes to be approval. Moving towards the hallway the lean woman turns to her captive.
"I'm going to be just down the hall. Don't try anything."
"Now I shouldn't be thinking of escaping?" Claire frowns exaggeratedly. "Would you like to draw up a schedule for me?"
With a raised eyebrow Ryan disappears around the corner. At first the blonde considers trying her luck, but she is not in the best position to do so. There is no escape route from either the dining room or sitting room - both have impressive burglar guards on the windows - so to leave she would have to go down the hallway, and that is where Ryan currently is. With a sigh she eats another bite of pasta. When the Vice-Admiral comes home there will be more distraction - and perhaps a better chance.
------
Vice-Admiral Victor Banks parks behind the SUV and gets out, his arched eyebrows raised. He glances at his front door, and then walks around the gray vehicle to peer inside it, not seeing much of interest. Walking around his house quietly he examines the broken pane on his back door and lays a hand over the gun in the holster under his arm as he opens the door stealthily and steps over the shards of glass lying underfoot. The kitchen seems untouched, and he walks down the hallway quietly, easily stepping over the noisy floorboards as he glances right, into his study, then left, into his bedroom, then left, into the bathroom. A scraping sound in the dining room attracts his attention and he presses his back against the wall, stepping closer noiselessly. Dropping to his haunches he slides the pistol from its holster and prepares himself, chancing a glance into the room.
Captain Ryan is sitting on the window seat, her long legs clad in ridiculously baggy jeans and pulled in under her in a position which seems casual, but which he knows is optimal for abrupt movement. Her one hand is draped over her knee and bouncing up and down slowly, and her face is turned towards the street under a blue baseball cap.
Doctor Claire Walsch is sitting on a dining room chair, spooning the last of last night-s pasta into her mouth. She is exactly as she was when he last saw her - but her neat gray suit slightly the worse for wear now, and a pair of incongruous pink trainers on her small feet instead of the heels which she wore… was it only yesterday morning? He is considering his next course of action when Ryan turns her head and fixes her intimidating green eyes on him unexpectedly.
"Are you going to sit down at some stage, Vict
or?"
Shaking his head in amused annoyance he slides the pistol back into the holster, aware of her eyes on his hands as he does so, and gets to his feet. "Doctor." Extending a hand he shakes Claire's gently, looking her over surreptitiously for injuries or marks, none of which he can see except for a faint red weal on her cheek. She smiles slightly.
"Vice-Admiral Banks. Thank you for the late lunch."
"It is my pleasure." Turning to Ryan he salutes sharply. "Captain."
"Oh please." She waves away the ceremony. "None of that. How are you, Victor?"
"I'm fine, Ryan. I'd ask how you are but you look like death warmed up and overcooked."
"Thanks. You always were a charmer." She takes a quick look out of the window again. "Victor, are we going to have a problem with a security company?"
