He nodded. “So far, I’m Josh. Glad to meet you, Dr. Lopez.”
“Call me Sheri.” She paused. “Do you think that’s really your name?”
He’d never been a good liar. The best strategy was to stay as close to the truth as possible.
“It feels familiar.”
She nodded. “I’ve reviewed your medical tests. There’s no indication of disease or physical trauma. In fact, you appear to be exceptionally healthy. There could be some hidden trauma or drug causing this, but retrograde amnesia also occurs from traumatic emotional events.”
He just nodded.
“I’d like to give you some psychological tests and see where that takes us.”
He had no grounds to say no. “Sure.”
He spent the rest of the morning taking written, verbal and visual tests. Since none of the questions referred to his past, he answered honestly.
She finished up. “I’ll be back in the afternoon with the results.”
Intelligent and confident, it was clear to him why she was successful. What wasn’t clear was why a celebrity psychologist was involved in a John Doe case.
At lunchtime, Elizabeth dropped by carrying a small bag. “Found some of the books you were looking for.”
He smiled. “Thank you. You and the staff have been amazing.”
“Yeah, well, when they release you, they’ll present you with an amazing bill.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Your amnesia might come in handy.” Looking serious, she asked, “Do you know what you’re going to do when you get out?”
He was sure Jesse’s team would contact him, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a backup plan. “Guess I’m going to need a job.”
She nodded. “I did a little checking around. There’s an opening in the hospital.” She paused. “Well, it’s actually hospital grounds maintenance. With your vocabulary, you probably have advanced education—”
He interrupted, “I have no known education, skills or references. Working outside would be perfect, in case I turn out to be a lunatic.”
Laughing, she said, “You do have references. You were friendly and kind to everyone here. If most of us were in your shoes.... Well, it speaks a lot for your character.”
He couldn’t help but notice her eyes smiled when she did.
She bit the side of her lip and asked, “Do you have a place to stay?”
He shook his head.
Looking at the floor, she said, “Because, I suppose, well, I ... look, I have a, uh, guest bedroom in my condo ... I mean just until you get on your feet.” She knocked a plastic cup off his bedside table with the book bag. Bending over to pick it up, she dropped one of the books. As she stood up, he saw she was blushing. She suddenly looked very vulnerable and very beautiful.
He smiled. “That’s the best offer I remember getting in my entire life.” That broke the tension, and he added, “That’s very kind, but the hospital staff would warn against it, and they’d be right. I can’t even vouch for me.”
She said, “It’s a three-bedroom condo and I have another roommate.” With a challenging smile, she added, “And I’m a Texan, armed and dangerous.”
Before he could reply, she set the books on the table and turned to go. As she left, she glanced back and said, “I’ll bring you that job application.”
A couple hours later, Lopez returned. “Any new memories?”
He shook his head.
She sat down in the chair next to him. “I’ve gone through your test results.”
Setting the book he was reading aside, he nodded.
“They suggest you’re very intelligent.” She glanced at the paper in her hand. “You have an IQ over 160, and the tests indicate you’re emotionally stable.” She paused. “There was a slightly elevated sense of paranoia, but that’s probably not unusual in your situation.” She continued, “If you were applying for a high-level federal job, you’d be accepted based on these results. You’re very healthy in every area, including most aspects of your memory, other than your identity.”
She stopped and looked at him closely.
Was her comment about federal jobs on purpose? Was she connected to Jesse? He matched eye contact but said nothing.
When it was apparent she would say no more, he said, “Thank you for working with me.” Fishing, he added, “With your reputation, and going along with my elevated sense of paranoia, am I just an interesting case?”
She smiled. “As they say, just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean everyone isn’t out to get you.” It morphed into a professional smile as she added, “Of course, that’s not the case.”
She glanced at the book next to his bed, and he saw recognition on her face as she realized it was her book.
Shaking her head with a wry smile, she added, “As you know, my area of expertise is mass psychology, and you never know when a case might make a good book.” She paused and, looking serious, added, “There’s one thing left to try. I’d like to put you under hypnosis.”
He couldn’t risk it. Narrowing his eyes, he shook his head. “Doc, I gotta tell you, hypnosis gives me the creeps. I’d really rather not.”
“I really think it could help.” She waited.
He said nothing but gave her another slight shake of his head.
She shrugged. “I’m sorry, there’s really nothing else I can do for you.”
She stood up, and he stood up with her. As they shook hands, she said, “If you change your mind, I’d be happy to work with you.” She gave him her business card.
Cocking his head slightly, he asked, “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your theory on my situation?”
Frowning, she answered slowly, “I don’t know. I know you didn’t just get a bump on the head, but I suspect your situation isn’t of your own doing.” With a raised eyebrow, she added, “At least not entirely.”
He believed she was telling the truth, but like him, only part of it.
Shortly after Lopez left, Elizabeth knocked on his door. She came in with a large, white, plastic trash bag and some papers. “The staff brought in some clothes that might fit.”
“Thank you.”
“And here’s the job application, but I already talked to the maintenance department head. You start first thing tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? How’d you pull that off?”
“They were shorthanded and just had someone quit.”
“But I have no references or records.”
She smiled. “I pointed out that also meant you have no criminal record.” She shrugged. “And he’s a friend.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled and looked at her watch. “Gotta run.”
After she left, he tried on the clothes. Some were obviously new. He suspected Elizabeth had bought them. He was certain of it when he found $100 in the pocket. He would make it up to her.
As he came out of the bathroom, an older nurse presented him with the release paperwork.
He signed the paperwork, including a promise to pay. Looking at the wheelchair she brought with her, he shook his head. “I won’t need that.”
“Hospital policy for all patients upon release,” she said flatly, and then dismissed all his arguments with a will of iron.
Finally, he took his plastic trash bag with all his worldly possessions, sucked in his ego and slid into the wheelchair. Pushed down the hall by a woman twice his age, he said softly, “And the warrior charges forth to save the world.”
8
SCHIZOPHRENIA
Outside, it was a cold overcast day. His highly attuned senses amplified the sights, sounds and sensations. He savored the cold breeze on his face and the simple noise of the streets. He looked around expecting someone from Jesse’s team to pick him up. After 30 minutes, he decided to go for a walk. Maybe they didn’t want to contact him near the hospital.
He set off toward the downtown part of the city. Having seen a map of the area at the information desk, he realized he could still see it in his head. Apparentl
y, he now had a photographic memory.
As he walked, he had a subtle sensation that he was being watched. At any moment, he expected a car to pull up and take him to Jesse.
Two hours later, he was still walking. He was clearly on his own for now. Not only was he homeless, but without any identification, he was technically an illegal alien. Time for plan B.
He found a discount store and bought a simple duffel bag and basic toiletries. To stretch his money, he ate the cheapest fast food.
It was late. He found a comfortable chair in a nice hotel lobby. Fortunate not to look like the homeless person that he was, he caught a few hours of sleep.
Early the next morning, he shaved in the hotel lobby bathroom and walked back to the hospital.
As Elizabeth promised, they started him working immediately. His job consisted mostly of grounds work. Because it was spring, he did a lot of mulching and watering, which he actually enjoyed. If the world didn’t end, he might like a garden someday. He continued to expect contact at any moment, but there was nothing.
The hospital had an area with computers that patients and visitors could use. Employees weren’t supposed to use them, but the woman in charge knew of his situation and looked the other way.
First, he searched all the social media sites for his wife Kelly. She had been a Facebook fiend, so he was surprised when he found no sign of her there or anywhere else. That concerned him. Next, he checked the news to see if there were any potentially cataclysmic, natural disasters facing humanity. Again, he found nothing beyond the usual issues. Frustrated, he decided to take another walk around the city after work. He was still certain someone would contact him.
Over the next three days, he slept where he could, often in the hospital waiting rooms. Every evening after work, he tried to get a few minutes on the computer. Then he would walk the city streets, continuing to feel as if he were being watched. As his cash dwindled, his frustration and confusion grew.
His fourth night out in the city, he thought he had identified one of his watchers. He was sick of being the mouse. He darted around a corner into an alley. Hiding behind a dumpster, he waited. After a minute, he heard a car stop at the entrance to the alley. He jumped out from behind the dumpster and ran toward the car. It was a black sedan with tinted windows. As he approached, it pulled out with a squeal of tires. Pumped with adrenaline, he pursued on foot. He knew he was running faster than he’d ever run in his life. He actually caught up to it as it stopped at a light, but as he got closer, it ran the red light and pulled away. He was fast, but he was no bionic man and no competition for the Ford.
His frustration and confusion turned to depression. It had been almost a week. The time with Jesse and even his previous life began to feel unreal. It was like waking up after a particularly vivid dream. His memories remained clear, and yet, each morning he shaved someone else’s face. What if the face in the mirror was real, but his memories were illusions. With no confirmation of Jesse or his past existence, he began to question his sanity.
He used the hospital computer to Google mental illnesses. On the Mayo Clinic site, he read the symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia: “Hallucinations and voices often focused on the perception that the individual is being singled out for harm. They might believe that the government is monitoring every move they make. It is often accompanied by delusions of grandeur. The delusional conviction of their own importance, power, or knowledge, or that they have a special relationship with a famous person or deity.” That pretty well summed up his situation.
He had to find something to verify his sanity. He remembered his wife’s email and phone number. Ignoring Jesse’s warning, he tried to email her, but it bounced back. He used a hospital phone to call her, but all he got was, “You have reached a non-working number.” It was as though she never existed.
It was three in the morning. The waiting room he often slept in was empty. He went to one of the hospital’s family bathrooms, locked the door and splashed water on his face. Occam’s Razor said the solution with the fewest assumptions was probably correct. Looking in the mirror, he quietly asked himself, “Which is more likely? A: I’m a test pilot, brought back from the dead by a voice in my head to save the world, or B: I’m a fruitcake with raisins for eyes.”
He sighed and shook his head. Still a couple days from his first paycheck, his $100 was gone. He was penniless, hungry, depressed and ... probably insane. His memories, even his appearance, might be just another delusion. He felt like the little Russian dolls that nest inside each other. Split one in half, and inside is another identical but smaller doll, inside that another, and another. He was afraid inside the last doll ... there would be nothing.
There was one chair in the bathroom. He sat in the Thinking Man pose, staring at the beige industrial tiles on the wall. He softly said to no one, “I was a Commander, a test pilot, a husband…? He looked down at his dim shadow cast on the nondescript linoleum. He was perched on the edge of a greasy, black pool of insanity. It would be so easy to let go and slip in. He slid off the chair onto his knees. With his elbows resting on his thighs, he bent over, head in hands. Softly, he said, “My God, I can’t live like this.”
He closed his eyes and slid toward the black pool.
Josh.
Josh.
It finally registered. He bolted upright. Looking around, he sputtered, “Jesse! Jesse, is that you?”
Yes.
He stood up and automatically put his finger to his ear as he realized Jesse’s voice must be coming from an implant. He said, “Thank God, you’re talking to me again! I was convinced I was completely insane and you were nothing but a delusion!” His relief was short lived and turned to anger. “Where the hell have you been? Why’d you dump me on the road with no clothes?” He started pacing. “What kind of Mickey Mouse operation is this!”
He shook his head. “What if ... what if I just decide to ignore you?” He couldn’t sit by and watch the world die, but the rebel in him had to know he wasn’t just a biological drone.
That’s your choice.
He heard the relaxed voice of a patient teacher. After several deep breaths, his anger subsided. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I know you were probably trying to give me time to adapt, but this transition has been tougher than I thought.” He took another deep breath and finally said, “OK ... now what?”
First, you must know what you face.
“Yeah, I still have no idea why I’m here.”
What destroys the most life?
“I’ve been thinking about that. Most mass extinctions were caused by volcanoes and asteroid impacts, but they’re very rare.”
Rare?
“There haven’t been any big ones in recorded history.” He stopped, realizing the absurdity of his statement. With a laugh, he added, “Guess, by definition, recorded history would start after one.” He paused. “But we haven’t had any major impacts in thousands of years.”
On Earth.
Confused, he repeated, “On Earth?” Then tentatively, he asked, “Impacts on other planets?” He thought for a moment. “Comet Shoemaker-Levy hit Jupiter when I was a kid. I also remember reading that the probability of dying from an asteroid impact is higher than being killed in a plane crash.” With a wry smile, he added, “Not good ... been there done that.”
What would happen if a comet struck Earth?
He had a passion for astronomy and with his new abilities, he could recall anything he ever read. “A Shoemaker-Levy sized comet could kill billions.”
Two years.
“Two years? To an impact?”
Yes.
He just stood there as it sunk in. Finally, he asked, “What part do I play?”
Adapt and learn all you can.
That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Sensing the conversation was over, he said, “Wait! How do I contact you?”
Talk to me.
Frowning, he said, “I was thinking more like an 800 number.” Unconsciously, he put his hand to his ear
and said, “That’s creepy on several levels.” He paused. “Hey, what about the guys you assigned to watch me?”
No one was assigned to watch you.
He frowned again. Slowly, he said, “Look, I understand why this is covert and hasn’t been released to the public, but someone is watching me. If it’s not your people, you might want to find out who they are.”
There was no response.
He sighed and shook his head. “OK, so, when do I meet the rest of the team?”
When you’re ready.
It was clear the conversation was over. One of the black programs he’d worked with had been building insect-sized drones. Needing more power than batteries could supply, they had been trying to scale-down the nuclear power source used on deep-space probes. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he put his hand to his ear again. The possibility of having plutonium in his head wasn’t exciting.
Then he had another thought. He asked his reflection, “If they implanted you with a communication device ... what else might you be carrying?” If a robotic fighter was lost or compromised, they could send a signal that would cause it to self-destruct. He answered his reflection, “Click ... rogue operative suffers fatal aneurism.”
9
FUZE
He received his first paycheck. It wasn’t much more than minimum wage, and they were conveniently deducting a portion of his hospital bill. It was barely enough to cover basic needs: food and a phone with Internet access. He wasn’t sure what Jesse meant by “adapting” but they were clearly leaving him on his own for now, and he needed to maintain his cover for whoever was watching him.
He never realized how important an identity was, until he didn’t have one. With no birth certificate or Social Security number, he was an illegal alien. Smiling, he wondered where they would deport him.
The first step was to open a bank account.
The bank clerk asked, “What’s your name?”
Impact (Fuzed Trilogy Book 1) Page 4