Laced Impulse

by Combs, Sasha

  Richard returned to the house with a sample of the drug. Sven had explained that Bianca needed medical attention. Care that he couldn’t provide. If she was to recover completely; her best chances would be in a hospital. Richard and Mot agreed but to do that, they would need to get her out of the country. Hastily, they wiped the safe house clean, leaving no hints that the place had recently been occupied. Using a panel van, they transported Bianca to a hanger to await their transport plane. After hearing about her ordeal, she’d worked hard suppressing her true feelings. She'd also noticed, until all the drug was out of her system; whenever anyone asked a question, she tended to be brutally honest.

  On week four, she was released from the hospital but her discharge included out patient psychiatric therapy. Due to the mental scars; it was essential to rule out long term effects. One of their concerns was that she might suffer from post traumatic stress disorder. While in the hospital the charts noted that she’d had trouble sleeping. At night, she muttered, hummed or called out names. Once, she’d been overheard crying. Most times, to silence her, the staff would gently rouse her awake; offering her pills to allay her anxiety but Bianca would always refuse them. When her body had been cleansed of the toxic substances; she’d had enough of taking drugs. But when she was at home resting in her own environment; Bianca didn't have one troubling night and most evenings her dreams were benign in nature. She hated the head sessions with the shrink because dreams was one of his favorite topics. He explained that, in our dreams, our brain has the tendency to unravel thoughts that our conscious mind refuses to address during our waking hours. She wasn’t sure if she bought into that line of thinking. But these sessions were mandatory. Something she had to endure. So, without fail, she went. She didn’t fuss and she answered every question, no matter how fruitless the topics seemed. Besides...she considered one other point. She needed someone to talk too. In truth, she wanted to talk to Mot but he'd been MIA since she'd arrived at the hospital. She'd been told during her recovery that she'd called out his name but no one said anything more than that. Frankly, she was to afraid to ask and there were larger concerns that demanded her attention. When Vance explained that her probationary review was underway, Bianca had forgotten all about this one major technicality. Her first mission completed her orientation, now came the time for her review. Soon she would learn if her hours of training had paid off.

  Bianca turned off the burner, removing the kettle as she did this. Reaching for her favorite mug, she filled it partway with steaming hot water. Then she seeped a blend of chamomile and lemon followed by a teaspoon of honey. The past few weeks her days had been much like this one. Telling herself that she wasn't insane. Not rethinking her choices. Every time she heard any form of music, she would tell herself; the song wasn't in her head. The doctors had explained that, it might take months before she trusted her senses but they assured her, the trust would return. She hoped it would because she didn’t much like doubting herself.

  Bianca sunk back in the cushions that lined her chair. She stared at the paused flat screen T.V., doubtfully considering the characters; in those few seconds her brain unraveled the plot, now the show held no interest. She lifted the device that lay next to her. Bianca turned the page with a grin on her face. Reading novels had become her favorite pastime. Before her medical leave, she rarely found time for this indulgence. Joining The Agency had challenged her and if her review didn't go as well as she hoped; she wasn't sure where she would land because returning to Baltimore didn't appeal to her. Somehow her old job wasn’t what she wanted and her hopes aimed higher. She was chewing the tender tissue that lines the inner jaw while considering this, then her doorbell rang. Bianca bookmarked the page before depressing the pause button. She didn't want to chance losing her place but the device rarely malfunctioned so she really needn’t have bothered. As she walked to her door, she considered something that until now hadn’t been a concern. Except for her neighbor stopping by, asking to borrow a cup of flour; since returning home, she hadn't had any visitors. She didn't have any family in the area and most of her friends lived too far. Before relocating here, all along, she’d known she would be here on her own. In the past, her independence had never been a problem. She had her work and she got her fill of human contact at The Agency. In spite of that, there was an emptiness. A black void occupied by silence. She knew this now. Since being home on her medical leave; for the first time she was experiencing the full effect. This bitter taste of loneliness needed a cure. She shuffled across the floor, her bare feet nosily landing on wood. One would think that hearing the doorbell should have sparked a tinge of joy. A speck of excitement, but seeing her door signaled another annoyance.

  Bianca couldn't understand the wisdom in crafting a door with no way to see who was on the other side. It was large, solid as a rock and more than likely bullet proof. She'd rented the house from a naval officer who currently was stationed in Hawaii. At the time, the homes security was a huge selling point and with few visitors, the door hadn't presented any problems. Not until her condition stranded her in recovery mode. When the pizza delivery guy came by, she had to yell, asking who was it. Then when her mail order was delivered; again, the yelling began. When her neighbor ventured over, she felt sorry for the older man. He'd mistaken her screaming for anger, directed at him. It was unfortunate but she had to raise her voice if her visitor expected to hear her outside on the porch. But as she considered her options, as well as her throat; this time, she would forgo the screaming. Bianca unlatched the lock, then turned the knob. She pulled open the heavy security door and for the first time, she was thankful for its solid craftsmanship. She leaned back, the door catching her and preventing a fall.

  "Hello Bianca. Nice to see you up and about."

  Her eyes were stunned and as wide as saucers. In a million years, she would never have expected this.

  Swallowing a mouth full of spit, she gulped. For weeks Greek letters swam in her head; primarily, epsilon. But she couldn't mention this. She wasn't supposed to know.

  “Hi...” she said, then watched as Mot tilted his head.

  “Did I come at an inconvenient time?”

  “No... Oh, no.” Bianca spoke in a rush; her meager words coming out all wrong. She uprighted herself, no longer using the door to maintain her balance. Smiling she added...

  “I was just...” she waved over her shoulder. “Reading... I was reading a book.”

  Mot looked in the direction of her waving hand, then his eyes came back to her face. He smiled, lightening the mood.

  “You look well.”

  “Thanks.” She said, then her eyes lowered to his feet. She felt so out of her element. Unprepared too deal with him sober. On the other hand; Mot was the epitome of calm. He stood up straight, one hand in his pant pocket.

  “Do you have company?”

  “No...” she said in a rush, then she wondered what had prompted the question.

  He nodded then said...

  “If it’s all right... May I come in Bianca? I’d like to talk to you, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure, sure....” She apologized, saying... “I’m sorry, but you must forgive me. I don’t get many visitors.” She laughed, then added... “Actually, you’re the first.”

  He understood. Mot had been an agent far longer than her and he saw his family even less. Being alone came with the job. In spite of that, there was something about this piece of information that pleased him. He wiped his shoes on the doormat, than crossed the threshold, leading into the small foyer. He moved passed the door, giving her room to close it. His eyes took in the small house, admiring her decorative taste. He stood off to the side of the hall, waiting for her to lead him in.

  “This way...” She pointed to the living room. “Can I get you something? I was drinking tea. But you don’t strike me as the tea drinking kind.”

  He laughed. A sexy sound alive with zest.

  “Tea is fine, if that’s all you have.”

  “Oh no... I have
sodas, juice... Apple, orange, pear... I even have prune.”

  Again, his voice lit the room with his humorous laughter. He smiled, then said...

  “A cola would be fine, if you have one.”

  “Cola it is.” She said, grateful for the errand. She was behaving like a tangled tub of mixed up pixy sticks. Every color intertwined, and one on top of the other. She needed to get her thoughts in order because she’d been waiting for this day for a long time. Mot was in her home. He was standing in her living room. She popped the can. Filled a glass slowly, to ward off the fizz. She grunted because she’d forgotten to add the ice cubes. After washing her hands, she dropped two oval cubes in his glass. With her task down, she stood a few feet from the kitchens entrance, out of his view. She inhaled deep breaths before jumping in. Mot said...

  “Do you need any help?”

  Instinctively her head turned. She stared at the clock on the wall. Had she lost moments in time? Had she been gone far to long? Everyday, she worried about her chances. She questioned if the detox serum had freed her from the drugs clutches. It had too. She demanded. She had to be completely cured.

  Regaining her sense of control, she left the kitchen with his drink in hand. Finding Mot observing her home had an unsettling affect. He pointed at a picture.

  "Is this your brother?"

  She nodded. "Yes. He's a naval officer stationed in Guam."

  "And this?" He pointed at a sterling silver frame.

  "My mom and dad. That picture was taken at their thirty-fifth anniversary."

  He smiled saying...

  "You favor your father."

  She blushed. Mot's hands lay relaxed on the mantel. Looking at photos that chronicled her past. He turned, admiring her taste. Her quaint little bungalow suited her. Seeing her in this environment rearranged images he'd crafted in his head. In his daydreaming, his brain had formed a different picture. At The Agency she'd been so shy and quiet. Her eyes avoiding him; aimlessly fixed on inanimate objects. He'd imagined a home befitting a recluse. Cold. Impersonal. Heavy shroud like curtains. Dark rooms devoid of sunlight. But he'd been wrong to assume this. His eyes lifted. He attached a new label to his musings.

  Immediately she knew when he'd turned a page in his head. Mot crossed the room, taking a seat on the sofa. He jokingly said...

  "I almost sent out a search party to root you out of your kitchen. If you needed help, I wouldn't have mind lending a hand."

  “You know... Pouring a drink isn’t brain science.”

  She was joking too and the smirk on her face eased his worry. As she sat the glass on the coffee table in front of him; he wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to leap over pleasantries, diving headlong into the real reason he’d come. But he couldn’t. They had to take this slow; one step at a time.

  “I hope that brand of cola suits you." She said. "Some people can be very particular about that sort of thing.”

  He lifted the glass to his mouth, tasting the dark syrupy flavor. He nodded, saying...

  “Good. It’s fine. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” She said.

  There was fifteen-seconds of tense silence. Each wanting to talk, but both not wanting to hog the conversation by saying all the things that cluttered their minds.

  “Bianca...”

  She laughed, then said...

  “I don’t mean to cut you off but... Well...it doesn’t seem fair that you know my real name, and I still don’t know yours. At The Agency... Whenever he referred to you.... Even Director Vance always referred to you as Mot. I don't want to break any rules....but am I allowed to know your legal name?”

  She wanted to add that she'd slept with him, and he owed her the satisfaction of knowing who she'd been with intimately. Of course she didn't say this. She'd once been crazy but the antidote had cured her of this.

  Without a lag, Mot's face grew serious when he said...

  “Thomas. Thomas McCurry. Mot is my acronym. When I was growing up, my parents called me Tom for short.”

  “Tom...” She whispered. Mot spelled backwards. After Vance's many lessons on deciphering, it took her less than a second to reverse the letters in his name.

  “And the cat?” She questioned. He frowned, then realized she’d seen one of his communiques forwarded to Director Vance.

  He spoke in a calm manner.

  “When an agent is on a mission in the field, it’s always best to use images instead of words as your identifier. Not all agents do this but since I’ve been at this far longer than most... I’m old school. I close out my coded messages with the picture of a cat. A cat for tomcat.”

  Thomas’ voice was earnest with a solemn tone but Bianca... She bit her lower lip, to ward off a giggle. Inflicting pain did little, and her body broke free, snickering at first, then her funny bone dissolved into a full out laughter fest.

  She pulled herself together, then said...

  “I’m sorry... This is serious stuff.”

  “Not really. Actually, I’d like to discuss something far more important.”

  The tone in his voice washed the smile off her face. She sat up straight; her face a picture of seriousness.

  “Bianca... Please... This isn’t bad news but I know that the Director hasn’t informed you either.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “Yes... Well, if you were wondering why I haven’t been around... When you started your treatments, and it was determined that the serum would detox your body. I needed to do something productive. I’m no good to anyone when my hands are idle.”

  She nodded, waiting to learn something that was sure to be important.

  “When Richard promised Henrik that he wouldn’t kill him... That was Richard’s promise. I never made any assurances to Henrik.”

  “You killed him?” her voice trembled. When it came to Henrik, she had so many conflicting feelings and she didn’t know why. Thomas said...

  “Let’s just say that... Henrik won’t be causing any trouble where he is. Also... The people that financed his little operation... We disrupted production at three of their factories. The designer drug trade has suffered a setback and on the surface; Henrik is partly to blame for hundreds of deaths caused in this country, not including thousands of lost lives around the globe.”

  “You set him up. You made it look like he was a double agent. When you disrupted their drug production, it must have looked like Henrik leaked the information.”

  “Something like that. But, since we’ve provided him a safe place away from his ex-employers... Henrik has been very helpful. With what we’ve learned, a few of our agents will be extremely busy. But, that isn’t why I told you this. I just wanted you to know that you don’t need to worry about Henrik anymore.”

  “Thanks... That’s nice to know.”

  They were skirting around an obvious subject. A topic involving them and what they'd done while at the safe house outside of Paris. Him arriving unexpected, she'd been caught off guard. For weeks she'd rehearsed a set of lines but each time she said the words, no sentence articulated her true emotions. When the time came and she finally faced him; Bianca wanted to appear in control. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been rambling, under the influence of the drug. That isn't how she wanted him to see her now. She wanted his impressions to be an accurate portrait, demonstrating her strengths and not her weaknesses. Her time spent with him had been incredible. She wished he could have experienced his orgasm in the same way she had. One moment, she was grounded to the mattress, sheened in their combined sweat. Then in the next second her brain had lifted her out of her body. She was flying in the air, headed toward the sunset. In the distance she could see flickering shimmers, glistening off the lakes surface. Gulls floated below clouds like suspended fixtures with wings. None of it was real of course. This was her mind playing games, tricking her to believe she was someplace else with Mot and not in the bedroom. This is what she'd wanted to say. This is how she'd wanted to explain what being with him had bee
n like. But she couldn't. If she were ever to ensure a future with him, he couldn't know about this. Not now. Maybe never. But perhaps she would tell him when nothing mattered more to them than the love they shared.

  "Bianca..." His green eyes lay heavy on her; brows raised in question. "You're thinking about that night. Did you use your therapy sessions to discuss the night we spent together?"

  He crossed a line. Approaching the topic antiseptically. Mot knew no other way. All along, he'd known broaching a subject that spoke of their intimacy. It wouldn't come easy for her. Bianca's hip shifted forward on the couch. She'd not meant too but she was speaking louder than she'd intended.

  "No!" In perfect timing, her hand circled her neck; a true show of her shock. "That night.... That was something private. It had absolutely nothing to do with my job. Not to mention the obvious. I could never talk about a subject as sensitive as that, with my therapist."

  She didn't understand what possessed him to suggest this. Mot sat, calmly admiring her when he said...

  "Your sessions are private. You should feel free to discuss whatever you want."

  "I do and I have. But not about that." She insisted.

  "Bianca..." He said her name with such care. "I hope you're not using me as your reason to remain silent. If you need to make sense about anything that happened, I would completely understand."

  "Oh.... You would, would you." She said mockingly.

  He laughed while saying...

  "All right. I deserved that. But I am serious. You may need to talk about that night to someone impartial."