March Forth (The Woodford Chronicles Book 1)

by Deirdre S. Hopton

  Larsen’s response was a long, hearty laugh. He actually laughed so hard that he had to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes before saying, “You really have done a number on yourself, with these self-delusions.” He paused for a moment to catch his breath and shake his head slowly. “This is as good a time as any to take a break, I suppose. I need to come up with a strategy to try and help you fix all of the mental damage you’ve done to yourself.”

  “It’s not mental damage,” she protested weakly.

  He heaved a sigh as he stood up. “The fact that you don’t see it that way only proves that it is, Miss Flanagan.” He removed his Wand from his pocket and tapped away at the screen. His comfortable armchair disappeared, and a toilet and sink appeared in their place. There were no walls or door around them, and they were immediately in front of the one way glass wall that provided no privacy. “Clean yourself up and do whatever you need to do. We will resume our talk in a bit.”

  The general left the little room. Deanna stared at the toilet and sink for a moment, then at her reflection in the glass. After a few minutes, she broke into sobs.

  Benjamin

  General Larsen wasn’t feeling himself, at all. He felt so “not himself” that he almost felt dizzy.

  He had taken on this “bad cop” role with every intention of doing good. He simply wanted to understand this woman, her gifts, and her connection to Carver. Granted, he had some irrational hostility toward the woman, but he was man enough to put aside such emotions and work for the greater good. He wanted to understand why she had, by random occurrence, gotten to meet Carver even though the organization, with all of the tools at their disposal, hadn’t been able to find him for nearly eighteen years.

  That was all. No more, no less. He wanted to work for the greater good. It was his calling, as he often told himself, to work for the greater good, to keep the organization going in Carver’s absence. He just wanted to figure out what made this woman unique, and use whatever it was to help him find Carver.

  As he immersed himself in the “bad cop” role, though, he found it was coming to him rather naturally. If he stopped to think about it, he would find it unsettling; however, he had no time for self-reflection. He had to return to the task at hand. The mission always came first.

  He was running on pure instinct, at this point, and his instincts were telling him Deanna’s lifetime of bad decisions and self-delusions had left her too confused to allow him to understand why she had been allowed to meet David Carver. If he was going to be able to understand the real her, the nuts and bolts, he’d have to wipe all of that nonsense away.

  “Tabula rasa,” he thought to himself, and he began to formulate a plan.

  As he walked down the hall, he found he had a little extra skip in his step.

  Deanna

  The door opened and Larsen re-entered the room. Deanna sat on the floor, now, hugging her knees; it was easier than trying to find a comfortable position in that horrible little chair. She stared up at the General, silently, with fear and loathing in her eyes.

  “Good news, Miss Flanagan,” he said as he stepped over her and tapped at his Wand. The toilet and sink disappeared, and the comfortable chair reappeared. He sank into it with a grunt, then turned toward her. “I’ve figured out how to fix you up.”

  Deanna sniffed and wiped her face. She was feeling so low that his words had no emotional impact on her one way or the other. She shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly.

  “Do you hear me, girl? I know how to fix you! Get excited!”

  She continued staring at him blankly.

  He heaved a sigh and said, “Pull yourself together. Come on, sit in the chair. You’re not an animal. Sit with me and have a conversation like a human being.”

  She pulled herself into a standing position and flopped into the chair, obediently. After a second, she pulled her legs up onto the chair and resumed hugging her knees.

  “Miss Flanagan, I believe that whatever the reasons for your unique abilities are, we can’t find them because of all of the mental and emotional garbage you have hanging around in there,” Larsen explained, tapping his temple to illustrate what he meant by “in there.”

  “’K,” Deanna was unable to muster more than a monosyllabic response.

  “We can fix that, though. With the technology at our disposal, we can use the energy to wipe all of that unnecessary garbage away. It would be a fresh start for you, unburdened by feelings of guilt, remorse, and self-loathing. You would have a clean slate from which to rebuild yourself.”

  She blinked slowly, trying to process what he had just said. Her brow furrowed. “You want… you’re going to… wait. You’re going to brain wash me?”

  “Ha!” Larsen barked. “I suppose, in a sense, we will be washing your brain. But that has such negative connotations, and this is such a positive thing. A fresh start, Miss Flanagan! Free from your many past mistakes and self-delusions!”

  Deanna sat up a little straighter and lowered her feet to the floor. Cold, icy fear coursed through her, awakening her sense of alertness. “I don’t want that,” she said with unwavering certainty. “I don’t want that at all. You can’t do that.”

  The General sighed. “Come now, Miss Flanagan. Think about it. One thing I’ve run into again and again while interviewing you is your overwhelming sense of unworthiness. You clearly have some serious self-esteem problems, and guilt over past mistakes, no matter how much you cover them with affirmations and platitudes. We can fix that. We can take away all the parts of yourself that you dislike.”

  “I… I like myself just fine as I am,” she stammered. As she said it, she realized she meant it wholeheartedly. All of her familiar self-doubt and loathing disappeared in the face of this new threat. She did not want to be changed. She wanted to be exactly who she was.

  He chuckled in response. “That is a fear response, driven by your fear of change. It’s natural, I suppose, but I’m sure if you give the matter some thought, you will see that I’m right.”

  She mutely shook her head as terror pierced her heart like an icicle.

  Shaking his head with the kind of disbelieving wonder one displays when watching a rambunctious child, Larsen stood. He stated, with great confidence, “You just need some rest. Sleep on it, you’ll feel better about things.” He tapped the screen of his Wand, and the chair underneath her was suddenly an equally uncomfortable cot. His own, comfortable chair vanished, and were replaced by the toilet and sink. “I will be back in the morning, and we will give you your wonderful, fresh start.”

  He pushed the button on his Broom and blinked out of existence, leaving Deanna in a state of burgeoning panic.

  She sat, staring at her reflection in the glass, for a very long time. Her mind raced.

  Larsen was not entirely wrong, of course. She had always had self-esteem issues. She acknowledged that. However, she had always felt like it was something she could overcome, that she WOULD overcome. She was simply finding her path in the world. Sometimes it was hard, but it was supposed to be, right? That’s how life shapes your character. Overcoming one’s flaws and weaknesses was how one grew as a person, she’d always thought.

  Maybe she couldn’t always see how life was shaping her character for the better, and of course she often had doubts, but…

  Erasing her personality seemed a bit extreme.

  If that was even what he meant, that is. He had been a little vague, really, with all of his talk about a clean slate and erasing her regrets and so on. What, exactly, were they going to do to her?

  Would she even be herself anymore?

  Would she even be more than a vegetable?

  It was amazing, really, she thought. All her life, her mind had wandered down these paths of self-loathing, unbidden and despite her best efforts. She could rattle off a list of her flaws without a moment’s thought, but found it difficult to think of even one thing she liked about herself.

  Until now.

  Suddenly, as she pondered the impend
ing loss of herself, her positive attributes seemed innumerable.

  “Will he take away my creativity? My empathy? My memories with family and friends? My imagination? My motivation? My optimism? What will be left of me?”

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to be calm. Now, more than ever, she needed to feel the calm of being connected to something greater than herself. She began the process of releasing her thoughts and entering a meditative state.

  Benjamin

  He was completely unsurprised to find Steven waiting in his quarters.

  “Sir,” the boy blurted, standing as Benjamin entered the room, “I’m sorry to bother you, and I know it must be for the greater good, but can you please help me understand how erasing her mind will help our mission?”

  “Of course, Drisbane, of course. As always, you only need to ask,” Benjamin answered jovially, his eyes twinkling. “Why continue trying to break through her many self-delusions and defenses to see what brought Carver to her, and what he may have done to her? The energy gives us the ability to dispense with all of this nonsense and get right to the heart of the matter. And God knows it will help her, too. Poor woman’s just a mental mess.”

  “But… but…wouldn’t we be playing God a bit too much, sir? What if we’re messing with the natural order of things? What if she becomes some kind of vegetable or zombie or…or…”

  “Calm down, Drisbane. It’s not as if I’m going to completely delete her. We’re just going to… edit her, a bit.”

  “Edit?” Steven’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeak.

  “We do it all the time, boy. How many times have we altered reality, ever so slightly, to improve circumstances for our countrymen?”

  Steven’s mouth opened and closed several times as he remembered his studies on organization activity throughout the years.

  “We are helping this woman, Drisbane,” Benjamin continued. “I know you’re developing some kind of an attachment to her, I can tell. I understand. You found her and brought her in, after all. You must feel partially responsible for all this. You should thus be that much more enthusiastic about this opportunity to free her from her personal demons. We’re giving her a second chance at life. Many people would relish the opportunity.”

  “I don’t… I’m not….” Steven stammered. “I just want to make sure we’re doing the right thing, sir.”

  “Have we ever not? It’s as you told the woman when we first encountered her: we’re the good guys,” Benjamin answered him gently, remembering how young and inexperienced the Ensign was. “Sometimes the right thing is the hardest thing to do, my boy. Your questions and commitment to the greater good are admirable, and I applaud you for them. I’m sure that you will feel better about everything once you’ve given it some thought. Now, I need to get some rest.”

  The younger man nodded and stepped toward the door.

  “Oh, and Drisbane,” Benjamin called after him. “I’d like you to bring her breakfast in the morning. Put her mind at ease a bit. Be the good cop, so to speak. It won’t be good for any of us if she’s all panicky and skittish when we do the procedure.”

  “Yes, sir,” Steven answered, then left the General’s quarters.

  Benjamin slept, and dreamed.

  In his dream, he was lost in utter darkness. He could see nothing, but stumbled forward with the aid of a staff he held in his hands, which he used to tap the ground ahead of him as he made his way. The ground was hard, and he sensed that he was indoors, but that was all he could glean from his slow progress through complete and utter darkness.

  Eventually, his staff made contact with something hard. Stone. It was tall, nearly his own height. He felt it with his hands, and came to the conclusion that it was a statue. He could not tell what, exactly, it was a statue of.

  He continued his slow progress, occasionally bumping into other statues. His eyes did not adjust to the complete and utter darkness.

  Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, a bright light appeared immediately in front of him. The sphere of illumination showed him the statues around him, all broken and missing pieces. The light itself appeared over the statue of a woman, missing its head.

  As he took everything in, the light grew brighter and brighter. It hurt his eyes. He swung his staff at it, blindly, wanting only to stop the pain in his eyes. Though he missed the light, he made contact with the statue, and it immediately crumbled to dust. The light began to fade.

  He glanced around and saw all of the other statues were crumbling to dust, as well. He vaguely wondered if that was supposed to happen.

  His staff crashed to the floor, and he looked down at his own hand. It, too, was turning to dust. He looked down at himself and watched, in horror, as his body crumbled and fell away.

  As the last pieces fell, he awoke, safe in his own bed. He lay awake for a few moments, unsettled by the nightmare, before rolling over and falling into a fitful but dreamless sleep.

  Steven

  At first light, Steven entered Deanna’s cell with a tray of food in his hand. He found her sitting up straight on the edge of her cot, with her feet on the ground and her eyes closed. She showed no reaction to the sound of the door closing, so he cleared his throat loudly.

  She opened her eyes.

  “Good morning,” he said, awkwardly. “Were you sleeping? That can’t be a comfortable way to sleep.”

  “No,” she answered. He wasn’t sure if she meant she hadn’t been sleeping, or hadn’t been comfortable.

  “Well, I brought you some breakfast,” he stated cheerfully, proffering the tray. She made no move to take it, so he placed it next to her on the cot, and sat down on the other side of her. He tried desperately to think of a conversation opener, and finally settled on, “How are you feeling this morning, Deanna?”

  She glanced at him with a withering expression that made him feel like he was shrinking. He rallied and tried again. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Didn’t sleep at all,” she whispered.

  “Ah, I see,” he said, then stared at his feet for several long seconds while he tried to think of something to say. “I guess you’re a little nervous about the procedure?”

  A tear trickled down her face, then another. She did not look at him.

  “Don’t cry,” he murmured, putting a hand on her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “It will be a good thing, I promise.”

  Finally, she turned toward him. “Remember when I first got here?” she asked, her tone bitter. “You said I would not be harmed while I was here. Your promises are pretty meaningless, it would seem.” Tears continued to flow down her face.

  Steven didn’t know what to say. He felt terribly uncomfortable in the face of her tears, and didn’t know how to make her see that the procedure would be good not only for her, but for everyone. If only the General were here to tell him what to say. He was alone, though, and he just wanted to make her stop crying. He found himself pulling her into his arms. He hugged her tight, and patted her back, hoping it would make her feel better.

  After a few moments, she put a hand on his chest, fumbled for a moment, and then pushed him away. Her face was damp, but no new tears fell.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “No need for thanks. I’m always here to give a hug to a lady in need,” he said lightly.

  Her voice sounded hollow and expressionless as she said, “Oh, I wasn’t thanking you for the hug. I was thanking you for this.”

  She held up the Broom that he suddenly realized was no longer in his chest pocket.

  “Deanna –“he began, but she pushed the button and vanished, leaving him alone in her cell.

  He stared at thin air for a moment, willing her to reappear, to no avail. A sinking feeling developed in his stomach as he realized she was actually gone. He was pretty certain the General would not be happy with him.

  David

  David had been traveling toward the glow in the sky for what seemed like a very, very long time. He had walked and walked
until he came to a pile of icy, black rocks, which he had started to climb. He had been climbing for hours, now; the pile was much larger than it appeared. As he climbed, he realized it could really be called a mountain.

  The glow now appeared to be coming from just over the peak. He tried to ignore the frigid cold as he rose slowly, handhold by handhold, foothold by foothold. It was slippery with ice, and terribly slow going, but he persevered.

  Finally, after hours of slow, suffering progress, he reached up a hand to find his next handhold and found what felt like warm sand. He looked around at the icy rocks to which he clung and thought vaguely that warm sand wouldn’t fit in this scenario.

  He reached up as far as he could, bringing both hands to the top of the rock and immersing them in the warm sand, then he pulled the rest of his body up. It took every ounce of strength in his freezing, exhausted body, but he succeeded and found himself laying on a stretch of warm, golden sand. For a while, he just lay there, enjoying the warmth and catching his breath.

  When he felt able to do so, he rolled onto his side and noticed there was a long stretch of smooth, black road at the end of the sand. On the other side of the road was more sand, being kissed by the incoming tide of beautiful, azure ocean waves. He admired the view for a few moments, before pulling himself into a standing position.

  As he stood, he noticed a gorgeous, gleaming, brand new motorcycle standing where the sand met the road. He grinned as he ran toward it, knowing his keys would be in the ignition.

  Deanna

  Deanna had no idea how the Broom actually worked, but she had seen Steven and Larsen use theirs multiple times. It appeared to be as simple as pushing a button. She closed her eyes, pictured home, and pushed the button, praying all the while that it was as simple as it had looked.