Forging the Nightmare: A Jarrod Hawkins Technothriller

by J. J. Carlson

  “I expect you are eager to find out why I called you down here,” he said, intertwining his fingers.

  There was a pause as he looked at her expectantly. She looked back at him, hoping he would just get on with it. When he didn’t elaborate, she said, “I thought I was here for tea and cucumber sandwiches.”

  He looked confused. “What?” he asked, shaking his head. “No, I wanted to talk to you about project Nerium.”

  Emily's face fell. “You mean you want to use Jarrod for Nerium?”

  Dr. Wagner look surprised. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

  “I had a hunch.”

  “And how do you feel about his selection?”

  Emily's brow furrowed. “What do you mean 'his selection'? Are you saying he’s already been approved?”

  Dr. Wagner waved his hands defensively. “No, no. Nothing like that. We, of course, would not move forward without you. However, I have reviewed Mr. Hawkins' records, and I believe he is an excellent candidate. I also believe he would be willing to volunteer.”

  Emily ran a hand through her short hair. She imagined how Wagner would sell this idea to Jarrod, and she didn’t doubt Jarrod would agree.

  “No,” she said. “he isn't ready to make that decision for himself. He's not well enough to fully comprehend the ramifications.”

  Wagner picked up the tablet and scrolled downward. “Dr. Roberts, I think this is in his best interest. I have transcripts stating that he 'does not want to live without his family,' and the medical examiner states that his health has continued to decline. He has lost...let's see...thirty pounds since he was admitted four weeks ago. He continues to suffer from severe insomnia and has recurring nightmares. He has stated that he experiences frequent daytime flashbacks, reliving the moment his family was killed. Your own reports say that he is begging for treatment that would dampen his emotional response to the traumatic event.”

  Emily looked down. “I can help him. I just need more time.”

  “You can't help him if he won't let you. I can give him exactly what he wants.” Wagner's tone grew harsher. “The genetic modification and bio-machinery programs have been authorized for a human trial. Engineering has been waiting for an opportunity to apply the metamaterial with a human subject. Jarrod has combat experience and already possesses extensive knowledge on many different aspects of security. We won't get another patient like him, not if we waited a decade. And I don't want to wait until the people that I answer to become so impatient that they order me to select an unwilling participant. Do you?”

  She clenched her teeth and eyed his bony frame. “If I say no, are you still going to talk to Jarrod?”

  Wagner huffed, leaned back in his chair, and threw up his hands. “Yes. I am still going to talk to him. Because I think this is what's best for him. And ultimately, I get paid to develop weapons and technology to help protect our nation's interests. As do you, in case you've forgotten.”

  She stared at one of the pictures on the wall. It showed a tall grass prairie on the Russian steppes. The sky was a beautiful azure, contrasting with tan grass that leaned in the breeze. She felt herself longing for open spaces and fresh air. “Alright,” she said, “but if he agrees, I want full access to him at any time. And I want to be solely in charge of the mental conditioning process.”

  Wagner gave her a toothy smile. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

  Without another word, Emily stood up and walked out of the room.

  10

  A car blaring its horn brought Jarrod back to his senses. Blinking, he realized he was standing in the middle of a busy street. He took a few steps backwards and waved an apology at a car as it crept past. After a moment of turning in a circle to get his bearings, he realized he was in Richmond. Virginia? But how? His hands fished through his pockets for his wallet or phone, but found neither. Unsure of what to do, he remained on the sidewalk. He was about to ask passing stranger if he could borrow a cell phone when he heard tires screeching behind him. A blue sedan pulled up next to him, its tinted window sliding down. Agent Chan stuck his head out. “Get in,” he said.

  Jarrod didn't hesitate. He pulled open the door and climbed into the back seat. Agent Glassman eased the vehicle out into traffic while Chan’s head swiveled, scanning the street.

  “Jarrod, I know you may be a little confused right now,” said Chan, “and I'm sorry we kept you waiting. We had to scope out the area to make sure no one was following you. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”

  Jarrod tried to remember arranging the meeting. He felt a vague sense of having done so, but couldn’t recall any specific details. He leaned over to look at Chan in the front seat. “What is going on? Why did you want to see me?”

  Chan took a deep breath. “We have news about your family.”

  Jarrod shook his head. “Chan, my wife and son are gone. They've been dead for weeks.” Or has it been months? “There's nothing left to say.”

  Chan turned halfway around to look at Jarrod. There was something strange about his face; it looked soft, like he was having an allergic reaction. “No, Jarrod. Someone has gone to great lengths to make you believe they were killed. But it was all a deception. They've been held prisoner by a human trafficking group. They're alive, Jarrod. An undercover agent was able to pinpoint their location, and we picked them up yesterday. We're taking you to them now.”

  Jarrod's stomach churned and his head reeled with confusion. No, it can't be. I watched them die. He pressed his forehead against the window, hoping the coolness would help him collect his thoughts. It was surprisingly warm, so he turned away. I guess I don't really remember much after the paramedics took their bodies away. Could it be possible?

  They rounded a corner and pulled into a wide parking lot. Agent Glassman smiled and looked back at Jarrod in the rear-view mirror. “There they are.”

  Jarrod scrambled to the other side of the bench seat. Sure enough, they were sitting in a small hybrid car on the edge of the parking lot. He didn't immediately recognize the driver, but he could see Josh and Melody in the back seat. Grabbing the door handle, he pushed his way out before Glassman had completely stopped. He stumbled, then began to run. Josh was sitting in the back seat, waving his hands frantically. Jarrod’s smile faltered when he realized his son wasn’t waving hello—he was signaling for him to stop. He slowed, but continued walking toward the little car. Josh pounded on the window with one hand held his other palm flat against the glass. Less than thirty feet from the car, Jarrod stopped. As he did, Josh breathed a sigh of relief. Melody leaned over to hug her son and stroked the glass with her fingers. Jarrod shook his head. She was crying, but not with the warm tears of joy that filled his own eyes. Her face was contorted in anguished finality, as if she was saying goodbye.

  An instant later, a cement mixer barreled over the curb at an unbelievable speed. It smashed into the side of the hybrid, sending it rolling across the parking lot.

  “No…NO! Not again!” Jarrod tried to run, but immediately tripped and fell. He looked up and saw blood coat the windshield as the car ground to a halt. He jumped to his feet, and tried to rush forward, but Chan and Glassman grabbed him from behind and held him back.

  He struggled against the agents. “Melody! Joshua! No!” He screamed. Jarrod fought back with all his might, but he couldn’t break the agents’ grip.

  “Joshua! Joshua, come back to me!” Jarrod pulled and shouted until his voice gave out.

  He clamped his eyes shut, then suddenly felt as if he couldn’t open them. The darkness deepened, then began to fade. The blue sky and black pavement were gone, replaced with blue and green lights and the smell of lavender. Jarrod tried to move, but someone still restrained him. He blinked. Chan and Glassman were gone; Reggie and another orderly had taken their place, and were pinning him against the bed.

  Jarrod immediately stopped resisting. He drew in deep, hoarse breaths. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

  “Jarrod, it's me. It's Reggie. You're safe, everyt
hing is okay.”

  Jarrod looked up at the friendly face. “Reggie?”

  The two orderlies cautiously let him go. Jarrod winced as he sat up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “I'm…so sorry. I saw them die again. It was so real. I thought—I didn’t mean to put up a fight. I hope I didn't hurt anyone.”

  Reggie pulled his sleeve down to cover a bite mark on his forearm. He knelt and put a big hand on Jarrod's shoulder. “It's okay. Nothing happened, you were just crying out, that's all.”

  Jarrod shuddered. “Do you mind if I go out to the lounge? I don't think I'll be sleeping any more tonight.”

  Reggie nodded. “Just remember to check in with the hallway supervisor.”

  The two orderlies left the room, and Jarrod sat for a moment on the edge of his bed. Staring down at his hands, he noticed blood beneath his fingernails. In the serene room at the end of the hallway, he broke down in sobs.

  Early the next morning, a nurse informed Jarrod that he was expected in Emily's office. He nodded, and pushed himself out of his recliner. He shuffled to the office and knocked on the door. “Come in!” A man’s voice said.

  He wiped the surprised look from his face before opening the door. A tall, thin man sat behind Emily's desk. Jarrod guessed he was in his late fifties. He also appeared to be completely opposed to sunlight.

  “Please, sit wherever you would like, Jarrod,” the man said. Jarrod sat down in his usual swing-chair, and the man rolled Emily's desk chair over.

  “I suppose you were expecting Dr. Roberts. She is in a therapy session with another patient. I’m Dr. Dean Wagner.” He extended his hand for Jarrod to shake.

  After a beat of hesitation, Jarrod shook his hand. He hadn’t heard the word “patient” since he arrived.

  “I have reviewed your progress here at Hillcrest closely,” Wagner said, crossing one leg over the other. “I’m worried that traditional therapy is not be the best course of action. At least, not in your case. I’d like to offer you an alternative treatment.”

  Jarrod's face was impassive. “I'm listening.”

  Wagner fumbled with his tablet, surprised by Jarrod’s directness. “Yes, well, let me just jump right into the details, then. I understand that you are suffering from night terrors, severe depression, hallucinogenic flashbacks, and insomnia.”

  Jarrod stared at the doctor, then gave a slight nod.

  “Yes, so we have, uh.” Wagner cleared his throat. “We have a newly developed treatment that may be able to resolve all of your symptoms.”

  Jarrod leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow. “How?”

  The question relieved Dr. Wagner, who set the tablet down on his lap. “We have pioneered a method of suppressing certain parts of the brain. With this treatment, we would be able to completely control your emotions, and even eliminate most of them. It would immediately relieve your symptoms, but still allow you to continue contributing to society.”

  Jarrod didn’t hide his suspicion. “Contribute in what way?”

  Wagner scooted his chair closer and lowered his voice. “I can't provide all the details, but your contribution would directly impact the safety and security of our nation. The program would provide us with invaluable scientific data. Decades of research could be concluded in a few short months. Diseases could be cured; groundbreaking technology could be developed. With your cooperation, we could save hundreds of lives.”

  “What's the catch?”

  Wagner sighed. “I doubt the 'catch' is anything you would object to. There is a possibility that portions of your brain could be damaged in the process. You may lose a great deal of memory. You would lose the ability to feel emotions to an uncertain extent and permanence. In other words, you may be reduced to a more...instinctual level of cognition. You might lose some of the memories of the good times in your life, but we can make sure you lose the painful memories as well. If these risks are acceptable to you, I can describe the project in greater detail in my secure office.”

  Jarrod leaned forward. “Show me where to sign.”

  11

  Emily strolled down the hallway, her attention on the clipboard in her hand. She stopped next to the counter that opened into her secretary's office, frowned, and shook her head. “Ray, could you schedule a session with Jarrod Hawkins for this afternoon?”

  Her secretary wheeled over to the counter. “Sounds like he needs one. Reggie and Dan checked into medical after dealing with him last night. Dan had to get six stitches.”

  “I see that,” she said. “Send him flowers, okay? You can bill them to my account.”

  Ray nodded. “Sure thing. And about Jarrod…I can put him on your schedule, but are you sure he’ll be back in time?”

  Emily dropped the clipboard on the counter. “Back from where?”

  “Dr. Wagner signed him out about an hour ago; he said they were going to the secure office on the main floor.”

  Emily swore and threw down her pen. “I'll be right back.” She stormed off toward the west wing, and reached the insulated door to the briefing room in less than two minutes.

  “Dean, you old vulture, open this door!” she yelled, knowing that no one inside would be able to hear her.

  A few paces down the hallway, a security guard stood up from his desk and walked toward her. “You…alright, Emm?” he asked, trying to sound soothing.

  Emily's face flushed, and she leaned against the door. Looking at him apologetically, she said, “I'm sorry, Marcus. Do you know if Dr. Wagner is in here?”

  “Was. He stopped by with a patient. They were in and out in maybe twenty minutes. Then he had one of the nurses sedate him so they could move him downstairs.”

  She bit her lip to keep from shouting obscenities. “Did he say which floor they were taking him to?”

  Marcus nodded. “Yep. In fact, the boss told me to stop by the Operations Center and put you in for unrestricted basement access. I could take you down there now, if you'd like.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He smiled. “Give me a sec to find someone to cover my post.” He grabbed the phone from his desk and punched in a few digits, then said, “Could you send somebody to cover W-four? Thanks.”

  He cradled the receiver, and three minutes later they were on their way underground. Five minutes after that, they walked through the last set of steel doors into the Operations center.

  Emily had been in the Operations Center just a handful of times in her four years at Hillcrest. Technically, her security clearance would allow her into any room in the compound, but access was always restricted on a need-to-know basis. Now that Jarrod had volunteered for project Nerium, she would have unlimited access to almost every room in the compound.

  Despite the multitude of computer monitors, charts, desks, communications equipment, and filing cabinets in the Operations Center, only a skeleton crew was present. Two security guards sat attentively in front of a large holographic display that cycled through feeds from cameras around the building. A communications officer and an Information Technology specialist sat at another desk, and another guard served as a “runner,” which meant he brought coffee and snacks to the others.

  It only took the I.T. specialist a few minutes to update her security privileges. Turning her new RFID card over in her hand, she wandered over to the security guards in front of the holographic display. “Can you tell me where Jarrod Hawkins is right now?” she asked.

  One of the guards tapped the side of his glasses and didn’t say anything for several moments, accessing records through a display on the lenses.

  He found what he was looking for and said, “Mr. Hawkins's experimental designation is Four-Seven-Charlie. If you want to know anything about his status, you can type that code into any computer terminal on the network and it'll bring up his profile.”

  The guard tapped the side of his glasses again, and Jarrod's picture popped up in the corner of the holographic display. Beneath it, another box dropped down and showed the s
ecurity feed for his current location. “Looks like he's in his secure quarters on Sub-Level Two. They had him drugged up before moving him down here, for security purposes. I think the plan is to keep him sedated until they start operating.”

  “When are the procedures scheduled to begin?”

  “Tomorrow,” a voice behind her said. The Operations Center door closed behind Wagner, and he said, “We begin chemical conditioning first thing in the morning.”

  Emily’s eyes blazed. “You’re really in a hurry to strip Jarrod of his humanity.”

  “Nonsense,” Wagner replied. “Everything was prepared, but we were ready to hold off for weeks, if necessary. Jarrod was the one in a hurry.”

  Emily thought back to the report of Jarrod's night terrors, and the injuries the orderlies incurred. She looked back at the security feed and murmured, “You'll have to hire someone to cover my therapy sessions. I want to be down here for every step of his transition.”

  Dr. Wagner joined her in watching his slumbering test-subject. “If you insist, but he won’t even be conscious for the next few weeks.”

  She shook her head. “I don't care. I want to review the mental conditioning software, and see if any changes need to happen.”

  Wagner clapped his hands together. “Excellent. I’m Glad to have you on board, Doctor.”

  That was the night Jarrod slept in a normal bed. Early in the morning, a pair of nurses moved him onto a gurney and transported him to an operating room in Sub-Level Three, where he was stripped down, shaved, and sanitized. A surgeon removed his nasal feeding tube and replaced it with an endoscopic tube that fed macro nutrients directly into his stomach. Micro nutrients were given to him intravenously, along with hormone therapy and sedatives.

  A sentry stood guard outside of the operating room twenty-four hours a day. Emily tried to persuade, then bribe, then threaten the guards to let her in. In the end, she had to settle for observing Jarrod through the one-way mirror on the north wall of the operating room.