Patriot Deception

by Ross Elder

  She’s back now and she leads me midway down the hall to a large door. The door has another electronic lock but this one is newer, and the keys are made of metal. I can’t see the combination from its appearance, but Toni isn’t attempting to hide it from me. 7500*.

  She tells me I am still a patient, and I am physically unstable yet, so she can’t leave me alone in the shower room. She’s grinning, but her explanation makes sense. Hospital rules, she tells me. She promises not to look… too much. She’s teasing me. I kind of like it but I am also embarrassed. Is this shame? Modesty? I don’t know. I turn away from her and slip off the thin hospital pajamas.

  “Oh, my God.”

  It was a whisper but it startled me. My God, what? Is she that attracted to me that she would be so bold and obscene? I glance at her over my shoulder. She had both of her pretty hands, fingers extended, over her mouth. She says she’s sorry and I raise my eyebrows questioningly. Her hands lower to her sides and she cocks her head a little to the left. She’s composing herself, realizing her reaction could have been misunderstood. I can see that in her expression. I’ve gotten good at reading her. I relax because I now know her outburst was not sexual in nature.

  “You’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?”

  She comes closer, and her hands move to my shoulders, turning me away from her. She’s looking at something I, of course, can’t see. She’s applying pressure to my shoulders, turning me. I resist because, well, I’m naked, and now I’m becoming uncomfortable. I quietly ask her what it is she’s inspecting, and she just applies more pressure, forcing me to turn and face her.

  Her eyes are roaming my physique. Not admiringly. Not lustfully. Medically. Like an inspection. Like I’m a prized side of beef she is considering purchasing but wants to make sure it is of prime quality, not just choice. I must be blushing because my face is hot and I feel small beads of sweat forming at my hairline.

  “Injuries. All sorts of them. And not just the fresh ones from your recent ordeal. Old wounds. Cuts, burns, punctures.” She’s poking at my flesh, pulling the skin taught to make the scars more visible in places. I’m starting to feel annoyed. “Are you some sort of…extreme athlete or something? I mean, you have the body for that sort of thing. Trim, well-muscled…flexible, I assume, by looking at you.”

  A pain shot into my chest as she looked up into my eyes. I’m a good foot taller than she, so I’m looking down on her. She asks if I remember “This one” and I wince a little, unsure why. Now I realize she is pressing her thumbnail into a scar on the left side of my chest near the deltoid muscle.

  I grunt a little, but no memory flashes into my mind. She is trying to trigger a memory with a hint of the pain from the previous injury. She’s a weird one, really. But, she’s so damn cute. I’m okay with it. I shake my head.

  “I mean, none of them really look life-threatening or anything. That’s why I wonder if you are just into very dangerous, adventurous things. Rock climbing, maybe. Or, one of those clubs where the first rule is that you don’t talk about the club?”

  I’m lost, and she can tell by the look on my face. I can only shrug and keep staring into her eyes. Something else is happening to me, though. The longer I stare at her, the more difficult it becomes to hide my arousal. I try to think of something boring to control it. I am failing.

  I can’t help but say, “This is getting…a little…embarrassing.”

  Her left hand is pressed gently to my chest, and she has the sincerest expression one could imagine. She is assuring me I have no reason to be embarrassed or self-conscious.

  “Come on, now. I’m a nurse. I examine naked patients all the time, and if they are memorable, it is usually for all the wrong reasons. I’m really…” She felt my flesh brush against the front of her scrubs just above her hips. “…Oh.” It was a quiet realization. She held her gaze and patted my chest gently with her palm. “That.” Her eyes closed and her right palm pressed against her mouth as she inhaled deeply through her nostrils.

  I am shrugging my shoulders and pleading with her silently with my eyes. I’m not sure for what, whether pleasure, or privacy, but something is there.

  “So, okay, let’s get that shower! You’ll feel better! Then, off to bed. You need your sleep. You’ve been through a terrible trauma and sleep is very important for your recovery! Do you think you need a valium? To help you sleep? I’m authorized to give you that. The doctor has a script…”

  She’s gone. I’m in the shower. Alone. She had provided me with generic shampoo, soap, a washcloth, and a disposable razor kit. I am under the spray of the hot water for quite some time. It is the most pleasant thing I’ve felt since…I’ve been…alive, or awake, or whatever it really is. I’m cautious while washing the stitched areas – the back of my head, the side of my face, and my right ribs. The stitches are supposed to come out tomorrow if the doctor says it’s okay.

  The gentle tapping at the door tells me she’s worried about how long I’ve been in here. I tell her I’m fine while I shave the thick scruff from my face. The day nurse had let me use an electric shaver a few days ago, but it feels so much better to use a blade. I must be a blade man. The fresh pajamas and robe feel good against my fresh skin. I feel so much better. Just being able to get up and move around and take care of myself really lifts my spirits.

  I’m examining myself in the mirror now. One final check before I try to smooth things over a bit with Toni. I feel strange. I feel…cold, like a fog, is surrounding me. Why do I feel that way? Who is this in the mirror? Is that me? Why am I here? Where is…here? I can see me, but it is not me. There are dark orbs where my eyes should be. What is happening? Oh, God. I’m on fire. Flames are brushing my skin, searing me, cooking my flesh. My face is gone, replaced by something horrible. I’m frightened. Please, don’t take me back there! I feel better! Let me live!

  Silence and darkness. Is this real? Am I back in that peaceful, beautiful place that has no beauty? Why is the darkness so pleasant? I have no pain. I am free of pain and I…I am nothing. What is it I’m supposed to be doing? Something. There is something calling to me, but I can’t hear it. I’m ignoring it, I think. Am I? This is where I should be. I have no need to go… where? Where would I go, anyway? There is only nothing and… peace. I’m the only being in the universe, and it is all mine. I am a god here. Can I create things? Am I powerful?

  What is that glow ahead? This is new. Or, is it? I have no memory of it, nor do I feel compelled to know it. It simply is, just as I simply am. So, I am not alone in this universe. Something else is here. Am I not God? Is that glow the true Supreme Being? It must be. It has me now, drawing me closer. If I was God, it could not do so. I would draw it to me. It would be compelled to obey my power, my gravity.

  No! There is pain there. I feel it. As I draw closer to the light, I draw closer to the pain and the sound and the suffering, and I do not want to go to you, oh powerful one. Please, leave me. Let me be!

  Numbers and letters are also orbiting the light. Random, it seems. No words, just letters, floating in nothingness. Numbers. What is it? I’m curious. I watch them dance in the ether, forming no detectable sequence. Is this a puzzle? I like puzzles. I think. I think I liked puzzles when I was a human. I don’t need puzzles here in my home. In my domain.

  It’s too late. I am there. I am within the light. I am…human. My head is filled with screams and mechanical buzzing. My limbs ache and the spear has returned to my side.

  Why hast thou forsaken me, oh darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  September 8, 2016

  0114 hours

  Oh, that face. So, lovely. So…perfectly formed. Why is she so upset? I can clearly see her concern. She’s like an open book, really. She can hide nothing from me. If not for this ringing in my ears I could hear her. She’s whispering. Something, something, big trouble. Why? Who’s in trouble?

  I’m in bed. How did I get here? We were…I was…showering. I was alone. Holy shit, I remember what I was doing.
This is important. But, I don’t remember. There are others here. Two men, I don’t recognize. They are all talking. Everything is fine. I’m fine. Fainting spell. I’m not hurt.

  Fainting spell? No. No, you don’t understand. I didn’t faint, I was dragged into the darkness. I was alone, and I was perfectly happy. Why did you…or, did you? Did you pull me back here? It was you, you…whoever you are. Toni wouldn’t do that to me. She would want me to be happy, and I was happy. I was happy and peaceful and…well, I would have liked it if she was there with me. Can she? Is that possible? Can she be with me there in the darkness without pain and without…anything? I don’t think she would like that. She wouldn’t go with me. Would she?

  I can hear their words now. The ringing is subsiding but just so.

  “Should we put him back in the restraints?”

  “Noooo. He’s fine. He wasn’t violent or uncontrollable. He’s fine. He just overdid it, is all. We’re fine.” That’s Toni. She cares about me. These other jerks just want an excuse to smack me around or something. I swear to God if you try that shit with me I’ll…I’ll what? What the hell am I even considering?

  It would be so easy. The guy on the left, the Hispanic, he’s favoring that right knee. Obviously, he’s dealing with an old injury, or a new one, or whatever it may be. Anyway, a quick kick to the outside of that knee and he’s done. What could he do? He couldn’t chase me if I wanted to run away. And the other guy, well, he’s a big one. He likes to spend a lot of time in the gym. I can tell that. He probably needs to since he works in a psych ward at a hospital. People are crazy.

  But, he can’t exercise the front of his throat. That bedpan on the cart could work just fine. A hard blow to the front of his throat, maybe stab him through the eye with that ink pen in the pocket of his scrubs. Done. Dead. It’s a nice pen. Sturdy.

  Dead? What the hell?

  “Montague?”

  My eyes have shifted to that pretty face. Montague. Nope. I shake my head and try to smile. I feel like my face isn’t cooperating. She giggles anyway.

  She’s kissing me. No. No, wait, that isn’t a kiss. Those are the tips of her fingers. Something is in my mouth. There’s a plastic cup in my hand.

  “Take that. It will help you sleep.”

  The men are leaving. I’m pleading with her. No, I don’t want to go to sleep. I want to walk around and…you know things. Words aren’t coming out. I drink the water and swallow the tiny pill.

  She remains even into the dream world. We’re laughing and walking along a beach, holding hands. I’m naked, but she is not. It feels… real. Natural. Why isn’t she also naked? Is she more greatly possessed of modesty than I? And, then, I’m gone. She is alone next to the gentle waves. I’m floating away as she looks on. She is sad, but she knows I’m going home so she takes comfort in that.

  Slowly, the darkness engulfs me. My pain is gone, and I simply am. But, something is different. There’s a spot. There! Do you see it? Can only I see it? It’s dark. Darker than the darkness I know so well. How can that be? There is nothing, and yet, there is something…less. Less than nothing? If the darkness is nothingness and there is a place that is darker still, then is this really nothing?

  It’s pulsing. It’s speaking to me. How can it speak to me? How dare it speak to me? Who, or what, do you think you are, addressing me here?

  “I know who you are.”

  I am awake at the sound of the voice. The lights of my room are on, and there are people there. Toni is not here. Her shift must have ended. Oh. Oh, boy. We had that shower thing. Is Toni gone? Did she get fired? I must have spoken her name.

  “She’s gone home. She’ll be back tonight.”

  It’s the doctor, but he isn’t alone. A man in a uniform is standing behind him. A policeman, I think. Yes. Not the same policeman who distrusts me. Or is it? I don’t remember his face. I reach for my water cup, and he helps me by pouring more into it. I drink. My throat is so dry.

  “Listen. We know who you are!” the doctor is saying, as though he’s been saying it for a while and I am ignoring him. He’s very excited about these words. I’m in a fog. My head won’t clear. The pill. That tiny pill delivered with a kiss…no, not a kiss. Wow. That’s a strong pill. Where is Toni, damn you?

  “Morgan!”

  “What?! Jesus Christ, what is with the yelling. Fuck. I’m still half asleep here.” I didn’t mean to respond so angrily. I regret it. I have to clear my head. This hangover is horrid. I just want to go back to sleep. Will you just leave me the fuck alone?

  My back stiffened. I’m sitting up. I’m staring at the policeman who yelled at me. The man who yelled my name. My name. Not Martin, or Marcus, or Michelangelo, but Morgan. I am Morgan. I know it as surely as I know I am human and I am a man. I’m Morgan, nice to meet you.

  “My name is Morgan.”

  “Yes! Yes, it is. Morgan McClellan. During your… episode… last night, Toni said you were mumbling things. She wrote them down. 2750 Auburn Lane. It’s an address. It’s your address. We called the police, and they looked into it this morning. You live there. The property manager knows you. She gave us your name and other details. She’s been very worried about you.”

  “Morgan McClellan. 2750 Auburn Lane. It’s…a townhouse. Very nice, really. Two bedrooms, two stories with a finished basement. I had the gas stove installed because I…I can control the…heat.”

  “Good! Good. Keep talking. Keep thinking.” The doctor is smiling. He’s very pleased with me. “Sometimes just the right nudge is all it takes.”

  “I have a car.”

  The policeman is flipping through a small notebook in his hands. He’s nodding while consulting his notes. “BMW. Nice car.”

  The flood continues as I see everything. My curtains. My carpet. My tile. My…I don’t keep much in the refrigerator. I am alone in that townhouse in every memory; two walk-in closets filled with clothes, all mine. I guess I like clothes.

  “Holy shit. I have a cat.”

  The doctor is giggling and nodding. “Yes, you do. Mrs. Harris, that’s your landlord, she got worried when you were gone so long so she fed the cat and changed the cat box.”

  “Mrs. Harris. Yes. I remember.” My mind rushed to and fro, seeking out new images and playing short films against the whiteness of my memory. Mrs. Harris. Petite, graceful, friendly. A woman of about forty, a little gray left in her neck-length, auburn hair to ensure people knew. I see her showing me the townhouse before I moved in. I see her talking to the contractor who delivered my stove and the gas company man who inspected the new gas line. She’s there at my small dining table, indicating where I should sign pieces of paper. She’s in a flimsy, summer dress, her feet bare. She’s elegant and poised. So…graceful as she raises the hem of her dress and maneuvers her left leg over my thighs, coming to rest in my lap. She’s so…whoa. Mrs. Harris, you are a naughty, naughty woman.

  “No criminal record. Not many records at all, really. Your employment is listed as Consultant, but nobody seems to know what kind.” It’s the policeman again. The flipping pages of his notebook sound very annoying.

  “But, you do have health insurance, so you have that going for you.” The doctor apparently thinks this is the perfect time for a humorous aside. I guess it isn’t completely inappropriate. I’m sure I’ve racked up quite a bill here.

  “Bank accounts. Checking and savings. No withdrawals since you were found on the side of the road so, whoever robbed you, if that is what happened, hasn’t tried to spend any of your money. We told the bank what we could so they’ve placed a lock on your accounts until you come in and have some changes made to your security settings. I’d do that first thing if I was you. You may have just been lucky up to this point.” This cop sounds like I’ve gone from being an interesting case to a nuisance. I can tell he wants to do his duty and then get out of here so he can chase real mysteries. “We’ll send a detective by to follow up on the incident. Maybe you’ll start to remember other things now and can at least poin
t us in a direction.” He had nodded at the doctor before he walked out.

  My head is pounding. It feels as though a bag of rocks is resting on my skull. I’m not fading into the darkness, which is good, but this headache is debilitating. I need rest. It’s too much. Too much at once. Everything feels right. It is who I am. I am Morgan McClellan who lives on Auburn Lane, and I have a cat. I’m a cat person. This somehow feels disappointing.

  Move! Move your ass. Now. Keep moving. You will only fail if you quit. Don’t quit! Get up and keep moving.

  The voice. I’m trembling. I’m shrinking away from it, cowering. I know it isn’t real. The doctor is talking, but I can’t hear him because the other voice is too loud. He doesn’t hear it. There’s nothing there. Nothing. This is all in my head. Stop!

  They know. Get out. Move. As soon as you have the opportunity, move out. Get going. They are coming. Run. Keep running.

  I see the window that doesn’t open. I remember the locks and the codes and the stairwell. I can take the doctor out quickly, quietly, and leave him here in the room. The restraints are still attached to the bed rails. I can use them to restrain him while I escape. Bedpan. Ink pen. Power cords.

  Why? Why is this urge to escape so powerful? Escape from…what? Run to…what. Or, whom? Where am I going and why must I go there?

  The townhouse. I have to get back to the townhouse.

  Chapter Eight

  September 11, 2016

  Everything feels so much better without stitches. Harold and Toni say I’m improving quickly, and it appears I will make a full recovery, although the memory issues may persist for some time. I’m not sure how that is going to affect my world. For the life of me, I can’t remember what sort of consultant I am. I can recall flashes of being in an office building, surrounded by other people, small groups, office machines, conference rooms, images of typical PowerPoint presentations.