by Cat Gilbert
I finished cleaning up, and stepped out of shower. Jenny helped me towel off and slipped me into the dreaded hospital gown before putting me back into the wheelchair. She tucked a blanket around me and turned the chair toward the mirror. Then she stepped back and waited.
I didn’t know the person I was looking at. My hair was a dark stubble, my eyebrows almost non-existent. I’d expected that from the heat, expected the flash burn from the explosion, but not the rest. I was bone-thin, looking more like a skeleton than a live being. My skin was pink and I could see the scars scattered across my torso, healing, but clearly evident. They would always be there, a daily reminder of what had happened.
My nose was different, as was the shape of my eyes. My cheekbones higher and my jaw more prominent. I’d been hit by shrapnel, Jenny had said, the bones in my face shattered. She said there’d been five operations. I remembered none of it.
“There’re no scars,” I said. I ran my hands over my features, watching in the mirror to confirm it was, in fact, my face I was feeling.
“Connors brought in the best plastic surgeon he could find. I assisted. The recovery tank took care of the rest.”
The recovery tank. The thing I had just destroyed. Jenny’s creation, one of her most successful experiments and I had just torn it apart.
“I’m sorry about the tank Jenny,” I said, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“It’s alright, Taylor. It wasn’t your fault. We‘d been keeping you sedated, trying to keep you quiet while you healed, but you’d been fighting it. With your mental capabilities, it was only a matter of time before you won. That you happened to be in tank when it happened, well,” she walked up behind me and put her hands on my shoulders, giving them a squeeze in reassurance. “It’s hard enough to deal with the tank when you know you’re going inside. You had no idea where you were. You just reacted. Panicked. I’m pretty sure I would have done the same thing.”
“You wouldn’t have had the same results.” I smiled at her watching my lips turn up in a way I’d never seen before. They’d done a good job, but it was going to take some getting used to. If that was even possible. I heard distant voices in the hall, recognized Mac’s voice.
“How’s Sean?” I asked, remembering Mac’s injuries. I’d called him Mac when I first had come out of the tank, disoriented and surprised by the fact he was there. I had hoped that Jenny hadn’t noticed. From the raised eyebrow she sent me, she obviously had.
“Sean is fine. He’s still doing some physical therapy, but the paralysis he experienced was only temporary. His biggest problem now is feeling he let you down by not being there. That somehow he could have stopped what happened.”
I shook my head, watching the reflection in the mirror as I did it, needing confirmation it was me I was looking at.
“What about Connor’s leg?” I watched as a stranger’s lips formed the words.
“It’s good. Multiple fractures, but its healing well. He’ll be using a cane by next week.”
Next week? He had multiple fractures and would be on a cane next week? I looked at my healed scars in the mirror and finally asked the question that I’d been avoiding.
“How long have I been here, Jenny?”
I saw her reflection behind me shift in mirror. She was watching me, looking to see if I was ready.
“Two months.”
I gripped the arms of the wheelchair. Two months. Two months had gone by. My mind refused to accept it. It had just happened. I could still smell the smoke, feel the heat from the flames. I shook my head in denial, unable to take it in.
“You need some rest, Taylor. You may be awake, but you’re still pumped full of sedatives. A normal person would still be out for hours.” She grabbed the handles of the chair and backed me out of the bathroom. “You’ll be able to handle this better once they’re out of your system.”
She helped me into bed, hooking up monitors, despite my resistance.
“You’re an unknown, Taylor. I don’t know how you’ll react, as we’ve already seen evidenced.” She swatted my hands away, snapping the wires onto my body. “Just humor me and try to get some rest.”
She left and lights lowered, automatically dimming the room. My mind was whirling with information and questions. There was no way I was going to be able to rest. What I needed was answers. I needed to talk to Lars.
I WOKE UP disoriented and groggy, desperately in need of coffee. You’d have thought after two months I would have that addiction out of my system, but that certainly wasn’t the case. I sat up to find Lars sitting in chair next to me, a cup of coffee, still steaming, in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other. I took a deep breath, savoring the aroma that filled the air. No wonder I’d woken up in need of a fix.
“That better be for me,” I said, reaching out to take it as the lights came up. He smiled, handing me the cup. I searched his face for damage as I took a sip, relieved to find he looked the same as always.
“I’m fine, Taylor. You’re the one who took the brunt of it,” he said, reading my thoughts.
“Your voice is better,” I noted, surprised. The raspy growl had changed to a hoarse deep baritone that was much more human than before, but it still sounded painful.
“You thought I always sounded like that?” I nodded and he chuckled as he explained. “Job related injury. Not unlike what you did to Hughes. I’ve had two months of healing since we last talked. Unfortunately this is about as good as it’s going to get. Not great, but I’ll take it.”
I leaned back and took another sip of coffee. I could have done without his reference to Hughes and what I had done to him. I had badly damaged his vocal chords and if he had survived, he probably would have sounded much like Lars, if he could even talk that was.
“You up to talking?”
I nodded, realizing Jenny had been right about the sedatives. Between the rest and the hit of caffeine, I felt much better, my thoughts clearer. I was as ready as I was going to be.
“What do you remember?”
“Nothing after the explosion.” I told him. “I remember looking up and seeing you coming toward me. Vivian said something. It sounded off and I looked down, saw the detonator in her hand. She was looking at the limo and I knew, but it was too late. I saw the car explode. Saw the flames rushing toward me. Nothing after that.”
“You saw the detonator in her hand?”
I nodded again, knowing that image would be burned in my mind for the rest of my life. I could see it even now, her thumb pressing down on the button, me, helpless to stop it.
“Taylor, you never looked down.” My coffee stopped halfway to my lips. “You were watching me. You couldn’t have seen the detonator.”
“No, I saw it, Lars.”
“You didn’t look down,” he repeated. “I saw the fear in your eyes when you knew. Heard your scream as you whirled around to face the danger. Watched as you threw Connors behind you, trying to protect him. I watched you throw the limo away from us as it exploded. Watched the flames wash over you. I saw the metal hit you, watched you fall as it shattered your face. It happened in seconds, Taylor. Seconds. But I’ve replayed it in my mind a thousand times. I’m not wrong. You never looked down.”
“That’s just not possible,” I whispered to him, disbelief at what he said warring with the pain and conviction I heard in his voice. I was so sure I had seen it, and here he was, just as sure, telling me I hadn’t.
“Of course you saw it Taylor.” Mac’s voice surprised me and I nearly dropped my coffee. He must have come into the room while Lars was talking and I’d never heard him, I’d been so focused on what Lars was saying.
“You just didn’t see it with your eyes. You saw it with your mind.” He smiled as he walked over and hopped up, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “It’s your gut instinct taken up a notch. Instead of sensing the danger, you actually saw it this time. Could come in quite handy.”
“A lot of what you do could come in quite handy, to use Sean’s words. That�
�s why this all happened in the first place.” He stood up, tossing the newspaper in my lap. It flopped open to the front page, the headlines starring up at me. It was dated the day after the explosion.
I threw Mac a look, my nerves in a jumble. He gave me a reassuring nod and I gave him a heavy sigh in response. I settled back against the pillow, took a big sip of caffeine and started reading.
According to the paper, the explosion had been the result of a fuel leak in the hangar. There had been several casualties, among which were Vice Presidential Aides James Johnson and Adele Minter, respectively. The Vice President’s plane was destroyed before firefighters could get the fire under control. I let the paper drop as I finished the story, the impact of it hitting me hard.
“How much of this is true?” I asked Lars.
“Most of it.” He’d been moving around the room, poking at things as I’d read the paper. As I asked my question he ambled back to the chair and took a seat, ready to talk. Mac was still sitting on the bed where he’d watched me the whole time, feeling what was going through me, helping take the edge off. “Keith and Vivian both worked for the Vice President. From what we have been able to confirm, James Johnson and Adele Minter were their real names. Keith and Vivian were aliases for your benefit.”
Stunned, I felt my breath catch. Their names weren’t even real. Everything. Everything had been a lie. “Vice President Armstrong is part of this? It was his plane?” I asked, disbelieving.
“Yes. He’s head of the committee that Connors reported to, but it started long before that. In the late 60’s, early 70’s, the US Government was looking into the paranormal. The CIA in particular had an interest in weapon development. Your parents were involved.” He paused as my eyes narrowed at his words. I felt Mac shift on the end of bed, feeling my anger build. “They tested out college students and offered those that showed promise, the chance to explore their potential. They paid well and it was exciting work. Your father was a science major, your mother was studying psychology. It was a perfect match for them. Armstrong was a mover and shaker on the Hill even then. He was part of the committee that oversaw the project.”
“You’re saying my parents worked with the Government?” I shook my head, going back years in time. “ I don’t remember any of this.”
“Because the program had dissolved by the time you came around. Lack of evidence, no support for their theories? The Government has a tendency to cut funds to programs that don’t get results. It was deemed a failure and scrapped, but Armstrong didn’t believe it. He was sure there was something there and kept tabs on the participants, especially your parents. He was thrilled when you came along. The product of two people who showed paranormal promise was his dream come true.”
“Did he have them killed?” I demanded, the machines shifting on their wheels with the vibrations of my anger. “Did Armstrong order them killed to get to me?” I repeated when he didn’t answer.
“We don’t know, Taylor. I’d give anything if I could tell you no, but I won’t lie to you. We simply don’t know.”
They waited quietly for me to pull myself back together, to get my anger under control. I felt like I was suffocating, unable to breathe. I could hear the beat of my own heart on the monitor as it galloped out of control. The door swung open and Jenny’s head popped in, anger in her voice as she ripped into Lars and Mac.
“I said not to upset her!” she spat out. “You have to leave. Now!” She threw open the door and pointed to the hall, demanding obedience. They both ignored her, which made her even madder.
“It’s alright, Jenny. I’m okay,” I said trying to assure her and convince myself at the same time. “They need to be here.”
She gave me a long appraising look and then glared at Lars and slammed out of the room, leaving us sitting in silence. Surprisingly, I did feel better, more in control. Her interruption had broken the tension in the room, given me time to process a little. I wasn’t calm by any stretch of the imagination, but I was better.
“Where does Vivian come in?” I’d taken a few deep breaths and was ready to go on. “Or should I say Adele?”
“It was Armstrong’s belief, that the abilities would surface after a trauma. The death of your parents provided him the perfect means to insert someone into your life to monitor you closely. That was Adele. She had joined the program as a researcher while she was a student in University and stayed on as Armstrong’s assistant. By this time, he was moving up the rungs in the political arena and was able to pull some major strings. Adele was, in his mind, the perfect solution. What he didn’t know was that Adele was a sleeper agent for the Russians, who were working on their own research into the paranormal. Armstrong had just put you in the care of a covert Russian spy.”
“Russian?” The rest of my anger dissolved in whirl of shock and confusion. “Vivian was a Russian agent?”
“Armstrong didn’t have any idea. Adele had her own agenda, sending reports back to mother Russia, following their orders, while playing along for Armstrong. When you grew up and left home, they lost their hold on you. Armstrong arranged for Vivian to ‘die’ hoping it would push you over the edge. He had no idea of what Vivian had done to you as a child, or he might have realized it wouldn’t work.” He got up, pacing around the room again, too restless to stay still. “He needed a way to keep tabs on you and he finally had the power to make it happen. Using the Agency was his idea. What better way to watch you than to actually put a ‘Watcher’ on you. He solicited support from the same agencies that had been involved years ago, selling them on new technology and advancements in the field. He didn’t have to sell too hard. They saw the advantages of someone like you all too well. With a Watcher in place and regular reports coming in, he decided to try again. With Keith.
He sat back down, stretched out his legs and waited, giving me time to process the information. I wasn’t sure I could. None of it seemed real, but then again, that wasn’t surprising. Most of the life I’d lived up to now hadn’t been real.
“Let me just make sure I have this straight, okay? Vivian was a mole for Russia, using Armstrong to gather information. Hughes worked for her, and recruited Brown to help him?”.
“Keith worked strictly for Armstrong.” Lars nodded at me, confirming my analysis. “He wasn’t involved with Vivian except in her roll working with Armstrong.”
“So, why make a move to take me now? They read the reports. They had to know I had no idea how to control this thing. Why didn’t they just leave me alone? Bring me into the Agency for training?”
“Armstrong might have done that, but Vivian forced his hand. As Armstrong’s Aide, she was privy to the reports. She knew your abilities had surfaced. It would be easier to take you early, than give you time to learn to use them. Then there’s the fact that the Agency made him vulnerable.” Lars sat up in his chair, leaning forward. “Look, Armstrong had been filtering the reports that Connors sent in. As far as the committee members were concerned, there wasn’t much going on at the Agency except some advances in medical research. Nothing they could use on the paranormal front. The program was, for all intents and purposes, dissolved three years ago. Armstrong was high enough up on the ladder to funnel funds to keep thing going. Washington is such a bureaucratic mess, it wasn’t hard. As far as the Agency was concerned, nothing had changed. And it hadn’t, except there’s no committee anymore. The Agency is Armstrong’s own personal research lab. Once you became active, he didn’t need to take the risk of getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He could have you and pull the plug on the Agency with no one the wiser.”
Except you, I thought, wondering who he really was and how he’d gotten his information. Russians spies, covert government operations, secret intelligence on the Vice President of the United States. Scary stuff, this.
“So what exactly did he plan to do with me after he had me? For that matter, what did the Russians want with me?” I ventured the question, figuring I had nothing to lose. Lars knew a lot, maybe he knew t
he answer to that too.
“Power, Taylor,” Mac cut in answering my question. “Look at the all things you’ve done already and you’ve just barely tapped into your abilities. Not to mention the fact, as Lars pointed out earlier, that your abilities are changing, strengthening. There’s no telling what you’ll be able to do months from now. Much less in five or ten years.”
“Sean’s right, Taylor. You’re an asset people are willing to kill to possess. They’re also willing to kill to keep others from having you. That’s why Vivian had the explosives in the car. They’d rather kill you than let someone else get their hands on you.”
I leaned back onto my pillow and closed my eyes, knowing they were right. I wasn’t angry anymore. I was heartsick, the sadness inside me almost unbearable. So much death, so many lives ruined and for what?
“If it’s not you, Taylor, it will be someone else,” Mac said quietly. “Others like Abby. There are people out there that know it’s possible. They won’t stop now.”
“No, I don’t suppose they will,” I murmured, resigned to a fate I would have given anything to avoid. I wasn’t the only one. At his mention of Abby, my mind had flown to Connors and what they would do to him, if they knew what he could do. The very thought turned my stomach. “Where’s Armstrong? I want to talk to him.”
“That’s not possible,” Lars answered. “We have let it slip out that you were, in fact, killed in the explosion. It’s not in the paper, as technically you’re already dead, but Armstrong knew better. So did the Russians. As of now, as far as they’re concerned, you are no longer an option. We’d like to keep it that way.”
“Armstrong can’t get away with this. Sean is right. If it’s not me, it will be someone else and I’m not willing to sit back and hide while he does it. He has to be stopped.” I sat up, fully intending to get out of bed and go find Armstrong on my own. The sudden wave of dizziness had me clutching at the mattress to keep from falling over. Lars was on his feet beside me, ready to catch me just in case.