by Cat Connor
“I thought about a ghost in the machine thing too. Which I’d think was possible if it weren’t the third laptop I’ve had in the last six months.”
“Three? What do you do to them?”
I shrugged. “Shit happens.”
“It doesn’t happen to pen and paper, this techno age has drawbacks.”
It was hard not to smile when faced with Noel’s logic. He made a good point.
“True.”
I felt a lump rise in my throat. I knew what was coming and was powerless to stop it. I fought to swallow it but it wasn’t going to let me.
I let the memory emerge. That fateful day when I made the call that changed my life. Ultimately, it was the call that would kill the man I loved.
I couldn’t tell him.
The words wouldn’t come. I wished he could see the movies playing in my head.
I saw Mac sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, laughing at me. I saw him inspecting a gash in my head. I saw him standing in my blood-covered kitchen with pure panic on his face. I saw him drinking coffee and surfing the net at an internet café. Then I saw him talking to Caine and I realized he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t going to leave me because my life got a little messy.
That was the king of all understatements.
He should’ve run as soon as the Son of Shakespeare targeted me.
He should’ve run.
Why didn’t he go when he could?
The lump choked me.
“It’s my fault.”
“No it isn’t.”
“I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t make sense of things without him and I don’t even know who I am.” The words frightened me because they were my truth and I knew it was possible for that truth to overwhelm me. I had a new demon to fight. What if one day I woke up with no memory and walked away without knowing what I’d left behind?
“…If I hadn’t made that call … he wouldn’t have joined the FBI, and he wouldn’t have worked the Butterfly case with me.” I took a breath.
“Therefore, he wouldn’t have been in the back of my car that night at the crime scene.”
Too much time spent wandering in a daze, not understanding how the hell I was supposed to go on, led to finally realizing that I had brought it all on myself.
It swamped me.
Clearly, the last few tumultuous years had taken a toll.
His words brushed the top of my head. “There’s nothing I can say except, we all make our own decisions and we walk our own paths. You didn’t kill him by loving him.”
He whispered them again, “You didn’t kill him by loving him.”
Yes I did. He’s dead.
“It’s time to let him go, El.”
“What if I don’t want him to go…?”
“You need to concentrate on life, on living.”
“What if I fail?”
Failure felt imminent.
He laughed. “You aren’t capable of failing anything and sure as hell not life.”
Shows how much he knew.
A loud noise outside our room caused a swift reaction. I grabbed my Glock from the nightstand. Noel rolled off the bed, Sig in hand and crept to the window.
I slid off the other side of the bed.
“Psst,” I hissed.
“What?” Noel whispered from the edge of the front window. He gently tweaked the cruddy curtain and peered out the small gap he created.
“Who is it?”
“Can only see a back. Staggering. Looks drunk.”
I had two seconds to wonder what a drunk back looked like.
Crash. Glass smashed and sliced the curtains as it fell into the room from the window on the far left side of the door.
“Another male,” Noel said still watching. “Don’t know where he came from but he threw the first guy at the window.”
I fumbled around for my boots and pulled them on. More glass fell. An arm launched in through the broken window. Blood sprayed. Both men were yelling at each other. An undertone in one of their voices sounded slightly recognizable.
Noel flung the door open. “Federal Agent,” he hollered. I moved up on his right, holding my gun with both hands.
One man was holding his dripping arm. The other punched him in the face.
“Stop,” I said aimed at the punchers head.
He lunged at the bleeding man. It off balanced him and bought him closer Noel.
Noel smashed the guy in the side of the head with his elbow. With the attacker on the ground and Noel cuffing him, I turned my attention to the bloodied victim. His face was partially obscured by the hood on his top.
“Hold your arm up and put pressure on that. I have a first aid kit in the room,” I told him.
Noel used his cell and called police and an ambulance while I grabbed the first aid kit. I took a bunch of wound pads, opened them, and then got the man to hold them on his arm. He looked shaky.
“Sit down,” I said holding his other elbow and helping him to slide down the wall. “Bend ya knee up, then you can rest your elbow and still keep your arm up.” I figured his arm would get tired. I remembered how tired mine got when I’d needed to do the same thing a long time ago.
He nodded; his dark hair inched forward from inside the hood and fell over his face. The way his hair fell sent pangs of remembrance shooting through my heart.
“Do I know you?” I couldn’t get a clear look at him. He was keeping his face out of the light and head down.
He shook his head.
“You don’t talk?”
He shook his head again.
“That’s funny, pretty sure I heard you both yelling at each other earlier.”
He didn’t reply.
Noel was watching. He’d been talking to the man he’d cuffed and had face down on the verandah.
“El, this gentleman thinks your bleeder is a cop who has infiltrated a gang.”
“Local?”
“No.”
The guy face down on the verandah spoke, “He’s a pig.”
“And you know this, with no room for confusion?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Awesome, assaulting a police officer will get you no favors.”
A police car pulled into the lot.
“Noel, can you take your man down to the car. I’ll wait here for the ambulance and have a chat with our bleeder.”
I waited until Noel dragged him to his feet and took him away. With them out of ear shot, I spoke to the man, still bleeding.
“He’s gone. Do you have identification on you?”
He shook his head. Without a free hand, he couldn’t to stop his hood from slipping part way off his head and revealing more of his face. Hazel eyes met mine. I knew those eyes. I was looking at a ghost. He dropped the wound pads, pulled his hood over his head, and scrambled to his feet. Blood ran down his hand and dripped off his fingers.
“Hold your arm up,” I cautioned snatching more wound pads and pressing them to his wrist. It was almost impossible to process what I thought I’d seen. Within a split second, I convinced myself it was because of the earlier conversation with Noel. I was somehow projecting my insanity on the guy dripping blood.
“I’ll be okay,” he said slowly and quietly in a voice I’d heard a million times.
I wanted to shake him and demand to know who he really was. His face, eyes and voice all told me he was Mac. Impossible. Was I was face to face with his doppelganger. I took a breath and focused my energy on reality.
“Who do I contact?”
“My handler. Tierney. Jonathon Tierney.”
Well ain’t that just peachy. “Jonathon Tierney. You’re CIA?”
“I’m working a joint task force. An off shore gang is trying to get a foothold in Virginia and the east coast.”
I wrapped my hand around the gaping wound, pressing firmly and holding his arm up.
“This is West Virginia, small town at that. Off shore gang? What are you really doing here?”
“Work,” he replied. “One of the gangs has set up here. Guess it’s just far enough off the beaten track to make it work.”
“You have a name?” Calling him Mac would be ridiculous.
“Chad.”
His eyes smiled. “You?”
I heard an ambulance approaching. It was hard to bite back the urge to tell him he knew my name but instead said, “Ellie.”
I waved at the paramedics.
“I’ll call Tierney. What do I tell him?”
His fingers closed around mine. “Tell him … Socrates …”
Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
“Did you say Socrates?”
Paramedics hurried toward us.
Chad nodded. “Socrates needs extraction.”
My insides froze. A solid block of ice formed where my stomach used to be. Socrates. Mac’s alternate screen name was Socrates.
Someone was fucking with me.
“We’ll take it from here agent,” a paramedic said unwinding my hand from the dressings. “Good job.”
No words formed.
I could feel my own blood draining from my head as they moved his hood and shone a flashlight at Chad’s face briefly. He was the splitting image of Mac.
“Pull his other sleeve up,” I said.
Chad shot me a warning glance. A paramedic did, despite the vocal protests from Chad. Each word he said spiraled through my ear canals and felt exactly like they did when Mac spoke them. I recognized a scar.
“Mac.”
His eyes met mine, and his head shook subtly. My heart broke all over again.
“We’ll take him, ma’am.”
Running up the stairs was Noel. Chad pulled his hood back on and sank into a dark pool.
Had it been so long since I’d laid eyes on my husband in the flesh that I saw his likeness in others who bore similar traits or was there something more to the man who looked and sounded like my dead husband. I could see sanity drifting away. Cerebrally entertaining my ass! I was heading down the slippery slope to full blown nuts.
“El?”
I shook my head and watched the paramedics wrap Chad’s arm and help him away.
“Where are you taking him?” I asked.
“City Hospital, Martinsburg. We’re eighteen minutes out,” a paramedic replied.
Chad looked back at me with his familiar warm eyes, “Call Tierney.”
“I will.”
Noel touched my arm. “You need to clean up.”
I looked at my hands. Blood. Blood?
“Cotton swabs,” I muttered grabbing the first aid kit and pawing through it contaminating everything I touched without care. I found a pack and a paper envelope. I swabbed the blood on my hand and sealed the swab into the envelope. On the outside, I wrote my name and the date. The envelope I stored safely in the first aid kit. My intention was to take it to the lab as soon as we were back in Washington.
“What’s that for?”
“DNA.”
“Is he someone?”
I shook my head. This was too nuts even for Noel.
“El?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
Far far away from the ghost and the mess.
I walked back into the room and threw my stuff into my backpack. Noel’s phone rang. He sounded pissed. I pulled my jacket on. My mind wouldn’t shut up. Every inch of me thought I’d come face to face with my dead husband. It didn’t matter that I knew he was dead. That I saw his cold dead body lying in the coffin was of no consequence to my screwed brain. My eyes saw Mac, it must be true. I talk to him on MSN. It must be true. I heard his voice right there in front of me. I saw the scar on his arm. It must be true.
And the kicker, Tierney was involved. CIA. Anything was possible. The mere thought of Tierney catapulted me back in time. I knew him well. I worked for him once too. Secrets never stay secrets.
Noel was still talking. I think he called my name a few times before I heard him.
“El?”
When I looked up Noel was right in front of me.
His hands were on my shoulders and he was looking into my eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m okay. What’s up?”
“Car accident. Our man is on his way to hospital in critical condition.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
“What happened?”
“The police car that left here with the prisoner attempted to stop a car driving erratically. The driver took off, there was a short pursuit.” He smacked his hands together. “Car hits tree.”
“He pursued with a prisoner in the car?” Incredulousness invaded my voice before I could check it. “Where the fuck are we?”
Amusement filled Noel’s reply, “West Virginia, remember.”
I shook my head in wonderment.
“Where we headed?”
“Hospital. I’ll get the team to make the arrest if shit for brains makes it.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Wasn’t wearing a seat belt.”
“Oh.”
He was on the phone again. This time I recognized the tone and the instruction, “Grab your gear.”
His team would be there shortly.
As we walked down to our car, I broached the subject of Chad and Tierney. “The other guy, the bleeder. He is one of us. I have to call someone for him.”
“So the dick was right about him being a cop. Do what you have to do.”
He climbed into the car.
I pulled out my phone and made the call from the parking lot.
A number I knew by heart. The wait was almost unbearable. Finally, a woman’s voice answered.
“Shangri La Special Services.”
“I have a bird problem.”
“Can you be more specific?” she replied.
“I keep chickens.”
There was a click and then silence. Two breaths and then another voice.
“Demelza, you have a problem?”
My words felt sticky in my throat. “No, but you do.”
“How can I help you?”
“A message for you. Socrates needs extraction. His cover is blown.”
Without hesitation Jonathon replied, “Can you help him?”
“Would that be wise Jonathon?”
There was a pause. “I think not, forgive me. We will take care of Socrates. Where is he?”
“City Hospital, Martinsburg, West Virginia.”
“I’ll take care of it.” I imagined his beady bird eyes darting across the screen I knew was in front of him, deploying a team to bring Chad in. “Are you well Demelza?”
“As well as can be expected,” I replied and hung up.
I slide into the passenger seat and closed the door. Ironic that Chad turned up outside our motel room.
Noel started the car. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, let’s go see Randall.”
I hoped he wasn’t pulp because justice needed to be served. There was a part of me that considered that if he was pulp, it had been served. Maybe.
Mac’s voice resounded in my head, “Maybe’s ass.”
How can his dead voice be in my head and be identical to the voice I’d heard from Chad or Socrates or whoever the hell he really was. I knew enough to know it wasn’t either name he’d told me.
Fifteen minutes later, we had parked and were standing in the emergency room. Noel waited to hear back from a doctor regarding the status of Randall. I saw the paramedics that picked up Chad.
I stopped one and asked after Chad.
“He’s in surgery.”
“Any idea how long that will take?”
The paramedic shook his head. His partner mumbled and they both headed off into the night. I looked around for a nurse and found one.
With a flash of my badge, I asked about the patient, describing him but not using his name. I had no clue what name he’d told the paramedics or hospital.
“Let me check for you ma’am.” She tapped a few comp
uter keys. “That patient is John Smith.”
I guess that’s a step up from John Doe. I had my notebook in my hand and jotted down his name, such as it was.
“Got a birthday there? We need it for our records.”
“September 26, 1969.”
The pen fell from my hand, clattering onto the floor and rolling away. I watched. It rolled to Noel’s booted foot. He picked it up and brought it back to me.
With a grin he said, “Butter fingers.”
I tried to smile back but my face didn’t move.
“El?”
The nurse looked at me. “Ma’am are you all right?”
Come on voice.
“I’m okay. Thanks.”
Noel grabbed my arm just above the elbow and steered me to a quiet corner.
“What?”
I went for broke on the insanity plea and voiced the crazy thoughts, “The guy with the cut wrist. He’s using the name John Smith and his birth date is the same as Mac’s.”
“A lot of people share birthdates El.”
“Not a lot have the exact same scar on their forearm, the same eyes, the same voice, the same height.” Despite trying to control my internal panic, I could hear it in my own voice.
“El. Mac is dead.”
“Then who the fuck is John Smith?” I whispered.
“Didn’t you call someone? Can they tell you?”
“I’m confessing to you that I have obviously lost the plot. Let’s spread it around.”
He smiled. “You got blood. We’ll get it to the lab. Meanwhile, go see what else the hospital has on him and let’s get a picture and prints.”
“Am I insane?”
“No more than usual, El. No more than usual.”
“Good to know.”
“I only met Mac briefly. I’m no help here at all.”
Noel leaned against the wall outside the hospital. It was still dark and cool. I couldn’t imagine how he thought I was sane after the things I’d told him. It surprised the hell out of me that he hadn’t called Caine and suggested an immediate psychiatric evaluation. At that point, it occurred to me that he may have. I wouldn’t know until the men in white coats showed up.
And with that, I was shuffled sideways into a Men In Black scene. The theme song filled me to the point I was singing along. We all know I can’t sing. It wasn’t going to go well for anyone who valued their hearing.
“El, Men In black?” Noel blew out a long sigh. “Really?”
“Sorry.”