Once Is Never Enough

by Haris Orkin

  “Don’t you have group therapy?”

  “Not for another hour.” Flynn stepped closer and turned on the charm.” Perhaps you’d care to join me for a bit of exercise yourself?”

  But Durkin was impervious to Flynn’s charisma. “From now on this room is off limits to you. And Perez, stop spending so much time with Mr. Flynn and attend to your other patients.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve been monopolizing Mr. Perez’s attention. But I consider him a friend and colleague.”

  “But he’s not your friend. He’s an orderly and you’re his patient. It’s time you understood who you are and why you’re here, Mr. Flynn. Put on your shirt and follow me.”

  “Right now?”

  “Put on your shirt!”

  Flynn put on his t-shirt and black warm-up jacket. He offered Sancho a surreptitious grin as he followed Nurse Durkin out the door.

  Durkin led Flynn down the hallway at a brisk pace. She glanced back at him. He smiled at her and that just irritated her to no end. She didn’t understand how all those other nurses were so easily taken in by him.

  This was Nurse Durkin’s fourteenth year as an employee of City of Roses and twenty-sixth year as a member of the California Nurses Association. As one of the most senior employees at the institute, she was both respected and feared by senior management and the hospital’s board of directors. As Head Nurse for the last seven years, she knew where all the bodies were buried and was privy to every scandal and screw up.

  She thought Nickelson was too lax with many of the patients, especially those who suffered from delusions. He didn’t confront their delusional behavior the way she believed was necessary. Flynn was the perfect example. Nickelson relied more on therapy than on medication and she thought that method antiquated at best. He finally agreed to put Flynn on anti-depressants only after therapy failed to pull him out of the severe depression he fell into following his escape and misadventures.

  Eventually, at Durkin’s urging, he even prescribed an antipsychotic. The result was that Flynn’s delusional thinking disappeared. He recovered to such a degree that Nickelson sent him to live in a residential treatment facility. Durkin didn’t think Flynn was ready and told Nickelson as much. In the end, she was right, as it only took one traumatic incident to bring his delusions back. Now Nickelson was reluctant to continue with the antipsychotics. He was back to treating him with psychotherapy, allowing him to once again live in fantasy.

  Nurse Durkin refused to indulge Flynn.

  His fame had finally faded and life at City of Roses just returned to normal when that incident at the Galleria made the man more famous than ever. He was all over the news. Reporters camped outside City of Roses, hoping for an interview or an exclusive or even a passing glimpse. Durkin had no patience for those who wanted to turn Flynn into something other than what he was; a deeply disturbed and delusional mental patient. The onslaught caused the hospital to beef up security and she did everything she could to keep the reporters at bay. As far as she was concerned, the situation at the hospital was now untenable and Durkin was determined to put an end to it. She knew Flynn would screw up again and when he did, she’d be waiting for him.

  Durkin stopped outside the door to the group therapy room and glared at Flynn. “Unless you’d like to see Perez fired, you need to stay away from him. Is that understood?”

  Flynn nodded. “Yes, mum.”

  “It’s not mum. I’m not your mum. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, operational security requires that we stick to our covers. I understand completely.”

  Durkin scowled and pointed, and Flynn entered the room. She shook her head as she strode off, more determined than ever to get rid of him. Only this time, he would go to a place that wouldn’t indulge his heroic delusions. This time, he would be sent somewhere like the Atascadero State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

  Chapter Eight

  Nellie Bly was not only one of the first women journalists, but an investigative reporter who often put herself in danger to get the story. Writing in the 1880s, she investigated the dictatorship of Porfirio Diaz in Mexico and had to flee the country to avoid arrest. She recreated Phileas Fogg’s trip in “Around the World in 80 Days” by circumnavigating the planet in seventy-two days, taking only the dress she was wearing, an overcoat, and a few changes of underwear. She stopped bathing and brushing her teeth and stayed up for days on end to feign insanity and go undercover in the Woman’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island. Once inside, she documented horrible, dangerous, and inhumane conditions and was only set free after the newspaper sent a lawyer to arrange for her release.

  Bettina O’Toole-Applebaum grew up in Chicago, Illinois. Her father was the great-grandson of a slave and her mother was an Ashkenazi Jew. She was baptized as a baby, but later was bat mitzvahed at Temple Shalom on Lakeshore Drive at the urging of her mother’s parents. She majored in English at Knox College and received a master’s from the Medill School of Journalism at Northwestern University. After interning at Chicago Magazine, she went on to write for Mother Jones, The New Yorker, Vanity Fair, and Rolling Stone. Intrigued with the coverage on Flynn, she requested an interview. Seventeen times. And each time she was refused. So instead of asking again, she decided to get herself some facetime with Flynn, Nellie Bly-style.

  Bettina didn’t shower or brush her teeth for two weeks. She wore the same clothes for that entire time and didn’t sleep the three days before she voluntarily committed herself to the City of Roses Psychiatric Institute. She claimed she was having suicidal thoughts and the doctor on duty diagnosed her with depression and borderline personality disorder.

  Once inside City of Roses, Bettina discovered that she didn’t seem any more or less crazy than anyone else. She wasn’t a stranger to depression and struggled with anxiety and OCD. She had been on anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication for most of her twenties, so fitting in didn’t require much more than being herself. And that’s exactly what she did when she found herself in a group therapy session in a small conference room with five other patients.

  One of them was James Flynn.

  She’d watched the video of the incident at the Glendale Galleria multiple times, but Flynn looked almost nothing like that man. He was at least fifty pounds lighter and wore a black polyester warm-up suit that fit him like a glove. He was tall and lean and powerfully built. His eyes were a gunmetal blue and he was strikingly handsome. Movie star handsome. His English accent had a touch of Scottish burr and it was spot on. She spent a semester in London at King’s College and knew an authentic English accent when she heard one. She could tell Flynn found her attractive as he flirted with her shamelessly. But then Flynn seemed to flirt with every female he encountered. He even flirted with Doris Frawley; a ninety-one-year-old former 1950s pin-up queen.

  Bettina was used to men coming onto her, but she had no illusions about her looks. She knew she wasn’t a bombshell. She was on the short side and because of that, battled her weight ever since junior high. She kept herself in shape with Pilates, yoga and morning runs around her Echo Park neighborhood. Her ex-boyfriend, a writer at Rolling Stone, told her she looked a little like an amber-eyed Rashida Jones. Others had said the same. She kept her distance from Flynn at first. She didn’t want to come on too strong and raise any suspicions. Her intention was to play the long game and get Flynn to trust her. To open up to her. Which was why she finagled herself into Flynn’s therapy group.

  The fifty-something female psychologist who ran the session offered Bettina a big smile. “Welcome everyone. As you can see, we have someone new joining us today. Her name is Bettina and she has only been at City of Roses for a few days.”

  The group mumbled a greeting with not a lot of enthusiasm, but Flynn, at least, offered her a charming smile.

  “I’m Dr. Judy,” the psychologist said and then went around the room, introducing each patient in turn. She nodded to a thin, elderly man with a shock of curly white hair and an equally unruly bear
d. “This is Quentin, though he often goes by Q.” Q nodded at Bettina, but quickly looked away. Next to Q sat a chubby, twenty-one-year-old African American man wearing a baggy Oakland Raider’s jersey with number twenty-four. “That’s Ty.”

  “Hey, Betty.” Ty stared at Bettina intently, but didn’t say anything more.

  Dr. Judy motioned to a large middle-aged man with a big white beard. “This is Rodney.”

  “Hey,” said Rodney.

  “Next to Rodney is Mary Alice.” Mary Alice looked furious. She was a big-boned middle-aged, freckle-faced lady in her late fifties with dyed red hair and graying roots.

  “Bettina?” Mary Alice spit out the name with contempt. She had a southern accent and sounded like she smoked three packs a day. “What kind of nitwit name is that?”

  “Now, now, Mary Alice.”

  “I’m not blaming her. It’s not her fault her dumb-ass hippie parents hung that on her. What the hell happened to all the normal names like Susan or Nancy or Amy?”

  “Or Mary Alice,” Rodney added.

  “Exactly,” Mary Alice croaked, her face getting red as she revved herself up. “All these millennial names like Paisley or Destiny or Sierra? Everybody has to be a special precious snowflake nowadays. They can’t just be normal!”

  “Center yourself, Mary Alice. Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

  Mary Alice glared at Dr. Trudy, but finally, she relented and inhaled deeply before letting it out and letting her anger dissipate. Until she noticed Ty staring at her. “What the hell you looking at, fatty?”

  Ty immediately looked down, cowed by Mary Alice’s volcanic rage.

  “Jesus Christ, Mary Alice,” Rodney said. “Hold it together!”

  “Fuck you,” Mary Alice growled. “Maybe I’m having a shitty day. Stuck in this stupid hospital with a bunch of half-wit lunatics!”

  “I’ve known quite a few redheads with fiery tempers.” Flynn raised a flirtatious eyebrow at Mary Alice. “And you’re no exception. But I hope you know you’re among friends here.”

  Bettina was surprised to see Mary Alice’s whole demeanor change in an instant. She offered Flynn her version of a come-hither smile, pushing her tongue coyly between her tobacco-stained teeth. “Well, aren’t you a love? At least you understand where I’m coming from.”

  “You’re a passionate person,” Flynn said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Yes, indeed. But that’s why you must direct your fury towards our real enemies, because make no mistake, Mary Alice, they are out there, and they are waiting to strike. Q knows what I’m talking about.”

  “What?” Q had drifted to sleep, but the mention of his name startled him awake.

  “You know our enemies never rest, which is why you never do, Q. Why you’re constantly creating cutting edge technology to aid in the battle against those who would do us harm.”

  “What kind of cutting-edge technology?” Bettina asked.

  “Quentin ain’t making shit,” Ty said.

  “It’s all right, Ty, we can talk to Bettina. If she’s here at headquarters I’m sure she has the proper clearances. Go ahead Q. Tell us what you’ve been working on.”

  “Well, I’m still consulting for DARPA as I was one of the minds who originally conceived of that particular agency.”

  “DARPA?” Bettina asked.

  “The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency,” Q replied.

  “Bullshit,” Ty said.

  “Currently I’m working on an ultrasonic weapon that can create traumatic brain injury, hearing loss, and damage to the central nervous system,” said Q.

  “Have you been testing it on yourself?” Mary Alice asked.

  Q ignored her snarky comment. “It interferes with synaptical communication and can also affect the inner ear, causing vertigo and nausea. Some believe a similar technology was used against U.S. and Canadian diplomats living in Havana, Cuba in 2017.”

  “What else?” prompted Flynn.

  “Self-guiding bullets. A real-time optical guidance system allows them to change direction and target in flight. So, no matter how bad a shot someone is, they can never miss.”

  “That’s…astounding.”

  “Not as astounding as my Cyborg insect spies. I implant nano-computers in their little brains and control them using the neural implant inserted into mine. I direct them where to go. Who to watch. Who to sting. I can even see through their eyes. That fly on the window there? That’s one of mine.”

  “So, make that fly over there fly over here to me,” said Ty.

  “Why? So, you can smash it? I don’t think so.”

  Ty stood up, walked to the window, and smacked his hand against the glass in an attempt to squish the fly. The windowed shattered and a jagged edge severed an artery in his right wrist. Flynn was up and on his feet. He tore off his jacket and wrapped it around Ty’s arm, twisting it into a tourniquet. Dr. Judy yelled down the hall for help. Orderlies rushed in, Sancho among them, and they carried Ty to the infirmary, blood leaking everywhere.

  The rest of the group sat there in silence after Ty was carried out. Bettina noticed a spray of blood on the wall.

  “Would anyone like to say anything?” Dr. Judy noticed a few bright red drops on her white silk blouse.

  “Don’t let that set.” Mary Alice poked her finger toward the bloodstains. “You want to wet that with cold water before that dries. Dab it with diluted ammonia and rub with soap.”

  Q pointed to a fly on another window that was still intact. “My mind-controlled fly easily avoided him. Look at him. I can see the world through his compound eyes, each one consisting of thousands of individual visual receptors.”

  Dr. Judy stood up. She offered everyone a tight frustrated smile. “I think we can call it a day. I will see you all Thursday. Same time. Same place.”

  Later, at lunch, Bettina saw Flynn eating with Rodney and Q and approached their table. “Do you mind if I join you, gentlemen?”

  “Please,” Flynn said as he pointed to a chair. He had changed out of his black warm-up outfit and now wore a vintage light-gray Brioni suit and some well-worn Italian loafers. He was, by far, the best dressed man in the cafeteria.

  Bettina put down her tray and sat next to Q, across from Flynn. “That was very quick thinking today, the way you turned your shirt into a tourniquet.”

  “Training. Of course, I’d rather be using that training in the field, but for now N wants me here. I believe he’s using me for bait.”

  Rodney Shoop looked up from his Swiss Steak. “Bait?”

  “Goolardo wants me dead and N is trying to draw him in.”

  “Here?” Rodney’s normally reddish complexion turned pale.

  “Speaking of Goolardo, how’s your arm? Lucky for you that bullet you took went right through the meat and missed the bone.”

  “Yeah,” Rodney said sarcastically. “Lucky me.” He looked at Bettina. “Freakin’ EMT’s put me on morphine in the damn ambulance. The doc gave me Oxy for the pain and before you know it, I’m freakin’ hooked again. That’s why I’m back in here. I almost OD’d.”

  “You’re in detox?” asked Bettina.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “No, I was feeling like I wanted to hurt myself so I thought maybe I should, you know…”

  “Yeah, I know,” Rodney said.

  “Have you heard anything new on Mr. Papazian?” Flynn queried.

  “They moved him to a convalescent hospital in Burbank,” Rodney replied. “Got him started on physical therapy.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “He’s frickin’ lucky he’s alive. Assholes shot him three times.”

  Bettina watched as Q tore into his meatloaf like a ravenous wildebeest. He didn’t cut it, just picked up the entire rectangular chunk and bit into it. Gravy dribbled into his beard. She looked at the sad dinner salad on her tray, speared a cherry tomato and popped it in her mouth.

  “So where were you posted previously, Bettina?” Flynn queried. “I haven�
�t seen you here at headquarters before.”

  Bettina pointed to her mouth to indicate she was chewing and when she finished the bite said, “I’ve been all around. New York. San Francisco. London. Berlin.”

  “And what do you do? Are you a field agent? A cyber security specialist? A counterintelligence analyst?”

  Bettina hesitated as she wasn’t sure if she should play along with Flynn’s delusion. She obviously didn’t want to let him know what she really did, but she was having second thoughts about her cover story. Flynn’s eyes locked on her like heat-seeking missiles and she knew she had to say something. “Cyber security.”

  “I see. So, you’re an expert in virtual private networks?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Do you work with web application firewalls?”

  “Um, sometimes.”

  “What about secure socket layers?”

  “What about them?”

  “Do you even know what they are?”

  “Yeah, they are socket layers that are extra, you know, secure.”

  Flynn focused on Bettina with laser-like intensity. “You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

  “Of course, I do.”

  “A woman as attractive as you showing up here out of the blue, ingratiating yourself with me? I can’t help but wonder if you’re here under false pretenses.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a sixth sense about these things, Bettina, if that’s even your name. I can tell when someone’s lying to me just by looking into their eyes.”

  Bettina couldn’t disguise her surprise and looked down at her salad to hide her guilty baby blues. She speared a garbanzo bean and took a bite.

  “Look at me Bettina. Be honest with me.”

  “I am!”

  “I like the feigned outrage, but I’m not buying it. Not one bit. Who do you work for? Smersh? Spectre? The Corsican Mafia? Or is it Goolardo?”

  “Goolardo?”

  “Did he send in a beautiful assassin to finish the job?”

  She laughed at that. “You think I’m an assassin?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time a ravishing young woman was sent to do away with me. You seem fit. Strong. I’m guessing you’re an expert in some sort of deadly art. Ninjutsu perhaps?”