Broken Monarch

by Tom Schneider

  “Glenn, you ready my man?” Jack yelled out, as he came busting in wearing his “Ass, grass or gas” T-shirt with his feathered hair, parted down the middle, bouncing as he strode in.

  “Hey, Jack. I’m ready when you guys are. We should leave here by 6:30. I’m going to go get changed now.”

  “Cool, we’re gonna eat real quick first, I think.”

  “Hey. This might be a good movie for you – give you some tips you can use, next time you get busted.”

  “Not you, too!”

  “Haha, just kidding buddy. I’m on your side.”

  Jack went into the dining room and Glenn took off his apron, tossed it into the canvas bin on his way out the back of the kitchen. He kicked the steel crossbar handle to open the door, swinging it open fast into the arms of Daniel.

  “Woah, boss.”

  “Oh sorry, man. I should know better.”

  “That’s okay man, quitting time, I get it. Hey, we got to talk tomorrow. I just got to pick your brain about a couple things. Maybe you can help me figure something out.”

  “Yeah ok, not sure I can help figure much out though. I’ve got some riddles too.”

  Glenn trotted down the steps and walked to his van. The ABC Maintenance truck with the guys that installed the microwaves pulled out of the lot, in front of him. He looked up to see what must have been another Secret Service guy duck out of site on top of the roof as he climbed in the side door of his van.

  ***

  Escape from Alcatraz played in front of him but it was background noise. His focus was elsewhere. Other images played in his mind, somewhere between him and the screen ahead. A line of dialogue cut through the haze and grabbed his attention, like a direct broadcast to his mind. The warden reminds Frank Morris, “some men are destined never to leave Alcatraz—alive."

  Glenn thought he was like Frank and had to escape whatever nightmare he was caught in. It couldn’t be random or simply the acts of a psychotic man. Not even if he had a split personality. It seemed too orchestrated. He felt like he was being manipulated by something. Someone had to be in control. Controlling him.

  He saw Frank lying on his prison bed and flashed to viewing himself from above, lying on a hospital bed. He had strange cardboard tubes over his arms. He was strapped down. A bathing cap was tightly covering something on his head and thick, dark glasses were over his eyes.

  The image disappeared abruptly. Darkness surrounded him. A disorienting blackness that shuts out all sense of direction and orientation. Utter silence, and then a cacophony of voices invaded his head, through every pore. He tried to make out what they were saying but it sounded like nonsense. Colors flashed in front of his eyes. The noise was becoming deafening.

  And then silence. Light filled everything. He was watching himself again, this time he was diving through the air with a Glock in his hands, pointed ahead. Falling in slow motion with his finger on the trigger, he saw himself from someone else's viewpoint. Someone from where he was looking - aiming. He struggled to get inside himself and see who he was firing shots at but the static quickly encroached, from all sides. Brightness and light. His vision was cloudy but a woman’s face was coming into view. It was her. She was calling his name, softly. The voice of an angel. He tried to focus on her face but like always, he couldn’t seem to make it out.

  “You ready?” Jack asked.

  The lights were on, the screen was white and the credits had finished. The sound of the film clicking free from its’ roll, was echoing from behind them. He pushed on the armrests to get up and his feet slid on the slime of popcorn butter and funk. The curtain closed over the movie screen.

  10

  11:30PM, Glenn’s Home

  Glenn walked out on the porch and loaded a cassette into the boom-box in the corner. Neil Young’s Heart of Gold played.

  “I don’t know Reggie. This girl has haunted me daily for – seems like years now. But I don’t know who she is. She’s like the last thing I see before I wake up, and then when I do I can barely picture her. It’s like blind spots. I only see glimpses.”

  I've been in my mind, it's such a fine line, That keeps me searching for a heart of gold

  Reggie jumped up next to him and rubbed against his arm. Glenn petted him starting from his snout, over his ears, across his back and down to his tail. Reggie was a neighbor’s cat. Glenn met him in front of his porch late one night. He was a skinny little runt and looked like a stray. Glenn picked up a box of Cat Chow in case he came back and sure enough the next night he showed up and has been showing up ever since. He helped Glenn work through issues.

  “Who is she, Reggie? Does she even exist, or is she just a figment of my imagination?”

  Reggie jumped down, went over to his bowl and meowed. Glenn went inside, grabbed a folded map from his dresser and a handful of food from the kitchen for Reggie. He dropped the food in his dish on the porch and spread out the map on the table. There were already five circles drawn on it and he added the sixth over the harbor in Atlantic City.

  The first five marked places he woke up without have a clue how he got there or why. Now he was marking the first where he committed a crime, an act of violence. The first he knew of. The first he recalled. And he didn’t recall much. But there was evidence. The blood on his hand. His memory of fighting. And the explosion of the boat he walked off of. There had to be a lot more he didn’t remember.

  He lit a cigarette. “This isn’t good Reggie. I don’t think you even know me. I’m capable of lot more than you can imagine.”

  He woke up once rumbling over the cobblestone of Chestnut Street on a tour bus in front of Independence Hall. Everyone was staring at him as if they had seen him do something moments earlier. After Atlantic City, the range of possibilities to what that was grew exponentially.

  “I’m a man with a secret life and an imaginary girlfriend. You really know how to pick them, pal.”

  Reggie jumped on the table and laid in the center of the map. Glenn gave him a good scratching on the back of the neck before he got his sketch pad and opened to the sketch of the girl he was seeing in his sleep. The page was worn from the iteration of lines and erasing. A face was coming through but he wasn’t convinced it was right. He couldn’t get a handle on where the line was between memory and imagination. At times the drawing would come alive and look back at him and he thought he was getting it, but maybe it was just someone else he used to know.

  Wednesday, August 22, 1979

  11

  2:00PM, Silver Lake Inn

  Glenn was at the chopping block with his left hand on the back of the turtle’s shell, holding him still and a clever in his right. Some neighborhood kids fished them out of the lake from which the restaurant gets its’ name. He saw her come through the door into the kitchen and immediately locked eyes with her as she came to a stop, allowing Richard to catch up and lead the way.

  Richard, called out to Glenn, “Hey, Douchebag, meet Lindsey. She’s a chef from DC. She’s gonna make sure you don’t fuck anything up this week and poison the First-Lady. Lindsey, this is Douchebag.” Glenn put the clever down, grabbed the turtle and placed it back in the plastic tub with the others and extended his hand.

  “I’m Glenn. Nice to see you. To meet you, I mean.”

  “Nice to meet you, Glenn,” she said.

  “I hope you don’t mind working for the certifiably insane,” as he moved his eyes toward Richard.

  “He told me he really loves you, Glenn,” she said smiling at him.

  “Glenn learned to cook in the army. His dishes still tastes like it. Come on, let him actually do some work, I’ll introduce you to Alberta, someone more important.”

  “We’ll catch up soon, Glenn,” Lindsey said to him as she winked at him with her right eye. He winked back without thinking.

  They walked away. Glenn turned up the radio, sitting on the steel kitchen work table under the window and wall-mounted telephone. Hotel California by The Eagles was
playing.

  “There she stood in the doorway; I heard the mission bell

  He grabbed one of the snapper turtles, held it tight and raised the clever. He swung it down and the head rolled off the block and dropped into the steel garbage can beside it. It sat on the bottom of the can with the others, still staring ahead, still opening and closing its’ mouth. Glenn thought how they were already dead but just didn’t realize it, yet.

  I had to find the passage back to the place I was before, 'Relax' said the night man, 'We are programmed to receive. You can check out any time you like, But you can never leave!'”

  12

  11:00 PM, Lindsey’s Hotel Room

  Lindsey opened the hotel door and locked eyes with him. They stared at each other for a few long seconds before they broke a smile. Lindsey stepped forward and gave him a kiss, pausing after to again study his eyes. He pulled her closer and she leaned forward and raised up on her toes to re-engage with his mouth.

  They moved together to the bed before Glenn pushed her head away to get a better look.

  “I know you. I don't know how but I do. We know each other from somewhere, right?"

  "Yes we know each other," she answered.

  "I've seen your face nearly every day. Who are you?”

  “Later. There's a lot you need to know but we have to play this really smart or it'll be the end of both of us.”

  “This has to do with my blackouts, doesn't it!? He asked.

  “Hold me now Glenn, we’ll talk later.”

  Glenn pulled her back to him and they kissed while undressing each other. Glenn unbuttoned her blouse and let hang open as he unbuttoned her jeans. He pulled down her zipper exposing leopard print panties. He reached inside her pants and firmly held her. She raised again to her toes and bit down on his neck. He carried her to the bed and they made love like young lovers reunited for one last time before having to say goodbye.

  ***

  Glenn reached for his pants and pulled out a pack of camels. He offered one to Lindsey and then lit them both with his Zippo lighter. He turned on the radio on the night table and tuned it to 93.3. David Bowie’s Heroes was playing.

  “I've known you a long time, Glenn.”

  “I've seen you in my dreams for years now. At least since I've been out of the army,” he said.

  “And what do you think you did in Vietnam, Glenn?”

  “Well, I thought I was a cook until day or two ago.”

  “You were a lot more than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you mean, until a day or two ago?”

  Glenn scratched the scruff on his jaw. “The other day I started having visions – memories of myself in action over there.”

  “You weren't a cook in the army Glenn. That was an alter. An alternative story, a cover. You were an elite killer in the army and then you joined the project.”

  “What are you talking about? What project? I’m a cook, that’s what I do. I thought it’s what you do too? I cooked in the army, I wasn’t an elite killer.”

  “You learned to cook in Virginia after you came back from the war. I was there for your training, I was your handler.”

  “What?”

  “MKUltra or Monarch now. They had congressional hearings and shut down Ultra now it’s called Monarch. Actually, a subproject called Spellbinder, designed to create sleeper assassins that can be activated by a trigger word or phrase, or even a symbol. That's why you recognize me. I've been waking you up for years now. Although you're not supposed to remember any of it. You aren’t supposed to remember me.”

  Glenn let out a sigh of relief.

  “You’re relieved by this?” she asked him.

  “You don’t understand, I thought I was crazy, some kind of serial killer or something. What have I been doing then? What was I doing in Atlantic City the other day?"

  "You remember that?"

  "I found a chip in my pocket and a lot of cash on me."

  Lindsey rubbed her brow. “It was a mafia thing.”

  Glenn was lost in thought. “Wait, you said Spellbinder?

  “Yes, why have you heard of it?”

  “The new cook, Daniel was asking me about Nam and he used that word.”

  “Really?! Interesting. When did he start? Is there anyone else new?” she asked.

  “Just you. You know, that’s the day I started having those visions.

  “We need to watch him. He may be another Delta.”

  Glenn lit a cigarette, "Another Delta – what's a Delta?"

  He struggled to take in everything she was saying. “And what the fuck? What do you mean you've been waking me up? You were my trainer?”

  “I'm so sorry Glenn. I haven't had any more choice than you in this.”

  “Bullshit! You weren't brainwashed and put under some kind of hypnotic mind control.”

  “No?” she asked. “I was in the program too. You’re a Delta. There’s others. I was a Beta. But the process is the same. They break you down, with drugs, deprivation, torture, electrocution, even surgery. Whatever it takes. Then create a walled-off alter persona they hold the key to. I know it sounds crazy but it works. We’re both evidence of it. The mind can only take so much abuse before it disassociates. Then all kinds of things are possible.”

  “So what did you do, graduate to torturer or something?”

  “Handler,” she said. “A white rabbit. I’m not a torturer. I was lucky Robert took a liking to me and helped free me. I don’t know how they brought you into the program Glenn, but I know what you’ve been through in it. I’ve tried to help you all along and I’m trying to help you now.

  We're both in a lot of danger now Glenn. I knew you were remembering things, they suspect it too. Your programming is breaking down. They’re going to want to take you in for reprogramming or worse a full mind-wipe.”

  “Who's they? Who is Robert?” He asked.

  “Robert Black, he was my handler and now he’s a director, very powerful.”

  He put his cigarette out, laid down on his back, and pulled her by her wrist. She cuddled up with her head on his chest. He stroked her head until she climbed up to kiss him. They made love, again.

  ***

  Room service left the room and he wheeled the cart over to the bed. Glenn pulled the lids off the plates and slid one of the BLT sandwiches toward her.

  “So what did they do to me?” He asked.

  “Oh, Glenn you don’t want to remember it. The trauma treatments are awful. Girls going to be Betas are tortured in cages, surrounded by cats. They have movie glasses strapped on with a film of children tortured in one eye and kittens in another, to make their minds split. They’re forced to witness the most heinous crimes. To eat feces, there’s all kinds of things. Young butterflies have it the worst.”

  “Butterflies?” Glenn asked.

  “Yes, I’ve sworn I’d never have anything to do with what they do to those girls.”

  “And Deltas? We’re assassins?”

  “You could say that.”

  “Then how do they control us?”

  “They control the alters they create and then they make us forget.”

  “How in the hell do they do that?”

  “The trauma makes the mind build walls to protect itself. Total amnesia. You can never discover your alters. Well usually.”

  “And how do they control us?” he asked.

  “With phases, a simple word or sound even is enough to trigger an alter.”

  She looked at him contort his face trying to take all this in and process it.

  “That’s enough details,” she said, “we don’t have much time. I’m afraid we’re both being set up to be taken down with the First-Lady’s visit.”

  “Wait. One more question.”

  “What?”

  “I thought you were recommended by the White House chef. Do you even know how to cook?”

  Thursday, August
23, 1979

  13

  11:00AM, Glenn’s

  On the nightstand a copy of The Catcher In The Rye. Glenn had no idea who had sent it to him or why. It came in the mail one day, addressed to him without a sender. Next to it a South of the Border ashtray with a half-smoked joint and a dozen cigarette butts. On the turntable played Sheep from Pink Floyd’s Animals.

  A look of terminal shock in your eyes. Now things are really what they seem. No, this is no bad dream.

  Glenn pictured Lindsey in his head. He wondered what she had been forced to do. He wondered why she had fallen for him. Did she fall in love with him long ago? Or was this part of the mind game? She admitted she worked for them. Maybe this was just part of the job. But he knew it couldn’t be. He knew she felt what he did. Their connection had to be real.

  He worried he wouldn’t be able to break the mind control if he was activated. Knowing about it was one thing. He was coming to grips with that, but doing something about it was something else altogether. He had to trust in Lindsey. She held the key. At least he hoped so.

  Pink Floyd’s, Dogs played now.

  Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise. If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze?

  ***

  Glenn sat on the couch with his feet on the coffee table, cigarette burning between his fingers and a bong on the table. The TV was playing the nightly news in front of him.

  He dozed off before waking up in a ditch at the outskirt of a village in Vietnam. He struggled to his knees and looked around. The Jeep was flipped over in the road. He saw a body in the flames pinned under the vehicle. He rose to his feet and stumbled toward the village. A man came out with a straw hat, no shirt, no shoes, no weapon. Glenn opened fire and shot him down. A woman came out of the nearby hut screaming at him and he shot her too. Another man came running out with a rifle and he shot him in the head. Then a boy. A girl. He walked through hut after hut, killing everyone he found. When he got to the last hut a soldier was in it with his back turned. He aimed his rifle, the soldier turned and it was himself looking back. His second self pulled a pistol from his waist and they both fired.