Always thinking to myself, why prolong the inevitable? If it was going to happen anyway then there was no reason to postpone it. That would just end up being a waste of time.
"Yes, Bob," my irritation level was well beyond the point of frustration. "I do understand what you are saying, but you're not hearing me. This is just how it has to be. It happens no matter what we do."
"That's the part I don't understand," Bob yelled out.
"Yeah, mate. This is all getting ridiculous!" Matt had his say as well.
"Look," trying to be calm to keep them calm, "they have someone that is telling them what is going on with me. Whoever 'John' is knows more about me than I do." Scary to think someone could know more about me than myself.
We were sitting around the den of the Artist's Loft in South Dakota. The alcohol was out in force and Matt had taken to smoking cigarettes as well. Tensions were running high as we had spent hours going over the paperwork retrieved from McCoy's office.
There was a dream that, like all my dreams lately, seemed like more than a dream.
"McCoy was there when we touched down. They will eventually find me. I want that to be on my terms and before they find out too much about where the companies are and all the money. Besides that, if they have me then they have no reason to keep following you guys. All they want is me," and there were family and my focus.
"How do you know that?" Bob asked a very good question.
"I just know. The NSA is obviously," I held up the memo with 'John' in the subject, "following me because of this guy. I have no idea who he is or what he knows. I need to know."
"Dude," Matt was drinking very fast, "I don't get why you want to take such a risk. You should just head out of the country until we get this all figured out."
"That's my point," trying to stress the importance of it to them. "The only way to figure this all out is to go behind enemy lines and find out who this John guy is and what he knows. That is me figuring it out. Running off to a beach somewhere isn't going to tell us what we don't know," and not knowing drove me crazy.
Bob was pacing back and forth. His cop mind was working on all the aspects of how to try and make me see his way, while processing everything I said. He had to admit it did make sense. To do it my way given the knowledge we had.
"It's not like I'm taking all that big of a risk, anyway." Closing my eyes and focusing on the couch across the room, my eyes hazed over and twitch with my right hand. Right in front of them I was on the couch and let go of the desk.
Matt drank the rest of the Scotch in his glass. We were out of vodka in the den, he had moved on to other alcohol instead of going out to the bar to get more.
"Let me make this simple, this paperwork says something about my 21st birthday. That's in three days. Three days. They are trying to get me before that, for whatever reason. A reason we need to know. Now, you can sit here and fight me on it, but my mind is made up. I'm either going to have you fly me to LAX and do this the way it was in the dream or I'm going to move right to McCoy's office now and let it happen that way. Your choice. You guys decide while I go out to the bar," leaving and ultimatum for them was rough.
Walking from the den to the bar it was obvious my decision was set in stone. Making myself a dirty martini and sitting on one of the stools waiting for them to decide, it took a good five minutes before they came out.
"We decided that if we can't stop you," nodding at them as I took a sip, "then we'll support you on this."
"Thank fucking God! It's about time. Now, I want to go over what you guys need to do." They both came over and sat down at the bar top. A list was written for each one of them already and I pulled them out of my pockets.
While my time was spent away they needed something to remind them and the lists would do just that. Some of my handwriting and thoughts would keep them to the plan and from becoming nervous.
"The government will be watching. Make sure everything is offshore. Tell the board members that I'm taking care of my sick mother who has cancer. You have to let my parents know what's going on and convince my mom to stay out of site so the media doesn't get wind of anything," still drinking knowing it could be the last time. "Matt, you can control the boards. You can run this operation without me," he smiled at that. Flattery can get you everything.
"Bob, you have to get people working on the NSA department, this John guy, the Company, the tactical boots, Delilah and Baal." Baal had something big to do with this, although I still wasn't sure how real he was. Bob just nodded and his face showed how much work it was going to be.
"How long will all this take, Michael?" The thought of time was starting to mean something different to me and there was no thought of how to express it.
"I'm not sure, but it isn't relevant. We need some answers here," that didn't go over too well. "My birthday is in three days. So, at least that long. Tack on time for me to figure out what I can. I also figure it will be a good time to see if I can control some of this," which was my main goal.
"That's a good idea. Learn what you can about it. Maybe they have some way of knowing from this John." Bob's brain had switched over to intelligence gathering mode instead of arguing mode.
"After I'm gone, " Matt drank another shot at the thought of it, "you guys and the family keep going on like nothing is wrong. Put on a good act for the government and the companies. No one can know I'm missing and the government cannot know what you guys are doing behind the scenes."
"Okay, mate." Matt lifted his glass. "I'll do it, but I'm not happy about it."
"Here here," Bob voiced his agreement with that sentiment.
"Well, I suggest you leave all the paperwork here. They will be waiting at the airport and I don't think they should find any of this. After I'm gone, you should come back here for a week or so and work out what you are going to do anyway." They both nodded. "Let's go," drinking the rest of the martini.
Quickly putting my hand next to the door it opened and we headed out to the car. As we drove away from the Artist's Loft to the airport, I wondered if that was my last time being there. It had always been special to me because of the James Bond type of feel it had to it and the location of it. Mount Rushmore would never look the same again.
Planning this out was simple. The execution of the plan and the unknown that was known seemed fine. It worried me to think about the unknown things that would eventually come up. My first thought was Baal being a wildcard affecting the plan.
Getting on the plane, my thoughts strayed to another scenario, learn was vital but there was no way of telling how long it would take. It might take years, but that would just make them protest to no end. Science pulled me in with the thought of being alone with the chance to study whatever it was. The scientist in me really wanted it.
Silence echoed through the plane for the entire trip. It was a silent protest. They both had no need to see me arrested and dragged off to who knows where with the chance never seeing me again. Landing at LAX in the afternoon was bright and sunny. Enjoying the light, we were only a plane taxi away from my handcuffs and a longer trip. Everything was in pretty good hands though. It felt good to have a plan for the moment and going forward.
Parking in the hanger and remember the dream, they were right outside. Matt ran over to the window.
"Let me guess," not looking outside I was just staring at him, "A lot of police, say thirty, and some military with Humvees?"
"Fuck you! Yes. Dead on," he hung his head down as I patted him on the back.
"Don't worry. This will be really simple. Remember that you guys don't know shit and you have never seen me do anything strange. End of story. You'll be out in 24 hours, since Bob called our famous attorney's," smiling so big it made Matt smile.
Matt pushed open the plane door and steps as Bob came out of the cockpit. All the gun's slides were cocked as Matt stepped out. My hands high in the air, I exited the plane very slowly and methodically.
Seeing McCoy and walking toward him, "I'm giving myself up. McCoy, leave them alone." He had a cast on his leg and a single crutch with his megaphone.
"Not a chance. They come too," he was understandably pissed off at me for his leg and holding a grudge.
Getting down on my knees in front of him, crossing my ankles behind me and then I laced my fingers behind my head. The faster this went the better. One agent put cuffs on each wrist behind my back. He pulled me up and stuck me in the back of a black Chevy Suburban with blacked out windows.
Matt and Bob were placed in separate Suburban's. The caravan drove over to a different hanger where two separate black gulfstream jets waited with the engines running ready to roll out to the runways. McCoy pulled me out and put me in one and Matt and Bob went in the other.
It was only a matter of minutes before we were lifting off. They had this planned out for every detail from the moment they saw us landing.
McCoy sat across from me at a table. There were seven agents on the plane with us and the two pilots. Looking at McCoy and pulling my hands up from behind me, I showed him the cuffs.
"Where am I going to go?" I asked as innocently as I could manage.
"Out a window without opening it, perhaps?" he looked down at his leg.
"Touché," he was right to be nervous. "You and I both know I don't have to have the key, but it would be simpler." He just shrugged and looked at his leg again holding onto his grudge.
Sitting back in my seat and focusing all my emotion on the handcuffs, I was seeing my hands outside of them. My vision started to haze and my eyes twitched with my right hand. My eyes shut with McCoy watching me along with the other seven agents in the plane.
Opening my eyes, the handcuffs came out from behind my back on my finger. All the agents pulled out their guns. McCoy put his hand up to stop them immediately throwing the cuffs back to the agent that put them on me, he caught them with the hand that wasn't on his gun.
Everyone put their guns away, "I know a trick to do that too, Michael," he grinned at me in all his sarcasm.
"So, are you going to interrogate me here?" knowing they couldn't with the low pay scale in the room.
"Oh no," he leaned forward as much as his leg would allow. "My job was just to find you and bring you in. There is a team of people setup to," he put up fingers for quotes, "talk to you."
"Now that you have me, can you at least tell me who this John guy is? I mean, is it someone I know from past business dealings or from a company?" asking in hopes to start getting answers.
He looked at one of his guys, "Can you get us something to drink, please?" Looking at me, "What would you like?"
"Vodka. I'm going to need it," though not the best idea with a plane full of government agents.
"Yes you are. Sure, make that two," he said to his agent. The guy with the cuffs poured two drinks and dropped them off. I took a big drink right away.
McCoy took a pill out of his pocket, for the pain of his leg was my guess, and took a drink.
"So, John?" I asked again.
"Yes. John," he looked around. "I don't see what it can hurt now." He took another sip.
"Consider it my birthday present to you," trying to make it light hearted.
"Son, you're going to have the worst 21st birthday, but I'll tell you. We caught John in a tax scam about three years ago. Well, I didn't. The government did." Right then the thinking was to maybe get the information needed and get out of there much faster than ever hoped.
Taking a sip and just listening to McCoy, "When we caught up to him, he decided to pull a gun like a dumbshit. He was shot seven times in his chest by federally trained officers." McCoy was staring off out the window like he was telling some sort of Vietnam War story.
"When they tested his vitals the son of a bitch still had a heart beat. Two cops went with the ambulance to guard him at the hospital as a prisoner in case he made it," he took a sip. "Two miles from where they left, some feds found an ambulance. The two cops, two paramedics and one driver were all dead. John's body was gone," he said as he looked visibly angry about it.
"Wait, this guy, John, killed all those people?" that seemed a little off to me.
"Yes," he looked me in the eyes. "It took us four days to find him after that. We found him hold up in a rundown warehouse in Los Angeles." That got my attention. "We ran his prints and it came back as John Smith. That was the name he gave us too."
"I don't know a John Smith," being confused was never fun for me.
"I never said you did," he sipped. "The government is a little more thorough than your local cops or Sherriff's department. We checked his birth certificate. It came back just fine."
His explanation was even more confusing and my hands went up while leaning back. McCoy sat there laughing at me.
"We got a birth certificate and a death certificate for a two year old boy." That was a shock to hear. "This guy had been pretending to be a kid that was born in 1926 and died in 1928. That was pretty strange, but the really odd thing was, this guy couldn't have been older than 35," he trailed off.
Laughing, "Oh give me a break! You guys must have fucked up the records or something."
McCoy put his finger up, "Let me finish," he chugged the last of his drink and held it up for another. "We confronted the guy by saying we have a phony birth certificate. So, he confesses. He tells us exactly what he did and how he did it. Then he says he wants to talk to the head of the NSA," not something you hear every day.
At this point it seemed like they had some crazy guy on a lot of drugs.
"He tells some crazy story to the Director of the NSA, but it's so believable the Director puts some men on tracking down how much of this guy's story is true. Just about three years later a department is formed in order to find one man." He took a sip from his new drink and looked up at me, "You."
Gazing out the window the realization hit me. There was nothing in my imagination that would add up to someone saying anything to the NSA enough to get them to try to find me.
"Oh, the funniest thing about all the information we got from John," he slapped his hand down on the table, "He was able to tell us exactly what you looked like, your name, and that on this very day at that very time at LAX, you would be there and wouldn't put up a fight when you were arrested. Odd, huh?"
My thoughts ran away as the vodka kept going down. Who was this guy? What did he have to do with me? My nightmare was getting worse by the moment.
I decided not to talk to McCoy for the rest of the flight. He was too upset about his broken leg and since it was my fault he was holding a lot of contempt for me. It was just agitating him more to have me in front of him.
The ride was quiet as everyone read magazines or dozed off while the jet flew its way to Dulles International. As we were landing the handcuffs went back on it was a needed precaution. The agent that handcuffed me in the first place, pulled me off the plane and stuck me in another black Suburban. Matt and Bob's jet went someplace else or came in at a different time. We planned for it to happen in that way. In my own mind it would have been nice to at least see the guys again before heading off to wherever it was they were taking me. Still, it didn't really matter.
We went on a ride outside of the city. Figuring we were headed to Virginia, my mind drifted off and didn't pay attention to the drive. Since the Quantico facility was there it just made sense there would be other buildings around the area for whatever they planned to do with me.
About twenty minutes into the drive they put a black bag over my head. Fitting since all of the Cloak and Dagger espionage feeling was surrounding us. At some point we ended up entering an underground garage. It was the same feeling as parking in the hidden houses which all had underground parking.
Stopping abruptly, the bag was pulled off my head inside a building being ushered into an elevator. We went up a couple of floors and then down a long dimly lit hallway to a room that reminded me of a waiting room complete with couches. Walking through a door there was a long board room table. On one side of it were two agents on either side of another man.
They took the cuffs off and seated me across from the man. His eyes were heavy looking and just stared at me. The two agents with him stood up and took off the handcuffs he had on. With both of us across from one another all the agents left the room.
Every wall of the room had a mirror meaning they were two-way mirrors to watch and record. Imagining cameras behind the glass and microphones all over the room wasn't very difficult. My eyes scanned every inch looking for some sign of whatever was there to keep track of us.
"The cameras are in the walls, Michael," the man said in a low controlled voice. Entering the room the assumption was he knew me. My eyes rolled back and twitched.
"Hello, John," responding in a calm tone. "Will they be recording everything?"
"Oh yes. Well, they will try," he smiled slightly as he kept staring at me.
My eyes examined his every detail. He was about thirty five years old, but something about his eyes looked older. He had dark circles under them and they looked tired. Looking at him made me feel strange. My heart was beating in a double beat, again. It wasn't racing and my breathing was normal, but something definitely felt strange about me rhythm. The feeling was churning inside me and was like he had been with me all my life.
"John," waiting for him to acknowledge me with some type of movement, but he never did. "How is it I feel I know you?"
"Yes. That," he got up and turned around looking in the mirror as if he could see the cameras like they were right in front of him, "well, Michael, it is not that easy to explain. You really will not be able to understand it until after your birthday."
"There we go with my birthday again," it was getting more and more frustrating to here it brought up.
"I will try to explain some things, Michael. Self realization is the best way to understand any of this. So, to that end, let me ask you a few questions," he started walking around the table. "Do you know your last name?"
"Of course," blurting out quickly. Actually, thinking about it was difficult to remember. Confusion splashed across my face like a bucket of ice cold water. Remembering my last name from my adopted parents or from my real mother was impossible.
"Interesting, is it not?" He was walking around with one hand behind his back. "Try this one, since you were fifteen or so you have had some very odd things happen to you that you cannot explain."
Panic was creeping up my throat as he picked the time when things started to happen to me. All the crazy things happening started at fifteen.
"You learned any topic much faster than anyone else around you?" he asked, but it was really just him telling me. "Have you felt emotionally connected to anyone around you? I mean in a way that did not required some sort of forced thought."
Well, Matt and Bob felt very close not quite sure emotional was the right way to describe it, though. My caring was deep enough to think of them and worrying happened to them. Delilah was an emotional connection because my body felt empty and lost without her.
A smug look came over my face, "You found her or she found you, is that right?" My mouth dropped open.
Something was so wrong in that room. Everything felt perfectly right and at the same time absolutely wrong. My mind was spinning through everything from the last six years of my life.
"Do you remember anything from before you were fifteen?" sitting there just listening. All of this was true. Fifteen might as well have been day one. Not one memory from before that. There was a knowing I had going someplace or done something, but no recollection of an image of memory for it.
"This is the last question I will ask for this," he sat back down across from me and laced his hands together on the table, "Have you ever made any decision that you knew would not or might not work out?" Again, he was right. Every decision I ever made was just fact that it would work, to me. Everything.
My reason pondered everything he had asked and what my response would be to it. Every bit of what he made me realize was true. Each question made me think that something very odd was happening and he knew what it was as I sat in complete darkness.
"What's wrong with me?" there was a lot of pain.
He laughed very hard at this. "Nothing is 'Wrong' with you, Michael! Something is very right!" He seemed happy and almost proud. "You have been and always will be different from almost every other human being on this planet."
My forehead slammed down on the table. Being different, at times, was useful. Being different all the time was entirely a different matter. Standing out in a crowd was not something I wanted.
"Your life has been your own or mostly your own for what you know of your life. On your 21st birthday it will no longer be." My head came up off the table with me searching for answers. "This you will have to wait to know. I cannot tell you this. You will have to wait and see."
"How do you know all of this?" it felt like the world was coming to an end and it was all my fault.
"The same way that you will know come your birthday," he looked up at the ceiling as if he were reminiscing. "You and I are the same, Michael. In that respect we always will be connected."
"I'm not a killer!" the thought of him comparing the two of us made me feel extremely sick to my stomach.
"No, you are not," he said as if he knew for a fact. "Nor am I, Michael." He sat on the table Indian style and spun toward me crouching down. "But you do know who is, do you not?" My eyes rolled back and twitched.
"Baal," I said it so fast I didn't realize it until it was out.
"Yes. Well done!" He was smiling. "That little thought in your head, you need to let that go," looking up at him, the only thought in my mind was how much I hated Baal.
"How did you know what…"
He smiled and said, "I know everything running through your mind, Michael. You see, we are brothers," he waved his hands in a circle, "in a manner of speaking."
What he was saying made no sense. "You've lost me so many times over I don't know where to start." He was laughing again which was becoming very irritating.
"Michael, you will understand everything I have told you," I interrupted him.
"I know. I know. On my 21st birthday," with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Can you at least tell me the significance of the 21st birthday?"
"This is when you hit physical and mental maturity and have your own will to make your own choices. Of course, if you think about it, everyone comes to this point in their lives at different ages, but 21 is just when It happens," whatever 'It' is.
"So, I know what I can do. What can you do? Is it the same?" asking in the hope I wasn't becoming too much of a freak.
"It is different for everyone. I can read and control minds. I can move some objects. That is about all for me." He stood on the table and put his hand up. At the end of the table a chair moved back and then elevated into the air. For whatever reason it didn't shock me to see it.
Watching him put it down; I looked at his face and realized he was no killer. There was something soft about him, something bigger growing inside of him. Something inside of me just knew we were somehow connected.
He sat down in front of me Indian style, again. "Michael, I want to share something with you," he reached out and took my hands in his. Hearing the doors latch, there were small pops all around the walls of the room, "I am sorry, I wanted this moment to be between us and no one else," people were banging on the doors and mirrors. "You will have more abilities than anyone that has ever walked on this earth before. I want you to think about that every day from this point on. Brother, you must learn to use these abilities and control them." My world seemed to be swirling into a black hole.
"Why? Why are we like this?" panicking at the feeling of being abnormal and alone in this world.
"You will know…"
"On my 21st birthday," ripping my hands away and walked around the table.
"I will tell you this, Michael. You are NOT alone. You will never be alone. You CAN never be alone. It would be," he paused for a very long few seconds, "almost impossible for you to be alone."
Looking at him there just wasn't any words coming. My mind was rushing with thoughts and feelings that whipped through my body like a tornado. John was searching my mind and I could feel it. In my head his reach was probing my brain like tentacles looking for the opening.
The banging on the door was getting louder and louder. There was a roller coaster was giving me a ride on a guided tour of my own mind.
Pain started to give way in my brain and made me angry. It built up inside of me like a pulsating animal growing from my feet all the way into my eyes. Building and Building it came pushing into my head like a bulldozer. Pain and anger became so prevalent I just wanted to yell out in agony.
Dropping down to my knees, I screamed out in agonizing pain putting my hands out. In the background was crashing and banging all around me like I was in a junkyard. Then, all I heard was John laughing from the top of the table.
Blinking furiously, I tried to see around the room as I gained my vision back. All the mirrors were shattered and the door behind me was lying across the hallway half lodged in the wall like a disaster area.
"You see, Michael," John had jumped down and whispered in my ear, "that was you. You must learn to control it."
A crowd of agents came in and grabbed him. He was in handcuffs so fast the chrome never even reflected the light. McCoy came in and helped me up into a chair. His hand waving in front of me was going blurry in and out of focus.
"Hey," he snapped his fingers and I jumped. "You alright?"
"Huh?" feeling groggy like I was hit in the head with something.
"Are you alright?" he asked slowly, annunciating, again.
"Yeah," shaking my head a bit. "A little hazy," truly it was more than a little.
McCoy handed me a Kleenex. "Your nose is bleeding," wiping liquid from my nose. Red against the white of the cloth I could see the blood, but it didn't register what it was. Swaying back and forth, I could barely make out McCoy anymore. Then falling forward, my face hit the floor and my eyes shut.
"Shit," I could hear the sound fading. "Get some salts!" That was the last thing that pounded through my head as the image of john's smile faded into darkness.