John Locke - Lethal Experiment
“Lou?” I said. “What do you mean, ‘all in?’ Talk to me.”
Lou asked Nadine if she had a mirror in her purse. She produced a compact and gave it to him.
“Lou…” I said, warily.
“Donovan, you may want to brace yourself,” Lou said. He handed me Nadine’s compact. I looked at both of them carefully before opening it, but none of us said anything. I closed my eyes a second, shook my head.
“This sucks,” I said.
Lou nodded.
“I’m so very sorry,” Dr. Crouch said.
I opened the compact and looked into the mirror.
Chapter 42
They’d given me a new face.
Not a normal face, like I’d had before, but a Hollywood, movie star-type face.
Without the scar.
I closed the compact and handed it back to Nadine.
“I need a drink,” I said.
Lou hesitated. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
“Bottom left-hand drawer of my desk,” I said.
“I can ask the doctor, if you want,” Lou said.
“Next to the bourbon you’ll find four Glencairn glasses. Feel free to join me.”
“Twenty-year Pappy?”
“It was when I bought it.”
“I’ll join you,” he said.
We looked at Nadine.
“I’ll pass,” she said.
Lou called his assistant and placed the order.
While waiting, I touched my fingers to my face. Nadine handed me back the compact. I snuck up on the mirror this time, peering at myself from different angles. In every case it was like I was looking at someone else.
“Nice work,” I said. “But it’s too nice.”
“I know it’s quite a shock,” Nadine said, “But you’re gorgeous—not that I place a lot of value on a person’s exterior.”
“Lou? This is crazy. I mean, I know our guys are good, but I’ve seen their work before, lots of times. No one comes out of surgery looking better than they started.”
“You did.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Our guys never had this much time before, or such a perfect environment for healing. We knew our surgeons were exceptional, but none of us knew they were this good. You know who you look like?” Lou said, getting into it.
I held up a hand. “Please. Don’t tell me.”
Lou nodded. His assistant showed up with a bottle of Pappy and two glasses.
“Mr. Creed!” she yelped. “I thought we’d never see you again. You look great!”
“Thanks, Linda. Nice to see you, too. Want a drink?”
She looked at Lou hopefully. He shook his head. “Another time, perhaps,” Linda said.
Nadine moved some things off the end table to accommodate the glasses. As Linda placed them on the table, she said, “What’s it like, waking up after all this time?”
“Surreal. For you it’s been years. But in my mind, I saw you less than two weeks ago.”
“That is so weird,” she said.
Linda left the room, Lou poured the drinks.
“You sure you don’t want a pull, Nadine?”
She gave me a world-class frown. “I think it’s a dreadful idea. As for you, Mr. Kelly…”
Nadine abandoned the rest of the sentence, but shook her head with disgust, leaving no doubt where she stood on the subject of Lou’s behavior.
I held up my glass as if making a toast. “Bourbon,” I said, “Is cheaper than therapy.”
Lou grinned. We clinked glasses and began sipping.
“Like heaven in a bottle,” I said.
We were quiet awhile before I broke the silence.
“Why’d they do it, Lou?”
He sipped again, took a deep breath, let it out very slowly. He bit the side of his lip before speaking.
“A lot of decisions had to be made in a short period of time.”
I wasn’t going to second-guess at this point. These decisions had been made years ago, so there was nothing I could do about the time I’d lost or the new face. There was only one thing that mattered.
“Has Kathleen seen me…like this?”
They looked at each other, silently trying to decide who should do the talking. Lou took the lead.
“There’s a lot I need to tell you. But before I say anything, keep in mind, I’m the messenger. I was involved in the discussions, but I didn’t make the decisions.”
“Noted. So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying everything that happened was done because it made the most sense at the time.”
I passed my glass to Nadine. Two sips of whiskey had left my head swimming.
“Serves you right,” she sniffed.
Like all the rooms at Sensory Resources, the one that held me was windowless. It could have been noon outside, or midnight, I’d have never known the difference. A person could be wide awake in here for two weeks and not be able to give a proper accounting of the time he’d spent, so it made sense there would be a period of disorientation. But I was more than disoriented, I was in shock. Based on my timeline, in a handful of minutes I’d lost the face I was born with, and more than three years of my life! There were no instruction books to tell me how I was supposed to react.
But it’s not what I’d seen and heard that led me to the bourbon. Bad as it was, I knew things were about to get much worse. Th e proof was in Nadine’s eyes and Lou Kelly’s voice. And the fact that Darwin kept Nadine working here at Sensory all these years just to prepare me for what Lou was about to say.
Chapter 43
“You died,” Lou said.
I paused a moment. “You mean I died on the table and they brought me back to life?”
He shook his head. “No, I mean we killed Harry.”
Harry Weathers had been my body double.
“We didn’t have a choice,” Lou said.
I said nothing.
He continued, “You were here, completely unresponsive, barely alive. Days went by. The doctors hoped you’d be okay, but stopped believing it.”
A thousand thoughts raced through my brain, competing to make sense.
Lou continued: “Tara Siegel had a lot of friends who heard you came to Boston looking for her. A few hours later she went missing, and no one ever heard from her again.”
I shouldn’t have had the drink. Or maybe I should have had more. I had to force my mind not to get too far ahead of his words. Otherwise it would take longer to find out what I needed to know about Kathleen and Addie, and where things stood in the present.
“Go on,” I finally heard myself say.
“Well, there were two problems. First, Tara’s friends—picture what Callie and Quinn would do if Tara showed up and you’d gone missing. Anyway, her friends demanded answers from Darwin, said if he didn’t tell them, they’d beat the truth out of Kathleen.”
I set my new jaw, clenched my fists, but said nothing.
“The second problem, quite frankly, was Kathleen.”
“How so?”
“When she didn’t hear from you, didn’t get her calls returned, she went into a panic. She knew just enough to be dangerous.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “She knows—knew nothing.”
“She knew Sal Bonadello,” Lou said, “and Victor.”
“So?”
“She also knew—or thought she knew—that you worked for Homeland Security.”
“She started making calls?”
“She did.”
“And?”
“She got stonewalled. And didn’t like it.”
I let a small, proud smile play around the corners of my mouth.
Lou saw it, said, “Yeah, I know. But she contacted the press, started demanding an inquiry.”
“Oh shit.”
“Exactly. So Darwin created a phony mission and produced enough of Harry’s body to convince everyone you’d been killed.”
My heart sank.
I said, “And this was more than three years ago, and no one ever told Kathleen any different.”
Lou remained silent.
“And Kimberly and Addie—they watched my burial.”
“I’m sorry, Donovan,” Lou said.
Nadine moved to my side, placed a reassuring hand on my arm. She said, “As they explained it to me, it was the only way to protect Kathleen and Addie.”
“Not to mention Sensory Resources,” I said.
“That too,” Lou said.
I rolled it around in my head a few minutes, trying to find a way to make it work for me. Of course they had to kill me off . In their shoes, I’d have done the same. Okay, so I’d lost three years. No problem, I’d just have to come back from the dead. I could kill Tara’s friends before they knew I was alive, then break the good news to my loved ones. Nadine could be helpful with that part. I’d tell Kathleen and Kimberly everything, make a full confession. Then I’d retire. It could work, I reasoned. I could still salvage my relationship with Kathleen.
“How did I die?” I said.
“Excuse me?” Nadine said.
“Harry’s body wouldn’t have fooled the people that knew me well. They couldn’t say I had a heart attack.”
Lou sighed. “This sounds so much worse when I say it out loud,” he said.
I waited.
“Aw Christ, Donovan,” Lou said. “Harry got thrown off a highrise.”
No one spoke for a long time. We didn’t need to; Nadine’s expression said it all.
“On the bright side,” I said, “I look like a movie star.”
Nadine said, “You’re taking this awfully well. Are you sure you understand the complexity of the situation?”
“Pardon the pun, but I’m trying to put my best face forward.”
“He’s facing his fears,” Lou said, “putting on a brave face.”
“Well,” said Nadine, flashing a smile, “I think it’s time to face the facts.”
I returned the smile. “Good one,” I said. “For a shrink.”
“We can start with your new name,” she said.
That wiped the smile off my face. “My what?”
Chapter 44
“Conner Payne,” Lou said.
“A sissy name.”
“Blame Darwin,” he said. “Still, it’s better than the last one he gave you.”
“Cosmo Burlap?”
Lou chuckled.
Nadine said, “This just occurred to me, but what about all your bank accounts, investments, legal papers, and so forth?”
“Everything is in my legal name.”
“Your legal name. So Donovan Creed—”
“Was my third name.”
“You people are insane,” Nadine said.
“That your professional opinion?”
“Don’t start with me,” she said.
Dr. Howard entered the room and injected something into my IV.
“Did you just give me a sedative?”
“You’ve been through a lot today,” he said.
“You’re at least going to let me try to walk…”
He sighed. “The natural tendency with these things is to try to make up the time you’ve lost right away. But it’s much more complicated than that. Your brain shut down for a reason, and we need to find out what it was, so we can prevent a recurrence. In the meantime, relax, take it easy, and understand you’ve got all the time in the world.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Look, we’re trying to avoid a blood clot here,” he said, “or worse. Don’t worry, I’ve been ordered to get you moving as fast as possible, so your rehab is going to be supervised by the best in the business. You’ve waited this long, what’s another day?”
“You contact them yet?”
“They’re on their way.”
“Okay.” I gave him a mock salute.
Nadine said, “How is it you’re completely lucid after being knocked out with a sedative?”
“I test weapons for the military.”
“So?”
“Sedatives are like candy to me.”
“Wait. You test weapons?”
“Uh huh.”
“What sort of weapons?”
“Death rays, psychotic drugs, torture devices, live viruses, that sort of thing.”
She gave Lou an exasperated look. “I can’t believe I wasn’t told this before. How do you expect me to do my job if you won’t tell me what I need to know?”
“You’re the psychiatrist,” Lou said. “How would we know what you need to know?”
“To think that fourteen years ago I had a legitimate practice,” she mumbled.
“Why’d you give it up?” I said.
She shook her head. “When your government calls you into service, you tend to believe they can’t save the world without your help.”
“I’ve heard that lecture myself. Many times.”
Chapter 45
“The difference between a good man and a bad one,” Nadine said, “has nothing to do with their jobs or the choices they make. What matters is the motivation—why they do what they do.”
“You are so in the tank for Sensory,” I said. “They must have paid you a queen’s ransom.”
“I won’t deny the paycheck, and I’ll leave it to you whether I sold out. But I’ve spent a lot of years learning about this agency, and I have to say, I believe in what you’re doing.”
“What I used to do.”
“What you were born to do.”
Dr. Nadine Crouch had been trying to reprogram me for days. Today she wore an ebony jacket and matching skirt over a white crepe blouse.
“You’re wearing long sleeves again,” I said. “Is it winter?”
She pursed her lips. “I must try to keep in mind how difficult this is for you. No, it’s Spring,” she said, “and I always wear long sleeves. When you’re my age, the arms have a tendency to sag.”
“You’ve got bingo arms?” I said.
“I beg your pardon?”
I laughed, thinking about it. “Like when the old ladies at the bingo parlor hold their cards over their heads and yell ‘Bingo!’”
“That’s a harsh observation.”
“Oh, please.”
“You’ll be old someday. See how funny it is then,” she snapped.
“Hey, I was just kidding around. There’s nothing wrong with your arms.” I grinned. “Or your legs, for that matter.”
“Let’s just get back to the topic at hand,” she said, trying not to smile.
She’d been showing me dozens of news articles depicting senseless, tragic deaths, in an attempt to convince me that innocent people die every day, and they’re going to die whether I kill them or not.
“I’m done with this,” I said.
“This is who you are,” she said. “You’re a tragic hero.”
“Me? A hero? You mean, like Superman?”
“Like Joan of Arc.”
“I remind you of a chick? Must be my sissy new name.”
“Fine, forget Joan. A tragic hero is an inherently noble, extraordinary person. He has a greatness about him that makes him seem almost super-human to others, and a purpose that serves mankind. He sacrifices his life for a great cause or principle.”
“I sense a however coming.”
“However, he has a fatal flaw that ultimately brings about his destruction.”
“And mine is?”
“Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost your ability to remain detached.”
