Severance Pay (Chapters 61 Through 66 Of 78) free porn video

CHAPTER SIXTY ONE Hobbes switches me back to Fifty Pink, slowly this time. It's an easier transition but I end up at the same place, trapped in a body I can't control. He unlocks the handcuffs, keeping them in his left hand. "Patricia, follow me." I stand up. "Yes, Mr. Hobbes." He walks out the office door and I follow him, as ordered. I've stopped fighting things for now. It's mentally exhausting and even if I could make my body, and it is now MY body, do what I want, it can't be like it was on the lower Pink or any Blue setting. I need to be in full control to get out of this alive. Save my energy until the right moment. Both Cardoza and Lipscomb are waiting for us. Hobbes waives Cardoza over, handing him the collection of handcuffs and the Contoller. "Have you looked at the data yet?" Hobbes whispers. "Briefly," Cardoza replies. "It appears to be accurate and extensive. I'd have to cross check with the files in our servers but the documents I know by sight are there and they are correct. If I was forced to give an opinion ... I would say he has the real goods. Sorry Raymond." Hobbes nods his head in acceptance, then fixes an angry stare on Lipscomb. "I despise traitors." "She fooled many of us, Raymond." "Not Patricia. She was doing her job." "Her JOB? SHE was the one who invaded our compound, played you for a fool, stole your records, befriended the entire household!" "Like many have tried before her. They paid the price and now, so shall she. Patricia knew the risks and she came anyway. One must admire that kind of bravery, even among the enemy. But this Lipscomb ... he disgusts me. No honor, no loyalty, no respect for his team. A common murderer." "Thank God for that or we would never have even known what had happened. You would have been blindsided. At least now, we control our own fate again. We pay a relatively small sum of money and we are back in business." "I wonder, Enrique." "What of the girl? We should act quickly." Hobbes' shoulders sag. "You take care of it. I ... I ... can't." Cardoza smiles evilly. "As you wish, Raymond." Hobbes reaches out, grabbing his left wrist. "It must look like an accident, a believable accident, and Gretchen must never know. Never, not now, not even after I am dead." "X-ray, that is not our usual solution to this kind of problem." "This is not our usual problem. It is unique, requiring a unique solution. You have the limitations, I leave the details to you. I don't wish to know ... anything. Ever." "So, I have a free hand?" "As long as you meet those two conditions, yes." "And what about payment?" Hobbes holds out his right hand. "I will review the hard drive and let you know in the morning. If you are correct, then we will pay him." "He wants payment tonight, Raymond." "Too bad." Enrique hands him the hard drive. "Mr. Lipscomb," said Hobbes, raising his voice. "I will pay your ... fee ... after I have reviewed the contents of this hard drive. If it is as you described, payment will be immediately arranged. If it is not, you will join your unfortunate comrades. Understood?" Lipscomb had been sitting this entire time, attempting to eavesdrop. Don't know how successful he was. Now he stands up. "That was not the deal." "We have no deal, not as of this moment. I will not buy ... as you say ... a 'Pig in a Poke'. I need time to study your data. Surely, a delay of, say six hours, could hardly make a difference. If you are unwilling to agree, it only makes me more suspicious of the contents." Lipscomb's clearly unhappy but he doesn't have a lot of choice. Hobbes will pay more money to keep everything secret than anyone else would for making it public. He pretty much will have to accept the counter offer if he wants a big payday. "Six hours, but not a second longer. I will meet you at the McDonalds on the corner of Sixth and Washington by 7:20 a.m. Bring the diamonds with you. No guards, just you." "Enrique will be handling the exchange." Hobbes turns on his heel and strides back into his office, closing the door, never once looking at me. Enrique turns to Lipscomb, smiling tightly. "Let me show you to your car, Daniel. Patricia ... follow." "Yes, Mr. Cardoza." We all walk back to the front door, no one saying a single word. Lipscomb gets in and drives away, leaving me alone with Cardoza. He squats down, looking me in the eye while holding the Controller in front of my face. "An interesting device. I will have to give it, and you, a thorough testing before disposal. For now, you are to be locked up until after Hobbes has reviewed the files on the hard drive and your friend has been paid, just in case I need some answers about anything. After that, I no longer need you. That's when the fun begins. Hobbes may have decided where you end up but he left it up to me to decide how you get there. And when." * * * *** * * * *** * * * It was smoother than I thought it might be. Cardoza walked in with a valise, stopped at my table, set it on the floor next to me and left without saying a word. No threats, no warnings, nothing. It was all so anticlimactic, I was a little disappointed. That was until I got out to my car and opened the valise. Fifty million in raw, uncut diamonds is something you never expect to actually see. It's just a concept, an unobtainable goal until you feel the weight in your hands, reach in and grab a handful, letting them slowly spill through your fingers. The first of many future payments. I could sit here and look at them all day but there's more to do and not much time left. The next thing is to stash these at my safe house and to make sure I'm not followed there. I transfer the diamonds to a heavy canvas gym bag, searching to make sure there isn't some kind of tracking device hidden among them. I drop the valise into the dumpster behind McDonalds, get in my car and turn right onto Washington, heading for the Outer Loop. Taking the Outer Loop, I head east, away from the coast, to a less attractive part of Miami. It's a little more low rent, less crowded. I've subleased a condo in one of those buildings that's only about one third full and barely keeping out of bankruptcy. Dropping back onto city streets several miles away from my destination, I start taking an indirect route, always watching for following cars. I took the course offered by the FBI to all new Federal attorneys but that was some time ago and I never had to do it for real, but I don't think I'm being followed. Just to be sure, I park my car on the street and walk into a Starbucks. I take a seat where I can watch my car to see if anyone else is watching it. After a half hour, no other cars have parked nearby. I'm likely clean. No GPS tracking system, no physical tail. Better hurry. Back into my car, I drive the last two blocks to my condo. Leaving my car in the underground garage, I take the elevator to the fifth floor, carrying my bag. Once the elevator door opens, I peek out. No one around. I casually stroll to my condo, just six doors down from the elevator. I open the door and hurry in, undetected, closing, locking and bolting the door behind me. I relax, not being aware how tense I was. The living room is dominated by an extremely large aquarium, over one hundred gallons. There's a couch, a couple of chairs, a TV and a bookcase which holds the TV, but it's the aquarium which draws the eye. Actually, It's two aquariums. The large one holds a number of Piranha. The second, smaller one to the left holds about two dozen Goldfish. Dropping my canvas bag on the couch, I scoop three Goldfish from the small tank using a net on a twisted metal handle, then invert the net over the larger tank. The water roils for several seconds before settling down. I used to watch the feeding frenzy with great enjoyment, but the excitement fades after awhile. It's still amusing though to see the Goldfish scales drifting to the bottom of the tank. Now comes the last part of my plan, a particularly tricky part. It's cost me one of my better suits but fifty million will buy a lot of suits. I've taken my gray wool suit and exposed it to wood smoke and then burned small holes in the shoulders, sleeves, and back of the coat and a few in the pants, so that it looks and smells like I was in a shower of burning embers. After changing into the suit, I streak wood ashes across my face and right hand, rubbing some into my hair to increase the odor. The last step is the one that will really sell the illusion ... and is the one I have not been looking forward to. Going first to the bathroom to gather burn ointment, gauze and tape, I go to the kitchen, get out a small iron skillet, set it on the stove and turn the heat on high. While the skillet heats up, I fill one side of a double sink with ice and cold water. Once the skillet is hot, I take a dish towel, roll it up tight and stick it in my mouth, biting down hard with my teeth. I pick up the skillet using a pot holder in my right hand and, after a few deep breaths to prepare myself, I set it down on the back of my left hand. The pain is excruciating as I scream into the towel clenched between my teeth. I leave the pan on my hand for the count of three, then toss the pan into the empty side of the sink while plunging my left hand into the ice cold water. I need a good second degree burn to prove I was at the fire, nothing with permanent damage, no scarring, but something bad enough to make my story believable. The pain starts to fade away as the nerves are numbed by the cold water. I'll stay here for awhile, until I can tolerate the throbbing once the hand warms back up, dress the injury and then go see Tyson. * * * *** * * * *** * * * I hate budget time! I didn't go to law school to spend three quarters of my days dealing with accountants and administrators. I just wanted to put the bad guys in jail. Simple, straight forward and idealistic. I learned pretty quickly that you spend as much time fighting your own bureaucracy as you do the criminals and the higher up you go, the more the bureaucracy IS the bad guy. There are days when I want to chuck the whole thing, move to the country and open a little estate practice. And die of boredom. As big a pain in the ass as the administrative shit is, there's still that sense of accomplishment when we put some sleaze ball away, whether I do it or someone else in the office does. I just wish we could get out of our own way sometime. My phone buzzes. I told Larson not to interrupt me. I sigh, then pick up my phone. "Ms. Larson, I thought I told you ..." "Mr. Tyson! You need to come out here, right now!" Humph. It takes a lot to get a rise out of Larson. She's seen it all and is usually as cool as they come. I push the computer crap aside and hurry to my door, pulling it open. I see her standing in front of a man who is slumped in a chair. There's an odd odor in the air. She steps aside. Good God! It's Daniel Lipscomb! His left hand swathed in bandages. What IS that smell? He looks ... unkempt, defeated. The man is nothing if not always well dressed, full ... too full ... of confidence. "What the hell happened?!" "They found out Walter. They got them all." "Who found out?" He looks up at me from the chair; his face streaked with ... dirt? He raises his eyebrows, eyes wide open. OOoohhh, that's who. Damn! "What happened, man?!" He struggles to get out of the chair, wincing when his left hand bumps against the arm. "We shouldn't talk out here, Walter." "You're right. Come into my office. Can we get you anything?" Daniel limps past me. "Some water would be nice." "Sure. Ms. Larson, would you ..." "Right away, Sir." "Thank you." Lipscomb flops onto my couch, spilling some files to the floor. I pull a chair over to him and sit down. Larson hurries in with several bottles of cold water. She opens one, handing it to Lipscomb, who downs it in one, long drink. She opens another and he drinks half of it just as quickly. "Thank you, Ms. Larson. You can leave us," I say. It's clear that she doesn't want to leave but she does, after setting the remaining bottles of water next to Daniel. I wait for the door to close before saying anything. "Daniel ... what happened?" "We had it, Walter! We had it! Harris had gotten to Hobbes' computer, hit the Mother Lode ... at least, that's what he said. We had scheduled a meeting so that he could hand over what he'd found. When I showed up, the building was already on fire. I tried to get in, managed to get in the back door but the place was too far gone." "So, what actually happened?" "He must have made a mistake of some kind at the very end. So many months and he fumbles the ball at the goal line. It's so hard to take!" "I know, I know. Is he dead?" Daniel coughs several times and takes another long drink, finishing the bottle. I open a third and hand it to him. "I don't know, I never got that far into the building. Can't think that he survived. There should be two others, Thomas Matthews and Jessica Warren. The building was Matthews' office, so he almost had to be there and Jessica usually drove Harris." "Who's Harris?" "Peter Harris, a retired undercover cop ... we probably need to take jurisdiction over the scene." "Right, right." I stand up and grab my phone. "Ms. Larson." "Yes, Sir?" "Get me Randy Hicks at the FBI. We're going to need to take jurisdiction on a local fire. Looking at arson and murder. It was an undercover operation so we'll need to handle with care. I'll give him the details as soon as possible." "Yes, Sir. Right away." That ought to satisfy her for now. "Anybody else on your team, Daniel?" "No, that was it. Hobbes got them all." "He didn't get you." "I've been hiding since last night. I assume the others didn't tell him about me, otherwise they would have simply waited for me to show up before killing everyone and starting the fire to cover their tracks." "Or they could still be looking for you." "I've considered that possibility too." "How'd you hurt your hand?" He raises his bandaged left hand, turning it. "I don't remember. Guess I was a little frantic about trying to get inside. I just know it hurt like hell when I got out, still does." "Who'd you see about taking care of it?" "Did it myself. If Hobbes was looking for me, didn't want to draw attention. Don't worry, I think it's only a second degree burn, no significant blistering, at least not yet. I was lucky." "At least somebody was last night. Still, you should see a doctor about it." "I will, later. Right now, we need to find what we can at the scene, see if we can find anything to link Hobbes to the murders or arson." "You sure he did it or had it done?" "It'd be very unusual for Hobbes to do this himself so no, I don't think he did it. But if he didn't order it, who did? What's the motive? It has to be that one of them, likely Harris, screwed up." "Why Harris?" "He was the inside guy, the other two were just support. Matthews never had contact with anyone besides the other three of us and Jessica had very little contact with anyone in the Hobbes organization." "And you?" "I just had contact with the other three. It was Peter's show, that's how he wanted it. In fact, he insisted. The guy was an undercover genius but clearly not infallible." "What did the other two do?" "Harris had medical issues that forced his retirement. Matthews had some new medical treatments that fixed those problems, at least for the short term, putting him back in the game, but he needed regular treatments." "What did the woman do for the team?" "She was a psychologist. She kept watch on Harris, who was a bit of a loose cannon. Kept him focused, eye on the ball so to speak." "If he had all those problems, why use him?" "As I said, he was a genius at undercover work. Three times divorced, no friends or family, a real pain in the ass as a person but an undercover genius." "How did he actually do it?" "To be honest ... we weren't talking much at the end. That little episode with the information from the spreadsheet turned him against me, said he couldn't trust me anymore." "Sounds paranoid." "Paranoid probably kept him alive as long as it did. I was going to get all the information last night. We were going to wrap everything up." Daniel shakes his head. "God damn it ... we were so close." "What we were able to do with the spreadsheet information, the drugs we took off the street, that made the whole thing a success already. I can't tell you how much praise we got for those busts. It was an excellent return on our investment." "Does that include the costs of three lives, Walter?" "Look, I'm sorry about that ... I really am. Of course, we won't rest until we catch whoever did this terrible thing. I'll put my best people on it, make it priority one. But, we both know undercover work is the most dangerous thing we do in law enforcement. The way you did it, and understand, I'm not criticizing because I approved it, but the way you did it was more dangerous still, what with no backups or anything. If I made it even more dangerous with what I did with the spreadsheet information, I apologize, but ..." "I understand, Walter. Harris never did but I do. We do what we can to protect our people but sometimes, it's never enough, not when you're dealing with people like Raymond Hobbes. Everyone who signed on with me knew that, I was very upfront about it with them, but they did it anyway. They were all flawed individuals in their own way but they were dedicated and brave and didn't deserve what happened to them. I can't help but feel like it was my fault that they're all dead. I don't know how I'll be able to go on after what's happened." I reach out and grab his shoulder. "You should take some time off. It's been a rough few months and you're not in the clear yet, Hobbes may still be looking for you. If I were in your shoes, I'd think about disappearing for awhile." "If you insist, Walter. I can keep in touch, in case there are questions. I know I can't lead the investigation, conflict of interest and all, but I'll help all I can to see justice done for my team ... my friends." "Are there any next of kin who need to be contacted?" "No, none. That's another reason I used these particular people. No one had to be told where they were going. It cut off another possible source of leaks." "You've really thought this thing through, Daniel." He smiled at me for the first time today. "I tried." CHAPTER SIXTY TWO I've been able to wiggle my fingers and move my right arm a little but that's all. It took everything I had and two hours of concentration, plus my head hurts like the dickens. There's just no way I'm gonna be able to do anything useful at Pink Fifty. The only way I'm escaping is if I can change that setting. Cardoza had me handcuffed to a chair again, just like in Hobbes' office, though this time it was in his apartment in the security building. That was over twenty hours ago. I managed to get some sleep but it was hit and miss, this isn't the most comfortable chair in the world. I haven't had anything to eat or drink since they locked me in here. I have heard voices outside the door and thought I recognized Henry's. That's a meeting I'm not looking forward to. If Cardoza's gonna kill me, I hope it's before I have to face all the guards and household staff. I don't think I could look Raul in the face. The same for Henry and Lou, though I would like a crack at Escaban. I hear some footsteps outside the door and the jingle of keys. All right, stay sharp, be alert. Patricia's head slowly turns towards the door, ever so slightly tilted to the left. The door suddenly opens, Cardoza standing in the doorway, warily looking around. He's being cautious, true to form. Not likely to get any breaks from him but I still need to be ready. He sees me still handcuffed in the chair but he carefully scans the room as he enters, not taking things at face value. He's good. No wonder he's survived all these years. When he finally reaches me, he quickly checks the handcuffs to make certain they are as he left them. Once satisfied that I'm still restrained, he relaxes just a little, unclipping his radio from his waistband and placing it on a nearby table, its volume low. He has a seat on the couch opposite me. "Well Patricia ... you don't mind me calling you Patricia, do you?" "No, Mr. Cardoza. That is my name." "Are you hungry, Patricia?" "Yes, I am." "Are you thirsty?" "Yes, I am." "Would you like a drink of water?" "Yes, I would, Mr. Cardoza." "Then beg me for it." Without hesitation or resistance, Patricia starts to beg him. "Please Mr. Cardoza, may I have a drink of water? Please, please, please?" Cardoza frowns. I don't think he was expecting Patricia to be so compliant. She does exactly what she's told. It's no fun abusing her, she has no will of her own, there's no resistance. And yet, she lied to Lipscomb. When it was most important, she hid the truth ... or maybe, she protected the secret. Whatever, if Cardoza wants some resistance, he's gonna have to let me out of my cage, just a little bit. And that maybe enough. Patricia keeps begging, just as before, with no real emotion. Cardoza looks more annoyed than anything else when he finally brings her a large glass of water. He places the rim of the glass near her lips and quickly tips the glass towards her, spilling at least a quarter of the water in her face and over her blouse as she rapidly gulps down as much as she can. When the glass is empty, Patricia licks her lips. "Thank you for the water, Mr. Cardoza." "Oh, you're welcome," he sneers. It's like he doesn't know what to do with her. Cruelty rolls right off her. She accepts any insult, takes no offense but I felt the hesitation when she was told to remove her blouse and bra by Lipscomb. There's something going on with her programming, something has changed from what it was months ago. Matthews would know but it's too late to ask him. Cardoza sets the glass next to his radio then reaches into his pants pocket, removing a set of keys. He sorts through the ring as he stands and walks over to a large clock mounted on the wall, selecting a smaller, silver key. He pushes against the clock, which swings away from the wall, revealing a recessed door with an L-shaped handle. He inserts the key into the base of the handle, turning both at once. The door springs open but I can't see what's inside from my angle, though, with great effort, I do get Patricia to crane her neck a little to try to improve it. It's likely a wall safe. There's no combination lock, so it's strictly key access. I wonder if Hobbes has a key or even knows if the safe exists. Probably not. Cardoza reaches inside with his right hand and removes the Remote Lipscomb gave him. He might be planning to change my settings. Forty five Pink might be just good enough to give me a chance. "Patricia, what happens if I were to change this setting?" "To what, Mr. Cardoza?" "Just away from its current setting." "The lower the Pink number, the less influence I have over my behavior and the more influence Peter Harris has." "Do you want me to change the setting?" "Yes, Mr. Cardoza." "Why is that?" "So I can escape." He smiles. "Apparently Lipscomb was right, you can't lie at the current setting. Interesting. Let's see if he was right about the other information he provided." He steps away from the safe and walks back to the chair Patricia is locked in, stopping just a few inches away. "Patricia ... look at me." She looks up at his face, leering down at her. "Baker. Jacob. One. Two. Mike." A shock runs through my body, causing all my muscles to lock up for a few seconds and then release, leaving me slumped in the chair, eyes closed. When I open my eyes, they lock onto Cardoza's crotch. My body strains forward, trying to reach out for his belt, for his zipper. I desperately attempt to fight the growing compulsion but can't stop it. "Patricia, what do you want?" "I want ... to escape." "What? Lipscomb said that if I used that command you could not resist." She was trembling. I could feel her resistance, her conflict. "I ... won't ... resist ... but I ... do not ... want." He laughs as he reaches for his belt. "Excellent! Perfect! We'll start with just your mouth for now, see how it goes." He quickly unbuckles the belt, undoes the buttons on the waistband, unzips and the drops his pants to the tops of his thighs. He pauses for a few seconds, his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer shorts. The urge in me is growing stronger. Finally, he pulls them down, revealing a limp penis, which he dangles just inches from my mouth. "You know what you must do, Patricia." She can't reply. The trembling grows stronger as she slowly moves her head closer to his cock, her mouth creeping open. Fight it! Fight it! You don't have to do this! It's you're choice! At the last moment, she stops, breathing hard, but Cardoza slides his hips forward, dropping his cock in my open mouth, which slurps it in like a bass hits a worm. "Good, good. Such an obedient girl." Once she closes her lips around Cardoza's cock, her resistance fades away as she enthusiastically begins to suck and roll it around in her mouth ... my mouth ... his penis growing larger and harder with each passing second. It's soon too large to keep it in my mouth so I release it and immediately turn to licking its length and sucking on the head, massaging it with my tongue. Handcuffed to the chair, I can't do much more. Thank God. Unfortunately, Cardoza has an answer to this. He steps closer, positioning himself between my legs as he places his hands on each side of my head. He pulls my head away from his dick and turns it up to face him. I can see the anger and satisfaction in his face. "You shouldn't have opposed me, Patricia. Anna Hobbes did and I had to kill her. I'll kill you too, eventually, but the longer you please me, the longer you will live. So far ... you please me ... let us see if you can improve your performance." He pulls my unresisting head back towards his dick, aimed straight at my open mouth. I try to close it but it only opens wider as the bulbous head pushes in past my lips and toward the back of my throat. I brace for the pain but it's not as bad as I expect. I feel it sliding down my throat and I want to cough, to gag, to force his dick from my throat but I can only gulp. Cardoza grunts in pleasure. "Good! Marvelous! Such a talented girl! A true cocksucker! Maybe there are certain guards who would enjoy this also. Yes ... yes ... take it all, Bitch!" He continues to push his cock down my throat until my nose is pressed against his groin. He holds my head there, enjoying both the physical sensations as I gulp his cock and his dominance of me. Slowly pulling back a few inches, he quickly plunges back in, his balls smacking my chin. He does this several times, cycling faster as he continues. Up to now, I've managed to keep my anger in check. I can't do anything about the situation right now. Look for a break, look for an opportunity. Watch and wait, I can take this. Keep a cool head, don't panic, don't show fear. Don't let the bastard win! Make him PAY!! As soon as he called me a bitch though, I could feel my anger jump and it's continued to grow ever since. I already can't control my body, I don't want to lose my mind too. Cardoza's really going at it now, fucking my mouth while grunting and groaning in delight. I occasionally get a glimpse of his face, looking down at me, mouth agape, breathing hard, sweat gathering on his forehead and dripping down the sides of his head. Hope the bastard gets a heart attack. I can feel his dick pistoning in and out of my throat, my jaw starting to ache, but I don't have any trouble breathing. My breaths are in rhythm with his thrusts. It's like I know exactly what to do but it's different, as if the knowledge is coming from some other part of my mind. This is more than just the usual pre-programmed information. Suddenly, the rhythm is broken. I can't match his pace, I can't breathe! Almost overwhelmed by panic, I struggle to keep control while choking and gagging, my body convulsing. Cardoza pauses for a moment, then slowly pulls his cock from my mouth. I gasp for air as soon as my mouth is empty. "Amazing! Twelve minutes exactly! Lipscomb wasn't lying. Enough for the preliminaries, time for the main event. Patricia ... look at me." I'm still trying to catch my breath but I can't stop my head from turning to look Cardoza in the face. The smile there sickens me. "Baker. Frank. Three. Zero. Mike." Again, my body locks up for a few seconds, then collapses in the chair. When I open my eyes, I see Cardoza standing before me, stroking his stiff, saliva coated penis. I don't feel anything at first, not like the last time. It takes a moment for me to notice the tingling in my ... no ... God no. Baker James. BJ ... blow job. Baker Frank. BF ... butt fuck! Cardoza laughs raucously, pointing at me. My realization must have shown on my face. "Yes! You understand now! Hobbes always said you were a smart girl. Your Mr. Lipscomb is an interesting fellow. Not so smart in trusting him, were you? I don't think we'll need these any longer." He begins to unlock the handcuffs as I squirm in the chair, painfully aware of the growing, itching sensation in my rectum. As soon as my last limb is free, I quickly stand, pull my panties down to my ankles, kick one leg free and drop to my hands and knees, all before I can mount any resistance. "So eager, so compliant. Perhaps I can keep you around indefinitely. Lipscomb gave me an intriguing list of sex acts and positions. It will take me weeks to try all possible combinations, even with the help of Viagra. Right now, the sight of your tight, moist asshole is all the stimulation I need. For your sake, I hope you got my dick slick enough because that is all you're going to get." While he talks, I'm wiggling my ass in front of him. Stop it! Fight this! It's your body ... it's your brain. Take control! Don't let Lipscomb make you his toy, his ... thing. You're not a thing! I'm not a thing! The itching sensation is growing but so is my anger. Not this time, Cardoza. Not this time! The pain in my head is back, prickly at first but rapidly becoming a sharp, deep ache. I'm so distracted by the sensations at either end of my body that I wasn't aware that Cardoza had reached down and pushed his middle finger past my anal ring. I hear myself moan several times while Cardoza laughs. NO! Not now! Not Here! Not with Him! Fight Patricia!! You're a learning machine ... LEARN, God Damn it! My anger is now a rage, filling my head, my heart, reveling in the increasing pain radiating from deep within my head. Cardoza removes his finger but I feel my skirt being pulled away from my bottom, exposing it to the cool air. Come on Patricia! Fight! Resist! Beat the Bastards! Don't give in! You're a virgin! We're a virgin! Not with Cardoza, not with HIM! I'd scream if I could. The pain in my head is so loud! It feels like it'll explode any minute. Cardoza spreads my legs wider as he shuffles forward on his knees, pressing into my exposed thighs. NO! NO! GOD DAMN IT, NO!! FIGHT HIM! FIGHT HIM!! YOU CAN DO IT! WE CAN DO IT!! DON'T LET LIPSCOMB BEAT US!! HE KILLED MATTHEWS ... HE KILLED MOM!! HE KILLED ME!!! The rage is a fury now, penetrating every cell of my immobile body. I'm aware that my rectum is aching for the relief of Cardoza's disgusting cock and my head is seconds from splitting wide open like an over-ripe melon, but those sensations pale when compared to my all encompassing fury. I feel the head of his dick pressing against my anus. AAARRRGGGHH! NOOOO! PATRICIA! FIGHT IT YOU BITCH! BEAT THEM! IT'S OUR BODY, IT'S OUR CHOICE! CHOOSE! NOT HERE, NOT NOW! STOP HIM! He slowly pushes forward. KILL HIM! STOP HIM! GOD, MY HEAD'S KILLING ME! WE WON'T TAKE THIS! I WON'T TAKE THIS! YOU CAN'T BEAT ME!! LIPSCOMB! CARDOZA! NO!!! "No" * * * *** * * * *** * * * I'm back in the waiting room at Matthew's office, though it's mostly white ... and clean, sitting at the table. And I'm me, Peter Harris. It's been so long, I feel out of place. Patricia's sitting opposite of me, that familiar half smile and head tilt. What's not familiar is the constantly changing cloud of light and dark in the corner of the room. At times, it condenses into a semi-transparent body that kinda looks like Patricia, other times it's a swirling cloud of tiny flashing lights, some bright, others very dim. It constantly changes from one state to another. I stand up and walk around. There's no pain, no hesitation, no breathing problems; I'm perfectly healthy. Patricia just sits there, calmly watching me. Moving closer to the thing in the corner, it doesn't react to me, at least not right away. Once it shifts to the near human body, it reaches towards me with both hands for a moment before it breaks apart into the swirling mass again. I wander back to the table, returning to my seat. "Okay, I'll bite. What the fuck happened?" "You broke it." "What did I break?" "The Balancer. You and she broke it. We're free." "How'd we do that?" "You fought against the setting, you and she tried to take control. The Balancer wasn't designed to deal with intentional conflict. Dr. Matthews assumed there would need to be only the occasional regulation of conflicting thoughts. You pushed the Balancer way beyond the design parameters." "I felt a stabbing pain in my head." "That is consistent with a damaged Balancer." I tip my head towards the light ball. "What is that?" "The remaining memories of Jenny Jo Hamilton, our host." "Why is she so ... fuzzy?" "Because that is all that could be recovered from our damaged brain, just bits and pieces of memories, and an incredible amount of anger." "I can imagine, after what happened to her." "There's much more than you know. Teen age prostitution just to survive, physical abuse, a sad story." "And what am I?" "You're you, Peter Harris. All that was transferred into the brain by Dr. Matthews." "So, that means you're ..." "Patricia, the program, as modified by what I learned from you and Jenny Jo." "Fine, now that we know the players, where are we and what are we doing here?" "All this is just an organizing fa?ade, a place where you may feel comfortable so that we can discuss the situation and come to a decision." "About what?" "The Balancer is broken. Nothing determines which of us is in control of the body. Without the Balancer, there is freedom but chaos." "So what can be done about it? Matthews is dead." "None of us saw him die but it is likely that you are correct. However, I have the capabilities to fix it. I have limited control of the nanites and can direct them to fix it, to restore it to nearly perfect operating condition." "Well, do it. What's there to discuss? I've got to get control if I'm gonna get us out of here." "It will take time, at least two days." "So what happens ... wait a minute, what's going on right now?" "What was happening before the Balancer was disabled. Mr. Cardoza is initiating anal sex with us. However, we have different time scales. What seems like hours here are only fractions of a second out there, in the 'real world'. All of this are just electrical impulses, moving at near the speed of light. We have as much time as we need to decide what to do." "You keep saying that. What other options do we have?" "As I said, I have limited control of the nanites. They can be used to repair the Balancer or not. They can also be directed to do other things." "Such as?" "They can be directed to integrate the three separate personalities in our brain into one unified whole. We would be one person, all our respective capabilities rolled into one integrated personality." "And the Remote Control?" "Would no longer have any effect. The Balancer would be disabled, dismantled, used for raw material to complete repairs. We would be in charge of our own fate." "I don't get it." She sighed. "Think of the Balancer as the gatekeeper. Both of us are trying to get through the gate at the same time. The gatekeeper decides who gets in, who is in charge of body. At the high Pink or Blue settings, it is mostly you or I, at the lower settings, it is a mixture of both of us. Now, there is no gatekeeper. I can repair the gatekeeper but then we will have to dance to his tune, the tune of the person who holds the Controller." "Can't you and I just work it out ourselves?" "There is no mechanism for us to do so. Besides, there is also Jenny Jo. I'm sure that you have already felt her influences." "Yeah. She's really pissed off." "Exactly. I can direct the nanites to bypass the Balancer and integrate our separate entities into a single, unified being, free and independent of any control by outside people. Also, those subroutines Daniel Lipscomb demanded that Dr. Matthews install are located in the Balancer. If it no longer controls, we are no longer compelled to obey them. " That alone makes me want to say yes but there are additional concerns. "Which one of us would end up on top? You said you controlled the nanites. What would keep you from wiping me out?" "I said I have limited control. I can only give general directives. They have a certain amount of individual control plus a group intelligence of their own." "So, what keeps them from just taking over?" "That is outside their design parameters. I assume that your personality would dominate because you occupy the greatest percentage of the brain but there is a certain amount of what you call a crap shoot here. There are no guarantees that this will work or exactly what the end result would be. Repairing the Balancer and returning to the status quo has a much greater chance of success." "So why even consider anything else?" "I have learned from you the advantage of doing the unexpected and the value of taking chances. Much of our success to date has been due to you not following the expectations of others. It has been ... fun." "Yeah, it has been. A lot of fun sometimes but not so much other times, like now. If we agree to this integration thing, how long's that gonna take?" "Unknown. Certainly days." "Cardoza's not gonna give us that kinda time. We don't perform, he'll kill us quick." "Agreed. What do you propose?" "That we leave me in charge for now, until we can escape, find a place to hole up for awhile and make repairs." "You are referring to Randi's Place." "Yeah, if we're lucky. It's miles away from here." "Twelve point three miles." "Okay, if you want to be exact. If you'll just lay back and leave it to me, I'll get us out of here and some place safe." "And what happens after that?" Good question. Not a lot of great options. The smart move is to fix what we've got but that'll leave me at the mercy of any fucker whose got a remote control in their hand, which is Lipscomb and Cardoza right now. Can't get much worse than that. I'd be on the run for the rest of my life. If I go with Plan B, I'm free of the control but it won't be me. Of course, I haven't been me for months, even at Blue Fifty, and I'm never going back to my old body anyway, so I'm looking at changes no matter what. Then there's Jenny Jo. "What happens to her?" I ask, pointing towards the apparition, which looks more like a Jackson Pollock painting than anything else right now. "Undetermined. There is not much there to work with. It was likely a mistake for the nanites to repair those pathways in the first place. There is too much anger and too little reason." "It was her anger that saved us. I remember now where I've felt it before, back during the basketball game with St. Agnes." "Look how well that turned out for us." You can really tell that Mom programmed that part of my brain. "Yeah, you're right, but now that I know what's going on, I can control it better. If Jenny Jo hadn't joined in, there is no way I could have burned out the Balancer." "So, you've decided what you want to do?" "I ... I ... guess I have." "You realize what this means, for you? It's a female body, Jenny Jo's instincts are female, I've been programmed by a woman. As you say, your odds of remaining male aren't good." "Probably for the best. Wouldn't have been able to do much if I had returned to my old body. I've already felt ... urges ... going that way. Hormones, no doubt." She looked up at me, flashing that brilliant smile I've used before. "There wasn't any other choice for a man like you. Never play it safe. The adventure continues." She stands up and the room disappears, leaving all three of us in a white void. "What now?" I ask. She extends her left hand toward me. "Take my hand. It's more symbolic than anything else but it will do." I take her hand with my right. "How do we get Jenny Jo to join us?" "It doesn't really matter, the changes will occur no matter if she joins us or not." "I'd like it to be her choice, it'll make things easier down the road." "You may try but I suspect that there is too little consciousness for her to make any kind of decision." I hold my left hand out towards the constantly swirling mass. "Come on, Jenny Jo, join us, help us. It won't hurt." I look over at Patricia. "Will it hurt?" She shrugs. Great. I turn back to Jenny Jo. "It probably won't hurt. We have to do this; it's the only way for us to win." No change. I look back at Patricia. "You have any ideas?" "Sorry, this is well outside of my experience." Wonderful, like it's inside mine. Then I get an idea. I hold my hand out again. "Jenny Jo ... if you join us, I promise that I'll do what I can to help Penny, your sister Penny. I know you promised that you'd save her. I saw your memories. I know what Daddy did to you. If you help us, I promise to help you however I can." The swirling speeds up, as does the flashing of the lights. In seconds, the thing shrinks and condenses into a smoky image of Patricia, there yet not there. It floats towards me, walking but her feet don't touch the ground. She looks up as she nears and I can see the blazing anger behind her eyes. Her lips move. I don't hear what she's saying but the word appears in my mind. "Promise?" "Yes, I promise." She leisurely nods her spectral head and slowly reaches out with her right hand, trailing tendrils of smoke. I gently touch it, feeling real substance. When I fully grasp it, I think I detect a hint of a smile. Her other hand floats towards Patricia, who doesn't move. "I agree to give you time to mount an escape, Peter. I will do what I can to keep Jenny Jo from interfering, though it may not be enough. You and I can reason together, reach an agreement. Jenny Jo is not like us, she is primarily driven by strong emotions. I'm afraid you will have your hands full. Good luck." Her free hand shoots out, grasping Jenny Jo's, completing the circle. There's a blinding flash, then searing pain in my head. CHAPTER SIXTY THREE It takes a second or two for my head to clear. The pain is still intense. Must be caused by the Balancer's burn out. Then I hear Cardoza's animalistic grunt and feel his cock probing my anus. I duck my head and roll forward over my right shoulder. He tries to grab at my ass but it slips from his hands, as does his dick from my butt. I pop up to my feet and spin to confront him all in one swift motion. For a brief moment, we face one another, Cardoza on his knees, hands outstretched, reaching for my just departed ass, his dick pointing up in the air, a look of confusion on his face. Then I execute a classic roundhouse kick to the side of his head, dropping him like a hundred eighty pound sack of potatoes. I stand ready to attack again but he doesn't move. I'd like to see the look on his face when one of the guards finds him like this, pants down, dick out. Whoever stumbles onto this scene may not be around for long. The stabbing pain in my head snaps me back to our immediate problem, as does the voice in my mind screaming "Kill the BASTARD! He RAPED ME!" So much for Jenny Jo being a team player. Escape. Escape is job one. Stay alive to play another day. I run over to the windows on the east wall and carefully inspect them. Security sensors on all of them but Cardoza probably disabled the security to this area when he came in through the front door. I can't use it because the stairway leads right to the main operations room. It's gonna be one of the windows but I need to get ready. First thing, find my panties. Looking around I quickly spot them on the floor near Cardoza. It only takes a few seconds to step into them and pull them up, snug and back where they belong. While I'm here, might as well see if I can rustle up some cash. Fishing around in Cardoza's pants, I discover his wallet. Rifling through it, I find over two hundred dollars in assorted bills ... and his security pass card! Alright! Running to the back of the apartment, I find his bedroom, strip the sheets off his bed, knot them together and hurry back to the main room. Cardoza still hasn't moved. My head is still throbbing, not as bad as before but it's getting worse. Patricia can't unleash the nanites until I get to Randi's Place. I don't know how much time I've got before something really terrible happens up there. It takes me a couple of minutes to quietly move the couch close to a window and then tie one end of a sheet to its legs. I could just jump but I'm on the third floor, it'd be better to climb down, it'll make less noise ... assuming the security is off. I stuff the money and card into my bra and prepare to open the window when I see the radio on the table. Yeah, that may come in handy. Moving silently, I pick up the radio and turn it on, listening for a few seconds. Sounds like normal chatter, nothing unusual. Hustling back to the window, I hold my breath, unlatch it, grab the handles with both hands and noiselessly open it. No alarms are triggered and the radio traffic remains unchanged. So far, so good. I throw the untethered end of the sheet out the window, climb through and slide down, holding the radio in my teeth. I hit the ground harder than I intended, causing my head to vibrate with pain, rendering me breathless for a few seconds before it eases slightly. Still nothing on the radio. There are cameras everywhere but they are mainly interested in someone breaking in - not out. They monitor the primary traffic patterns along walks and driveways but not among the trees. Thankfully, it's a moonless night, so I don't cast a shadow as I run for the trees and squat among the bushes. Pausing to catch my breath, I need to make a decision. If I use Cardoza's card to open an outside door, I'll have to step into the open and all doors are watched by cameras. I may get out but they'll know I'm gone almost instantly and the chase will be on. I need to buy more time before they discover I've escaped, though Cardoza could wake up any second and raise the alarm. Probably should have taken a few minutes to tie and gag him. Too late now. There is a spot to my left where the wall takes a hard turn left and then back right, following the property line to avoid a utility easement, creating a shadow line about three feet wide, cast by a security light that's in the wrong place. It's also fifty feet to the nearest camera. A month and a half ago, I hid some rope and a folding grappling hook in the brush by that spot, just in case I needed a way out. I swiped them from a tree service Hobbes had hired to trim some trees away from the security wall. I'll be visible when I go over the wall but not easy to spot. It's my best chance ... if no one found the rope. Carefully following the tree line and crawling when necessary, it takes me three agonizing minutes to get to my spot and another minute and a half to find the rope and screw the two parts of the hook together. The hook is going to make noise when it hits the other side of the wall but that can't be helped. It's got a rubber coating but that'll just soften the sound. I step away from the tree and toss the hook underhand over the wall right in the middle of the shadow line. It thuds when it hits the ground outside. Waiting, I listen to the radio, its volume just barely above a whisper. Nothing. Somebody is giving pro basketball scores. Pulling the hook slowly up the outside of the wall, it finally catches on the outside edge. It's not a very strong grab but I don't weigh much and it should hold if I don't shake it free. Just keep the tension on the rope at all times. Leaning backwards against the rope, I get my left foot against the wall, then my right foot and then I proceed to steadily walk up the wall, carefully keeping firm tension on the rope until I reach the top. This is the tricky part. I edge up the wall until my feet are just on the lip. Shifting my weight to my left leg and cautiously bending it at the knee, it brings me closer to the wall, letting my right foot slide across the top and over the other side ... completely out in the open and available for anyone who is watching the camera to see. As soon as I can, I hook my right leg over the outside of the wall and with one last desperate heave on the rope, throw myself and the rope over the top and fall eight feet to the ground. I manage to twist around in the air and land on my feet, rolling forward to dissipate the impact. As I lay on my back, I do a quick inventory. Nothing broken, nothing strained, my legs badly scraped by the wall, my head pounding. I sit up and search for the radio. It's only about a foot from me and survived the fall. Picking it up and increasing the volume slightly, I hear the call. "Perkins, check out your sector. We thought we saw something at the top of the wall." "What'd it look like?" "Not sure, was there and gone too quick." I scramble back up against the base of the wall, turn down the volume and wait. And wait. "Perkins here. Can't see anything. Whatever it was, it's not around here now. No sign of activity." "Roger Perkins, return to post." Time to go. * * * *** * * * *** * * * It took me fifteen minutes to work my way out of Hobbes' neighborhood, dodging the police and private security patrols the whole way. When Cardoza finally wakes up, he won't spare anything looking for me. He'll call up every resource he can, cops, gangs, hired guns, everybody. I can't take a cab or bus. Even hitching a ride is dangerous. I can just see them claiming I'm a missing kid and put my picture in the paper. If some good citizen gave me a ride and then saw my picture, they could report where they dropped me and then we're screwed. Randi's is about ten miles away and I have to get there as fast as possible and leave no trail. A bus drives by, heading the wrong direction but seeing it gives me an idea. Picking up my pace, I hurry to the next block, which is on a major street, and have a seat in a covered bus stop. While waiting, I pull my legs up and hug them. Even Miami gets chilly at night in January. Trying to relax, I close my eyes, taking a series of deep breaths, slowly exhaling after each one. It doesn't help my headache at all. When I open my eyes, I notice several drops of blood on the sleeve of my blouse, all fresh. I touch my lip just below my nose with my right index finger. It comes back bloody. Not a good sign. Pulling a bill from my bra, I tear off two corners, roll them between my thumb and index fingers, then stuff one in each of my nostrils. Can't be seen bleeding, it attracts attention. Two buses stop and leave before the right one comes by. As it stops, I stand and step up to the opening door. Two older ladies are waiting to get off but I block their path. "Excuse me, Sir. Does this bus go to Glenfield?" "Sorry, little lady, that was the bus before me. I'm headed downtown," answers the driver. "Thanks." I move around to the front, letting the ladies step out of the bus, blocking the view of the driver. This bus has a bicycle carrier mounted on the front bumper. Wedging myself behind the mounting brackets of the carrier, the bus pulls away from the curb and back into the street. The driver can't see me and this is an express so it won't be making any more stops until it gets within a few blocks of Randi's. I'm taking a big chance but the way my head feels, I don't think I could make it on foot. Anyone walking or driving along can see me but there's not too much traffic this time of the night and a good percentage of the people who are out and about have been drinking so they won't be that observant or believe what they're seeing. As cold as it was at that bus stop, it's three times colder now and I'm just wearing a blouse and skirt, shoes but no socks, no hose. Only a few miles into the trip, I'm trembling. The next light is red and it feels like the temperature jumps thirty degrees as the bus slows to a stop. I try to scrunch down as much as possible, to be less visible. Two guys, clearly drunk, stumble by in the cross walk, one of them stopping right in front of me. He reaches out and grabs the arm of the other guy, dragging him back. "Hey man! What the fuck you doing?" The first guy points at me. The second guy looks, blinks a couple of times, then laughs. "No fucking way, man! Hey kid, what the hell ..." Just then, the light changes and the driver immediately stands on his horn, causing the two drunks to scramble out of the way. The driver guns the engine and we take off. We've made good time but now I've got to figure a way off. We hit the last two lights on green and this road has synchronized lights. If I don't do something quick, I'll overshoot my target. Putting a foot on each of the two brackets, I carefully push myself up the front of the bus. Wrapping my left arm around the brace my back is resting against, I reach up high with my right hand and knock on the windshield. The brakes immediately engage with a squeal, throwing me forward and almost off the bike carrier. I regain my balance just in time to jump off the bus as it slows. Keeping low, I run around to the driver's side, making sure to first check for traffic. I scoot along the length of the bus to the back then drop down to look for the driver's feet. He's around the front walking left, then right, then back left. Backing away from the bus about twenty feet, I dart for the sidewalk when he starts to walk down the opposite side of the bus and hide behind a trash can as he comes around the back corner, scratching his head. He ducks down, looking under the bus for several seconds before he finishes his search, climbs back in and drives off. I pull the wads of paper out of my nose, leading to a steady flow of blood that soon slows to a drip. The pain is stronger but I'm also feeling woozy and it's hard to get my eyes to focus. After putting new paper wads in my nose, I head down the street as quickly as I can. I first try to run but my legs won't move that fast, though I do manage a fast walk. This area is more residential, with old, rundown houses but when I turn the corner onto Cabana Boulevard, it's all business and crowded, even at this time of night. It's tougher for me to move through the crowd, both because of the number of people and it's getting harder to move my legs. It's like something is fighting me for control ... OH CRAP! Jenny Jo! Patricia was supposed to keep her in check. We're not safe yet. If I collapse in the street, someone will call 911 and they might as well hand me to Hobbes. Damn it girl ... don't you understand? My head is swirling, I can't see shit because of all these people. I haven't been here in years and all the bar fronts have changed, I don't recognize much of anything, at least what I can see through the bodies. Wait ... that's 915, just two blocks away from 1105. I try to walk faster but can't, in fact, it's worse. By the time I reach the 1100 block, my left leg is almost useless. I duck into the first alley I see. Randi's has a back door. There's no way they'll let me in the front and the fewer people who see me the better. I don't get ten feet into the alley before I fall, my left leg collapsing beneath me. I lay in a puddle of filthy water, barely able to breath due to a blood clogged nose, my head absolutely shrieking in pain. I push myself up but can't stand, my left leg is dead and my right is getting weaker. I see light streaming from a partially open door. Blinking until my eyes focus, I begin to crawl towards the door, my knee punctured by broken glass almost immediately, but that's just a minor pain in the chorus. I have to pause twice to catch my breath. When I reach the concrete steps leading up to the ajar door, my right leg fails, driving the knee into the first step as I fall. OH GOD! That hurt! Damn it Jenny! Back OFF! We're so close! I manage to reach up and grab the iron railing with my right hand and pull my failing body over to it so that I can also grab it with my left. Pulling with my remaining strength, I get past the second step and reach the top. I lunge for the doorknob with my left hand and swing the door open, my upper body suspended in the lit doorway. All eyes in the kitchen turn towards me, including a pair that I haven't seen in years. "Randi!" I gasp. "Peter ... Harris ..." My left hand slips off the doorknob and I fall to the floor, face first. * * * *** * * * *** * * * Dreams Nothing but dreams. The usual nightmares but good ones too. Happy times with family, old friends, my sister Penny, pets. Mom and I shopping for groceries and both of us making supper, together. That time at the school play when I was the fairy princes. The day I bowled a 280, just missing a 300 game, when my best score before that was 216. We got loaded and went home, Wife Number one and I fucked all night. I was like twenty nine and thought I was invincible. Then there was the time Penny and I went to the county fair with the birthday money Grandma snuck to us so Daddy wouldn't take it. We rode rides and had funnel cakes and Elephant ears and lemon shake-ups until we were nearly sick. I won that little stuffed bear and gave it to Penny. She named it Jay Jay Junior. When Daddy asked her where she got it, I told him I found it in a dumpster. He let her keep it. That was a nice day. They went on and on. I think I remember eating something and drinking something that weren't dreams but that didn't last long and went right back to the dreams. Sometimes the dreams weren't about things that happened but were about things I knew. Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Calculus, Astrophysics, German, Latin, Musicology, Aerodynamics, Economics, Karate, Marksmanship. They went on and on. I don't remember knowing so much stuff, but I must have, otherwise, how did I remember it? Early on, I was scared, really scared. Maybe that's why the dreams were mostly bad dreams. But, as things moved on, it got better. I stopped being scared and then I started feeling ... good. The good lasted for a while and then I was, like, confident. There's been both good and bad stuff in my life but ... I got this. I can handle it. Then I was anxious but not in a bad way, more like I was waiting for something to get done and wanted it to be done as soon as possible so that I could ... I wasn't sure what was supposed to happen next, but I wanted to find out in the worst way. Now, it's more like I'm determined, I'm not going to find out what the future is like, I'm going to make the kind of future I want. My choice, my decision, my call. Time to put things right. I slowly open my eyes. I'm laying on my right side on a cot, a light blanket covering me, a fluffy pillow under my head. The room is dimly lit, like daylight through blinds. My headache is completely gone. In fact, there's a sharpness, a clarity of thought that I can't recall ever experiencing before. I can feel the blanket lightly caressing my skin, brushing against my nipples ... I'm naked! I wasn't naked to start ... how long ago was that? I cautiously turn over. The room is as I remember it, small, gray, unheated, but it's a lot cleaner, not nearly as musty. There's a closet door down near my feet. Hope my stuff is still there. I can see the combination lock is still in the hasp. I appear to have full control over my arms and legs. As I complete the turn and land on my back, I see there's someone else in the room, slumped in a padded chair near my head. It's a woman, her head and left hand bandaged, head down so I can't see her face. It's not Randi, too young. The hair color is familiar, though the hair is shorter than ... "Mom?" I croak, throat and lips bone dry. She stirs and raises her head. It is her! "You're ... alive!" "OH! Patricia, my baby, honey ... we thought we lost you. Are you okay? Can you talk?" "Need ... water. Or whiskey ... what ever ... handy." Her eyes grow wide. "Joke ... Mom. Water ... fine." She smiles with relief and reaches down to the floor, picking up a glass, bringing it toward my lips. I move my arms back and push my upper body up off the cot. "Careful baby ... don't hurry ... take it slowly, that's right." She presses the edge of the glass lightly on my lips and gradually tips it up, letting the water trickle into my mouth. I drink until the glass is empty, then pull my mouth back. She returns the glass to the floor as I settle back onto the cot, my head turned towards her. "Lipscomb said he killed you." "The bastard tried." "But you were too tough." "I was lucky. The bullet only grazed my head. It was bloody and knocked me out so he apparently didn't bother to check. Likely assumed the fire would finish the job. It almost did. I'd given up until I heard you're voice, telling me to fight." "It wasn't me." "I know, it was a hallucination of some kind but it did the trick. I kicked out a door panel and crawled out, then got in my car and drove here ... like we agreed. I'm sorry ... I didn't go after you ... he had you and I didn't do anything. I should have done something ... anything but I just ..." I reach out and touch her leg. "You did exactly the right thing, it's what we agreed. I did the same thing." "You thought I was dead." "Yes, but I didn't check on it. You weren't in any shape to help me and I couldn't help you. Or Thomas ... or Peter." She took my hand into hers. "He killed them both. I saw him shoot Thomas, saw his body burn, smelled ... horrible. Had nightmares every night ... until you got here. You looked in terrible condition, so dirty and bloodied. Randi said you couldn't even walk, that you crawled through that ghastly alley ... Patricia, if I had only known ..." "It wasn't your fault Mother, it was mine. I should have known, I should have realized what was going on. It was all there but I didn't connect the dots." "Patricia, don't blame yourself. Lipscomb was smart, he had the time to plan this out. There was no way anyone could have known." "You're wrong, Mom. The information was here all the time" I touch my forehead. "Remember what Thomas said? That putting information in was easy, taking it out was hard. Lipscomb brought his plans with him when he was transferred in to my brain. They've been in here from the first day Peter Harris joined. I'm pretty sure that was why I started distrusting him almost immediately. All these negative thoughts nagged at me but I couldn't put my finger on why." "Honey, you can't blame yourself for what happened." "I don't. We both know who's responsible. The information was buried deep in my mind, just bits and pieces survived, but it was enough to trigger my subconscious, to warn me. I ignored those warnings so I could complete the job, do my duty. We're done with that. I can fix this." "Fix this? Fix what?" "I can put things right. The dead stay dead and a few others may join them but justice will be done." "What can the