John Locke - Lethal Experiment

“And mine is?”

“Somewhere along the way, you’ve lost your ability to remain detached.”

“Have you met Callie?”

“I have, many times. She visits you regularly.”

“And Quinn?”

“Not so regularly.”

I nodded. “Quinn is very detached,” I said.

“I know you consider him a friend, so I’ll refrain from criticism.”

“I can’t believe Darwin hired you to reprogram me. Wait—yes I can. But how does that sit with you? I mean, you treated me as a patient. Do you really feel it’s ethical to brainwash me into killing people?”

“I’ll say it’s appropriate. As for your use of the word ‘brainwashing,’ I’m not going to split hairs over terminology.”

I’d used the term on purpose, trying to get a rise out of her. But she didn’t bite. I said, “Nadine, you’re the most honest professional person I’ve ever met.”

“It helps to believe in the cause.”

“You know about Monica Childers?”

“I do. She was the catalyst, the one that put the wedge of doubt in your mind.”

“You’re very good at what you do, Nadine.”

“Not as good as you,” she said.

I kept my eyes fixed on hers until she blinked. “You’re a psychiatrist,” I said. You’re supposed to stand for something. You seriously expect me to believe you want me to keep killing innocent people?”

“Your issues with innocence started with Victor, and they’ll end the moment you stop working for him.”

“It’s good money,” I said, though I had already made the decision to stop.

“You took the work for one reason. And I’ll wait for you to tell me what it is.”

I already knew. “There was too much hang time,” I said, “between the killings.”

Nadine’s eyes misted briefly. She patted my hand. “This is one of the three reasons it’s worth giving up my practice to work with people like you.”

“What are the other two?”

“Money and Joan.”

“Joan of Arc again?”

“You remember the first time we met, the pictures on my desk?”

“The two Japanese-American boys your sister adopted?”

“You have a prodigious memory,” she said.

“For me it was a month ago.”

“Joan was my sister. On the morning of September 11, 2001, she worked on the top floor of the World Trade Center.”

I winced. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“She called her husband that morning, but he was busy with a client. She called me, terrified, but I was busy with a patient. She tried to leave me a message, but her phone went dead.”

“You feel somehow responsible?”

“Of course not. But it shouldn’t have happened. And when it did, I should have been there for her.”

“And now you want revenge.”

She shook her head. “Revenge is a waste of emotion.”

“But you want me to prevent it from happening again, even though innocent people will die. Sounds to me like you have a fatal fl aw. You can’t remain detached from what happened to your sister.”

“Let’s keep this about you,” she said. “You’re a soldier, a man of action. You can’t survive in captivity.”

“By captivity you mean settling down, raising a family?”

“You tried it before, with Janet and Kimberly. Didn’t you learn anything? Your domestication only served to torment the people you love.”

“You think you know me—”

“We both know you. You’re an eagle. Eagles don’t flock. They can’t be domesticated. They do not thrive in captivity.”

“You must be the worst marriage counselor in the world,” I said.

“Quit working for Victor. Get your mind back in the game.”

“My country needs me, eh?”

“Not to make a cliché out of it, but yes, we do.”

“What about Sal?”

“Sal Bonadello?”

“Do you object to my working for him?”

Nadine took some time to weigh the question. She sighed. “I suppose not.” She saw my eyebrows rise in disbelief and added, “Sal’s jobs keep you sharp. In the end, what’s it to society if tomorrow morning we all wake up and find there’s one less bit of scum on the pond?”

“Nadine, you’re an astonishingly bad psychotherapist.”

“That’s entirely possible, but it doesn’t change who you are, or what you were meant to do.”

“Nevertheless,” I said, “I aim to quit the business, marry Kathleen, and help her raise Addie.”

She said nothing.

“You’re disappointed in me,” I said.

“Not true. As for marrying Kathleen, if that’s your motivation for getting strong and healthy, it’s as good as any.”

Chapter 46

I’d been warned that the physical therapy would be agonizing. Instead, it was thrilling. Every stabbing pain made me feel alive, eager for more. Dr. Howard kept trying to back me off the weights and leg machines, but I was relentless, having set a goal to be in Kathleen’s arms within ten days. Nadine was just as relentless in her attempt to keep me out of “captivity,” but what could she do? In a competition for my soul, Kathleen would always win.

One day Nadine walked into my room and turned off the CPM machine that had been flexing and extending my knees.

“Conner,” she said, “there’s someone here to see you.”

My heart raced. “Kathleen?”

She shook her head. “If you choose Kathleen, you’ll have to approach her on your own.”

“So who’s here?”

I heard the electric whir before I saw him.

“Good to…see you…Mr. Payne…you’re…looking…well.”

“Hello, Victor. Where’s Hugo?”

“He’s…in the…corridor…with…someone.”

“You don’t seem surprised to see me alive.”

“Curly…told me…you were…alive.”

“And you’ve not told anyone all this time? Not even Sal?”

“It was…not my…business…to tell…anyone.”

“Who wound up killing the couple from Nashville?”

“No one…I termi…nated…the pro…ject…after you…got here.”

“And you’re here to talk me into coming back to work for you?”

“No, I’m…part of…your…therapy…Dr. Crouch…wanted…me to…show you… something.”

“Then do so.”

Victor was a quadriplegic, which means his paralysis affects all four limbs. But like many quads, Victor’s paralysis and loss of function was not complete. He still retained partial use of his hands. With them, he controlled an array of buttons and toggles, one of which he used to summon his general, Hugo, and his mystery guest.

Hugo walked into the room with a very attractive woman who seemed familiar to me.

“Creed,” he said.

“Hi Hugo. These days I’m going by Conner Payne.” I studied the woman standing next to him. I knew it would come to me. She had shoulder-length blond hair. The eyes were a different color than the last time I’d seen her, but they were still deep set and expressive.

“Holy shit,” I said. “Monica Childers. I thought you were dead.”

“I wish you’d died,” she said. “But I take comfort knowing you’re going to suffer.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said.

I glanced at my wheelchair-bound former employer. “Victor, you told me Monica had been fucked to death by the Fathis.”

She gave him a hard look.

“That…was a…cover…story,” he said.

I said, “Monica, you’ve got every reason to hate me, but seriously, I’m glad to know you’re alive.”

“Fuck you,” she said.

“It’s a generous offer, but I’m already spoken for.”

“Really? What’s his name?”

“You’re a saucy little thing,” I said.

“And you tried to kill me.”

I said, “Victor, what’s the story here?”

Victor gave Hugo a single nod, and Hugo said, “Monica was married to Baxter Childers, the surgeon who botched Victor’s operation and left him paralyzed.”

“I remember,” I said.

“Monica met Victor during the lawsuit. They kept in touch with throwaway phones. Baxter was a serial cheater, and a piece of shit human being,” Hugo said. He looked at Monica, held his hands up as if asking her to take over. She did.

“Not that I give a rat’s ass what you think,” she said to me, “but I knew for years he’d been cheating. I forgave him twice. Then I opened my heart to another man and fell in love. During the trial, I shared information with Victor’s people and they reciprocated. I found out Baxter had a child with one of his young lovers. He was getting ready to divorce me and marry her. I could go through an extended divorce, or I could see him put away for my murder.”

“And you chose the latter.”

Monica’s eyes narrowed, causing her eyebrows to flare like the wingspan of a predatory bird. “Victor said he’d take care of everything.” She turned to address him face-to-face: “You failed to mention I’d be beaten and murdered.”

Victor grimaced. “I…believed…you would…live, but…if not, then… Doctor…Childers…would…lose his…wife…and…the case.”

I said, “So one day you’re jogging at Amelia Island, and I kidnap you. Soon thereafter, you’re with your lover, savoring your sweet revenge.”

“Let’s keep the story straight,” she said. “You beat the shit out of me, injected me with a lethal poison, kicked me out of a moving truck, and left me to die.”

I glanced over and saw Dr. Nadine Crouch holding her head with both hands.

“Bygones?” I said.

Hugo offered his version: “You killed Monica, our people brought her back to life, she’s living on a plantation in Costa Rica, and Baxter’s serving twenty to life.”

“All’s…well that…ends well,” Victor said.

“You could have smuggled me out of the country,” Monica said. “You didn’t have to let him kill me!”

“We’ve…been…through this…many…times,” Victor said.

“Right. You were testing your anti-serum on me, killing two birds with one stone.”

“But you’re happy now,” I said.

“Eat shit and die,” she said. “It took four surgeries to repair my ear. The pain was excruciating.”

“You keep dwelling on the bad parts,” I said. I looked at Victor. “Is she always like this?”

“In my…experience…she is.”

“Fuck you both!” she said.

Dr. Crouch said, “Monica, I want to thank you for coming today. Though you can’t imagine it, or care to, your presence here has been meaningful.”

“I only came so I could look this bastard in the face and tell him about Kathleen.”

“What about her?” I said.

Monica’s eyes grew ice cold. Her mouth curled into a smug smile. You could tell she’d rehearsed this scene many times. I think she planned to say more, but changed her mind at the last minute, realizing the faster you say it, the quicker it hurts. She’d come all the way from Costa Rica to get this out, so I waited as she paused to gather the proper venom in her voice. When she was ready, she lifted her chin defiantly, and spit two poisonous words at me: “Kathleen’s engaged.”

Chapter 47

Monica’s words sent my heart into freefall. I blinked, forcing my brain to accept what I’d heard. Nausea flooded through me in that terrible way you feel when you can’t quite vomit. You know you’ll feel better if you do, but your body won’t cooperate. I took a deep breath. I should have stayed in the coma. This was too much to deal with all at once. When I let the breath out it felt as though my life force went with it.

Nadine broke the silence: “How nice for you to take this opportunity to tell him that.”

“No man ever deserved it more,” Monica said. “I bet her fiancé is fucking her right now, making her say his name.”

Hugo shook his head. Victor lowered his eyes in embarrassment. Monica kept the smug look on her face, and I thought, revenge agrees with her. She’s probably never looked more beautiful than she looks at this moment.

I wanted to scream, but I found myself smiling. I mean, you have to smile, right? During the past week I learned I’d lost three years of my life, lost my face, lost my name. And now, hearing I may have lost the love of my life, well, what else are you going to do?

Monica sneered. “How does it make you feel to know another man has taken over your life? A man who at this very moment is screwing your lover, spending your millions, and raising your little match girl.”

“How does it make me feel?” I repeated.

Like I’d been tied to a whipping post, I thought. But what I said was, “I feel like thanking God.”

“What?”

“No matter how much I love Kathleen and Addie, I can’t live like that. Dr. Crouch spent the past week helping me understand that, and what you’ve told me just makes it a lot easier to leave them behind. I’m glad they’ve found someone special to take my place.”

“Bullshit,” she said.

“I’ll miss the sex,” I said. “And Addie.”

“And the money?”

I laughed. “I’ve got as much as I need and I can always get more.”

“So your story is that you’re fine with all this,” Monica said.

“It’s true,” said Nadine, “though I wouldn’t have chosen you, or this time and place, to tell him about Kathleen.”

“Well I think he’s bluffng,” she said. “He won’t admit it, but I think I hurt him worse than he hurt me.”

“And I think you look sensational,” I said.

“What?”

“I like the whole package. You’ve got a kick-ass little body, and I bet you’re a wildcat in the sack.”

Her face smoldered like a live coal. “From what hellish pit have you summoned the gall to talk to me like that?”

“What do you expect me to say? I haven’t been laid in three years. Suddenly you waltz in here all worked up, wearing those ‘check-out-my-tight-ass’ pants!’”

“How dare you!”

I shrugged. “A kind word never broke a tooth.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Monica said, but stormed out before I had a chance to answer.

“Guess you’d better chase after her,” I said to Hugo. “She won’t like it when security pins her against the wall.”

He left, and Victor said, “It…was all…about you.”

“What was?”

“The…experi…ment.”

“The experiment,” I repeated.

“We…wanted…to see…how far…you’d…go.”

I thought about the seven loans Victor had Callie make to four couples and three individuals, loans that represented eleven lives and seven hundred thousand dollars—loans made and lives taken for nothing more than a bet between two midgets.

“You had me kill all those people just to see how long I’d do it? Why?”

“You…ever see…that…movie…Trading…Places?”

“Yeah…”

“Well…we had…a bet…Hugo…and me.”