NORTHCOXII-Secret Agent Man

Frank awoke. Where...oh god the hospital again. Fear almost paralyzed him but he could move his fingers and toes. It was just a dream; a dream of previous torture.
He looked around, recognized his situation, and began to rise.

But I cannot rise, he thought. He was chained to the bed.

Reminds me of an overnight I had in Bangkok. Hahahahah.

Just then the door opened to his private room. In walked a man in his late thirties with a white coat and badge along with a stethoscope around his neck. He was carrying a medical file along with a pad.
Frank, I see you are awake.

Uh, yeah. For sure. Say, can you do something about these restraints?

Frank I am Dr. Cliché.

Nice to meet you Doc, but can you do something about these restraints.

Open your eyes Frank. Cliché moved to the right side of the bed and sat down on the chair provided.

Frank opened his eyes. There were no restraints. What the hell.......

Would you like something to drink Frank?

It was like his mouth and throat were sealed shut. Fear gripped Frank again. Cliché brought him a glass of water from the loo. Take this slowly, slowly...that's it.

Slowly Frank sipped the liquid and his mouth and throat opened up. He sat up and noticed an intravenous tube in his left arm. Other than that, he was free. And he felt that relief; like he had had a long sleep.

Dr. Criche, I ...how long have I been here?

Your chart says two days Frank. And I am Cliché, like the French snap shot. Got it?

Cliché, right, got it. With that he pulled the tube out of his arm. The doctor applied some antiseptic to the wound and covered it with a bandage.

Thanks.

Do you know why you are here Frank?

I think I had a seizure. But I was in this dream; one of those real dreams. And instead of forgetting the experience as I do with most of my dreams, the plot...so to speak...is permanently etched onto my brain.

Well, I am your assigned therapist Frank. I am a psychiatrist. Only the best for management in NORTHCO you realize. Anyway, tell me about this dream.

A couple weeks ago, I was driving on the old road out of town. The one they closed off. I am not sure how I got there really. My car shut down or I stopped to look at something. I am not really sure.

I awoke on the steps of my friend's home. Everything is a blur as far as that period of what turned out to be three days.

And your current dream?

Well there I am, on the side of the road and outside of my car. Now I must preface this with an insight I have had from some prior dream experiences. I feel this paralysis. It is a slow process. Like my arms and legs become real heavy and my sight begins to go. And the situation becomes worse and worse and everything appears to get slower and slower. And the fear just grips me. I mean I am a grown man, a man with a responsible position with an important company and yet I am gripped with fear.

You ever wake up and find that you have wet the bed?

No. Never happened. Well wait a minute. My wife told me I did once. But I have no recollection.

Oh, you are married? Yes, well no. Not any more. The papers were signed a couple months ago, but I have been living alone for a long time; a year and a half actually.

Frank continued to relate the 'plot' of this dream while Dr. Cliché dutifully took notes.

Time, Doctor, it is time that I am missing. That is what really scares me. Although I am not in a hurry to catch a nap if you catch my meaning.

Following the session, Frank got up and went to the loo and then found his clothes in the closet provided.

I do not think you should leave right now Frank. It is not a good idea. You are in here for observation and such. They wish to take tests; certainly an EEG, an EKG and an MRI. We must scan your brain Frank.

Well I will set up something with the front desk later on Doc. I promise.

And with that Frank left the hospital for the parking ramp, got into his car and drove home.

He drove up to the house opened the garage door, parked and exited. He almost tripped over that goddamn bike again. EXCEPT HE DID NOT HAVE A BIKE. Now calm down, he thought. Look you are an epileptic. You have known this for at least five years now. You forget things....
Frank got into his kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He opened his secret drawer and pulled out a pack of cigs along with a lighter.

Sitting on his sofa, taking a deep drag from his favorite tube, he thought about his life. They are not going to let me keep working here. I have to make some arrangements.

And what exactly did he tell the shrink? Hell, Dr. Cliché seemed like a nice guy and all, but the NORTHCO Med Center was not the safest place for him to let his guard down. And speaking of guards, he should not have let his guard down to a potential guard employed by the corp.

He grabbed his phone from the coffee table and called the hospital. He still had the card in his top pocket.

NORTHCO Med Center. What can I do for you Frank?

How the hell does she know who I am? This is freaky.

How do you know my name?

Your ID Frank; it shows up right here on my receiver.

Do you know me?

Of course Frank. I met you at the Castle that one night. My name is Melanie.

Small town, everybody knows everybody I guess. Searching his mental files....Oh hi Melanie. I am sorry, getting old I suppose.

Oh Frank they made quite a fuss here a few minutes ago. You were not supposed to leave you know. But Dr. Creighton has a note here telling me to get some tests scheduled.

Frank thought for a sec.

Well Melanie, how about an appointment with Dr. Cliché?

Who?

Dr. Cliché, the shrink Melanie. Spent the morning with me.

Melanie paused. There is no Dr. Cliché at this center Frank. Never heard of a Dr. Cliché.

Frank looked down to the inside of his elbow. There was the bandage.

Click. Frank hung up the phone. His hand dropped the phone almost involuntarily. He felt his pate getting damp again. Like he had just drank an entire bottle of hot sauce. Geez what time is it anyway? Frank clicked on cable and drank down the beer. Seemed like one long gulp.

Suddenly cable came on:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9O5DU6i3g4

Sean woke up alone. Bernice had evidently left early. What a night. That woman could make him feel so goooooooooood. And he could smell her presence. Strange; but so nice.

He went to the kitchen a made some espresso. He grabbed a paper while the machine steamed. The Pierre Gazette, all fifteen pages of it. Thank god he also had the New York Times delivered at the same time.

GIANT STAG SHOT. NO SURVIVORS

What in the hell does that mean? No survivors? Must be those newbie interns from the college taking over the paper again. He grabbed his coffee and dropped down on his sofa, paper in hand. He leaned over the coffee table and turned on cable.

AP: Yesterday a giant stag was shot dead about twenty miles outside of Pierre. The hunting season does not begin for another week in this rural country. So the Highway Patrol was flummoxed when the team discovered the grand prey just off one of the main highways.

Three hunters, with full regalia were found less than 25 yards from the prize carcass. Their bodies had been drained of all blood after being gutted. The full autopsy report from the country coroner will not be published until next week according to Officer Barnes.

There is no way of telling how the locals lost their lives. No evidence of illegal conduct except the hunting itself. Assuming they were responsible of course for the death of the Stag. After the bodies were removed to the office of the country coroner, I had the grand stag transported to my barn for safe keeping. I have a refrigeration unit there.

The 35 point buck was the greatest single treasure ever found in the wild in these parts, said the Officer.

The officer added that the nearby deer droppings glowed blue.

Holy shite, Sean thought. Since half his coffee was now on the paper he rushed to the kitchen carefully fixing another brew as he deposited the paper in the sink.

Nothing of course regarding Thomas or Algernon or Frank. You know what we need here...here in the godforsaken projects? A NORTHCO Web Alert. Yeah An Alert!!!

Yeah, how long would that stay up?

Sparky wandered in and Sean took him for a quick walk. Good dog actually. Never acts up. Nothing ever destroyed in the home after he returned late from the office.

Sean shaved and showered and whatever and went to the office, early again. Frank would not be around the rest of this week. That was for sure. And as he arrived at the center in the shuttle, he saw the maintenance crew at work, again, on the driveway that led to the warehouse in the lower level.

Meanwhile, Bernice had made it home. I mean it was only ten blocks and the walk did her good. She was humming. No need for Extenz or any nonsense like that, she mused. Sean was a keeper.

She went through the garage door via the code. Her car was at the office parking facility of course. As she went through the door to her kitchen she noticed the wagon. She does not have a wagon. What the hell is that doing here?

Bernice got the green tea and put the bags and the cute little pot she received from her sister Suzanne into the microwave. She showered and the tea was waiting for her as she poured a cup of relief and made it to her sofa for the local news.

Bernice loved the local news. In the morning this guy with a rug that would scare Sean's doggy, read the script provided as best he could. 45 and sunny. That aint bad for November, she thought.
Nothing that exceptional by way of news; Judge Andrews was caught driving drunk again. Her brother had actually gone to school with the old sot. According to what her parents had told her, three decades ago there would have been no arrest, no booking. And now Andrews would be through as a judicial officer forever.


As she finished her tea and prepared to dress for work, she noted a strange line moving across the bottom of her television screen:

FBI INVESTIGATING NORTHCO.