Chapter 64
Two Hours Later...
"He's coming," Nick announced with a sigh of relief. "I can see his light.... Jesus!"
Derek crawled wearily from the narrow tunnel. Unsteady, he remained on his hands and knees, his head hung low. Every pore spoke of exhaustion.
"Why the hell didn't you holler for me?" Nick swore at his friend. "I'd have come for you and we'd have pulled you out."
"Once past that spot, I was fine.... No sense... your coming back," Derek gasped.
"No sense!"
"Nick... just shut up."
"Come on, Dutch," said Ginge. He and Nick slipped a hand under each arm and hoisted the precept to his feet, then helped him to sit on a nearby boulder. "You're shagged out.... Indy... water."
The SEAL produced a canteen. "Drink this," he ordered, "as much as you can.... We've got plenty."
"Plenty?..." Derek said, looking up, still breathless. His face, black with dust, had been zebra-striped with sweat trails. In his hair, perspiration and dust had turned to a slick mud. With a trembling hand he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.
"Take a look...." Nick waved a hand towards the farthest corner of the chamber. The shimmer of moving water flowed from the rocks into a pool that shone an iridescent green.
"How?" the precept asked.
"Magic," Nick joked. "Take a look up on the walls," he instructed, as he played his flashlight's beam over the stone. "We got the deluxe suite... complete with murals and a Jacuzzi... straight outta Vegas."
"Interesting...," Derek murmured. Using his shirt sleeve to wipe his eyes, he was almost too tired to care about the underground amenities.
Ginge hunkered down beside him, pulled off the precept's bloodied shirt, and tossed it aside. "Doin' a load of laundry later, so toss whatever you want in the pile," he said. "Let me see your back."
Breathing in short, noisy gasps, the precept sat very still while his injuries were tended.
"It's not too bad," the soldier informed him. "You didn't open the wound... or pop any stitches.... Just tore away some skin a little higher up." He met the deep set eyes and saw how much the hours in the tunnel had cost the older man. "Chow's nearly ready," he continued to chat. "We're pushin' the fuckin' boat out... stew... rice... dried fruit.... Got some vodka left, too.... Relax... better still... take a soak in the tub... bloody marvelous... hot water on tap."
Derek wearily rubbed his face, then examined the black dust on his hands. "That would be goot," he admitted. Gott! How he detested being dirty... and for a long time now, it seemed as if filth had become a part of his life. He struggled to his feet, arched his back, and shambled over to the pool, dropping the remainder of his clothes along the way. Upon reaching the edge, he looked down into the bright water. Each rock stood out in vivid detail. "It's a light stick," he said with a smile. A glowing, plastic tube rested between two flat rocks on the bottom. "Perhaps they do have their uses after all," he murmured as he stepped into the water and allowed himself to slide into its bliss.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Derek opened his eyes once more. His gaze rested on the rock walls and he really saw... for the first time... the artwork that lay there.... "Goot Gott!" He slowly stood, then fished the light stick from the water and climbed out for a closer look. "Fravashi.... They're all Fravashi.... This must have been a regular stopping point or maybe a shrine.... I think what we've got here is a pilgrimage route."
"Fuckin' ugly looking beast," the Brit remarked nonchalantly, as he tossed Derek a cloth to dry himself.
The precept slowly turned to face Ginge. "I do hope you mean the petrograph," he said, as his left eyebrow rose.
The young Brit blushed at the comment he'd just made, then prayed the darkness had hidden his blush. Of course, he'd meant the creatures on the wall... not the older man's scarred body.
"It's OK... Corporal," Derek said quietly. "I knew what you meant... and, for an instant, forgot my own less than handsome mementos."
Later...
Nick's stomach was full. He'd tended his injuries and he once more felt clean. He snuggled deeply into his sleeping bag.... Now, all he wanted was sleep. He yawned, and glanced towards Derek. In the eerie glow of the light sticks, he could make out the cocooned form, lying quietly in his bed. The SEAL hoped that his friend was already deep in the dreamless sleep he so badly needed. With his quiet snores, there was no doubt about Ginge.
Nick closed his eyes.... Exhaustion should have claimed him, but it failed. He wriggled, trying another position... then another. Still, he couldn't sleep. "Dammit!" he swore, as he sat up. Maybe it was the quiet... but it wasn't that quiet.... Ginge was snoring.... The spring was gurgling.... Air was moving, as if the rocks themselves were breathing. It was something else.... His "un-psychic," but very reliable "gut" told him something was off kilter... out-of-whack.
Nick looked over at the precept.... Derek was still.... Too still? He slipped from his warm nest and crawled over to the other man. "Boss?..." he whispered. "You OK?"
As the precept turned to his friend, he struggled to present his "composed" face, but not before Nick had caught the fear in his eyes. "What's wrong?" Derek asked innocently.
"I couldn't sleep.... Sorry, if I woke you," Nick replied, knowing now that the other man had been wide awake.
"That's OK." Derek read the concern on his friend's face. "I wasn't asleep."
"Need another rub down with that stinking salve stuff?" the SEAL offered.
"I'm fine... sore as hell, but OK...," the older man confessed. "What's your problem?"
"Leg's hurtin' a little," Nick lied. It was aching... bad... but that wasn't the present problem. "'Bout pissed my pants comin' through that snake hole." Nick decided on the blunt approach to confront the real issue. "West?" he guessed.
A tilt of Derek's head told all... the way he turned slightly to brush his hair back off his brow. "I'm OK," he repeated with assurance. "It's just the memories.... Ghosts that refuse to be exorcized." The precept pushed himself up, then scrubbed at his face. In absolute fatigue, he let his chin drop to his chest.
"It takes time," said the SEAL. A long moment of silence followed. Nick felt the other man's mind churning.
At last the precept exhaled, as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time. He looked into his friend's eyes. Sometimes, the concern he read there embarrassed him. He took Nick for granted too often... not his friendship, nor his bravery, nor his honest compassion... but his matter-of-fact way of looking at life. Then, suddenly, Nick would say something... and the depth of his perception would startle the precept. He should know better by now, yet such revelations lent his life a little wonderment, for which he was grateful. "It was the tunnel," he confided. "The darkness... the closeness... not being able to breathe well... or see.... It brought it all back.... Gott knows... it's never far away.... All I have to do is stand in front of a mirror or roll up my sleeves."
Nick said nothing. He rested a hand on Derek's shoulder, and waited. Unable to meet the younger man's gaze, the precept stared down at his hands, which Nick saw were slightly trembling.
Finally, in a hushed voice, Derek began to speak. "In that place... with that monster... I never felt closer to absolute evil.... My Gott.... The devil himself didn't fill me with such... terror.
"Nick...." At last, he again met the SEAL's gaze. "I'd have sold my soul... done anything... for it to end.... If I'd been able to... I would've killed myself... would've killed... you... Alex... Kat... anyone...." His voice trailed away and he struggled to swallow. "...and I'd have enjoyed it," he added. "I was becoming like West."
"So?... You're human," Nick replied. "None of us... thinks the less of you.... It's called the 'hostage syndrome' or something like that... where the captive begins to identify with the captor... like Patty Hearst. Don't beat yourself up for that.... I can't imagine what it was like for you... not even after going through what Ginge and I went through with that sadistic bastard you killed.... Jesus!... Derek!" The younger man paused... his own hand was trembling. He had to shift the topic. "When we get home," he continued, "have some more skin grafts done... like they did on your leg... and... well... you know... the worst of it." For some reason, he hesitated to mention the horrific damage West had done, when he'd savaged the precept with a riding crop. In those hours, the madman had reverted to the schoolboy he'd once been... and Derek Rayne had become surrogate for the "Professor". Drawing upon a lifetime of hatred, pain, and insanity, West had taken his revenge on the schoolmaster, who had made his childhood a hell and had created the monster he had become.
"A little more plastic surgery will take care of your neck and wrists," said the SEAL, "...and some of the other scars, too. Hell... I'll probably need it on my leg... just so I don't end up with a permanent gimp.... We can go to some swanky Palm Springs spa and have it done together... just like a couple of old biddies getting face lifts." He saw Derek's uncertainty. "Real" men of the precept's generation didn't have plastic surgery for reasons of vanity... only necessity. "I mean," Nick added, "it's not like anything's going to beautify you anyway.... You're a lost cause," he chuckled. "It'll just help keep the memories locked in their ugly, little box."
"Perhaps...," Derek murmured.
"Boss...." Nick hesitated. Was now the time, he wondered. Would there ever be a time for this question?... What was it, within himself, that demanded he even ask?... He didn't know, but he had to ask. For a moment, he gnawed on his lip. "Did he... 'use' you?" He expected the precept to snap back... to tell him to mind his own business. "Look.... Tell me to go play on the freeway, if you want.... I'm sorry.... I shouldn't have asked." Again, he gently squeezed his friend's shoulder and tried to look into his face. "Whatever happened... it won't change anything. What I feel.... Hell... Ginge and I both just found out what it's like to be on the receiving end... and to have no way in hell to fight back."
Refusing to look up, the precept chewed on his thumb nail, but after long seconds he sighed, then began to speak, quietly, hesitantly, honestly. "But you had to ask.... Everyone's asked, whether they've had the courage to voice the question or not. At least, you, of them all, has the right." Derek gave a bitter chuckle. "Once upon a time, I'd have driven you away long before you could have asked. That's always been my recourse.... Drive people away before they get too close. I did that with William... and Ingrid.... It's why I broke with Maggie... twice.... People who get too close to me... who care about me... whom I care about... get hurt.
"I've never known a 'field' person to have a lasting relationship," he said. "Consultants, yes.... Desk jockeys... yes... but not our sort.... They end in death or disaster... abuse... divorce... 'arrangements' like my parents'. We're soldiers in an eternal war against an unpredictable, unknowable enemy, who is capable of any evil. There is no 'running away to fight another day'... and if we lose, there is no Round Two."
The SEAL nodded his head in understanding. Derek was avoiding the question with his rambling... but the rambling itself was an achievement. Nick smiled inwardly.... He'd once seen a Chinese puzzle box in a museum he'd visited while on a Legacy case. It had been made from a burl... all polished, but in its natural form... very complex... very deceptive... an enigma. The curator had shown him how the box worked. A dozen, twisted layers had to be unlocked... dozens and dozens of pieces coaxed apart before the secret was revealed. If you tried to remove the wrong piece or in some way force even the right piece, the thing locked up... but if you proceeded gently, almost allowing the box to open itself... at the center you found a pearl... not round... but deformed... knobby... seemingly imperfect... until you looked more closely and realized that it was in the shape of a seated Buddha. That was Derek... the enigma who had to unlock himself... reveal himself in his own time and way. It warmed Nick's soul that their friendship had reached this point....
"In my case," Derek continued, "there were always other reasons for the rift... superficial ones... but that 'instinct' of mine... to drive others away was a hidden fault line." He paused to give a small, sad laugh. "It's like the instinct of an Alpha Dog. He's alone... to avoid distractions.... He drives his pack back with snarls and bites to protect them. Then he turns to face the enemy... alone... but human beings... or perhaps it's just me... maybe I don't work that way. That 'instinct' to protect... to drive away... continued long after things should have been patched up."
He paused with a sigh, then went on. "You probably don't remember... You were too young.... I tried a normal life... if anything associated with the Legacy can be normal.... I wanted it to work, but I wanted to be precept more.... I wanted the battle more.... Duty and honor came first, and I turned on the person closest to me... I locked her out... the one I should have shared with. I drove her away. I blamed William for a long time, but it was me. Now... when I think about it... rationally... I know it wouldn't have worked.... It was an illusion... self-delusion... and wrong to even begin.... Jesus... what a track record!... I think the reason your father stuck with me was because he was a military man of the old school... where one maintained a distance from one's superior officers... even if they were friends. I think Alex has been with me so long because she's felt the 'keep-out' sign pinned to my soul. If she'd tried to push her way in.... Perhaps, that's part of what happened between Philip and me.... I don't know...." He looked into Nick's eyes.
"I know the drill," Nick commiserated, "...and I know the score." When he looked back over his own life, he saw it following Derek's pattern.... A lost father... lost friends... lost loves.... Those who got close... got hurt... and that hurt.
"I know you do," said the older man. "It's why I can say this to you.... I wish... for your sake... for your happiness... that you didn't... but...."
"Do we have to be like Sloan?" Nick interrupted. "Do we have to sell out to the paper pushers... or walk away like Philip... or run away like... her?... Are we doomed?... Can't we be different?... Can't we make something work?... Is God that cruel?"
"I don't know if God is that cruel, but our enemy is," Derek responded. "I made my bed a very long time ago.... I made it... not when my father placed the ring in my hand and said with his dying breath, 'The burden is yours'... but later... when... on my own... in secret... I took that ring and the sword... to the chapel... and willingly accepted the burden before God... and then I returned to Peru to retrieve that first sepulchre.... I tried to have both lives...." The older man gave another weary sigh. "But... for my own sake... for the safety of my House... for the safety of all whom I love and all that I care about... I can't permit myself to go there... ever again.... I can't even acknowledge the desire to myself. It's a potential weakness to be exploited.
"But... you're not a monk... and I sure as hell don't want to be," Nick protested. This conversation was taking a turn he hadn't foreseen. "What if I walk away?... What if you walk away?... You said that the 'other' Derek regretted not having allowed himself a chance to love that 'other' Alex.... What if you took the chance... with someone?"
"But if he had survived, would he have actually done it?" Derek questioned. "Would he have walked away, because that's the only way it could work. Would he have been allowed to walk away... by God... or by Satan?"
The older man looked into his friend's eyes and held them. "When I meet my Maker," he said, "do I tell him that I chose my own happiness... and so gave the Darkside a weapon?... If I do walk away, what do I tell all the Innocents who might be lost because I chose a selfish path and failed in my duty, when I might have saved them?" Derek paused and looked towards the glowing pool for a moment. "I am what God made me...," he murmured, "...what he needs me to be." He looked back and searched the his friend's face. "I am what I chose to be.
"There at the end, before he faced the portal, my 'other-self' wondered if it was all a cruel hoax... and God was the ultimate stand-up comic," Derek continued. "He wondered if death was the blackest joke of all. I've wondered the same.... After all, we fight for a God who gambled with the Devil over how much suffering Job could endure... a God whose path is the Cross.... Did God and Satan have a bet about my father?... Who won?... Was there a bet about that 'other' Derek?... What odds do they give 'this' Derek?
"No matter.... As I said, I made my choice.... God may rarely fight his own battles... but it's my battle too.... I fight for the Light... and I'll damned well fight it my way until I can't fight at all. One's own death is the reward for those who fight for the Light.... I pray my end will be a good one.... Though I don't know for sure, I think my 'other-self' had a good death... and there's a part of me that thinks I deserve a good death, too... considering all that's happened. I've tried.... I've tried so hard... to be honorable... to do the right thing... but I've done what I had to do... to win. My conscience may not be totally clear, but what I've done, I've done without malice... I think. My heart is 'pure'." He chuckled at the word. "Bad word choice, but my brain's tired," he apologized.
Derek paused once more. Nick could sense the absolute weariness in his friend. Maybe, he hoped, after this he would sleep.
"On the other hand," the precept continued... trying to conclude his thought, "the death of those we love is the Darkside's favorite weapon.... It's how the Darkside wears us down... and finally makes us seek our own destruction.... I don't know if I can survive another loss.... I sense that the barrier between me and Wells Ward is as fragile as winter's first ice."
Nick nodded in silence... unable to trust his voice.... He recognized that like Derek... because of Derek... he had finally taken up the burden... perhaps not with as much chivalry and drama... but just as willingly... and just as much before God. At last, he softly asked, "Was that why you chose Wells Ward instead of home?"
"Yes," Derek admitted. "Mostly.... I needed people who wouldn't care so much.... I needed non-emotion... but I also wasn't sure about the IDs. Perhaps, they had come into me.... Perhaps, I would become like Ian's grandfather... or like West.... I needed the isolation... the impersonal, clinical anonymity... that the ward offered."
Derek grew silent again, and a long moment later released an exhausted sigh. He had delayed long enough. "You wanted to know if West sodomized me... raped me.... It was all rape... of a sort.... It was domination and violation... but sometimes, I'm not sure what really happened... whether my mind snapped... whether it shut 'things' out." He shuddered, but not with the cold. "I have dreams... waking visions... of 'things'... even 'physical' responses to them. I can't control when they come... how bad it will be... or how long it will last. I suppose that's what they call Post-traumatic Stress.... It's all confused.... I don't know now whether it's my fear creating false memories... or if it's repressed memories, trying to surface. I don't think I'll ever be whole again." Gazing down at his trembling hand, he paused to sigh deeply. "One day... I may not be able to fight my way out."
Derek took a deep breath and again looked off towards the green glow of the pool and the Fravashi hovering above.
Nick waited patiently as the minutes ticked by. At last, to rouse the precept from his thoughts, he asked, "You want some tea?... I can warm it in no time."
"No," Derek replied. He swallowed raggedly. "You know...," he began, "I always thought... that... whatever happened... I'd cope.... I always had.... Death?... Well... that's part of the job.... How many friends... people dear to me... have I seen die?... Like I said... it wears you down... but there are worse things than dying... much... much worse.... You want death to come so badly.... You beg God to grant it... but it doesn't come.... The only thing that comes is more... more... helplessness... hopelessness... pain... terror... and sometimes... ecstacy... turned to horror because you experience the pleasure he feels and you know it's pure evil... and then you want more of it, too.... You crave it... like a drug addict craves heroin... and you know that whatever whim... whatever obscenity... enters that monster's warped mind, he can inflict it upon you and you can do nothing to stop him... and yet... you end up wanting to please him... because he comes to mean everything to you.... You fear that he'll come, but you're more terrified that he won't come... and that you won't die.... He... not Gott... becomes your salvation?"
Derek sighed again... to the depths of his soul. "I don't think he raped me... in 'that' way... and I don't think I 'gave' myself to him... truly, I don't remember either happening...." At last, the anguish on his face echoed in his voice. He turned to his friend and asked with a husky tremor. "Could I forget that?"
"No." Nick's tone was certain.... He knew that it had to be certain, for both their sakes. "No."
A faint, but relieved smile crossed the precept's face. "All that time in Wells Ward, I prayed for West... the Innocent he had once been... and for Darke... for Ian's grandfather... even for that Nazi monster... all were once innocent.... I prayed for my own soul, too.... I was so close... so close to welcoming that evil.... Had I?... Had Satan won the bet?... I searched for the truth only to be found within myself... for what happened... what I could have done... whether I had lost myself... sold my soul... whether I had invited that obscenity into me... and in doing that... I missed...."
"No!" Nick interrupted, unwilling to let the precept heap more blame upon himself. "No, you didn't.... You 'saw' that because of your search.... Haven't you told us that God may grant the ability to 'see', but not prevent?... So that horror will have a witness?... As for an invitation.... You should've talked to me," Nick told him, relieved that Derek's telling of it was at an end. His ears and soul had hurt at the very hearing of it. "I could've told you.... Never!" He smiled gently. "You should've come home... searched your innards with us around you.... You just traded one hell hole for another... and with people who could never understand."
"Yes... perhaps I should have," Derek agreed. "I sometimes forget how perceptive you are. Mostly... if you're angry with me... it's not because I was weak... but because I was trying to be strong."
"Strong?... Or obsessive?" Nick struggled to put just the right amount of affection in his voice. It was time to shove the monster back in its box. "Get some shut-eye, Boss.... We got enough to worry about.... No sense facin' Death half-asleep."
Derek nodded... and Nick knew that he meant it.
"No... I 'spose not," the precept said with a vague smile. "You too... my friend.... We'll both need our wits about us."
Still, as Nick slid back into his sleeping bag, his stomach lurched with the fear that perhaps... one day... utter madness and Wells Ward's padded cell would again await his friend... and that next time, there would be no escape.
Ginge lay still... and continued to gently snore.... He watched Nick settle himself. Fuckin' 'ell, Ginger-boy.... Pick the bones outta that, he thought, as he tried to make some sense of what he had just heard.
< < + > >
the Next Morning...
Ginge was the first to wake. He moved mechanically, taking care of his bodily needs and quickly washing himself. Then he checked their laundry, which was now dry, and began breakfast. All the while, he cast glances over at the two sleeping figures, wondering what kind of life they had led... especially Derek. The SEAL was a soldier.... It was written all over him. But Dutch was part soldier... part academic... part what else?... Indy had it right, when he'd said Derek was the real "Indiana Jones"... except that Derek had said that he'd known the real Indiana Jones.
"Bleedin' 'ell," he murmured. If Derek had been through all that, how reliable was he?... He admitted that he'd been affected.... How whole was his mind?... Dutch had said something about meeting the Devil.... Was it fantasy born of torment?... He couldn't have meant that, literally, could he!
Nick stirred, stretched, yawned, and finally, reluctantly, opened his eyes. "Hey...," he greeted the soldier.
"Food's nearly ready.... You wanna wake Dutch?"
"Nah.... Let him sleep as long as he can." Nick climbed stiffly to his feet, splashed some water on his face, and dressed, then joined the Brit beside the camp stove.
"Indy... look.... I like Dutch," Ginge said, hesitantly. "Well... 'like' isn't the right word.... 'Respect'... whatever... but... bloody 'ell... we're risking fuckin' up the world... on his say so."
The SEAL nodded. "I can't think of anyone else I'd trust with this.... Politicians?... Generals... who've never been closer to action than a hard tennis match at the base country club?" The scorn was evident in his voice. "How 'bout 'big business'... after the big buck?... Or the scientists that started all this?
"Ginge," he continued, "Derek'll do the right thing.... I'm not saying he won't be wrong... won't make a mistake... but if he does... it'll be for the right reason." As he gave a questioning shrug, one corner of Nick's mouth curved upward in a boyish smile. "Did any of that make sense?"
"Nope," Ginge declared, with a shake of his head. "But what the fuck?... Lofty'd tell me to go with my gut... and you can't help but trust the stuck-up bleeder."
Nick withheld a grin at Ginge's succinct analysis of Derek's character. "Now you know the story of my life," the SEAL chuckled.
* * *
A few minutes later, both soldiers heard the precept groan and looked over to see him carefully roll from his sleeping bag.
"Hungry?" Ginge called. "Got some porridge... and tea."
"Mmmm...," Derek acknowledged his offer, as he stretched, rubbed his middle back, and cricked his neck. In the vertebrae, there was now an audible pop that hadn't been there a year ago.
"Betcha ache all over," Nick sympathised. "How 'bout another hot bath... a half-hour won't make any difference... 'specially if it helps loosen you up."
"I'm fine," Derek replied. Then seeing the exasperation in Nick's face, he smiled. "Really.... A bowl of Ginge's excellent porridge will make me a new man."
"Lookin' forward to that, then," Ginge muttered, insuring that the precept got a
generous helping. Then, with a conspiratorial wink at the SEAL, he tipped a dram
or two of the vodka into the mix and stirred heartily.
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