THE DEMON WITHIN:
PART ONE
He was in his own little world, as most children are, pretending to be the pilot of the wooden glider in his hand. It was getting dark, and though his mother had told him to be home before sunset, he didn’t want to return. He was having too much fun, and figured, since his house was less than a block away, she’d forgive him for being a few minutes late.
As he neared the street corner he paused, making sure to check for traffic before crossing the street. Except for himself, he noticed that the only other presence was that of a large blue four-door sedan, which moved slowly in his direction, as if the driver was looking for something. He watched it curiously for a moment, then realized, as the car pulled up to the curbside and stopped beside him, that that something the driver was looking for might actually be a someone. Him perhaps, and if that was the case, his mother’s tolerance was much less than he’d hoped for.
The window rolled down, and the
driver, a dark-haired man with dark features, called out, confirming the boy’s
suspicions. "Excuse me. Are you Tommy Sullivan?"
The boy nodded in reply. He wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but since the
man knew his name, he figured it to be all right. "Yea, that's me. Who
are you?"
"I'm a friend of your mother's, and she sent me out to pick you up.
It's getting dark, and she was getting worried about you."
"Aw, I was only one block away, and I was having fun! She's not mad is
she?"
"Nope. Just asked me to find you. Why don't you hop in?"
"Ok." The passenger door opened, and without hesitation, the
boy jumped in. After settling comfortably into the seat, he gave his chauffeur
a small smile, and extending his hand outward, he asked curiously. "Hey,
you like my glider?"
The man nodded and smiled in return. "Yea Tommy. I sure do."
************
The memories once
again forced their way back into his mind. Haunting, darkened images appeared
before his eyes, taunting him, teasing him, and rendering him helpless. Screams
of anguish echoed in his ears, yet the only sound to be heard was silence.
Joe awoke huddled on the floor, his memories a tangled mess of unexplainable
terror. He'd had another nightmare, this much was certain, but what about and
why he could not recall. For the past few weeks he'd found himself this
way--lying on the floor trembling, sweat pouring off his body, his heart racing
wildly--and though he had no recognition, he knew somehow it was always from
the same dream. Why did he always draw a blank when trying to remember?
After taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he rose slowly from the ground
and walked over to the sink. Much to his dismay, his hands still had a palsy,
which made reaching for the bottle of sleeping pills difficult. "Damn
it Joe, it was just a dream! Pull yourself together! " Voices still
lurked in the back of his subconscious, and for reasons unknown, he fought to
push them away. "It's ok Georgie. It's over now. It's ok."
The words only managed to further antagonize his wariness.
In an effort to quickly relinquish the tension, he popped six pills, swallowed them with a shot of whisky, and then lay back down. The drugs and the alcohol had become as much a nightly ritual as the dreams--it seemed the only way he could get through the night.
At times he thought of talking to the others about his dilemma, but what would he say? How could he explain something he didn't understand himself? It never made sense, and he didn't try. For him, it was best to just push it aside and forget that it ever happened. Inevitably the dreams would go away, just as the ones about his parents' deaths had.
It didn't take long for the pills to take effect. Soon he found himself
drifting back to sleep.
************
"Joe? Where the hell are you?" Ken continued to stare down
at his transpower band, anxiously awaiting Joe’s reply. "Answer me, damn it!" For
over ten minutes he’d tried, and been unsuccessful, in getting any type of
response at all. And in just that short amount of time, he’d thought up at
least a dozen different ways to make his friend pay for it. "Joe,
this is your last warning--you don't answer me, and I'm gonna come to your
trailer and kick your ass!"
Jun laughed at the idle threat. "That'll make him come Ken. You know
how much he hates confrontation with you."
"This isn't funny, and it's becoming a habit. Joe's supposed to be
training like the rest of us. When Hakase tells us to report to him
immediately, it means that all five of us are supposed to do just that. What
happens when we get our first real mission? Is he going to be too busy
gallivanting around to report then?"
"Ok, ok." She raised her hands in the air, as a plea to get
him to stop. "Save the lecturing for later, when I'm not around."
Ken couldn't help but smile at her comment. "What is it with my
lectures? No one ever wants to hear them!" For the sake of
giving his own conscious a rest, he signaled Joe one last time, and as
expected, got no response. "Oh well, I've done all I can. Hope he's
got one hell of an excuse, ‘cause Hakase is really going to be pissed."
Jinpei, with his tactless
eight-year-old naiveté, had a way of making the bad situation seem even worse. "You
got that right aniki, and as commander of the team, guess who gets to tell him
Joe's not coming!"
************
"Where's Joe?"
Ken hadn't even been able to sit down before the question was asked. "I
don't know. I sent him a transmission but he didn't respond."
He paused to note the Doctor's scowl. "I'm not any happier than you
are about it. He's been doing this a lot lately."
Doctor Nambu nodded, then abruptly changed the subject, an indication that he
chose to deal with the situation later. "The reason I brought you all
here is because I want you to meet a colleague of mine. He's recently
been assigned to our division at ISO, and he'll be working beside us for the
next couple of months." He motioned for the man who stood behind
him to come forward. "Team, meet Doctor Ronald Harris."
The man was tall and thin, and his blue eyes, cold and piercing. Except for the
thin two-inch scar that ran above his left eyebrow, his dark and rugged
complexion was completely flawless. From a visual standpoint he was quite
handsome, and appeared to be anything but a doctor.
He extended his hand warmly. "How do you do? It's nice to finally meet
the members of the infamous Science Ninja Team."
Ken returned the gesture. "I'm
Ken Washio, commander of the team, and this is Jun, Jinpei, and Ryu."
As he was finishing up the introductions, Joe casually walked in, his face
portraying his usual downcast mood. "Sorry I'm late. Did I miss
anything?"
His stare met Doctor Harris' and
their eyes locked. Neither moved nor blinked until Ken broke in. "Oh,
that's Joe, our Number Two man, who has a BAD habit of being late."
Joe turned on Ken, surprising even
himself by his tone of voice. "And THIS is?"
"If you were here earlier, you'd know. This is Doctor Ronald Harris, a
colleague of Hakase. He’ll be working
with us for the next few months."
"Oh." It was only out of
politeness that Joe shook the man’s hand. "Nice to meet you, I
guess." The undertones of sarcasm were blatantly obvious.
The air became thick with tension, yet Doctor Harris remained impassive. While
smiling at Joe he stated coolly, "Nice
to meet you Joe." Then, after
a moment’s pause, he added with an equal amount of sarcasm, "And I don’t guess—I
know."
************
Detective John Reynolds sat at his desk and stared grimly at the homicide
pictures. No matter how many times he looked at them, they always left him
thoroughly disgusted. "So young, and so innocent. How could anyone do such a thing?" The
boy’s body had been found near a ravine, badly beaten and tortured, the cause
of death being from major physical and sexual trauma. Whoever did it was
definitely inhuman--no one in his or her right mind would even consider
attacking a nine-year-old boy.
The killer had left a clue, its purpose for which no one understood. He had
pinned a 5 x 7 Polaroid photograph to the victim’s chest and written across it
in blood: I'M BACK. The Detective had only one
lead, the sixteen-year-old that was in the photo, but when he questioned the
boy, he seemed to know nothing. When asked if anyone wanted to kill him, he
simply laughed. "Everyone does."
It wasn't what Reynolds had wanted to hear.
Nagging questions once again began to ravage his thoughts, and irritably, he pulled the young man’s picture from the pile of evidence. What was it about this particular sixteen-year-old that would make a killer want to leave his picture behind at the crime scene? Why was he being targeted, and what did the words in blood mean? Where was he coming back from?
Somewhere there were answers, and he prayed that in time the boy would provide them.
************
As everyone filed out of the office, Doctor Nambu grabbed hold of Joe's
shoulder. "Hold on a minute. I want to talk to you."
Joe sighed. "Ok, I know what you're going to ask, and I have a very
good explanation for it."
"You always seem to. What delayed you this time?"
"I think we should sit down first." Sensing the rough edge
in his words, Nambu did as he was asked. Joe remained standing, and as usual,
paced back and forth nervously while explaining. "I had a Detective
stop by my trailer this morning. He had some questions for me."
"Oh?" For some reason, Nambu didn't seem surprised. "About
what?"
"Well, this past week a nine year old boy was killed, and for some
reason, the killer's chosen me to find him."
“What?” The doctor’s jaw went slack, and he gasped. "Why?"
Joe shrugged, nonchalantly. "I wish I knew. There's some sick bastard
out there, and for some reason, he's got me targeted. The detective said when
they found the boy's body a picture of me was pinned to it. Don't ask me
why."
"You have no idea who it could be?"
"Hakase, I can't begin to tell you how many people I've pissed off. It
could be anyone! God knows both me and my parents have more than our share of
enemies."
Nambu was aware of this also. "Yes, this is true. And since one of them is targeting you, it’s
possible they know of your true identity.
Could become a problem—one that will need to be handled discreetly. Know how you’re going to do that yet?"
Joe shrugged again, without an answer for that question either. "No. We’re dealing with a sick, demented, child killer--one of the
worst kinds. I really don’t know what I
can do to stop him. I’ll try to do what I can, but for the most part, I’m just
an onlooker like everyone else. We’ll just have to wait it out and see what
happens next."
************
Doctor Harris was waiting outside Nambu's office for Joe, his nagging curiosity
telling him to ask the young man why there’d been so much friction in their
first meeting. There was an obvious dislike between the two, one that seemed
strangely out of place for two people who only hours ago were absolute
strangers.
Ken knew the confrontation was
going to be a mistake, and he desperately wanted to convince the Doctor of it. "Look, I know Joe, and I’m telling you,
you’re only going to make matters worse. He doesn’t like being backed into a
corner."
"Who’s backing him into a corner? I just want to know what his
problem is with me."
"I don’t think he has a problem with you. He just doesn’t like
you. That’s not uncommon. You don’t know Joe, and I’m telling you, you’re going
to regret trying to talk to him right now." The plea fell on deaf
ears, and Ken sighed, as Joe emerged from Nambu’s office, obviously in a worse
mood than when he’d originally entered.
Doctor Harris didn’t waste any
time calling him over. "Hey
Joe! Can I talk to you a minute?"
Acting as if he might be
interested in starting up a conversation, Joe started towards the Doctor.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to be ignored after all, the man elbowed Ken
lightly in the rib cage. "See
that? Joe’s really is human. You just
have to know how to talk to him."
Ken said nothing, knowing it was not in his best interest to disagree. He’d grown up beside Joe for eight years, and knew from experience that his actions, thought they came across as genuine, were anything but. In a minute, if the doctor didn’t cool it, he was going to have hell to pay.
Joe approached, then with all the
finesse he could muster, he acknowledged Ken’s presence with a nod--and turned
to walk away. His intentions were very clear: there would be no conversation.
But Doctor Harris’ had a persistent, aggressive nature, and he wasn’t about to
let the sixteen-year-old get the better of him. He reached out, and grabbing hold tightly to Joe’s arm, demanded
that he stop. "You don’t like me
much, do you? Want to tell me why?"
Ken noticed that the unwarranted touch caused Joe to stiffen; yet once again he did not comment. Like before, it wouldn’t do any good to try to explain to the Doctor that he’d just committed a cardinal sin.
Joe turned his head slowly towards the Doctor’s; his cold blue eyes reflected his soon to be uninhibited wrath. "Get your fuckin’ hand off me."
"Look." Doctor Harris loosened his grip on Joe’s arm, yet
refused to let go completely. It was his way of saying that he wasn’t
intimidated, and that he had no thoughts of backing down. "Apparently you seem to have some sort of
problem with me. If you don’t want to like me, that’s fine. Don’t. I’m just
here to do my job. That’s it. I don’t want any trouble, not from you, or
anyone, ok?"
Joe nodded in understanding. "Ok,
I won’t give you any trouble, that is, if you remember one thing…."
He paused, then without warning, rounded on the man and delivered a sharp blow
to side of his jaw. "You stay the hell away from me, and NEVER touch
me again, understand? You do that, and we’ll get along just fine." With that said, he pulled his arm away and stormed
off down the hallway.
Doctor Harris watched
him leave, then turned towards Ken and shrugged. For some reason, based on the
slight smirk that was beginning to form in the corners of his mouth, he seemed
amused over what had happened.
Ken
couldn’t understand why the man would be pleased, and furthermore, he couldn’t
believe the whispered remark that came after.
"Whew he’s a tough one, but I sure do love it when they fight back."
************
A tall, dark haired man entered the bar and glanced around quickly, then as instructed, moved to an occupied table in the far corner of the room. He'd wanted to meet in a less populated area, but his contact had insisted otherwise. “The more the merrier” was his philosophy, for it made their business look a lot less secretive.
As a professional himself, Dylan Marcus begged to differ. Yet still, he did as he was told, knowing that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get paid. Such was the life of a con man. You usually hated the people you worked for, but you did the job anyhow, knowing that the payoff was worth the hassle.
He’d only met his contact once
before, a few years back, and then, the man had immediately struck a wrong
chord. Perhaps it was his way too casual nonchalance, his non-professionalism,
or his overbearing idea that he was invincible. Whatever it was, their second
meeting was already doing much the same. "Hello Dennis. Picked a nice, private place to meet again I see."
The man merely smiled at the
sarcasm. “Always the critic, aren’t you Dylan? So tell me, how’s the new job at
ISO going?"
"Not bad. No one's grown
suspicious of me yet."
"No one? Not even Mr. Asakura? He’s suspicious of everyone."
"I was warned about him, but he's been no serious problem. Nothing's
happened I haven't been able to handle."
"I would hope not, since I only work with the best. And based on your
previous record, I figured what I asked of you would be a cakewalk. Was I
correct in my assumption?"
Dylan pulled a manila envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. "The
Science Ninja Team’s classified files were well hidden within the ISO database
mainframe computer, but it didn’t take me long to find them, break the codes,
and decipher the encryption. They suspected nothing, and with the virus I
installed after downloading the information, it’ll be weeks before their techs
will be able to bring the system back online.
That is, if they find out I stole the information at all."
He
paused momentarily to reflect on his own skillful actions, and the results that
they’d produced, before adding
smugly. "And to think, ISO is considered to be a high security
organization--ha. They’re only fooling themselves, thinking they have the
technology to outsmart the Galactor."
The contact nodded in agreement, then opened the envelope and immediately
flipped through its contents to the profile page of Joe Asakura. His blue eyes
scanned downward until they came to a picture of the boy at age six, then
gleamed with satisfaction, as faded memories of the past began to resurface.
"Georgie, Georgie, my how you've grown. Soon enough we shall meet
again. But first, I’ve got some other business that I need to take care
of."
************
Kozoburu Nambu raised the bourbon
glass up to the light, admiring the dark amber color of the liquid trapped
within it. "I’ve waited a full nine
years to open this bottle. Figured
this occasion was as good a one as any." He raised the glass to his
lips and sipped slowly, his tongue, then his throat, savoring the liquor’s
exquisite texture. "Aged to
perfection, just as I’d hoped."
Ronald Harris also raised his
glass, and after taking a small sip himself, agreed whole-heartedly with his
friend’s comment, "Yes it is. Aged
to perfection. Just like us eh?"
Nambu laughed. "Like us? I may date back to this bourbon’s production, but I’m
far from perfect."
"Oh? That’s the last thing I thought I’d hear, coming from someone
who’s won two medals of Honor, as well as being one of the nation’s top
scientists."
"My road to the top may have been paved with good intentions, but now it’s in desperate need of repair." Though said in good humor, his words had a tinge of regret to them.
Doctor Harris understood the
implication. "Kozoburu, this is
supposed to be a meeting of two old friends, not another meeting between Doctor
and Patient. Right now I’m not on the clock—and you’re not getting any
freebees."
"Sorry Ronald, it’s just that…well…you’re a psychologist, and the
urge to pour out my emotions always seems to surface when you’re around. You
have that effect on everyone."
"Everyone? Ha. Maybe you’ve forgotten about the meeting today with
your Science Ninja Team’s second in command--but I haven’t. Or rather, my jaw
hasn’t." He turned the left side of his face towards Doctor Nambu and
pointed to his jaw line, where the slightest hint of reddish purple showed
through. "That kid throws one hell
of a punch."
"You were warned."
Now it was Harris’ turn to laugh.
"I know, I know. You tried to tell
me, and then Ken gave it one hell of a shot, but you know me."
"Sure do—tenacious as always. And I bet you were thriving on the
confrontation too. Let’s face it--it’s probably the best you’ve had in a
while."
"I won’t say that, but I will say I’ve got my work cut out for
me."
Kozoburo cocked an eyebrow in
surprise. "What? Giving in already?
And it hasn’t even been a day! Joe’s tough, but he’s not impenetrable."
"No one is Kozoburo, but that doesn’t make the job of getting
inside people’s heads any easier. Joe’s got walls built up around himself a few
feet thick—walls made of pent up anger, frustration, and fear. It’s not gonna
happen overnight, I know that, but I will chisel my way inside him and find out
what’s troubling him. I have no choice." He paused as if wanting to
say more, then taking another sip of bourbon, conveniently changed the subject.
"Wow this is good stuff. Glad to be
the one to get to share it with you."
Doctor Nambu let the conversation
change smoothly, sensing that his friend had grown slightly uneasy over the
previous subject, and was trying rather hard to disguise the fact. It was
puzzling, yet he did not comment, figuring that if Ronald Harris was truly
bothered by it, he could just as easily turn around and fix it. After all, he
was a psychologist—who better to sort out his own problems? "Yes it is good stuff, and I’m happy to
share it with you Ronald. It’s been—what? Six years?"
"Eight actually, since we first met. 1992."
1992—was it really that
long ago? Joe’s parents had just been brutally murdered by the Galactor,
changing the boy’s life forever, forcing him to adjust to a new name, identity,
and family. Ken had already gone two years without his father, and though he
tolerated his absence, he never fully dealt with it. At sixteen he still
hadn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind the boy was convinced his father was
not dead, and someday he would learn the truth. And when that happened,
Kozoburo prayed that God would help him come up with a reasonable explanation.
He didn’t want to be held responsible, but he knew he would be. The whole
Science Ninja Team project—the training of five innocent young children to
become assassins—was his idea, his doing. Or in hindsight, it was his undoing.
"Let’s not get into that now, ok? Ronald’s here as a friend, not
as a doctor. Save those thoughts for another time." He snapped himself
back into reality, and through pursed lips, allowed a soft whistle to escape. "That long huh? Whatever happened to
the notion that at 40 we’d both be married with children?"
"That, my friend," Doctor Harris paused and raised his
glass, gesturing as if to make a toast, "was
a completely ludicrous idea. To think we actually believed men with professions such as ours could have
families." He chucked half-heartedly, then feeling his façade of
cheerfulness beginning to crumble, downed the 2/3rds of bourbon that
was left in his glass. "And with that said, I think I’m gonna have
to call it a night."
If Nambu had thought the reunion
between himself and his old friend had begun strangely, Ronald’s sudden
eagerness to leave managed to spark an even stronger curiosity. What was making
the man’s behavior so rash, and what did he seem to be so preoccupied with? "Leaving so soon? It’s been eight years
since we last talked, but you’ve made it seem like hours."
Doctor Harris clearly recognized
the ill-tempered tone of his friend’s voice, along with the disappointment, and
looked towards the ground, slightly
admonished. "Sorry Kozoboru, I
didn’t mean to come across as being such a downer. I guess I’ve just got my
mind elsewhere tonight. It happens sometimes, you know? Even to
psychologists."
"What does?"
"Not wanting to talk." The words were spoken carefully and without elaboration, almost as if Doctor Harris was answering simply to say something.
It forced Nambu to swallow his
pride and accept the truth as it was given to him. Prying would get him
nowhere, and at this point, wasn’t necessary. "Ok, ok, I get it. Tonight’s not good for conversation, which is
strange, since you haven’t talked to me in so long. But hey, that’s fine. We’ll
try it again another day. What do you say?"
Doctor Harris apologized again,
feeling more awkward than he’d felt the entire night. "I’m sorry Kozoboru, really. Let’s try again for tomorrow,
ok?"
"Hey, tomorrow is another day—and just as good as any. I’ll be at
ISO most of the day, and I know I’ll see you around. Let’s just hope tomorrow’s
encounters don’t cause any arguments, or come to blows, huh?"
Doctor Harris furrowed his brow, not really sure if he’d gotten the jest of the comment. He wanted to ask if it referred to Kozoboru or Joe, but he didn’t—he just picked up his coat and walked towards the door. "Tomorrow it is then."
With a nod and a wave he was
gone, leaving Doctor Nambu at the doorway to wonder also if his friend had
gotten the jest of the comment. "I
wasn’t referring to Joe, old friend. I was referring to myself, and what I’m
gonna do to you if tomorrow turns out anything like tonight."
************
He was excited, his heart thumping hard in his chest for the surprise
he knew was forthcoming. "What is it? I can’t wait!"
It was his 6th birthday, and a small group of
people—including himself and two young boys—were gathered around a small table
that was piled high with gifts and cards. His father was there also, and though
he didn’t want to disrupt the lightheartedness of the mood, he scolded his son
for his over anxiety. "Georgie, try to be patient. Mother will be here any
minute."
"But Father…I can’t wait!" He no sooner got the words out than the kitchen door swung open. His mother stepped into the room, wearing a long white apron that was dusted with cake flour. "Happy Birthday Georgie! We’ve got a special surprise for you!"
On a large platter she held a birthday cake, it’s six gold colored candles, arranged in a circular pattern, shining brightly in contrast to the brownish/black icing. And in the center of the candles, a blue plastic racecar, marked distinctly with a yellow number two on its roof and doors. "But before we can tell you what it is, the birthday boy has to blow out the candles!"
Carefully, she set the platter down in front of her son. Then, with a squeeze to his shoulder, she
asked him to take a deep breath and close his eyes. "Now don’t tell us
what you wish for, or it won’t come true, ok?"
He’d already known what he wanted—had wished for it over and over
again—that the aching loneliness in his heart would cease. He wished that his
father had a less demanding job—one that didn’t always have to take him away
from home. But he knew it couldn’t change—wouldn’t change--and he had to accept
the facts as they were. The days and nights he spent alone, as his mother went
out to feed a longing of her own. Being forced to accept the strange men that
ended up in her bed each night, a secret she’d begged for him to keep.
Eventually, his secrets began to wind themselves tightly into an emotional
tapestry of anger, pain and suffering. Was this the way he was supposed to
feel? Or could it be different? Could this wish on his 6th birthday
somehow change everything?
As instructed he closed his eyes, then wishing silently that his life
would change, he exhaled hard, blowing out all six candles…
Joe felt the nightmare break through to his senses; it’s cold, rough edges cutting him to the core. Wildly he thrashed; trying in desperation to wake himself, yet the overabundance of alcohol and sleeping pills in his blood stream prevented escape. He was trapped within his slumber, and forced to endure, without mercy, the terror that lurked at the edge of his memory.