MORE THAN
A FEELING

Dr. Jill Musik froze the second she saw the gun in her patient’s hand.

Her first thought was that she was going to die, shot during a routine therapy session in her brand new office. She would bleed out right there in the Alma Bay chair she’d spent three days obsessing over in the Ashley Furniture showroom before finally buying it. The doctor felt her pulse pounding in her temples as she struggled to keep her wits about her, trying desperately to remember her training. Jill took a few deep breaths to steady herself, but it wasn’t working. What was she supposed to do? This was only her third day on the job, for God’s sake!

Dr. Musik spent her formative years on Long Island, a suburb of New York City, with her family, in the town of Babylon. The Musik clan was like something out of a Frank Capra movie, with parents deeply in love and well-adjusted children who you knew would grow up to be good, responsible people. Her mother, Claire, was a physician’s assistant working for a neighborhood doctor in a friendly, old-fashioned office. Jill’s father, Tony, was a district foreman for New York Telephone, having worked his way up from lineman over his nineteen-year career. Despite being separated by twenty-two months, Jill and her big brother, David, were as close as two siblings could be. Their bond was exceptionally strong, exempt from the rivalries and petty jealousies that most siblings suffered through. Her brother always took painstaking care to let Jill know how important she was to him, taking her to the park, concerts and picnics despite the protestations of many a girlfriend. Jill idolized her brother with a love that could never diminish.

Jill herself was something of a unique child. Born with a calculating mind and a curious nature, she questioned everything from a young age. From Sunday mass to Santa Claus, baseball to physics, if Jill didn’t understand something, she sought answers with a tenacity few could match. She was the type of kid who took apart her Easy Bake Oven at 6 years old to learn how it operated, endlessly obsessed with the nuts and bolts of life. By middle school, she had developed a reputation as a troublemaker amongst her teachers due to her inability to accept rules and regulations that didn’t sit right with her. Her parents tried to explain the world as best they could to young Jill, but not everything was easily quantified. When faced with the hard-to- define aspects of life, they would resort to a simple mantra: “Do the right thing and the world will take care of you.” That simple intonation seemed to calm the rampant curiosity forever swirling in Jill’s head, at least for a little while.

Aside from her need to analyze and decipher the world around her, Jill was a typical Long Island girl. She had many friends and, despite her overall problem with authority, she did well in her studies. All in all, she was well-liked and popular, forever wondering what the future would hold. She dreamt of eventually getting a place near her hometown, meeting a nice guy and settling down for a normal, happy life. Due to her idyllic upbringing, where nothing bad had ever happened, it seemed such an easily obtainable goal. Unfortunately, that all changed in the winter of 2002, as Jill was in the middle of her second semester of college at Stonybrook University, where she was studying Business Management on the advice of her parents.

David suddenly dropped out of college to enlist in the U.S. Army, motivated by the events of 9/11 to serve his country. During his second tour in Iraq, the elder Musik sibling was injured by a roadside bomb, losing his left leg just above the knee. After months of rehabilitation and therapy at Walter Reed Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, he returned home a different person. Sullen and withdrawn, David was unrecognizable to his sister, suffering from both Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and severe bouts of depression. Jill tried everything to help him, even taking a semester off from college in an effort to recreate the happiness of their shared youth. Despite all their unconditional love, support, and the best psychologists money could buy, his family was never able to reach the troubled veteran. After long months of anguish and pain, David Alan Musik took his own life on July 4, 2007, leaving his family shattered.

Tony and Claire blamed themselves, their inability to reach their eldest child more than either could bear. The guilt weighed heavily on their psyches, eventually breeding anger, resentment and bitterness toward the world in general and each other specifically. Jill was forced to watch her parents disintegrate, neither capable of expressing or sharing their guilt and grief. They began to live disconnected lives, unable to spend any time in the same room except for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t long before silence permeated the house, a tomblike quiet filling the air where once love and laughter reigned. It broke Jill’s heart a second time as she struggled with her own feelings of loss.

After much soul searching, Jill decided to transfer to Ithaca College in upstate New York for the upcoming fall semester. She lived in the on-campus dormitories in a desperate and transparent attempt to escape the memories presented by the house she’d shared with her brother. The grief-stricken young woman felt a mixture of shame and guilt over leaving her reeling parents alone, but she needed the change, for the sake of her own sanity. After a period of severe depression, she sought counselling to begin dealing with her losses, thanks to her best friend and roommate. In order to give herself a completely fresh start, she also changed her major to clinical psychology, with a minor in applied psychology, her focus on the treatment and care of PTSD and Traumatic Brain Injuries. She was determined to spend her life working with veterans and their loved ones, vowing never to let anyone else suffer the same tragedies she’d experienced.

While she was away her parents grew farther apart, legally separating over a year before Jill finished her studies at Ithaca. After graduating magna cum laude, Jill decided to go back to Stonybrook for her doctoral studies, mostly so she could be closer to her mother. While never diagnosed, Jill firmly believed her mother had suffered a nervous breakdown after David’s suicide. Claire was a mere shadow of her former vibrant self. Mrs. Musik had systematically stopped doing all the things she once loved: gardening, lunch with the girls and days at the beach, among other things. Most of Claire’s friends had moved on after numerous failed attempts to reconnect with her. She hardly left the house these days except to go grocery shopping or for various doctor appointments. Her mother’s situation was such a concern for Jill that after one year she decided to move back home while she continued working on her thesis.

During those years in graduate school, perhaps due in part to living in that house again, Jill had a somewhat schizophrenic personality. She went through periods of both out-of-control partying and laser-focused studying. As more and more aspects of her life seemed out of her control, Jill reverted back to her natural proclivity for defying any and all authority. After all that had happened to her, she once again began questioning everything, no longer willing to accept whatever life gave her. She took it upon herself to question every rule or regulation put forth by the university, pushing boundaries at every opportunity.

As in her youth, once more she needed to know the reason why things were done the way they were. If that reason wasn’t good enough for her, she sought to change the status quo, by any means necessary. Whenever Jill did begin one of these campaigns, her parents’ old mantra: “do the right thing and the world will take care of you” would play on a loop in her head. Lord, how she hated those words now. Didn’t David do the right thing? Didn’t he? The world sure didn’t take care of him. Each time she thought of that simplistic, trite platitude, and how she had believed it all those years, she got sick to her stomach. Jill vowed to be true to her own voice, to do what she thought was right and to hell with anyone who disagreed.

Due to the notoriety she achieved with her anarchistic ways, Jill had a great many friends and lovers, all of whom adored her free- wheeling, uninhibited attitude. Inevitably, these good time friends and temporary paramours got left behind a few weeks later when she switched gears, returning to her hyper-studious demeanor. This somewhat dysfunctional cycle continued unabated through her doctoral dissertation, causing quite a few hurt feelings and many a young man’s heart to break. Despite her bizarre behavior, Jill was well-liked by her fellow doctoral candidates, just as she’d always been growing up. She eventually earned the nickname “Elevator” Musik, due to her “up and down” personality. Most classmates and friends spent her final year calling her Ellie or Vator.

After earning her doctorate, Jill began working at several VA hospitals on Long Island, while continuing to live with and care for her mother. She spent more and more of her time at the hospitals, giving therapy to returning military personnel and other veterans in need, but it didn’t seem like enough. Needing to do more, to raise the public awareness of the devastating effects of PTSD, Jill started posting her thoughts and feelings online in a blog called Nurturing Valor. After only 6 months, she had over one hundred and thirty thousand followers as well as major magazines and newspapers linking to her blogposts, including Stars and Stripes and The New York Times. She also wrote articles and editorials for other publications, which garnered her guest appearances on local news programs and podcasts around the country. Jill felt that if her words and message could help even one person avoid the pain her family suffered, it would all be worth it.

All her hard work and determination brought Jill to the attention of the National Defense Support Administration, a very specialized government agency. The agents of the NDSA were used exclusively in support of The Power Elite, America’s only government- sanctioned superhero team. The super team formed spontaneously 4 years earlier, when it’s various members came together to save New York’s South Street Seaport from an attack by the legions of The Crimson Barracuda, an undersea eco-terrorist. Even before the battle was over the members of the team, Achilles, Eris, Bolt, Seraph and Ambrosia, were instant celebrities, trending on all social media. As the public demanded more information about them, the media feeding frenzy went into overdrive. These heroes were the lead story for weeks, with every sighting or tidbit of information creating days of new headlines.

The government quickly realized how valuable such a team could be in protecting the nation from dangers both foreign and domestic. After an exhaustive vetting, Congress passed The Power Elite Amendment, a unanimous, bi-partisan bill that recognized the team as a new, independent law enforcement agency. It also gave all five members high-level security clearance. The National Defense Support Administration was created to help the team both during and after their numerous, high impact battles by coordinating and facilitating evacuations, crowd control and clean up, among other duties. A toll-free hotline was created to field and prioritize the hundreds of emergency calls coming in from around the globe, dealing with everything from cats stuck in trees to exploding volcanoes. To date, there were over two hundred NDSA agents working around the clock to assist the heroes whenever duty called them into action.

Dr. Musik was offered a job in the agency’s aftercare unit, giving therapy to agents who took part in any of the team’s high-risk missions. Feeling this was the natural extension of the work she was already doing, Jill jumped at the chance to make a lasting difference through her participation with the NDSA. Thanks to assistance from the agency and a generous advance, she was able to provide in-home care for her mother, making it possible to move to Washington, DC, for her new position. This was a dream come true and the good doctor reveled in every aspect of her new situation, from finding an apartment to furnishing her office. It was the first real happiness Jill had experienced in a long time. Even though she’d spent the last few weeks feeling better than she had since David’s passing, Jill desperately tried not to listen to the voice in her head saying it was all too good to be true.

Please don’t let the voice be right, she thought to herself as she stared at the pistol shaking in her patient’s grasp.

“Please, Agent Meadows, you know it’s against protocol to bring your weapon into our sessions,” the therapist said, still desperately trying to maintain her composure.

“What does it matter anymore? Nothing matters now! Don’t you see that?” the patient screamed as he made his way to the door, locking it. “Just stay there, Doc. Don’t move! I don’t want to hurt you but someone has to hear what I have to say!” Jill remained perfectly still, her mind racing, searching for a way to calm him down without inciting violence.

Agent Meadows then moved the couch in front of the door before hurrying to the windows to shut the blinds. The disturbed man ran his hands across the window sills, under the desk top and looked in the potted plants Jill had bought to liven up the place.

He kept gazing around the room, constantly jerking his head back and forth, looking for something that wasn’t there. The agent was frantic and sweating profusely, his eyes wide and ever vigilant against whatever perceived threat his mind had created. He touched his face and head repeatedly, as if trying to wipe out bad memories from his mind without success. For the briefest of moments, he looked bewildered, as if unsure where he was and what he was doing. He looked around cautiously before snapping back into his highly agitated state, rubbing his head once more.

Even if Jill hadn’t spent the better part of the last 7 years studying the effects of PTSD, she could’ve easily recognized the distress signs in the man before her. She’d seen enough angry outbursts, hypervigilance and difficulty concentrating during David’s struggles to understand Agent Meadows was a man on the edge. The doctor knew if she couldn’t find a way to help him right now, there was no telling what he could do, to her or to himself. Dr. Musik waited until he turned in her direction and very slowly raised her hands, palms out.

“Agent Meadows, Darrell, please sit down and let’s talk about what’s bothering you,” she said in an even, calm tone, her eyes full of compassion. “After all, that is why you’re here, isn’t it? To tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes! Yes!” the agent replied, taking a step toward her. Suddenly, he stopped as he clutched his head, grimacing as if experiencing a sharp pain. He blinked rapidly and wiped the sweat from his brow with his left arm. “No! I can’t involve you! I can’t!” After a few moments his face softened as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I should’ve have come in here. I’m sorry, Dr. Musik.”

His face was a mixture of sadness and serenity, like a death row inmate who’d finally accepted his fate.

“I’m afraid sorry isn’t good enough, Agent!” Jill said forcefully, startling the agent. The therapist was desperate enough to try something radical. Meadows instantly looked repentant, lowering the arm holding the gun so it was now pointing at the floor. “You’ve already wasted enough of my time so sit down now and let’s get on with it!”

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry,” he said softly, quickly taking a seat across from her. Jill maintained an annoyed countenance, trying not to look at the pistol, as she wondered what could’ve happened to make the agent so distraught. Before taking Darrell Meadows on as a patient, Dr. Musik had done her homework on the man. He was a four time decorated soldier serving multiple tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan during his military career. She knew he was as steady and dependable as a person could be, always putting the lives of civilians and his fellow soldiers before his own. It was unnerving to see a man of this caliber reduced to his current state. Whatever was affecting him like this, Jill needed to help him get through it, to show this heroic man he wasn’t alone in the world. She decided to get him talking and hope for the best.

“You were just about to tell me about your last mission, so why don’t you start with that?” Dr. Musik said.

Agent Meadows stared off into space, his mouth agape. “The mission, yes. That’s when everything changed, when I learned the truth.”

“Truth? What do you –?” Jill started to say before she was interrupted by pounding on her office door.

“Dr. Musik! Dr. Musik, are you all right?” a man yelled through the door. “This is Sec-1, Agent Markham speaking! What is your status, Doctor?”

“No, no, no, no. They’re here already,” Agent Meadows said forlornly, his voice barely above a whisper as his eyes began to water.

“Take it easy, Darrell. I’ll handle this. Just take a deep breath and try to stay calm,” Dr. Musik said, beginning to stand. “Everything is fi –”

Agent Meadows reached out and grabbed her with a speed she’d never seen before. He quickly stood behind her, gripping her in a vise-like embrace with his left arm around her torso, pinning her arms at her sides. His strength was incredible. Darrell Meadow looked like a football star, standing at 6’4” and 220 pounds of solid muscle with a thick neck and broad shoulders. He had features that reminded her of a young Lenny Kravitz, except with darker skin and a military-issue haircut. The agent had a three-inch scar above his left eyebrow she assumed he got during combat, but they hadn’t covered that in session yet.

Jill began to panic in his grip, struggling to break free, but that just made him increase the pressure. The pounding on the door stopped abruptly, giving her a feeling of impending doom. Time seemed to slow down. She could feel the heat coming off the agent’s face as Meadows put his mouth close to her ear. He whispered so softly she could barely hear him over the sound of her own heart beating like a trip hammer. “I realize you don’t understand. How could you?” he said with such calmness it scared the doctor. “I know this seems odd but I’m not crazy, Dr. Musik. No matter what happens here, remember to look beyond the smoke screen, to keep your eyes open. Please, I know you will see it like I did.”

Without warning, the door to her office exploded inward. Through a haze of smoke and swirling debris, half a dozen agents streamed into the room, throwing the couch and other pieces of furniture to the side. They were all armed with “Zappers,” high tech stun guns used by the agency’s security team. Jill’s two-week orientation included a full briefing on the weapons, so she knew they weren’t pleasant. However, they did incapacitate without killing. Thank goodness for small favors.

“Ask yourself, how did they know what was happening in here, what I was doing?” Meadows whispered, as tears streamed down his cheeks. “How did they get here so fast? How?”

“Wha – ?” Jill began as the men approached cautiously.

“Just remember, they are always watching. Always listening. Keep your eyes open, Doctor,” Meadows whispered, before shoving Dr. Musik toward the nearest Sec-1 agent and putting the pistol to his right temple. He closed his eyes tightly, his finger on the trigger.

Jill spun around screaming, “No! Darrell please, don’t! Don’t do it!”

Agent Meadows hesitated, opening his eyes as he locked his gaze on Jill. A second later, 5 Zapper rounds struck him in the chest causing him to convulse and collapse to the floor in a spasmodic heap, urine spreading through the front of his pants.

“Let go of me! Let go! He’s my patient, he needs my help!” Jill screamed, trying to get to her fallen patient, but to no avail as the agent restraining her maintained his tight grip.

“Please, Dr. Musik, that will be enough,” came a gravelly voice from behind Jill. “There is no need for these histrionics.”

The voice belonged to General Leland DeVane, decorated war hero, former Secretary of Defense and current Director of the NDSA. He strode into the office like he owned the place, surveying the scene as he brushed past the security agents. He stood 6’ 3” tall, with a barrel chest and a rigid demeanor. Despite his advancing years, General DeVane looked like he could run a 5K marathon and still win a street fight immediately after. His narrow eyes, chiseled features and gruff exterior conjured up images of Clint Eastwood or Charlton Heston in their later years. This was a man who exuded confidence, possessed with a clarity of certitude that few others could match.

“Markham!” DeVane barked.

“Yes, sir!” The head of Sec-1 responded almost before the General had finished saying his name.

“Take Meadows to the infirmary and get maintenance up here to take care of Dr. Musik’s door and the rest of this mess. I want it completed within the hour!” the Director said, before turning to the agent holding Jill. “I think the danger has passed, Agent... Ridgeway, is it?”

“Yes, Sir, General DeVane, Sir. Agent William Ridgeway, Sir,” the agent stammered.

“Then release Dr. Musik immediately!” the General bellowed. Agent Ridgeway complied instantly, retreating to assist the other agents carrying Darrell Meadows out of the room. Jill straightened her clothing, a little embarrassed to be meeting the Director this way. She took two steps toward him but he purposely turned his back to her, again scanning the room from side to side.

The therapist stopped, somewhat put off by the General’s rudeness, then finished adjusting her skirt, before saying quietly, “I’m sorry, sir. I should have seen this coming.”

“Nonsense!” DeVane said, gesturing emphatically but still not turning toward her. “You’re to be commended for your actions here today, Doctor. Agent Meadows is obviously a deeply troubled individual and you’ve seen him, what, two times? There was no way you could have predicted this in such a short time. This is not on you, Dr. Musik.”

Jill managed a half smile, “I still think I should have done more to help him.”

DeVane continued to look around the room, intently watched the Sec-1 agents performing their various duties, ever watchful for any breach of protocol, as he half-heartedly said, “You helped diffuse a very difficult situation here today. Kudos to you, Doctor.”

The therapist purposely walked into the General’s line of vision before saying, “I’d like to know what will happen to Agent Meadows now, sir. I’d like to schedule a follow-up session as soon as possible.”

“You’d like –?” DeVane started to say angrily before stopping himself. He took a deep breath and smiled. It seemed like a totally unnatural act for him, making his face look more contorted than congenial. “Agent Meadows will be treated in our emergency care unit, Doctor. The health and well-being of our agents is always our highest priority here at the NDSA. These brave young men and women deserve nothing less than that.” DeVane pivoted away from her once more.

It sounded like he was reading talking points from a pre-approved script during a committee meeting or congressional hearing. Even so, Jill felt it was a less-than-award-winning performance, said with little to no conviction or earnestness. Simply put, he was blowing her off and no matter who he was, she wasn’t going to roll over that easily when a patient needed her help.

Dr. Musik swallowed hard and said, “General DeVane, sir, I believe I could offer a great many insights into Agent Meadows’ condition. I want to be a part of his continued treatment.”

“Dr. Musik...” the director began, through gritted teeth, “...I understand that you are new to the NDSA so perhaps you don’t yet understand how we do things. I’m willing to give you a pass on that, but you should know this agency is run in a military fashion.” He turned toward Jill with rage in his eyes. “There is a chain of command and let me assure you, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that I am at the top of that chain, Doctor!” DeVane got right in her face, leaning over so they were almost nose to nose, causing the woman to recoil instinctively, each word getting louder and more belligerent as he continued, “In fact the only person who gets to tell me what he wants is the God damned President of these United States!”

“But...” Jill started before being cut off.

“Agent Meadows is no longer your concern, Doctor! The quicker you accept that fact, the quicker you can get back to doing the work we brought you here to do!” the General barked out before striding to the door, stopping just before the now-empty frame. “Markham!” he shouted as the head agent scurried over. The Director pointed toward the doorway as he said, “Check the doorway for sharp edges or hazardous materials, Agent. We wouldn’t want the good doctor to hurt herself.”

Jill immediately felt her anger rise at the condescending insinuation that she was a helpless female incapable of taking care of herself. She opened her mouth to protest when DeVane added, “If I were you, Dr. Musik, I would put all this out of my mind and focus on helping the agents that are under your care. After all, we have to ensure something like this doesn’t happen again on your watch. I trust this is the last I’ll hear on this matter.” He walked out without even a glance at the stunned therapist.

“Son of a –” Jill muttered but stopped herself when she realized the remaining Sec-1 agents were staring at her.

They all seemed rather amused by her confrontation with the Director, whispering and smiling to each other. Instead of reacting to their snickers, the infuriated therapist simply took a seat behind her desk, busying herself with organizing her notes on the day’s patients and their respective cases. The Sec-1 agents left once the maintenance staff arrived. Jill sat comfortably in her office chair with her legs crossed, writing in a yellow legal pad as they went about their work. Once they finished with the clean-up and installing her new door, the lead member of the crew, a man with Gene written on his uniform, approached her desk smiling meekly.

“We’re all set here but unfortunately we won’t be able to stencil your name on the door again until Monday, Dr. Musik. I hope that’s okay.” Gene said respectively. “Stan, the guy who does our stenciling, left early today for a family function.”

“No problem at all, Gene. You guys did a wonderful job. Thanks so much,” Jill responded in the friendliest way she could muster, despite still churning inside at the way Director dickhead had treated her. She even managed a half-hearted smile. The maintenance man turned to leave but stopped himself.

He said very quietly, “Um...I know you just started here, Doctor, so if you ever need someone to show you around or if, I don’t know... you’d ever like to...if you want to have lunch together sometime, I’d like that very much.” Gene blushed a little, smiled awkwardly and left the work order on her desk before quietly leaving the room without waiting for a response.

As soon as she heard the unmistakable “click” of the door closing, Jill put the maintenance man’s awkward advance out of her mind. Her brow furled as she moved to the edge of the chair, her back rigid, and began typing into her computer. She quickly opened her access to the patient server and entered her password. She was determined to figure out why her patient had snapped, to help Agent Meadows any way she could, no matter who told her otherwise. She entered his name in the search bar and hit enter. “File not found” appeared in a red box accompanied by a ding. She tried it again. “File not found.”

Dr. Musik made a bewildered face as she ran her hand through her hair. She closed the server access and went to her desktop, opening a folder marked “patient files.” She scrolled down the file list but went too fast, passing the “M’s” completely. When she went back up, nothing was there. None of Agent Meadows’ personnel files that were forwarded to her, none of her session notes, nothing! She slowly let out a long breath, her mind racing. Jill quickly opened her scheduling calendar, instantly noticing that all of Darrell Meadows’ upcoming appointments were gone, replaced with the name Ian Conroy.

“God damn it!” Jill yelled, slamming her fist on the desk.

She thought to herself, Those bastards erased him! There is no evidence Darrell Meadows was ever my patient. But why? She stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, pondering what Meadows had said: “Just remember, they’re always watching. Always listening. Keep your eyes open, Doctor.” Finally, she slumped back into her chair, thoroughly frustrated, but with a single thought in her mind: This isn’t over yet.

Four hours later, Jill Musik sat slumped in the same position on her beige, sectional couch. She wore an old hospital scrub top and yoga pants with her hair up in a ponytail. Cake and chocolate crumbs littered her chest and torso, the empty plates from her comfort food feast next to her. On her left, shoved between two couch cushions, was a rapidly dwindling bottle of Yellowtail Merlot. She clutched a wine glass in her right hand, now empty after multiple refills. A rerun of How I Met Your Mother played on the television, but her eyes were unfocused, her mind still replaying the events from her office. Anger and resentment sat in her stomach like a bad case of indigestion.

The buzzing of her cell phone broke her out of her musings. She reached for it instinctively and checked the caller ID. Jill hesitated for a few seconds, before placing it face down next to her empty plates. The next instant her front door opened and Colleen Crenshaw walked in.

“Really, Musik? You’re just gonna ignore me? That’s fucked up,” Colleen said with false indignation as she took a clean wine glass out of the dish rack in the kitchen before making her way toward Jill.

“I knew giving you that spare key was a bad idea,” Jill replied stone faced, before breaking into a smile. “Sorry, Col. Just had a really bad day and I wanted to wallow in my crappy mood for a bit longer.”

Colleen threw her oversized purse on the recliner before plopping herself on the other end of the couch. “Well, you do love a good wallow. Want to talk about it?” she asked, before adding with a laugh “Let me guess...I can’t, its classified.”

“Give that woman a prize!” Jill said, handing Colleen the bottle of merlot, already feeling better despite her best efforts not to. “I seriously doubt my bosses at the NDSA would want me talking to a highly respected, Washington Times journalist such as yourself about the goings-on at my new, hush-hush government job.”

“Highly respected journalist?” Colleen said, rolling her eyes as she poured herself a glass of wine. “Yeah, in my dreams. I’m nothing more than a gossip columnist with delusions of grandeur.”

“Still,” Jill said shrugging.

The two friends had met years earlier at Ithaca College when The Crenshaw family dropped Colleen off a week early. Colleen was surprised to find Jill crying alone in the dorm room they were assigned to share. After the initial awkwardness and embarrassment subsided, the two girls became fast friends, despite their differences. While Jill was a traditional beauty: tall with long, curly brown hair, sparkling eyes, and a slim feminine physique, Colleen was more of an alternative type: zaftig with an angular face, short, jet black hair, multiple piercings and tattoos with a penchant for outlandish clothing, over-the-top accessories and weird eyeglass frames. The two women found their disparate personalities meshed well and fell into a rhythm fairly quickly. Colleen definitely liked to stand out in a crowd, usually the center of attention wherever she went, while Jill mostly kept to herself that first year, trying to recover from the tragedy her family had endured.

Colleen definitely had the more typical college experience, replete with drunken revelry, uninhibited sexuality and other out-of-control behavior. She pleaded with her reserved friend to join in, but to no avail. Despite not participating during her Ithaca years, Jill paid close attention to her friend’s keen ability to be the focus of any social gathering. She patterned herself after Colleen during her “Elevator” years at Stonybrook, applying the tried and true methods she’d observed her roommate successfully employ time and time again. By the end of their first semester at Ithaca, Colleen had taken on a guardian role, protecting Jill while she dealt with her various anxiety issues, never allowing the other students to dismiss or diminish her roommate in any way. It was one of many reasons Jill loved her friend and always felt comfortable with Colleen.

The quiet moments when the two women were alone in their dorm room truly bonded them. They’d spend hours talking, laughing and sharing their dreams and secrets, making pacts to always be best friends and to be there for one another. Rather than pledge a sorority, the two co-eds decided to rent a house for their second year, moving off campus and living with various other students. The memories made there always buoyed Jill’s spirits during times of doubt or struggle. It was the kind of relationship Jill used to have with her brother and she realized how much she missed having someone she could always count on in her life. It is highly unlikely Colleen could ever fully understand how much she helped Jill rediscover herself during that time.

After graduation, Colleen went back home to Pittsburgh, interning at the Steel City Gazette. She’d realized journalism was her passion in her junior year and had chased it like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. After the internship, she worked as a copy editor for the Gazette’s city desk, researching and adding up-to- the-minute information for articles written by other reporters. While a valuable learning experience, that position didn’t feed her passion so she put out feelers in every direction, eventually landing a job with the Washington Times. Within a year, Colleen was in charge of the newspaper’s burgeoning Webpage, creating its unique and acclaimed voice almost all on her own. When not supervising the various contributors to the page, she was writing scathing, entertaining and informative editorials on everything and everyone from the newest tech gadgets to at-home births to Kim Kardashian to President Barack Obama.

When Jill got the official job offer from the NDSA, the first person she called was Colleen. Her former roommate helped the therapist in so many ways, but especially with her companionship and joie de vivre. Still, despite their long history together, Jill knew Colleen as well as one person could know another so the therapist kept waiting for the question she knew was coming.

“Soooooo....” Colleen began, as Jill held her breath. Was this it? Was she finally going to ask? “...without giving away anything, how was your first week overall? Did you see any of them?”

Jill smiled. She knew it was hard on Colleen not to be able to ask about her job, the NDSA and most importantly, The Power Elite. No member of the press had ever gotten an interview with even one member of the super team. If anyone ever did, they could write their own ticket for as long as they wanted. “It was okay. I met a guy named Gene. I think he has a crush on me.” Jill finally said. “And, no. I didn’t see any of them. They really don’t hang around the cafeteria or low level therapists’ offices. Sorry.”

“That Achilles sure is a hottie,” Colleen said before finishing her wine in one gulp.

“Colleen, enough,” Jill replied, still too raw after her day to engage in meaningless small talk. “If you have something to say, just say it. I’ve known you long enough to know when you’re beating around the bush.”

“I don’t –” Colleen started before looking at her friend with a mixture of embarrassment and love. “Yeah, you’re right. I need your help and before you automatically say no, let me tell you what I have. It’s big, Jillie Jill. Really big.”

“How big?” Jill asked.

“Big. Huge. Enormous. King Kong sized big,” Crenshaw replied. “Big enough that I am willing to ask for your help despite your repeated monologues about boundaries, crossing said boundaries and blurring the lines between our jobs and our friendship.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“That big, huh?” Jill said with a grin. She poured herself another glass of wine and offered the bottle to her friend. “Okay, I’ll listen, but no promises.”

“No promises. Fair enough,” Colleen said as she filled her own wine glass before putting both the bottle and her glass on the coffee table. She then reached over to the recliner, snatched her purse and took out a file folder overflowing with paper. She looked through it for a few moments, pulled out four specific items and then put her purse and the folder back on the chair.

From where she was sitting, Jill could read the words “Power Elite/NDSA” on the top of the folder. This was even bigger than she’d expected. This wasn’t going to be an interview request.

Colleen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She looked at her friend while biting her lower lip before finally saying, “Look, sweetie, there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just gonna say it. I think the NDSA is shady as hell.”

“Shady? What do you mean shady?” Jill replied, stunned by what her friend just said.

“Shady as in under the table arms deals with foreign powers, overthrowing governments, hundreds of covert ops including assassinations and generally conspiring to dupe the American people,” Colleen said, her voice getting louder as she went along.

“You think the NDSA is doing all that? The agency is strictly support for The Power Elite. We don’t do independent missions. That sounds more like the CIA to me.” Jill said, somewhat defensively.

“There’s a whole lot more to it than that,” Coleen said. “What I told you is just the tip of the iceberg. If I’m right, this would be the biggest story since Watergate.”

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? It’s a story,” Jill said, getting angry. “The story you’ve been looking for to make your career, the story that’s your ticket to the big time and you’ll do whatever it takes to get it, won’t you?”

“Wow. Really?” the reporter said, her friend’s words hurting her more than she could’ve ever imagined. “Is that what you think of me, Jill? That I’m capable of making this up? That I would actually do that? Fabricate a story for my own selfish ends?”

“Well, where else is this coming from?” the therapist asked.

“From my love for you, you idiot!” Colleen yelled. “Do you think I would ever do anything to hurt you? Ever?” She looked away for a moment, desperate to stay on point before turning back to Jill. “The second I hung up the phone the day you told me about this new job, I started digging into the NDSA. It was purely instinct. I figured I wouldn’t find much but I did. The Times has a file five times the size of this one about that agency.” Colleen turned her head once more, trying not to let her friend see how upset she was by her implication. She refused to get upset until could convince her friend of the seriousness of the situation. “Sure, I found a lot of unsubstantiated rumors but also a lot of unexplained coincidences. Stuff that raised a lot of red flags. The kind of things that worried me, worried me a lot. I kept digging, using all my connections, everything I had. I did it for you, Jill so I could be sure you’re safe!”

“Safe from what exactly?” Jill said a little too loudly.

“From whatever it is they are really doing there!” Colleen snapped in response. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks and most of that was orientation but are you telling me you haven’t seen anything that’s a little off? Something strange or unexpected? Something that made your spidey sense tingle? Maybe just a bit?”

Immediately Jill thought of Agent Meadows, the look on his face just before the Zapper rounds hit him and what he’d whispered to her. She looked in her friend’s worried eyes and wanted to tell her about the day’s odd events but she couldn’t. She’d sworn an oath not to divulge anything about the NDSA to anyone, not even her best friend in the world. “I – I...I don’t know what you mean,” she finally said softly.

“I think you do but let’s put a pin in that and calm down a bit,” Colleen said, taking a swig from her wine glass. “I’m not trying to hurt you, honey. I’m really not.” She reached out and took Jill’s hand. “Just hear me out. Like you said, no promises. If you think I’m crazy, I’ll never mention it again, ok?” She smiled gently at the woman who was closer than family to her.

“Ok.” Jill said, afraid of what her best friend might show her but more afraid not to see it. “Show me what you’ve got.”

“Alright, let’s start slowly. Tell me what you know about The Power Elite,” Colleen said earnestly.

“I know what you know. They’re the only team of heroes sanctioned by the gover –” Jill started to say before her friend cut her off.

“No, not the team as a whole. Each individual member. What do you know about Bolt?” Colleen asked.

“Only what’s been made known to the public,” Jill said with a sigh. “His name is Wendall Walker and he’s from the year 3445. He has the ability to teleport by changing himself into electrical energy. In his time, they used him as a garbage man, disintegrating the refuse instead of just piling it in landfills. He was one of many with this ability but he yearned for more, to be a hero. So he illegally used a time portal, outlawed centuries earlier, to travel to our time. He was taking in the sights of what is ancient, lower Manhattan to him when The Crimson Barracuda and his undersea terrorists attacked the South Street Seaport. He helped the four other heroes defeat the villain and they decided to form a team.”

“Right, right...” Colleen said excitedly. “...but what else do you know about him? Nothing, right?”

“What else is there, sweetie?” Jill replied. “What else do you want?”

“I mean, in all the footage, the cell phone vids, the press conferences, have you ever heard Bolt say anything? One single word? Has anyone seen him take off his mask? Do we even know what he is? Human? Android? Cyborg?” Colleen asked.

“Of course, he’s human,” Jill said derisively.

“Is he? How do we know for sure?” Colleen replied. “But let’s move on. How about Ambrosia? What do you know?”

“This is getting old already, girlfriend,” Jill said with a smile. “How about I just run down the rest in one fell swoop, ok?”

“Sounds good but start with Ambrosia,” Colleen said, winking.

“Ooookay.” Jill said with an exaggerated wink back at her friend. “Ambrosia is the goddess Nike banished to Earth in spirit form by Zeus, King of the Ancient Greek Gods. She took the form of the first person she came into contact with, a heroin-addicted, street- walker named Latasha Jenkins. Nike controls her host body, having pushed out the essence of Latasha completely. This new form is super strong and has the power of flight, as befits a goddess. How’m I doing?”

“Keep going,” Colleen said.

“Alright, in no particular order now. Achilles, the team leader, is the actual warrior from the Trojan War. He is the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. Legends have it that his mother dipped him in the River Styx giving him invulnerability except in the area she was holding him, his left heel. He was supposedly killed in 1200 BC by a poison arrow that hit him in his vulnerable heel. However, he now claims he had no such vulnerability and used this tale to disappear from Ancient Greece. Apparently, his ability includes an immunity to the aging process, which has rendered him technically immortal.”

Jill took a dramatic deep breath before continuing. “Seraph is a fallen angel cast out of Heaven by God for disobeying his commands. Stripped of her wings, she burned in the torments of Hell for centuries until she found a way to escape. She branded the Enochian symbol for God in her forehead, which vexed Lucifer so much he banished her from his domain. She found herself on Earth with the ability to control flame and conjure new wings composed of fire.”

She took a sip of wine. “I guess Eris is the easiest. She’s an alien from the Planet Negari whose inhabitants are a peace-loving race.

She was sent to Earth as a good will ambassador, hoping to teach us their culture and ideals while eventually sharing our way of life with her fellow Negarians. Due to the different atmospheric conditions between her plant and ours, she has the ability of super speed here on Earth.”

“Share our way of life, ha!” Colleen said sarcastically. “Good luck with all that, Eris.”

“So why the rundown? Google’s server down?” Jill asked with a guffaw.

“No, I knew all of that,” the reporter replied, deadly serious. “I just wanted you to say it out loud, maybe get a feel for how ludicrous it all sounds. Aliens, angels, Goddesses, immortals and a time traveler? Sounds like something out of a bad comic book.”

“So you think they’re all lying? Toward what end?” Jill asked, getting defensive again.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t think they are lying, I think they are part of a much bigger lie,” Colleen said, handing one of the papers over to Jill. “Take a look at this.”

The therapist studied the information contained on the sheet of paper before looking up, “What exactly am I looking at here?” she finally said.

“Don’t you see?” Colleen said nervously, moving closer and pointing to different areas of the sheet. “Every time The Power Elite are involved in a huge battle, some other major happening occurs somewhere around the globe. And it’s always in America’s best interest, or at least in the government’s.” The reporter could see the disdain on her friend’s face so she continued as she handed Jill a worn photograph, “Look at this photo! April 17^th of this year! The team battled the Ultra-Mechanoid in the Gulf of Mexico. Meanwhile, in Saudi Arabia, insurgents took control of the port city of Dhahran. All the media, the Times included, ran stories about The Power Elite for days. The only mention of Dhahran was a few paragraphs in the international section. Months later, it was discovered the insurgents were using mostly U.S. military weapons during their attack, that they were trained to use them by our government. Coincidence? Maybe if it happened once or twice, but look at that list. Every time The Power Elite goes into battle, there is a covert op or shady dealing going down somewhere else. Whether it’s South America, Korea, the Middle East, or wherever our government benefits from it. Every single time!”

Jill stared at the page for long moments. Colleen gave her time to process what she’d said. Finally, Jill looked up and said, “Honestly, Col. This is all speculation. There’s no proof of any of it. Certainly nothing that points to the members of The Power Elite being involved in any way, shape or form.”

“But there’s chinks in their armor, too,” Colleen said. “Now there’s no way to poke holes in Bolt or Ambrosia’s stories since no one knows what the future is like or how things work on Mount Olympus, but the others have shown some cracks.”

“Like what?” Jill asked, seriously concerned that her friend was obsessed with this notion and completely grasping at straws.

“Take Achilles for example. He was supposedly dipped in the River Styx as a baby, right?” Colleen asked, as Jill nodded in agreement. “So how did he age to a full grown adult male and then stop aging?” Colleen took her phone out of her purse and handed it to her friend. “Plus look at this cell phone vid taken after the Elite’s battle with Moleculo in Chicago. Achilles saves an eight-year-old boy and the hero notices the kid is wearing a Cedar Points Amusement Park T-shirt. He off handedly remarks he loved going there as a kid. How would that be possible if he was born in Ancient Greece?”

“You’re reaching here, kiddo,” Jill said, handing the phone back. “Maybe he was just trying to calm the kid down by connecting with him on a human level? Ever think of that?”

“Okay, that’s not a bad point,” Colleen conceded, before reaching into the folder and removing several photographs. She handed them to Jill as she continued, “What about Eris. Her skin is almost orange, supposedly due to her planet being closer to its sun, correct? Here are multiple images of her “complexion” running down her neck and face. Of course, none of these photos ever made it to the press or online. Why do you think that is? Why suppress them if they’re not real and why would she have to spray on her natural skin tone like that?” Colleen let the questions hang in the air for a few seconds. She started talking again just as Jill was about to respond.

“Let’s talk about Seraph. That symbol on her forehead is supposed to be the Enochian letter for God or “G,” but according to every known theologian on Earth, it is actually the letter “B” of the Angelic language. Plus, that chaos symbol on her stomach is a tattoo.”

“Well, I’m assuming no theologian has ever actually been to Heaven so maybe they have been wrong about the Enochian angelic language from the start,” Jill said, rubbing her hand over her face. “And what’s the big deal about the tattoo? Angels can’t get tats?”

“I don’t know if they can or can’t, but she’s no angel. This time I can prove it,” Colleen said, really revving up now. “That tattoo is very unique so I researched it. Eventually I located the tattoo artist that did it and he remembered her. Seraph’s real name is Rachel McGee and she’s from Phoenix, Arizona, not Heaven.” The reporter handed another piece of paper to Jill as she continued, getting more animated with each moment as she pointed to various parts of the document. “Here is her High School yearbook picture and driver’s license from six years ago. She was a disturbed young woman who marked herself with that letter on the forehead with a homemade branding iron. With no other recourse, her mother had her committed. After five months the sanitarium, in which she was a patient, burned down under mysterious circumstances. She was presumed dead with the other 68 poor souls who lost their lives in the incident. Now she’s a government-sanctioned superhero.”

Jill sat motionless, staring at Rachel McGee’s face as her mind reeled at the implication. If Seraph’s story was indeed manufactured, could all of them be fabrications too? “I...I don’t know what to say. Are you 100% sure Seraph and this girl are the same person?”

“According to the paper’s facial recognition program, it’s a 96% match. So unless a fallen angel actually crawled out of Hell and took over Rachel McGee’s body, her story is totally bogus. Which scenario seems more likely to you?”

Jill looked up with wide eyes. “But Why, Colleen? Why would they do it? Just to cover up secrets? To make the administration virtually scandal proof?”

“I can think of worse reasons,” Colleen said compassionately. “I know it’s a lot to take in, honey. Take your time.”

“I don’t need time because this is total bullshit. This can’t be true. None of it,” Jill said, suddenly very agitated. “This is nothing but speculation and hearsay except for the fact that one of them looks like a girl who died years ago! I can’t believe any of it! It’s ridiculous!”

“What? How can-?” Colleen began to say before Jill jumped in.

“How can I what? Not join the witch hunt with you and your newspaper? Not try to tear down heroes who’ve done nothing but try to help this world?” Jill said, waving her hands in the air. “Honestly, Colleen, I know you’re a pessimist but this is going too far.”

“This has nothing to do with pessimism or my newspaper. I’m worried about you!” Colleen yelled. “Can’t you see that? If this is true, if any of this is true, you will be a part of it. You will take the fall with them when the truth comes out!”

“I’m not listening to any more of this nonsense!” Jill said, getting up and taking her empty plates to the kitchen, placing them in the sink and turning on the water. She started vigorously cleaning them, trying to work off her rising anxiety.

Colleen’s shoulders slumped as she stared down at the evidence she’d shown her friend, listening to the sound of the water from the faucet. Her face was resigned but sullen as she gathered the papers. The reporter put them back in the folder, placed the folder in her purse and took it with her to the kitchen. “Okay, hon,” she said quietly as Jill continued to straighten up. She went to the door, placed her hand on the knob but hesitated.

After what seemed like an eternity, she turned back to her friend. “Listen, Jill. I had no idea about any of this before you got that job. Like I said, I’m a glorified blogger, not Woodward and Bernstein,” she said, earnestly. “I started digging because it’s what I do and I wanted to look out for you, which is also what I do. I wanted this to be your dream job with no strings attached.” She looked down at her feet, feeling foolish. “I just want you to know that. I wasn’t trying to start any shit. I just felt you should know about this stuff, about this folder and the possibility that things aren’t quite what they seem. That’s all, no other reason, no hidden agenda.”

“I don’t blame you, Col. I really don’t. Just try to see it from my side,” Jill said, finally looking at her friend. “There’s not a whole lot of evidence to support these claims.”

“I’m not trying to get a conviction here. I’m just looking out for my best friend,” Colleen said with a half-grimace/half-smile. “Anyway, I’m gonna go. I figure I’ve done enough damage for one night.” She opened the door. “Just do me one favor, bestie. Please, please, please...keep your eyes open.”

“Huh,” Jill said, somewhat bemused.

“What?” Colleen asked.

“Nothing. It’s just that you’re the second person today to implore me to keep my eyes open,” the therapist said with just a hint of melancholy in her voice.

“I see,” the journalist replied, intrigued by Jill’s sudden change in demeanor. “I don’t suppose you can tell me who this other person was?”

They both said in unison, “I can’t, its classified,” before the two women chuckled simultaneously, breaking the tension.

First thing Monday morning, Dr. Jill Musik made a formal request, through the proper channels, to be a part of Agent Darrell Meadows’ continued mental health care. Despite the protestations of her immediate supervisor, Dr. William Harris, Jill felt it was something she had to do, even if there was almost no chance anything would come from it. The dressing down she received by General DeVane on Friday made it abundantly clear her help wasn’t wanted or necessary, but it was important for her to make the request formally. It wasn’t much, but what else could she do? She was ready to put the unpleasant incident behind her and focus on moving forward with her other patients as her priority.

The rest of her morning went smoothly, giving therapy to two agents who’d been involved with The Power Elite’s run-in with Murder-tron and his Minions of Menace. Her next appointment, at 11:30, was originally scheduled for Agent Meadows. Due to the sudden change, Jill managed to squeeze in a half hour going over the files of her new patient, Agent Ian Conroy. At 11:25, Jill closed the files, cleaned up her deck and prepared her notes on Agent Conroy. Ten minutes later, with no sign of the patient, she figured he wasn’t going to show. Agents are usually nothing if not punctual. Maybe he was thrown off by the last minute switch. No harm done. They could always reschedule again.

Dr. Musik sat behind her desk and entered her access code into her computer terminal, in order to denote the missed appointment with Conroy’s direct supervisor and her boss, Dr. Harris. The computer screen suddenly went blank, nothing but a bright red screen with no desktop functions at all, not even the cursor.

“God damn it!” Jill exclaimed, reaching into her top desk drawer for the agency directory, intending to call tech support.

“Hello, Dr. Musik,” came a voice from close by, causing Jill to literally jump up from her chair. A man was sitting directly in front of her desk. How did he get there? She would’ve seen someone come into her office.

“Please be seated, Doctor. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man said with a voice straight out of a nightmare. It was a low, raspy, gruff monotone that made Jill instantly uneasy. He sat upright and perfectly still, not moving in the slightest. The stranger was oddly tall and gaunt with brilliant blue eyes behind square, wire-framed glasses. His silver hair was slicked back, accentuated by a severe widow’s peak. He wore a simple, black, three-piece suit, with a white pinstriped shirt and matching peach-colored tie and handkerchief. Jill was reminded of Christopher Lee from the old Dracula movies she watched as a child. Of course, that could be attributed to the fact that whoever he was, this man creeped the hell out of her immediately.

“Who?” was all Jill managed to get out as she sat back down, still unnerved.

“My name is Harkness, Dr. Musik. I am Special Assistant to the Director,” he said casually. “I think we need to have a discussion about the incident you were involved in this past Friday. Would that be all right with you?”

Jill understood the question was entirely rhetorical and she didn’t have any choice in the matter. She took a breath, composed herself as much as she could, before saying with a slight nod, “Of course, Mr. Harkness. How can I be of assistance?”

“The Director was concerned over your conversation on Friday, but he is a very busy man, as you can imagine. When the General doesn’t have the time or desire to directly handle a situation, he delegates that task to me. You see, I’m something of a problem solver so he asked me to speak with you. In hindsight, he thought you deserved a better explanation as to why you wouldn’t be a continued part of Agent Meadows’ mental healthcare moving forward.” Harkness spoke lazily, in the slow, rhythmic cadence of an old time southern gentleman.

He spoke like they were old friends sipping lemonade on the front porch of a Georgia Plantation instead of NDSA members in an office located in one of the most secure sections of the U.S. Capitol. “I understand you made a formal request this morning in that regard.”

“Yes, sir. I thought it best-” Jill began before getting interrupted.

“Ah, yes, I see,” Harkness said without a hint of emotion. He reached into his jacket pocket, took out a small cloth, removed his glasses and methodically began cleaning them. “I believe I understand the situation. Let’s see if I can lay it out in a recognizable pattern for you, shall we?” he added with perhaps the most insincere smile Jill had ever seen.

“Please,” Jill said stoically. Despite maintaining a calm outer veneer, her anxiety was rising. Something about this peculiar man gave her the heebie-jeebies.

Harkness nodded, placed his glasses back on the narrow bridge of his nose and returned the cloth to his pocket. When he began speaking again, there was an edge to his voice, a steely forcefulness that hadn’t been there before. “Dr. Musik, you come from the civilian world and as such it is perfectly understandable that you may be somewhat confused by the way the NDSA conducts its business.” The way he said the word civilian made it sound like an unforgivable sin. “I am here to clarify things for you in the simplest way possible. Yes?” Again, he flashed that smile. Jill continued to show no outward emotion as she maintained eye contact, not wanting to appear intimidated by this man.

“Simply put, you don’t get to make requests or question orders, my good doctor. That is considered unacceptable behavior at this agency,” Harkness said. “What you think and what you want have no bearing on this agency’s protocol or procedures. Remember that in the future and your tenure here will be much more pleasant.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jill said before she even realized it.

Harkness’ eyes narrowed. “Dr. Musik, I can assure you, I don’t kid,” he said with calm certainty, making her even more uneasy. Jill could feel the animosity radiating off of him. “I want you to be successful here, Doctor. As I’m sure your friends and family do, especially your mother, who is so dependent on you right now. A shame, really,” he said without a hint of compassion.

Was that a veiled threat? Jill thought, struggling to suppress her rising anger that he’d brought her mother into this. “I just want...I mean, I intend to do my job to the best of my abilities, sir.” Jill stated, with a steely gaze. “Isn’t that why you brought me here?”

Harkness didn’t answer. Instead, he sat motionless, taking her measure like a cobra studies its prey before striking. As the moments crawled by, Jill fought the urge to say something else, feeling like it would be admitting defeat. She felt like this was some kind of mind game, a psychological test. All she wanted to do was get out of there, away from this bizarre, frightening man, but she refused to give in, to fail at whatever sick crucible this was. She felt a drop of perspiration run down her left side under her blouse. Harkness continued to sit in silence, his eyes boring into her impassively.

“Excuse me, Doctor,” Gene, the head of the maintenance staff, said as he entered the office. “Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in session. I’m just here –”

“– to pick me up for lunch!” Jill interrupted, happy for the distraction. “Remember you promised to show me around after we eat. You know, because I’m a civilian and all, I don’t know my way around quite yet,” Jill continued, purposely poking the bear named Harkness.

“Um...Yeah, right. I guess,” Gene said, confused.

Dr. Musik stood and picked up her purse before turning back to the Special Assistant. “Please excuse me, Mr. Harkness. Would it be all right if I went to get some lunch? I only have an hour before my next scheduled appointment. Or was there something else you wanted to say?” Her tone was light and breezy, though instinctively she was trying to get a rise out of him.

“Of course, Doctor,” Harkness said calmly. “Enjoy your lunch. We will continue our conversation at a later date.”

That thought sent a chill down Jill’s spine. “Thanks! Let’s go, Gene,” she said.

She was almost at the door when Harkness said, “One last thing, Doctor, if I may?” Jill stopped and turned slowly toward the Special Assistant. With his back still to her, he said, “Here at the NDSA we always strive to do our best so if I could give you any advice it would be this: Do the right thing, Dr. Musik. If you do that, the world will take care of you.”

Jill’s knees went weak for a brief moment. Hearing her parent’s favorite phrase coming from this horror of a man unnerved her instantly. Was it a coincidence? How could he possibly know that mantra? How? Her mind reeled at the implication but the need to get away from him overtook her curiosity. She managed to say, “I’ll do my best,” as she pushed the bewildered maintenance man out of the office in front of her.

Harkness sat perfectly still for a few moments. He stood and adjusted his suit jacket before walking over to the bookcase against the wall to the left of Dr. Musik’s desk. He reached under the bottom shelf and retrieved a tiny listening device. The man inspected it and then casually blew a short burst of air into the receiver before placing it back under the shelf. “Musik is becoming a bigger problem than originally anticipated. This situation needs a quick resolution. Eidolon is now officially active,” he said before leaving the office.

“That is the scariest person I’ve ever met,” Jill said as she sat down at a table in the corner of the NDSA cafeteria with Gene. They’d made nothing but small talk as they bought their respective lunches, but now she needed to vent a little.

“Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that guy. Who was he?” Gene asked.

“What do you mean? That’s Mr. Harkness, Special Assistant to the Director,” Jill replied.

“Who?” Gene asked quizzically.

“The Special Assistant to the Director,” Jill repeated.

“Um, I don’t mean to sound stupid or anything, but I’ve worked here for twelve years and there is no Special Assistant to the Director,” Gene said sheepishly. “There’s Deputy Director Sandra Allen, but I’ve never seen that guy in your office before or heard of anyone named...Harkness, did you say his name was?”

“I don’t know you very well, Gene, so I’m not sure, but are you messing with me?” Jill asked. “Seriously, are you making a joke because, let me tell you, it’s not at all funny.”

“No, no, of course not, Dr. Musik,” Gene said so earnestly Jill instantly felt bad for accusing him. “I would never do something like that.”

“So, you’re seriously saying there is no Mr. Harkness working at the NDSA?” Jill asked, completely confused.

“Honestly, I have a master list of every office, every room in this building and there is no Special Assistant to the Director or Mr. Harkness on it,” Gene answered. “Like I said, I’ve been here a long time and I pretty much have that thing memorized.” He took a sip from his Diet Coke.

Jill took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She played with the croutons in her salad before saying, “Forgive my language, but what the fuck is going on here?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t,” Gene said sincerely before reaching across and putting his hand on Jill’s. “But if you need help figuring it out, Dr. Musik, any help at all, you can always count on me.” He smiled at her before breaking eye contact and taking his hand away. He took a big forkful of turkey and awkwardly stuffed it in his mouth.

“Thanks, Gene. I really appreciate that,” Jill said. “It seems like you’re the only normal person I’ve met in this place.” She smiled at him and he smiled back, still chewing the turkey. “But please, call me Jill.”

“Okay, Jill,” Gene said, his face getting redder by the second as he swallowed hard. He scooped a large helping of mashed potatoes into his mouth, looking everywhere but at his lunch companion.

Despite the odd circumstances that led to their lunch together, Dr. Musik was glad for Gene’s company. He was such an unassuming, gentle and thoughtful man compared to the agents and other NDSA personnel she’d met since starting her new job. The others were consumed with their careers and advancing through the ranks, full of machismo and driven to succeed, even the women. The maintenance chief was so normal. Everything about him was average. He was 5’10” and weighed around 165 with short cropped black hair and blue eyes. He reminded Jill of Justin Long, the guy from those old Mac vs PC commercials, who later did movies and dated Drew Barrymore. There was a calmness to this man that helped ease her mind. Gene seemed to know himself and, despite his shyness, Jill could tell his fondness for her was genuine. In fact, Jill doubted Gene was even capable of insincerity or manipulation.

“I’m not doubting you, Gene, but are you absolutely sure about Harkness?” Jill said between mouthfuls of Caesar Salad.

“Like I said, I’ve never seen that guy before and I have been in every room in this building literally hundreds of times,” Gene said matter-of-factly.

Jill frowned. “It’s so frustrating. I know I can’t ask General DeVane about it. I’m pretty sure he’d just blow me off again.”

“Yeah, I’ve never even spoken to DeVane. He doesn’t usually mingle with us common folk,” Gene said, taking a sip of his soda. “By the way, I wanted to say how sorry I was to hear about what happened with Agent Meadows. He’s one of the good ones around here; always had a kind word for me and my guys.”

“Yeah, I wish I could...” Jill’s voice trailed off as she remembered the incident with Meadows and the subsequent encounter with DeVane. Her eyes glazed over as she replayed the conversation with the Director in her head, her lips mouthing some of the words silently.

“You okay, Doctor – I mean, Jill. Is everything all right?” Gene asked, concerned about her.

Suddenly, her face lit up with excitement. “Gene, you said you’ve been in every room in this building? Does that include the emergency care ward?” Jill asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

“Well, yeah of course,” Gene said. “Why do you ask?”

“If you were serious about wanting to help me figure this out, and I hope you were, I need a really big favor,” Dr. Musik said with a mischievous smile. “Really, really big.”

At 10:38 p.m. that evening, Dr. Jill Musik stood at the entrance to the bottom floor of the National Defense Support Administration. In her hand was an all-access key card borrowed from her new friend, Gene. It had taken a lot of convincing but once she made him understand how important it was for her to check on Agent Meadows, he eventually agreed to help get her into the emergency care ward.

Jill had spent the last few hours pretending to work while she studied the floor plans of the lower levels of the NDSA building. She had downloaded the blueprints to her laptop earlier that day. Maybe it was overkill, but the last thing she wanted was to get Gene into trouble after he’d been such a sweetheart. The maintenance chief left hours earlier, planning to report the card lost first thing in the morning, so if she could get in and out without arousing suspicion, no one would be the wiser for their subterfuge. Jill took a deep breath, swiped the key card and opened the door, ready for anything.

What she found was an empty hallway. She took two steps down the hall, stopped and listened. Nothing. Strange, she thought to herself. Where is everyone? You’d think this place would be fully staffed 24/7.

Even stranger was the lack of a central nurse’s station or some other kind of organizational hub to coordinate whatever personnel worked down there. This level seemed to be nothing but a maze of corridors with doors every twenty feet or so, none of which had numbers or signs to denote what purpose they served. Remembering where the emergency care ward patient rooms were supposed to be from the blueprints, Jill turned right, heading down the closest hallway. Each door she passed had a window in it. She peered into each one but saw nothing but darkness inside. She tried the doorknobs as well but they were all locked. It was eerily quiet. She suddenly had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

What the hell was going on down here? Was this simply storage space and the blueprints were wrong or out of date? Was there even an emergency care ward in this building? Why did Gene give her such a hard time about accessing the lower level if there was nothing down here? Did she simply go to the wrong floor? No, that wasn’t possible. The blueprints said the bottom floor. There was no way she could’ve messed that up. Getting more aggravated by the second, Dr. Musik continued down the corridor when she suddenly heard a scream from back the way she came.

Running on the balls of her feet as quickly and silently as she could, Jill made her way back to where she’d entered the lower level. She paused, straining her hearing for any sound. As another bloodcurdling scream echoed through the halls, she moved, in an instant, down the left corridor. When she reached the second-to- last doorway on the right, Jill peered in through the door window. She could see two men in lab coats standing by a hospital bed, their bodies blocking whoever was lying in it. The entire right wall was machinery, like something out of H.G. Wells or The Matrix. She’d never seen anything like it before. One of men walked over to the machinery, giving Dr. Musik a clear view of their patient. It was Darrell Meadows! Before she could move, the man flipped a switch and Agent Meadows’ body convulsed immediately as he let out another desperate, agonized scream.

Without even thinking, Jill burst into the room, running toward her erstwhile patient. Darrell Meadow saw her before anyone else, his eyes growing wide with fear. When she was six feet from the man at the controls, Jill spotted something in her peripheral vision coming from her left. She twisted her body, a split second before a member of the security team tried to tackle her.

Instead of subduing the therapist, the agent knocked her into the wall of machinery. Her back hit the main component, causing a huge, electrical explosion, which threw her back across the room like a rag doll. She landed in a heap with odd, blue and yellow electricity pulsating over her body in waves. Panic rose in her chest as she realized her arms and legs didn’t work; they were as limp as wet noodles. She felt an odd floating sensation, as if she were in zero gravity. The world fell away, white light playing about the edge of her vision. Through the haze, she once again saw Agent Meadows looking at her. He mouthed the words I’m sorry just before her world went dark.

Jill Musik regained consciousness slowly. Her skull ached, her body was all pins and needles and she felt lightheaded as she opened her eyes. She also had the worst case of dry mouth in the history of mankind. From where she was on the floor, the therapist could see a half dozen people gathered around the bed where Darrell Meadows had been restrained. They seemed to be ignoring her completely, which suited Jill just fine. She tried to stand, but a sudden wave of weakness hit her, forcing her to sit back down. Dr. Musik shook her hands, trying to get the life back into them, but it was no use. She decided to play possum for a bit and listen to whoever was around that bed, hoping to discover what they were doing to Meadows when she’d barged in.

“Vital signs are rising but there is no pupil dilation or other sensory responses,” a man with a stethoscope around his neck said. “We’ll need at least a CAT scan before I can diagnose the problem.”

“Will the process work with the patient in this condition?” one of the techs said.

“Doesn’t really matter what condition she’s in, since it will take days if not weeks to fix the neuro-enchephalyzer,” a different technician replied as he inspected the machine.

She? Jill thought. Who are they talking about? Were they trying to use whatever that machine was on another agent?

A wave of anger coursed through her, giving her the strength to stand. “What are you people doing down here?” she screamed as she got to her feet. “Leave that poor woman alone!” She rushed over to the bed and looked down at the patient. “I said leave her alone–” Jill stopped in mid-sentence as her mouth fell open and her stomach lurched, a powerful nausea overtaking her. It was her unconscious body lying in that bed. She was looking at herself. A new wave of numbness radiated through her body as she struggled to focus past her rising panic.

“What’s going on?” she screamed. No one moved. No one heard her. Fear and desperation took over as she frantically tried to get someone to notice she was there. “Listen to me! What happened to me? Please, someone tell me! Please!” She reached for the edge of the bed but her hands passed right through the metal frame. Jill screamed for another minute before she started to cry, finally receding from the bed side, unable to look at her comatose body for another second. She sat in the corner of the room weeping uncontrollably, unable to comprehend what had happened to her. Was she dead? A ghost? How could she be dead if her body was still alive? Was she even really crying or just imagining it? The whole situation was almost too much for her to take as these thoughts permeated her mind. Was she going insane? She sat there for another half hour, half listening to the doctors and technicians discussing the situation, when she finally heard something that snapped her out of her lamentation.

“What about Meadows?” Harkness bellowed as he entered the room purposefully.

“He...He’s in solitary, sir,” the head technician said nervously. “The process was interrupted before it was complete. As per protocol, we are keeping him away from everyone else until the machine is repaired.”

“I suppose that will have to do,” Harkness said, looking down at Jill’s unconscious body. “Once the neuro-encephalyzer is up and running, complete Agent Meadows’ nullification and reaffirmation immediately. By the time the device is operational, I’ll have your marching orders in regards to dear Doctor Musik here. As for now, make sure nothing else happens to her.” He touched her hand and ghost Jill shuddered. “She really is an amazing creature; such a pity she couldn’t see things more clearly.”

Harkness turned and walked out of the room. Jill stood and followed closely behind in ghost form. She knew instinctively that if she was going to find the answers she’d been searching for since this whole ordeal began, Harkness was the key. At the end of the hallway, at what seemed like a dead end, Harkness took what looked like an ordinary car key fob and pointed it at the wall. A loud hiss filled the air as a doorway appeared, opening into an entirely new wing of the building. Harkness walked through the opening and Jill entered a few seconds later. The Special Assistant stopped to converse with one of the doctors, giving the confused therapist a chance to look around.

This section was buzzing with activity and personnel, much more like what she’d expected upon first entering the lower level. It seemed to be a fully functioning hospital with various doctors, nurses and orderlies all going about their assigned duties. Jill looked over the shoulder of one of the nurses and saw a progress report on a patient named James McElroy. It was stamped Priority One and at the top of the report was the classification Section 8. She looked around, noticing that designation stenciled on all the walls and equipment too.

“That’s weird.” she said out loud, confident that no one could hear her. “Isn’t that what Klinger on M.A.S.H. was always bucking for? A section 8? A psychiatric discharge.”

She noticed Harkness walking away and fell in behind him again, wondering how much stranger all this was going to get. The Special Assistant entered the third door on the right, closing it before Jill could get there. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and walked right through it. When she opened her eyes, she was in a large conference room. Harkness took his seat to the left of General DeVane while seven men and women she didn’t recognize filled the other chairs surrounding a large, rectangular, black table. She moved into the corner behind Harkness, eager to find out anything that would help her understand what was going on.

“Progress report,” DeVane said curtly.

“Agent Meadows’ procedure was interrupted by Dr. Musik, just as we planned,” Harkness said dryly. “She was led right to the procedure room by the fake blueprints uploaded to her computer. We could easily have altered her memory of the incident with Agent Meadows after his reprogramming was complete. However, she suffered an accident when she was pushed into the neuro-encephalyzer by an overzealous Sec-1 agent. Unfortunately, she is now in a comatose state.” Harkness hesitated for a moment before adding, “The machine is down for at least a few days, maybe longer. The techs weren’t able to give me a more accurate timeline. Meadows is in solitary until it can be repaired.”

“Well, isn’t that just a clusterfuck of epic proportions?” DeVane barked. “This complicates matters. A situation like this is exactly the reason I’ve been telling the appropriations committee we need additional funding to replicate the damn machine. Idiots.” The General turned to look Harkness in the eyes, “We’ll discuss Musik later, just the two of us.” Jill could swear she saw Harkness wince a little. Ha, so that bastard does have feelings. “Let’s get back to business shall we? Who’s up next?”

“That would be me, sir,” a rigid-looking man sitting in the third chair to the General’s right said. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

“Get on with it, Kingman! I want to finish this meeting sometime today!” DeVane said.

“Yes, sir,” the man said. “Per your instructions, we placed a mole inside Gionta-Rictor Pharmaceutical two weeks ago and it’s already paying dividends.” He paused again, beaming with pride. When he didn’t get the accolades he’d hoped for, Kingman continued, “Their board of directors have been up to no good. Everything from sexual harassment to illegal dumping to industrial espionage. We definitely have enough intel to persuade the CEO to play ball.”

“Good, good,” DeVane said as he ran his left hand through his short, cropped hair. “That will be useful in the days to come. What about Constantine?”

“I have that right here, sir,” an African-American woman in a light grey pant suit said. “Joshua Constantine has recently moved his base of operations to New York City. The move was quite sudden and came after a fire demolished his home on Puget Sound.”

“Will he be a problem for us, DuBois?” DeVane asked.

“No, sir,” the woman answered. “He seems utterly obsessed with something new these days. He signed off on all the contracts with no negotiation or counter offers. He is now our biggest tech supplier. The first shipment of his new Zappers should be here by the end of the month.”

“Hmmm. It’s not like Constantine to roll over that easily,” DeVane said. “Something big must have his attention. Find out what it is.”

“Yes, sir,” DuBois replied, scribbling notes in a yellow legal pad. “I also have a report on the other New York issue: Lucifer Luongo.”

“What problems is that bastard causing now?” the Director asked with a sneer.

“Shockingly, none at the moment, sir,” DuBois answered. “Much like Constantine, he is focusing all his attention on something else.”

“Do we know what?” DeVane barked.

“Yes, sir,” The woman answered. “There is a gun for hire named Hardline in NYC making life very difficult for the Manelli family in general and Mr. Luongo in particular. I believe the crime boss will be sufficiently distracted until that situation is resolved.”

“Excellent,” DeVane said with a grin. “Send a squad there to watch the situation. Maybe even discretely help out this Hardline. The longer Luongo is focused elsewhere, the better it is for us.”

“I will handpick a squad for your approval by the morning, General,” Harkness said.

Jill listened to all this with shock and sadness. She’d thought something was wrong at the agency but she never dreamed of something like this. The NDSA had its fingers in every conceivable, illicit pie including espionage, organized crime, and the surveillance of private citizens. Her head was spinning from these astonishing revelations. It seemed like maybe she owed Colleen an apology.

“Anybody got anything else?” the General asked.

“No, sir,” each person said in unison.

“All right. Dismissed,” DeVane said. Everyone but Harkness stood and filed out of the room.

“About the good doctor, sir?” Harkness asked.

Suddenly, Jill felt a sharp pain in her left arm causing her to cry out. The two men kept talking but she could no longer hear them, their voices fading more each passing second. All she could hear was a rhythmic pounding in her ears. Forgetting about DeVane and Harkness she walked through the wall, her ghostly hands holding her intangible head. Just as she made it through the wall, the doctor felt something pulling on her, urging her down the hallway. This unknown force took her all the way back to the room where her body was being kept. She rushed to the bedside to see what was happening. A nurse was taking blood from her left arm, a lot of blood. Each time the needle pierced her body’s skin, Jill felt it in her ghost form.

“So, apparently I can feel what happens to my body in this form.” Jill hypothesized, instantly realizing the ramifications of that statement. “Holy shit! That must mean if my body dies, I will too.”

Once the nurse left, Jill stood at her bedside staring at her own face. It looked odd since she was so accustomed to seeing it reversed in the mirror her whole life. Instinctively, she reached out to touch it. Just as her astral fingers reached her face, she felt a small shock through her hand. It felt just a little stronger than the static electricity she’d built up when she rubbed her feet on the carpet and touched David to annoy him when they were kids. What did it mean? Could she simply re-enter her corporeal form, merge back together just by trying?

Concentrating as hard as she could, Jill sat on the bed and swung her feet up, trying to match her body’s position exactly. The electrical charges increased as she matched up her feet, legs and hips. Jill took a deep breath before lying back, focusing all her mental energy on uniting her two forms, desperately trying to make it work. Just as her ghostly head hit the pillow, an alarm sounded as the machines monitoring her vital signs went haywire. Her heart rate spiked, her breathing became erratic and her body started to convulse. Jill jumped off the bed and the moment she left her body, all her vital signs immediately returned to normal. The hospital staff rushed in with a crash cart, ready to resuscitate their patient, but by the time they approached the bed everything was completely fine. After a quick examination, they chalked it up to a technical malfunction but Jill knew better.

There was a very good chance she would never be able to get back into her body and an even better chance that if she tried again, it would kill her. Jill Musik sat in the corner of the room, watching her own comatose body all night long. The deep breaths of her body’s lungs creating a soothing cadence while she endeavored to understand what was happening to her, reconcile what she’d learned about the NDSA and tried to figure out what she could do about either. How long could her consciousness exist outside of her body? Which would deteriorate faster, her body or her ghost form? What is DeVane and Harkness’s endgame? How much does The Power Elite know about the NDSA’s shady dealings?

With no answers forthcoming, and apparently not needing to sleep, she spent most of the night lost in her own thoughts. She tried to remember when life was good, when she was happy, but those days seemed so long ago now. She thought of the simple joys of life, a good glass of merlot, the first taste of lamb vindaloo or the hug of her best friend. Would she ever experience any of them again? Would she ever know the sensation of another person’s touch? Jill cursed the heavens for this cruel fate, trying not to lose all hope. She didn’t want to give in to despair, to depression, but the truth was she felt lost and alone, like a fading memory in her own mind.

Jill stayed there watching over her body for the entire next day, watching the various scientists, doctors and technicians attempting to repair the machine the government used to fuck with people’s minds. Try as she might, she couldn’t make heads or tails of how that damned machine worked. Except for the nurse assigned to monitor Jill’s progress, no one seemed to even notice her comatose form was in the room. That night she paced back and forth in front of her own body, trying to work out a solution to this dilemma, struggling to maintain focus. She refused to give in to hopelessness, believing she could find a way out of this.

When the technicians came into work around 8 a.m. the next day, Jill left the room. She spent the majority of that morning trailing various members of the hospital staff around the facility. It was more out of boredom than fortitude that set her on this path but she kept telling herself to be strong and find answers to the questions that still plagued her. If she was indeed trapped in this ghost form, at least she could continue to gather as much information as possible. Just before noon she noticed a doctor with the same James McIlroy file from two days earlier standing at the central station. There is a continuity problem I didn’t notice before. His nametag read Dr. Carrasco.

“I’m off to therapy with Mr. McIlroy,” the doctor said with a smile.

“Don’t let The Director hear you call him that,” joked a nurse sitting behind the counter. “You’d be in big trouble, mister.”

“Yeah, Yeah. I’ve heard the Director’s directive so often I recite it in my sleep,” Carrasco said. “Maintain the integrity of the identity at all times, whether in their presence or not.”

“Learn it. Know it. Live it,” the nurse said in return.

“Yeah, if you call this living. Catch ya later, Carla.” Carrasco walked down the hallway with Jill close behind. She hadn’t yet seen a therapy session during her wanderings and was eager to observe this one. She knew from experience that every therapist has their own style, their own way of helping a patient face their issues. Jill always found it fascinating to sit in on another doctor’s session. When she walked into the therapy room after Dr. Carrasco, she realized this one might be slightly more intriguing than most. The man standing at the window was instantly recognizable.

“How are you feeling today, Achilles?” Dr. Carrasco asked.

“Fine, I suppose,” Achilles replied, walking over to shake the therapist’s hand. “Should I lie down today?” Jill was standing right next to the hero, a big smile on her face, almost out of her mind with excitement.

“No, Achilles, that won’t be necessary. Let’s just sit and talk for a bit.” Carrasco responded, pointing to the two beige arm chairs near the center of the room. The doctor sat in the chair next to a small end table, keeping the file folder in his lap as the superhero took the other. “Achilles, I’d like to talk about your dreams again, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, sure,” the hero replied unconvincingly.

“Did you have one last night, Achilles?” the therapist asked. Jill wondered why Carrasco kept repeating the hero’s name with each question. It was a strange verbal affectation.

Achilles paused for a moment, swallowed hard and sucked in his lips. Jill knew from her studies that his body language was a telltale sign of uncertainty. She couldn’t imagine what the leader of The Power Elite could ever feel unsure about.

“It was the same one,” Achilles said quietly. “I was at the amusement park enjoying the rides with those people again.”

“The man, the woman and the little girl?” Dr. Carrasco asked.

“Yes. It’s always them with me,” he answered. “I seem to know them, I – I – I feel like I’m one of them but I can’t remember who they are.” Achilles fidgeted in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand before saying loudly, “They call me Jimmy, Doctor. Why do they keep calling me Jimmy?”

“Now, Achilles, we’ve been over this,” the therapist said sternly. “It’s perfectly normal for someone in your position, someone with your responsibilities to dream of a less complicated life. A life of fun, free of the pressures you face on a daily basis.” The doctor smiled broadly at the confused hero. “And what represents fun more than an amusement park, Achilles?”

“I guess that makes sense,” the hero replied, still agitated. “It just seems so real, like a memory more than a dream.” He clenched his jaw and sighed heavily. “I want it to be real, Doc! I need it to be!” The fear and panic on his face almost broke Jill’s heart.

Dr. Carrasco stood and placed the file folder on the end table. “Monkeyshine,” he said calmly. Instantly, Achilles fell into a deep trance-like sleep. The doctor paced in front of the hero. He removed a recorder from his coat pocket and placed it next to Achilles’ head on the hero’s shoulder.

Jill walked over to the end table. The file was opened to the patient history page. It read James McIlroy, born July 17, 1989, in Sandusky, Ohio. Parents: Phillip and Helen, deceased. Sister: Jennifer, institutionalized 2010/diagnosed with schizophrenia. James diagnosed with schizophrenia/delusional disorder in May 2012. Exhibits highly developed organization and strategical skills. Highly susceptible to suggestion. Joined Section 8, November 2013.

“My God!” Jill said out loud. “He’s not who they say he is. He’s...”

“You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal. You are Achilles, the legendary Greek warrior. You fought in the Trojan War. You are the son of King Peleus and the sea nymph, Thetis. You are invulnerable and immortal.” The recorder played that mantra over and over as Dr. Carrasco sat back down and picked up the file folder once more.

He turned to the page marked progress report and began to write. Jill read his notes over his shoulder. “Subject continues to require identity reinforcement. His reversions becoming more frequent. Since his abilities make him immune to the machine, unlike the other team members, I suggest post hypnotic suggestion daily instead of weekly. Should this fail, suggest termination of subject’s involvement with The Power Elite program.” Jill took a swing at Dr. Carrasco from behind. Her hand went right through his head instead of slapping him, giving her absolutely no satisfaction.

Unable to take any more, she left the room feeling despondent and disheartened. She wandered aimlessly, watching the men and women going about their appointed duties. She wondered how these people could be a part of this? How could a medical professional treat a person in need like this? How could anyone be a party to this kind of twisted game? Every new piece of information she learned about the NDSA was worse than the one before. The job she hoped would be a fresh start and a chance to move forward in her life was now a nightmare of epic proportions. She felt sick inside, helpless and disconsolate as she stopped and sat alone in the hallway.

To see this kind of horror perpetrated on innocent people just so the government could exploit their superhuman abilities was wrong on so many levels. It flew in the face of everything Jill had dedicated her life to doing. She’d spent most of her adult life trying to help others, to ease the burden of suffering for veterans and their families. Now she was a part of an agency that actively caused that suffering. She wanted nothing more than to bring this house of cards down around DeVane and Harkness’s heads, to drag them both out into the light of day and show the world exactly what kind of human garbage they were. Sitting there alone, more apparition than human, Jill Musik vowed to do whatever it took to stop this travesty.

The more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. She stood and marched with a purpose through the lower level. She entered General DeVane’s office through the North wall. The Director was seated behind his large, oak desk talking on the phone while Harkness and Deputy Director Allen sat quietly in matching chairs waiting for him to finish. Jill walked up to the desk and screamed, “Fuck you, DeVane! Fuck all of you!” Of course, no one heard her but she felt a little better. She walked behind Harkness and used his head like a boxer uses a heavy bag, repeatedly punching him even though her ghost hands went right through his skull. “You smug, self-important sack of shit! You’re the worst of all, you motherless douche!” she shouted.

“Yes, make sure it gets done. No mistakes,” the General said before hanging up the phone, causing Harkness and Allen to sit a little more upright in their respective chairs. Jill stopped punching and turned to leave.

“Is everything set?” Harkness asked. Jill stopped in her tracks.

“Yes. By this time on Friday, The Washington Times building will be nothing but a bittersweet memory,” DeVane replied coldly.

“No!” Jill screamed.

“Maybe then that Crenshaw bitch will finally stop calling me,” Deputy Director Allen said with a guffaw. “It’s been non-stop the past two days.”

“Of course it has, her best friend hasn’t been home or returned her calls for almost three days now. It appears both Ms. Crenshaw and Dr. Musik share a similar...single-mindedness, for lack of a better word. Which is why this is the best solution to all our problems,” Harkness said. “Once word gets out that the international terrorist C-4 has taken over the building, panic will spread through this city like a virus. The Power Elite will be sent to thwart the dastardly villain’s evil plan. Once they fail to save the building and all those innocent people, Congress will have no choice but to pass the measure currently on the Senate floor expanding the NDSA’s powers.”

“And give us all the funding we request for the foreseeable future,” Allen added.

“Yes. Even more importantly we can rectify this Musik situation without any danger of it leading back to the NDSA,” DeVane said.

“Once we place the good doctor’s body in the lower stairwell just before the explosion, it will simply look like she was there to visit her best friend. There will be nothing linking her death with this agency.”

“You bastards!” Jill raged.

“I have to admit, Harkness, you were right when you suggested we offer Musik the position here,” the Deputy Director said. “The bugs we planted in her office, car and apartment certainly helped us find out what the Times knew about the NDSA and The Elite. Now we can take the necessary steps to rectify the situation.”

“Yes, the Meadows situation complicated matters, but it all worked out neatly in the end,” Harkness said looking at his watch. He turned his head with that gruesome smile plastered on his ugly face. Jill could swear he was looking right at her. “In fact, the asset should be taking care of Musik even as we speak.”

“Oh my-” Jill said. She turned and ran through the wall. As she ran through the corridors as fast as she could, Harkness’s words filled her with an all-consuming fear. They’re going to kill me, she thought. Somebody is in that room about to kill me right now!

When she got to the room she saw a lone figure standing at the bedside, his back to her. She phased through the door and approached the bed cautiously, fear gripping her heart, afraid of what she might see. Suddenly, she put her hands up to her throat, unable to catch her breath. She staggered to the bed, eyes wide with terror as she saw the plastic bag around her own head, the front sucked into her mouth as her lungs fruitlessly tried to draw air. The man was dressed in black from head to toe, including a full face mask, gloves and a bizarre set of goggles. They looked like an updated version of the goggles from a World War I flying ace. The killer calmly wrapped the bag around Jill’s comatose body, her astral form getting weaker by the moment.

“No, I won’t let it end like this!” Jill screamed, her fury greater than ever before. “I won’t! Do you hear me? Stop it!” She threw herself at the assassin, her hands reaching for him. She hoped for a miracle. The instant she touched him, both Jill and her assailant were transported elsewhere, to some kind of jungle. Both of them were disoriented by the sudden change in location, each looking around hesitantly.

“You!” the assassin yelled. “What did you do?”

“You can see me?” Jill asked.

“Of course I can see-” the killer stopped in mid-sentence, looking around nervously. “Wait, I know this place. It can’t be. I can’t be here. It’s impossible.”

He turned around quickly and saw her: The Sandinista rebel from 1990 walking into the clearing. “How?” he said softly. Suddenly the rebel was attacked by a man, then thrown to the ground violently. The man, whose features were hidden in shadow, beat her into submission before ripping her clothes off. He climbed on top of her, his intentions clear. Suddenly, his face became visible and Jill’s assassin screamed, ripping off his own facemask as he fell to his knees. It was him raping the rebel, him beating her and him finally slitting her throat in that jungle clearing. The assassin writhed in agony, feeling every iota of pain he inflicted on the woman.

“What is going on?” Jill yelled.

The assassin said morosely, “She was my first. My first kill.” He looked up at Jill, his face full of pain. “I never knew how she felt, the pain of it. All I knew was...I liked it. I liked killing and once my superiors found out...well, the government can always use men like me.”

“Who are you?” Jill asked.

“They call me The Poltergeist,” the killer said, his face twisted in emotional turmoil. “They think it’s appropriate because no one ever sees me, but wherever I go, bad things happen.” He gave a weak smile before another wave of pain shot through his body causing him to clutch his chest.

The landscape changed again in an instant. Jill knew intuitively it was the Afghanistan desert. The Poltergeist was there, massacring a small village with the ease most people swat houseflies. He killed haphazardly, enemies and innocents alike, and he reveled in it. With each kill from the past, the killer now experienced all the death and pain he had inflicted on his victims. He shrieked out in anguish, his body convulsing in torment, as his counterpart murdered each Afghani.

Then it came faster, the landscape shifting each second. Hundreds of images: every casualty he was responsible for, every injury he had ever inflicted and every person he ever murdered was reflected back on him a thousand fold. The killer’s body shook uncontrollably, writhing in agonizing misery. His eyes rolled back into his skull as he gouged his head, desperately trying to claw out the memories.

He let out one last ear-shattering howl before collapsing at Jill’s feet. She looked down at him with more pity than hatred.

When she looked up again, they were back in the NDSA room with her body. Somehow she knew that the bizarre trip through The Poltergeist’s psyche only took a few seconds. The first thing Jill noticed was the alarms blaring once again. Her attempted killer lay in a heap on the ground, drenched in sweat, eyes vacant and jaw slacked, with drool running down his face. Dr. Musik turned to see if her body was still alive, trying to remove the plastic bag with her intangible hands. That’s when she noticed something different about her hands and arms, a feeling of warmth running through them. They seemed to be glowing with energy. Her whole body was awash with the same yellow and blue energy from the accident.

She heard multiple footsteps in the hall and began to panic, knowing what would happen when the others arrived. She looked once more at her comatose body, feeling a sudden calm overtake her. She felt at peace as it came to her in a revelation. Jill knew exactly what she had to do. She dove into her body just as General DeVane, Harkness and Sandra Allen entered the room with a half dozen armed guards. All of them stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Jill Musik standing in front of her bed, her body aglow with a blinding, white light.

“Who are you, mortals?” Jill bellowed, her corporeal form still pulsating with residual energy. She stood proud and confident. Her eyes were pools of fire, her face full of rage at the intruders.

“Dr. Musik?” DeVane said.

“Jill Musik is no more.” she replied, energy crackling around her hands. “I am something else, something above. I am the living embodiment of the very fabric of existence, the accumulated consciousness of humanity itself. Now and forever, I am the all- knowing essence of the universe.”

“Bullshit!” Harkness said as he walked toward her with malice in his eyes.

“You dare, little man,” Jill said. She moved to him in the blink of an eye and touched his face with both hands.

“Wha? Nooouuunnngh,” Harkness mumbled as he dropped to a kneeling position, his arms limp at his sides.

The Special Assistant suddenly felt warm sunlight on his face with the scent of an ocean breeze blowing over him. He saw the pristine sand from the porch of a rental beach house. He looked up into the face of his mother and instantly realized he was once again 6 years old. She was rocking him to sleep in a large wicker chair during the summer of 1966. This had always been the happiest memory of his life. He smiled broadly just before Jill broke contact. He looked up at her serenely, all at once missing the sensation of that memory.

“Do you need any more proof, mortal?” Jill said.

Harkness began to weep uncontrollably.

* * * * *

Colleen Crenshaw looked at the digital clock on her dashboard for the twentieth time in the last 5 minutes. She was sitting in her Hyundai Sonata in a parking garage on Connecticut Avenue just a mile or so from the Chevy Chase Pavilion. She’d backed into the parking spot designated B-3 just as instructed. It was 7:43 p.m. exactly. The meeting wasn’t until 8 o’clock, but she’d arrived early to scope out the place. Now, the waiting was driving her crazy. Maybe she was crazy for showing up at all but when she received the package in the mail this morning, she didn’t have much choice. It instructed her to be in this place at 8 p.m. if she wanted to know what happened to Jill Musik. The mystery person said to come alone and to tell no one. She complied out of fear mixed with curiosity. Her best friend had been missing for four days, and come hell or high water, Colleen was going to find out where she was.

At 8 o’clock exactly, an SUV with black, tinted windows pulled into the garage, taking a parking spot diagonally to her left. After a few moments, it flashed the headlights. Unsure of what to do, Colleen flashed hers back. A lone figure got out of the car and looked around nervously before slowly walking over to her. She opened the door, her right hand tightly gripping a can of mace before warily getting out. This was it, the point of no return.

When the other person was about 10 feet away, Colleen said, “Hold it right there, buddy. I have mace and 911 already dialed. All I have to do is press send.”

The man put his hands out in front of himself to show he wasn’t armed before saying, “It’s alright, Miss Crenshaw. I’m not here to hurt you. Dr. Musik sent me. My name is Gene Brontkowski.”

“Where is she?” Colleen said frantically. “I’ve been trying to get anyone at the damn NDSA to tell me something but they’re not talking. What happened?”

“Let’s talk in your car, Miss Crenshaw,” Gene said, still looking around. “I don’t like being out in the open like this.”

Once inside the car, Gene said, “Tomorrow, they will be introducing Jill as the newest member of The Power Elite.”

“What?” the reporter asked. “How is that possible? She isn’t a superhero!”

“Well, she is now,” Gene said before adding quickly, “Let me explain. There was an accident but she’s okay. Physically anyway.”

“What does that mean?” Crenshaw said.

“She has gained the ability to touch people’s minds, to make them relive their fondest memory or worst nightmares, to make them feel the pain they’ve caused others,” Gene explained. “It’s really amazing. They’re calling her Epiphany now.”

“Are you fucking with me?” Colleen said incredulously.

“No,” Gene said earnestly. “Why do people keep asking me that?” He pursed his lips and took another look around the garage. “Look, Jill is telling everyone that she is the living embodiment of the human consciousness or some such nonsense, but it’s all a ruse.”

“Then why-?” Colleen started to say.

“She needs our help to do what she wants, to take down the NDSA and help the members of The Power Elite.” Gene said. He reached into his pocket before adding, “Look, Miss Crenshaw, Jill wanted me to tell you that you were right. She’s sorry for doubting you and she wanted me to give you this.” He produced a USB flash drive and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” Colleen asked.

“It has some documents from Jill explaining what happened to her and what she plans to do,” Gene explained. “You have to believe I tried to talk her out of it but she won’t listen. She is going to infiltrate The Power Elite to help them get out from under the thumb of the NDSA.”

Colleen eyed the flash drive suspiciously for a long time. “Why you?” she finally said. “Why are you helping her?”

“I want to help her. I’d do anything to make sure she is safe,” he said, looking away, but it was too late. Colleen could see how much he cared for Jill. Gene looked down at his stomach and grimaced before adding, “I feel like it’s my fault this happened to her. She asked for my help investigating what happened to one of her patients and I should have said no. I didn’t and now she’s stubbornly putting herself in a very dangerous position.”

“Dangerous how?” Crenshaw said, her voice rising.

“Check the drive. It will explain things better than I can,” Gene said.

“All right,” Colleen said with a sigh. “Can you get a message to her for me?”

“She has to maintain her Epiphany identity at all times so it’s difficult for her to communicate with me much. It’s better if we only talk when absolutely necessary,” Gene said. “I’m sorry, Miss Crenshaw.”

“Did she at least tell you why she’s doing this?” the reporter asked.

“I know she feels like she has to try,” Gene said. “She needs to help the members of The Elite. Like I said, I couldn’t talk her out of it. She seems driven beyond reason.”

“That’s my Jillie Jill.” Colleen said with a smile. “Ok, Mr. Brontkowski, how do we proceed from here?”

“Above all else, be careful,” he replied. “With Jill in harm’s way, we can’t expose the NDSA until the case is ironclad and right now we have no evidence of any wrong-doing. Jill hopes to get the proof you need to bring down the agency, but it may take some time. For now, go over the info on that drive and I’ll be in touch soon.”

Gene went to get out of the car when Colleen grabbed his arm, “Hey, Gene. Take care of my girl, will ya?”

“I will, Miss Crenshaw,” Gene said with a smile. “I promise I’ll take care of her.”

Gene Brontkowski waved to Colleen Crenshaw as she pulled out of the spot, watching her car move up the ramp to the street. He walked over to his car, unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I trust everything went as planned,” Harkness said from the back seat.

“Of course,” Gene said, his voice suddenly cold and hard. “Musik has no idea I switched out the flash drives and that Crenshaw woman will believe any drivel I offer her.”

“Excellent,” Harkness said. “I plan to pay back Dr. Musik for the indignity I suffered at her hands. You will make sure of it, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Gene said, starting the car.

“Good man, Agent Eidolon,” Harkness said smiling. “Good man indeed.”

 

 

 

THE END