Authors: William Hutchison
"Is that all the information you have, that his name is Burt?"
Johnson paused. He was biting his tongue when he answered. "No!" he said curtly. God he hated having to do favors for his boss, especially for such an arrogant asshole.
Pat waited for him to continue but all he heard was silence. Apparently he was going to have to ask again. "Well, what else do you know?" he demanded.
"His billing address came back as San Louis Obispo. But that's all we know okay?"
Pat beamed. The man on the flight had to be the one who had pummeled him earlier. It had to be Burt. It was too much of a coincidence that another Burt
Grayson who lived in San Louis Obispo would be traveling from Washington to the West coast that night.
Pat forgot his previous anger and got Johnson to give him the flight arrival time. After that, he asked him to run a check on the rental cars in the local LA airport area and to cross check any reservations against Burt's credit card. The whole process took less than three minutes, but turned up nothing.
Pat had hoped he could get details on Burt's ultimate destination by getting his rental car contract. With that he could find out where Burt was, which would give him a place to start the manhunt, and if he planned to drop it off elsewhere, where that place was which would make tracking him that much easier.
But his luck wasn't that good and the computer search turned up nothing. He would have to trust his instincts now. And his instincts told him that Burt would be going to Cal Poly, back in San Louis Obispo. But his instincts couldn't tell him how long he'd take to get there or if he would stay once he arrived.
Johnson, who had been holding on the line while Pat was thinking, got impatient.
"Is that all Mr. Huxley?"
"No!" Pat answered a little gruffly at first, but then thinking that he might need Johnson's help, he apologized. "Hold on a minute will you? I've got think this thing through. You can hold can't you?"
"Uh huh," he replied.
Pat looked up at the monitor and then down at his watch. He had to be in Las Vegas in less than twelve hours. Mentally, he calculated how long it would take him to travel across the country to Los Angeles, get a car and drive to Cal Poly and then fly from San Louis Obispo to Vegas with Burt in tow assuming he could convince him to go with him, which he doubted, but hoped for just the same.
The trip to LA would take a good five and a half hours; to San Louis, another four; from San Louis to Vegas at least two to three depending on airline connections; renting cars in LA and San Louis, another hour and a half. He'd never make it; not if he went to San Louis to get Burt. The only way he might have a chance would be to get the FBI field office in Los Angeles to take Grayson and have them transport him back to Vegas where he could meet them. It was a long shot, but it was his only hope. He hated to take Grayson by force, but he had to do what he had to do.
He spoke into the receiver. "Johnson?"
"Yes."
"Sorry about the delay."
"No problem."
Pat then asked him to contact the local FBI office in Los Angeles and
for him to get them to take Grayson back to Vegas for questioning. When he was through he asked if Johnson understood.
"Yeah, I got it! The FBI is to get this guy Grayson back to Vegas for you." His voice was ringing with excitement indicating a renewed interest in this assignment. He hoped Mr. Huxley would put in a good word for him with Walker. Johnson went over the plan in his mind, but something didn't ring true.
"How is the FBI gonna know what this Grayson looks like?" he asked.
Pat thought for a moment. He'd forgotten about that. What if Grayson wasn't in his room? What then? How would they recognize him if he were just in the local area?
Then it hit him: the video he had made of Burt back at the lab. That would do it!
Pat looked at his watch. Three minutes remained until he boarded. He spoke fast.
"Contact the NSF at 703-161-5555. Ask for Ms. Yates. Tell her who you are and that you're helping me. Have her get the video camera from the lab and have a hard copy made of the young man in the experiment."
Johnson didn't understand. "What experiment?"
"Never mind. She'll know what experiment. She'll fax you a picture of Grayson. You can fax it to the FBI. Do you think you can handle it?"
Pat stared at his watch and listened as they announced the final boarding call.
Johnson knew better than to say no. Walker would have his ass if he didn't help this guy. "Got it, Mr. Huxley," he spoke into the phone.
"Then get to it!" Pat said and hung up. He got to the gate just as they were about to close the door.
Burt sleepily opened his eyes and looked up at Debbie's face. He let his gaze pause there briefly before shifting his eyes down along a line from her neck all the down her naked torso. He then reached out and cupped her left breast in his hand and slowly ran his tongue across her nipple. It hardened to his touch. He smiled.
Debbie returned his smile, arched her back slightly and turned to offer him her other breast. She then caressed the back of his neck and moved his head toward her.
"How long did I sleep?" Burt asked before returning to her opposite breast.
"About an hour."
Burt looked up. "I must have been tired."
"Uh, uh," she said dreamily while looking out the window of her bedroom. The late afternoon light was soft as it filtered in through the
Levelors. Soon it would be gone and night would fall on sleepy Morrow Bay. What the new day would bring was anyone's guess. But that didn't matter to her at that particular moment. Holding Burt and being held made any thought about the new day fade.
They had driven straight from the airport and had talked nearly the entire way. When they took the turn off to Morrow Bay headed toward her parents' house who were down in San Diego visiting relatives she noticed Burt looked tired. She suggested he take a nap before going back to the dorm. She wanted to be with him just a little longer. He complied. Five minutes after they both got in her bed they were locked in a steamy embrace. He made love to her timidly at first and she responded in kind. As they rushed head long toward climax, though, all that changed. Their passions overtook them and they clung to each other savagely, each for their own reasons; he, out of fear; she, out of loneliness. After they were finished with each other, they both slept. Now she just wanted to enjoy him; and he, her.
Burt wanted that enjoyment to last too and he felt so peaceful with her it made him forget the previous two days when everything had gotten so crazy. Now in Debbie's arms, he felt secure and safe from the beast within himself. But the beast wouldn't sleep and nagged at his subconscious mind. He felt a twinge of power surge through him as he lay there, but it was only a twinge. With difficulty, he was able to hold off his personality change this time.
He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling as the dark festering feeling within him subsided and he returned to normal.
Debbie watched him as he lay there. She studied the torment on his face and knew something was troubling him. Only moments before he had seemed so loving. Now he was miles away. She wanted to speak, but was afraid. She stared at him for the longest time before gathering enough courage to ask.
She tapped him on the shoulder and hesitantly he turned to her.
"Why'd you pull away?" She asked tenuously hoping it wasn't anything she had done to make him withdraw.
Burt turned his head and stared directly at her. His eyes were hollow, tinged with fear. He answered. "I just don't know what's happening to me, Debbie. I feel as if something's inside me and wants to take control of me. It scares me."
As he admitted his troubles, he sniffled, fighting back the urge to cry. Pictures flashed in his mind. Pictures he didn't want to see, but couldn't stop. He saw Huxley's face slamming into the desk. In his mind he heard the snap of bone as Huxley's head cracked. Who was the man and why was he being hurt? The next scene was that of an older man dressed in what appeared to be a security uniform. He was lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Was he dead? Was he alive? What did he have to do with both of these two unfortunate souls, and why were their fates intertwined with his? The pictures were fragmented and distant though, like he was peering at them through the opposite end of a telescope. Nothing connected.
Then he remembered the report he had read in the lab and the fragments began to piece together. He knew he was the person who had caused their pain. He knew who they were. He knew he was responsible. He knew it was because he had linked.
Debbie had watched him while he had made his own personal journey through hell. All the while he was fighting to remember what had happened his eyes were squeezed shut. Now he opened them.
She moved toward him. She wanted to help him. "What scares you?" Her voice was a whisper.
He paused before answering. He wasn't sure he wanted her to know. But he had no one else to tell. He needed to talk. He began hesitantly.
"The changes. The changes scare me. I try, and sometimes I can control them, but they're coming more frequently now. I almost changed a couple of moments ago. That's why I rolled over." He stopped. He still wasn't sure he wanted to tell her everything. She might desert him, and then he would be forced to face himself alone; something he didn't want to do.
Debbie stared at him. She didn't understand what he was talking about. He hadn't acted any differently since he
go off the plane, and except for the bump on his head, he looked perfectly normal. She had to discover what was troubling him.
"What changes?" she asked.
He turned away.
Debbie decided to try humor to get him to lighten up. She lifted his arm in jest and held it while his wrist hung limply from his
forearm. "See, Burt, there's no hairy growth on your arm--no long fingernails."
He pulled his arm away and grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly. He wasn't angry. He just needed to hold on to her while he fought to maintain his sanity. She was his anchor post in reality and he didn't want to let go. When he felt the urge to change pass again, he spoke. "I didn't mean physical changes. I mean I feel I'm changing inside. Like there are two of me. It’s like I have a split personality."
Debbie thought about what he said. She hadn't noticed anything particularly wrong with Burt. He seemed the same. Maybe he was slightly distant since they started talking about him, but she just passed that off as being nervous from seeing her again after being away for so long. Lord knows she was a bundle of nerves when she first saw him, especially right before they made love, but that feeling had passed. It was then she flashed back to how Burt had acted on the beach; how he had viciously slapped her for no apparent reason. At that time, she thought it was because he was reacting to the stresses from school and from being in the hospital--nothing more serious than that. Now she wasn't so sure. She didn't know what to say, but she knew he needed her. That was obvious by the way he clung to her hand. She moved closer to him and pulled his face to hers and kissed him resolving to do anything she could to help him whether his anxiety was caused by real or imagined demons. When she finished and looked into his eyes to see if her comforting had meant anything to him. She was met with a frightened, vacant stare.
"What's wrong?"
Burt's eyes met hers. There was no love in those eyes; only fear. "I told you I'm frightened. I'm afraid I'm changing and I can't stop it."
Debbie still didn't understand what his preoccupation with schizophrenia was, so she decided to ask him directly. The indirect approach was getting her nowhere, but before she did, she got up hastily and dressed, quickly pulling on her jeans and sweater. She didn't want any further distractions.
Burt watched as she got out of bed, but instead of admiring her naked body like the other Burt would have done, he quickly turned his head away in embarrassment.