Hearts United (
Table of Contents )
part 9
by Pam Jernigan
It took longer than she'd expected, but soon enough, the strange man was entranced. Gwen always enjoyed this moment, the rush of power she felt at the thought of how many things she could do to people or make them do. She didn't often abuse this power, but the possibility was always there, tantalizing her.
She took one moment to pull out a tape recorder and turn it on; it was much more reliable than written notes. For the moment, though, she needed information. Usually she'd know quite a lot about a subject, but with this one... she'd just try to get the basics, and see if she could uncover any areas of interest.
"Kal, I need you to listen to me," she said, in a soothing voice. "What is your real name?"
He wet his lips, his eyes glazed. "Kal -- Kalel."
She hadn't heard that one before, unless she was misunderstanding Khalil. She double-checked that her tape recorder was on. "That's very good, Kal. Tell me, what's the earliest thing you remember? Just think back. Nothing here can harm you."
"I 'member the crater. Jed. Then the shelter."
"Was that this morning?"
"Yes..."
"How did you get into that crater?"
His features shifted unhappily. "I don't know..."
So much for the direct approach, but it was worth a try. "Okay, that's fine. You're doing fine." At her reassurance, his face lost its tension and smoothed back out. "You're perfectly safe here. I want you to think back, to a peaceful place. Maybe a garden, or a seashore..." she suggested. "Somewhere you felt relaxed and comfortable. I want you to feel that relaxed and comfortable again. Do you remember a garden?" She hated working blind.
His eyes moved beneath his eyelids. "Garden... terrace." He smiled. "Stars."
"Good, good. Think back to that terrace. Picture yourself there. Are you there?"
A nod.
"Keep that picture in your mind. No matter what we talk about, you're safe on that terrace. You're feeling very relaxed, aren't you?"
Another nod.
Now, what to ask... "You seem to be very strong. How are you so strong?"
"Don't know... just something that happened when I came here."
"When did you come here?"
"Couple of years ago. I left, but then came back." A beautiful smile crossed his face. "Shey-ana."
Gwen fought to keep her breathing even and her voice soothing. "When you say, 'here', what do you mean?"
"Metropolis. Planet."
"Do you mean you came from a different planet?" Or, she supposed, he could have been talking about the Daily Planet.
"Different world."
Still too vague. "How did you get here?"
"A ship dropped me off."
Almost holding her breath, she asked, "What kind of ship?"
"It was...." he began, before switching into a string of unrecognizable syllables, in a conversational tone.
"Kal, I need you to speak English. Can you do that?"
"Okay."
"Good. Remember, you're on your peaceful terrace, and we're just talking." Let's try this from a different angle. "Tell me about your childhood, Kal. Think back to when you were five. Remember being that child. Remember your mother. Tell me about her."
He frowned. "No mother. Never had one."
She raised an eyebrow and noted that down. "That's good, Kal. Good remembering. Did you have a father?"
His head rocked a little, side to side. "No father. Mahkrah."
"Mahkrah?" she repeated. "Could you spell that?"
The syllables he responded with sounded like no alphabet she'd ever heard. "Very good, thank you, Kal," she responded automatically. "Who was Mahkrah?"
"Zahra's father."
"Very good. And who was Zahra?"
"Friend... Playmate... Wife."
Both eyebrows went up this time, but she kept her voice even. "You had a wife when you were five?"
"Yes..."
Okay, that wasn't working. "Very good. Now remember being six, and eight, and twelve, and eighteen -- all the way up to becoming a grown up. Okay? You're now a grown man."
His face grew more serious. "Yes."
"What do you do, Kal? Are you in college?"
"No."
"Do you have a job?"
"I'm... in service -- training, learning."
This was good; a military man could be traced. "What are you learning?"
A frown passed over his face again. "Command. Flying."
"Flying?" As in the floating figure near that tidal wave? A small thrill went down her spine. "Were you flying airplanes?"
"No."
The tingle intensified. "Were you flying under your own power?"
"No... Ships."
That was disappointing. Strange, too. She wasn't up on her military terminology -- she could ask Trask, she supposed -- but she didn't think ships were usually flown. Perhaps Kal had sustained a harder knock to the head than she'd thought.
He stirred restlessly on the couch, and she recognized the signs of a resistant personality, trying to reassert itself. She glanced at her watch. That was quicker than she'd expected. Of course, she was mostly used to fake abductees, these days, and they were pathetically eager to surrender their wills for a time. With Kari, a session could last nearly an hour. This one, though...
He stirred again. Automatically, she said, "It's okay. You're safe." Should she try to keep going? She knew a few tricks to keep a person under her control. However, she decided she would be able to get more information from him next session, once she had time to formulate good questions.
She could also use some time, it occurred to her, to procure some cleaner clothes for him. If he were going to stay in her office for long he'd have to clean up.
"That's good, Kal. Now, I'm going to count backwards from ten, and when I reach one you'll be awake again, remembering everything we talked about. Okay? Ten... nine... eight..."
***
Lois closed her office door behind her and sank into her chair. Across the hall, she could hear Francine and Brenda bustling around to catch up on the work they'd missed this morning. They'd insisted they didn't mind helping her chase leads, but since there weren't any current leads to chase, she'd felt guilty monopolizing their time.
She could manage by herself. Tracing missing persons was her job, after all. She wished she had a picture of him, but he'd only been back for four days, and they'd been too busy to take snapshots. There might be photos of him floating around from back in his Metro Club days, but she had asked around before, to no avail. No, she'd focus on tracking Kal, not a picture. It might take a lot of legwork, but he was out there, somewhere. She would find him.
She glanced at her answering machine, but the message light wasn't lit. Leaning forward, she dialed her home number. The faint hope that Kal would answer faded with every ring, until her machine picked up. She entered the code to check for messages; it told her she had one waiting. With suddenly shaky fingers she pushed the button to play it, only to sag back when she recognized Big Louie's voice, reporting that he didn't yet know anything, but would keep his ear to the ground.
She hung up the phone and closed her eyes. The sense of Kal's presence was still there, though his normal cheery flame had subsided to mere sparks and sputterings. If she was interpreting it right, he was unhappy -- and confused. **Come home, Kal!** she said silently. It probably wouldn't work, she knew. Even if she had the capacity, she didn't know exactly how to project her thoughts. Still, it was worth a try. **I love you, I miss you, I'm looking for you... come home to me, Kal.**
****
Kal prowled the small office. Dr. Porter had gone out to get him some cleaner clothes, for which he would be grateful. These rags he was wearing were better than being naked, but not by much. He also welcomed the chance to think in private.
The hypnosis had worked, but not that well. He now had a handful of hazy memories that seemed to make no sense. He'd gained a sense of a very regimented and controlled upbringing, with an emphasis on strict adherence to duty. And he'd had some sort of important duty to do, from what he could tell. Had doing his duty landed him in that crater? Or... was he running away from his responsibilities?
There was *something* nagging at him. Something he had to do, somewhere he had to be. He just couldn't pin it down amongst the general fog of his memory. He sat on the couch, leaning back with his eyes closed. There was something...
Trying to search his memory, he became aware of a strange sensation. It wasn't physical, and if he didn't know better, he'd say it didn't originate with him. It was a self-contained sub-section of his mind, emanating emotion. For some reason, it seemed very important to him.
It fascinated him. He could almost see it... a standing wall of dark-colored, churning water. It didn't feel happy, though he didn't know why he'd think that. It made him unhappy, too. As if something important was missing.
Maybe he really was cracking up.
He wished Dr. Porter would hurry back. Another session or two might bring him fully back to himself. She said she'd cancelled her other appointments for the day, which was convenient, but it made him wonder what she expected to get out of this. He had the vague idea that doctors needed to be paid, and he certainly hadn't any money. She didn't strike him as the type of person to put herself to a lot of trouble for no reward.
He wondered what sort of reward she might be looking for.
****
"You haven't?" Lois sighed. "Will you keep an eye out, and call me if one does come in? Thanks."
She hung up and checked "Spirit of Mercy" off her list. She'd had hopes for that one -- it wasn't one of the city's major hospitals but it was located near the West River district. Besides a hospital, where would an amnesiac man turn up?
Methodically, she worked the rest of her way through her list of hospitals, clinics, and police precincts, but no one would admit to having seen a dark-haired male who seemed not to know who he was.
It reminded her forcefully of calling the pound to search for a lost pet. No, he can't tell you where he belongs. No, he's not wearing a collar. She snorted at her flight of fancy. Next, she'd be tacking posters to telephone poles.
Although that might not be a bad idea. She jotted a note.
Before she resorted to that, though, she ought to start calling private psychiatric offices. Metropolis wasn't that big; it couldn't have more than a thousand or so.
****
Gwen walked back to her office, suppressing the urge to call Trask. She hadn't nearly enough information yet -- what she did have was tantalizing, but not conclusive. She didn't want to present a case that would fall apart upon closer inspection. If she was right, though, it would be a tremendous coup. Not that she expected to impress Trask to any visible degree -- she wasn't sure that was possible -- but this could be momentous news, and she intended to make sure all the right people knew of her involvement. Perhaps finally she would garner the respect that she deserved.
The trip to the Goodwill store was more complicated than she'd expected. She was confident enough about the two shirts she'd bought -- her patient might wear a medium, but to be on the safe side, she bought size large. The pants had been perplexing. Men's clothing sizes were nothing like the ones she was familiar with; how was she to know what "34 x 30" meant? The clerk had helped, though, and she was hopeful that the pants would fit.
If she had to go back out, she was bringing him with her, to try things on. Although that presented several dangers in itself; what if someone recognized him? Her working theory was that he'd come from another planet, but he was familiar with human customs and spoke English fluently, so he may well have been here for awhile.
Would others of his kind be looking for him? Most of the data she'd gathered in the past few years suggested that the aliens were lone-wolf low-profile agents. But then, the initial clues about her patient deviated from that profile in significant ways.
She checked that train of thought as she reached her office again. Carefully, she affixed her professional smile. So far, he'd been co-operative; she wanted that to continue. She mounted the stairs to her office.
****
Francine found a place along the street to park, and carefully backed her old Ford into it. The police precinct was open for business, with a steady trickle of people going in and out. She took a deep breath, marshalling her courage. This was a perfectly legitimate inquiry. The fact that she was going to see a man she might be interested in was neither here nor there. She exited the car, double-checking to make sure it was locked, and then walked towards the front entrance.
In the glass of the front door she glimpsed her reflection, which prompted her to take a minute to smooth her hair and adjust her dress. Okay, so she was a little nervous to see him. Popping a breath mint, she entered the station. The desk sergeant wasn't familiar to her, she was glad to see. In her career around the fringes of the underworld, she'd only ever seemed to encounter the corrupt and the callous members of the force. With one notable exception. "My name's Francine Hess," she told the sergeant. "I need to talk to Inspector Henderson."
A few moments later, she was directed to an office. Bill was as lean and dour as ever, but the look he gave her was almost friendly. "Francine. It's been a while."
"Did you miss me?" she asked, settling herself into the chair facing his desk, subtly showing off her legs.
"Well," he drawled, giving her a once-over, "you're better-looking than most of the crooks around here."
"Be nice," she shot back. "Those are your colleagues you're talking about."
His lip twitched. "Them, too. What can I do for you?"
A number of interesting suggestions came to mind, but all she said was, "I need a favor."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. There's a guy who's gone missing."
He raised an eyebrow. "Boyfriend?"
"Not mine. He's engaged to my friend Lois." He looked skeptical. "I have friends, you know."
Bill shrugged. "Good for you."
"His name is Kal," she said, dragging the conversation back on track. "He left yesterday afternoon and was supposed to be back last night."
"Last night?"
"Yeah, I know," she said. "It's too soon to make this official, I know that. And I know a lot of guys who disappear are doing it on purpose, but not Kal. He's crazy in love with Lois. We've been asking around -- he was seen in West River this morning, but we think he must have lost his memory."
He leaned forward, grabbing a pen. "Why do you think so?"
"It's a long story," she said. "And I really can't explain it." She wouldn't get past the part where he flew off into space to smash an asteroid before Bill would think she'd lost it. She knew she was asking a lot, but she didn't figure she had a choice. "Just... trust me."
Bill studied her for a long moment, and she did her best to match his impassive expression. With most people, staying detached was as easy as breathing, but this man tended to get to her. Then he nodded. "Okay. Give me a description; I'll do some asking around."
She couldn't help smiling, though she tried to keep it small. "He's six foot, Caucasian male with just a little bit of Asian mixed in. Mid-twenties, medium build." After all the phone calls of this afternoon, she had this down to a science. "Brown hair, brown eyes. Lois thinks he's gorgeous," she added in, to see if she could get a reaction. "And she's not far wrong."
Bill glanced up from where he was scribbling notes. "Careful," he said mildly. "You'll make me jealous."
As if. Though it would be kinda nice. "Ah, you're okay, too. He's a little too young for me, anyway; not that it matters, 'cause he's utterly hung up on Lois. They've been through a lot."
"Okay. Where can I reach you?"
She fished out a business card. "Here's the office number, and this," she paused, writing on the back of it, "is my home phone." She congratulated herself on sharing that without making it seem personal.
He accepted the card. "Running your own theater?"
"We're trying. Opening night's in a couple of weeks." Trying to sound casual, she added, "If you want, I'll give you tickets."
"Thanks, but I'm more of a football fan."
"Really? I used to be." Why had she stopped, anyway? Oh, right. Her ex-husband had hated the sport, probably because he was hopeless at it. Loser. "I haven't been to a game in years, though."
"Well," he said casually, looking down at his desk, "maybe sometime I'll give you tickets."
She didn't quite know how to take that -- meaningless comment or exceptionally obscure date invitation? With Bill, it could be either. "You've got my number," she replied, in what she hoped was a convincingly unconcerned tone. Though it couldn't hurt to give him some encouragement. "I'd love to see a game again."
"I'll be in touch, then," he said, standing. She rose, too, and he escorted her back out to the front of the station. "Take care of yourself, Francine."
She smiled, just a little. "You too, Bill."
tbc
