Confronting Drake

I have just returned home from a 24 hour plus workday. Doesn’t feel nearly as tiring as it would have been before...but this is not new to most of you. I have just finished ‘flushing and gushing’ a new supply of calories...Dr. Pepper tonight.

The meeting took place as planned, Thursday afternoon. I reported to the conference room where Drake likes to hold his meetings.

As I entered the building and made my way back to the conference room, I noticed that people were on edge. Betty barely wanted to glance my way, just buzzing me back through without so much as a hello. In the hallways, there was none of the usual traffick of agents and support personnel hustling back and forth as might happen on a ‘normal’ day at this time. I took the way back that avoided the entrance to the NecroLab. I figured those guys would want to see me even less than Betty would.

Back at the door to the conference room, the door clicked open as I approached, perfectly timed with my arrival.

Drake was in his normal position at the far end of the expansive table. He seemed small, yet still dangerous in his large, leather chair. My place had apparently been chosen ahead of time as a chair just to his left was pulled out, with a pad of paper and a pen sitting atop of it waiting for me.

Instead, I pulled out the similarly large chair at the other end of the conference table, about 15 feet away from Drake, and sat down, defiant.

We sat silently gauging each other, neither one of us rushing to break the silence, engaging in a little brinksmanship.

Finally, he smiled that bloodless, tight smile of his. “I see. So the Student wishes to break from the Master.”

“I don’t know what you are referring to, but I am not going to be treated like a possession any more. I am not some damn circus animal performing tricks for you or anyone else.”

“You are unique, Agent Bones. No one knows exactly what you are capable of, and because of that, we are curious. We need to know if there are improvements we can make for...”

“For those who follow behind me...yeah, I know. I’ve heard the company line too many times to count.”

He waited, silent, for me to continue with the unspoken questions.

“Dammit, I want to know what happened to Greg.”

“He was killed in the line of duty...”

Impatient, I brought my hand down on the table with an audible smack, silencing him. “Goddamit, I know he was killed on duty. I read the reports and talked to his department. I know the gloss you want others to believe, you fucking leach, but I KNOW you had something to do with his death, with my death, and with Brian’s death too. You are going to come straight with me or so help me...”

“Agent Bones, it will not be good for your career, or for anyone here for you to be threatening me, or to be engaging in baseless speculation. I can assure you that I have had nothing to do with the deaths of you or anyone else who has participated in this program.”

“I don’t believe you. I may not be able to prove it yet, but I am not going to stop searching for the clues that you or your henchman have left behind.”

He sneered at me. “You may be a fine investigator, Agent Bones, but you will not find what does not exist. You and your fellow team members were all chosen because you were fine officers. But you were also chosen because you worked in a very dangerous field. It is very unfortunate that now four out of the first six we have chosen have passed away so soon and in such tragic circumstances. But I assure you, neither I nor any of my associates and partners have had anything to do with your deaths.

“As a matter of fact,” he continued, “we were not fully prepared to handle the passing of so many of you within such a short period of time. That is one of the reasons that you were the first one to be brought back successfully. Now don’t get me wrong, we did our best to make each transition successful, but it just wasn’t possible before you.

“Indeed, if I had my druthers, I would not be going to Officer Tasker’s funeral on Saturday. We will make every effort to fulfill our obligation to bring Officer Tasker back and give him the same support in this process that you have received. But it will be challenging, we will be straining all of our resources to accomplish that task and to keep working with you.”

I glared at him, not allowing myself to believe his fake sympathy. “You knew that Greg was going to quit the program didn’t you?”

His expression didn’t change. Either he knew, or he had the best damnpoker face besides, well...me.

“How could I know what his intentions were Agent Bones? He has never communicated a desire to quit to me or anyone on my staff.”

“Not yet. He told me on Saturday that he was gonna quit and try to save his marriage.”

“Unfortunately, he never expressed such a sentiment to me. However, if everything goes as well as I expect it to, he will be able to communicate with us within two weeks. If he tells us to discontinue our efforts, we will do so, no further questions asked.”

I stared at him, trying to gauge the truth to his words. “After all of the investment you and the Bureau have made in us, you expect me to believe that you would let his spirit go if he wanted you to?”

He opened his clasped hands, showing his bare palms in that universal gesture of someone showing they have peaceful intentions. “Yes, I do. We have no interest in unwilling subjects. Which brings me back to you. Your recent outbursts and your hostile attitudes towards myself and the heroes in that Lab who have worked day and night to make you functional over the last fifteen months are simply unacceptable. Do you wish to continue with this project?”

That caught me off-guard! “Do you mean that I have options?”

“Yes, of course. I thought I had made that clear previously. If you do not wish to continue in this program, we can de-activate the device that contains your spirit and you will be free to pursue whatever afterlife you have earned for yourself.”

‘What if I don’t want to continue working for you, but want to keep myself, as I am now, intact?”

“That would be more problematic. There are certain obligations that need to be fulfilled, contractually, as well as morally.”

I was curious at this. “What do you mean about moral obligations?”

“Well, as you demonstrated so well in your previous assignments, and unfortunately on poor Dr. Bernstein, you are rather dangerous when you choose to be. I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave this program and my supervision as you are now if you are going to be a menace to society.”

I thought about that for a minute. Damn, he had a point. How did he change my focus so easily from my outrage at his alleged guilt (that I had no proof of, yet) to my own rather questionable behavior?

“OK, I admit I haven’t been the best behaved little zombie. I want to be around to talk to Greg when he is able to communicate, and will do what I can to help, if you wish.”

Drake smiled. This time it seemed more genuine. “Yes, I would like that very much. Now, we have a great deal of work to do in order to prepare for Officer Tasker’s arrival after the funeral. Dr. Bernstein could use your assistance in the Lab with some very heavy equipment.”

He stood up, seeming pretty smug about things.

I stood up as well. “Yeah, I probably owe the Geek an apology as well. Look, I’ll try to be better about this whole thing. This process isn’t easy. I don’t have the comfort of my past addictions to fall back into.” I looked down at my boots, shuffling a little. “I want to go to Greg’s funeral. I want to be there when he comes through the process and can speak again.”

He held out his bony hand. “Yes. I think that would be very good. He knows you and trusts you. I would like you to be there as well. But first, there is much to get ready.”

After that, I sheepishly followed him back into the NecroLab. I made my apologies to Dr. Geek and his staff. I helped them late into the night moving heavy lab tables and strange looking machines that I remembered only fuzzily from my own transition. The menial work seemed to help keep my mind after those troubling thoughts that kept creeping back in.

I don’t trust Drake, or Bernstein for that matter, but I don’t have anything solid against them other than a seemingly long list of strange coincidences and conjecture. Being a cop was dangerous. But was it as dangerous as it has proved to be for the team? I’m not sure of anything at the moment.

So, until I know for sure, I need to stick around and see what these folks are really up to. What is the true agenda of this whole program? Is it truly to preserve the knowledge and experience of good cops? Or perhaps something more sinister? Time and patience will tell, and I appear to have more of the first than I do the second. I need to find that patience of the dead and allow things to play out a little longer.

Meanwhile, I ask you to help me in this.

Please note: I will be travelling for the funeral and will not have the opportuntiy to do any blogging until after the weekend is over and Greg is safely ensconsed in the NecroLab. I promise to provide what details I can afterwards.

The Conversation-Prologue

Friday, February 2, 2001.

That was the day of The Conversation, the one meeting that changed my future forever.

All of us had been informed ahead of time, that we would be called in for an evaluation meeting with the Director, Dr. Kampmann as we called him then. It was at this meeting that our future in the program was going to be decided. Our handlers made sure that we understood that the Director was willing to shitcan the entire team and start fresh if he had too, there were no guarantees based on the need for a certain number of candidates going forward. Of course, they also made it clear that if things didn't go well, the bonuses would stop immediately, and there was no chance of getting back on the team if we flubbed up this meeting.

I felt my marriage had become dependent on the extra income from this project, even if the stresses caused by the number of out of town trips seemed to be getting pretty bad. I had ignored my wife's requests for me to drop out of this program and to spend more time at home as just her way of showing she loved me. I figured by bringing home the extra money to buy the new furniture I knew she wanted so badly, or to buy the new car that we needed was my way of showing how much I loved her. Shows how much I understood about love back then.

I was nervous about the upcoming meeting, my relationship with the Director was much more formal and one sided than it is today, I still respected the asshole then.

I arrived early in the morning, having flown in the night before and been put up in a local Holiday Inn for the night. The Director liked to start his meetings promptly at 8AM, and go on through lunch without stopping, until his prey was squirming with hunger and fatigue. He never allowed food in his meeting rooms, and provided only a pitcher of water to drink. A number of the team members liked to see if they could outlast the Director and hold off from taking a drink during any meeting with him, but even though he always kept a glass next to him that was maybe three quarters full, no one could ever remember him actually taking a drink from the thing, so everyone who tried to match him always failed.

Looking back on it with the knowledge I have now of him and what he had done to himself, I completely understand how he could go so long without food or drink. You see, I fully believe that he was his own first experiment. Except that while I am his first subject to have been successfully brought back from the dead, I believe that Drake never died. I am certain that he has made changes to his own biochemistry while he was still alive, sort of like extreme plastic surgery, except I think he replaced his heart, and his whole digestive tract, among other things. I have seen glimpses of him in private moments, and I have seen some of the bizarre equipment he uses to replace his need for food and drink. Most of it involves IV bags with what looks like fresh blood, and some sort of charging device. I guess you could say that he appears to be some sort of living vampire, while I would fit more into the mummy/zombie/Frankenstein category.

The meeting room was in the very back of the rather bland looking office building, and always kept rather dimly lit. The doors to the room were far more solid than anything else in the office, and like the room itself, were completely windowless. There was an intercom near the door, where you pressed this button to speak to whoever was inside. There was no keyhole, or even a card reader to open the door, the Director had a special remoe control for this door, and that was the only known way to lock or unlock the door.

I arrived promptly, and saw Betty, the middle aged receptionist with a beaming smile and a quiet voice, at the front desk. She greeted me with a smile and and a couple of pleasant questions about my family before she picked up the phone and called the Director's office to notify him of my arrival. She looked up from the phone, and motioned for me to head back towards the meeting room as she answered the ringing phone on another line. I have always liked her, and I miss seeing her smile. When I come to that office now, she looks more frightened than happy to see me. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I have seen how I look in a mirror, and I would have a hard imagining anyone being happy to see me now. I look more like a serial killer on steroids, or maybe a little like Arnold in the Terminator movies after a couple of messy battles...

I remember the walk back to the meeting room seemed to take a lot longer than the two minutes it actually took, and that the hallway seemed even darker and quieter than normal, or maybe that is my mind adding some dramatic flare to the memories of this day. In any event, I made my way back to the meeting room, and pressed the button on intercom, identifying myself to faceless person (or people) beyond the door. "Officer Smith here."

Instead of any answer over the intercom, the door clikced softly, and opened slowly towards me...