Author's Note: Yo! Hope everyone in cyber-land is doing well. So, I'd like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, and placed this story on alerts. I'm completely shocked and touched (a good touch, not a bad touch) by how many people put this story on favorites after only one chapter. Wow, being a wise-guy has its perks!
I don't own or have rights to Flashpoint, Mighty Morphine Power Rangers, or Spiderman.
Metaphysical Marathon
Chapter 2: Stalker in the Night, Kindred Spirit in the Day
Not again.
Not this same inexplicable sensation. An uncontrollable sensation. A deathly sensation.
The fireworks were lighting the night's sky in her mind.
She had awoken with an unbearable dread. She knew what was rising upon her.
She had to get-up. Had to move. Had to find a place to suffer in silence.
But, it was always silent. This dread, this bomb was always silent. She was always the only person privy to this sadistic state of being.
As the lightning and fear clouded her mind, she ran out of her darkened room and into the lighted silence of the hall-way. Maybe the ambiance of fluorescence would guide her back to reality.
So bright. Still here. Still in the brain. Still in the throes of a maladaptive disposition.
She may not have slept well with Sam by her side for the past month, but his mere presence had staved-off the fear. The pain. The breaks from reality.
She knew she had to be here to get well, but she also needed Sam's gentle touch, his simple proximity that somehow grounded her.
"You alright, Constable? Need me to get anything for you?" asked a night time orderly when he saw her leaning against the wall in the brightly lit hall-way. His presence was part of the suicide watch element of the program.
He had called her 'Constable.' Does she still deserve that title? Does she still wear that title?
Jules grabbed her head in a fruitless attempt to regain control of her senses.
"No, I'm okay." That same meaningless retort. "I just need a minute." She bent over at her efforts.
"I'll call a therapist," said the orderly as he slowly approached her bent form.
"No, no," Jules began, fighting the haze, the stalker in the night, which was nearly incapacitating her. "I'm good." The lightning was fading; she rose from her contorted position.
"I'm good," she assured, now gaining full control of her capacities. "Don't you have a job or something?" she joked (faux) playfully, smiling at the orderly.
The orderly looked like he didn't entirely believe her. Actually, he looked like he saw right through her and didn't believe her in the least. She had to remind herself that she was now dealing with professionals who saw this kind of veiled self-monitoring manipulation of emotions every day. She was no longer only dealing with a team of men who were either as committed to denying the reality of her situation as she was, or completely oblivious.
"Alright," the orderly conceded, reading in her face that she was no longer in any eminent danger. "Let me walk you back to your room. It's very important to get your rest."
Jules relented and allowed the man to guide her.
The panic wasn't getting any better. She wondered how much longer she'd be able to continue to hold on.
XXXXX
"So, do you want to go ahead and introduce yourself? Maybe tell us what you do for a living, a little bit about yourself?" the group therapist asked Jules.
She was currently in her newly assigned therapy group. None of the people who were at the previous meeting with Sam were here, so she had to start from square one. She sincerely hoped it wouldn't be as lame this time.
"Yeah, sure, whatever," she began. She sighed. She really wasn't comfortable with all this touchy-feely emotion sharing crap. No, uncomfortable wasn't the right sentiment. Irritated by worked more accurately.
"I'm Jules Callaghan. I'm from Alberta, and I'm a cop with the SRU." Jules wasn't giving too much away. She smirked to herself. This introduction reminded her of her first meeting with Toth. She toyed with the idea of waxing poetically about her love of quilting.
"What's the SRU?" a woman from across the room butted in. Jules quickly read her face and body language. Her initial assessment was that the woman was probably very pushy. Jules predicted that she would be annoyed by her.
"It's like a SWAT team, except we also do negotiating and psychological profiling."
"Really?" the woman persisted. "You're on a SWAT team? But, you're so tiny."
Prediction correct. Jules thought about how she should set-up Madam Julianna's Psychic Consultation table in the lounge.
"Hmmph," Jules huffed. "Tell that to the subjects I've tackled and roughed-up." Jules frowned slightly. Maybe she shouldn't be talking about roughing-up subjects. The last thing she needed was a police brutality accusation on top of this little case of PTSD she was dealing with.
"Oh, but you must be a negotiator." This chick was REALY getting on Jules' nerves. "There's no way you could really do any of that hard tactical stuff," the annoying, pushy woman smirked in a confident tone.
What the Hell is this bitch PTSD for? She's making me more PTSD with her annoyingness, Jules thought.
"Yeah, I do mostly negotiate." Jules wasn't going to let this woman get away with her haughty attitude scot-free. "I'm also a profiler and sniper." She put heavy emphasis on her last word.
Several people in the group flinched.
Jamtastic.
Now she was the one talking about snipers in a PTSD support group. She considered placing her foot in her mouth.
But, if she was being really honest with herself, she would realize that the main reason this woman was getting on her nerves was that she kept insisting Jules talk about her job, a job she had failed spectacularly at a few days ago and was nearly certain she wouldn't return to. She still couldn't risk getting anyone on the team or in the public killed because of her negligence. Especially not Sam.
The rest of the meeting rolled on with Jules not having to say any more. That was a good thing, because Jules feared that if she opened her mouth she might gag on all the touchy-feely emotional cool-aid she was being forced to drink. It turned out that the annoying woman, Carly ("with a 'C' (!)," *Jules fake smiles*), was actually the victim of a brutal rape. Jules' sense of sympathy was activated and her annoyance toned down by this intelligence. Her judgment should not be so harsh, immediate, and foolhardy.
Jules walked to the lounge to spend her free time before she had to go to her individual session with Chris. She had been making a challenge for herself to find a book or activity available for the clients to entertain themselves with that wasn't entirely lame.
She picked-up a puzzle box. "You've got to be kidding me," she swore under her breath to herself. It was a 60 piece children's Mighty Morphine Power Rangers puzzle.
"I'll see your disbelief and raise you complete bewilderment," a man said approaching her with a puzzle box of his own.
Jules smiled and laughed. It was a 200 piece rendition of Richard Nixon. "I fold," Jules conceded.
"So, that was a pretty awesome meeting in there, eh?" The man sarcastically raised his eyebrows and indicated the he was in Jules' therapy group. "I haven't felt so in touch with my feelings since grade school guidance class." His smirk widened. "Certainly different from my life in the Army."
"Yeah, tell me about it," Jules agreed. "I went from totting an assault rifle a few days ago to eating metaphorical government cheese." She returned his smirk. "It's too bad I left my guitar at home. We could'a busted out a rousing round of Kumbya at the end there."
The man laughed at her dark wit and stretched out his non-presidentially occupied hand. "I'm Sean, by the way. Post Traumatically Stressed by Afghanistan."
Jules shook his hand. "Jules. Anthrax and a shrapnel shredded artery."
"Hmm, anthrax and a torn artery is all, huh. I thought it would be something more original, like getting shot," Sean joked.
"Not really that original, actually," Jules joked back. "I got shot 3 years ago." She shrugged. "Been there, done that and all that jazz. It's really not as thrilling as they make it seem in the movies."
"Damn, girl. No wonder you're freaken the Hell out," Sean chuckled.
"So, you here by choice or submission?" he asked.
"A little of both." Jules' sarcasm halted for a moment. "I realized I couldn't do this by myself, but it was my Sarge who made me go the in-patient route. Although, I gotta say, with thrilling entertainment like group effusion of emotion and cognitively challenging made for 8-year-olds puzzles, who could pass-up this party?" Her sarcasm could not be halted for long.
"Yeah, the Army's forcing me to be here, but, I gotta admit," Sean paused and tilted his head pointing down to the puzzle in his hand. "It's always been a dream of mine to assemble Richard Nixon's head."
Jules laughed. "Oh, and here I thought I was the only one who dreamed of that."
They shared a chuckle for a moment.
"So, Afghanistan, eh?" Jules continued. "My boyfriend did two tours there." She paused and got a thoughtful smirk on her face for a second.
"Jules, is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class?" A faux admonishing look lit Sean's face.
"Oh, it's nothing just," she huffed at herself. "I don't think I've ever called him that before." She shook her head.
"Why do I feel like there's a story tied to that?"
"Well, you know, break'n regulations by having a secrete relationship until the cat was dumped on its ass out of the bag and the superiors granted special permission." She shrugged. "Same old story."
"Sniper, negotiator, 'roughing-up subjects,' breaking rules. You're a real bad-ass, Jules," Sean smiled.
"It's the way I roll." She smiled mischievously.
Jules' smile brightened as she looked over Sean's shoulder and saw Sam's approaching form.
"Listen, I gotta go. My boyfriend just came in," Jules said pointing her head towards Sam. "But, it's been great to meet you. I'm glad to find another kindred spirit who sees the complete absurdity of our mutual situations. We should, Like Totally, hang at coloring-book class together."
Sean chuckled. "It's a date. Maybe you can help me find the right color pallet for my Spiderman picture."
"You got it," Jules said as she began to walk towards Sam. "I've gotta use my SWAT training before it atrophies after all."
Sam reached her and wrapped her in a big hug. Jules had to admit that despite all the maladaptive chemicals coursing through her head, at least her situation was giving her a spike in oxytocin from all the extra hugs she was getting.
"This is a pleasant surprise. Don't you work anymore, Braddock?" Jules said as she released him.
"Sarge granted me license to get my Jules fix," he smiled and lifted her hand to give it a kiss.
Of course, Jules thought. Sarge sent Sam to check-up on me. Oh, well. Any reason to have Sam two feet in front of her was fine by her.
"I thought we could grab some of that disgusting hospital cafeteria food you hate so much together." Sam lifted his eyebrows at her enticingly.
"Oh, Sam. You do know the way to my heart," Jules said in a sarcastic tone.
They began to walk towards the cafeteria.
"Hey, I've got a surprise for you!" Sam's face lit-up in excitement.
"What is it, a new straight jacket?(!)" Jules fakely perked-up.
"Nah, they didn't have any in your color," Sam played along.
Jules was glad he was accepting her extra snark.
"I got permission to take you out for dinner tomorrow." Sam grinned. "We're gonna meet the team and Wordy at The Goose."
"Great. I can show-off my new hospital smock."
Sam snorted a laugh and gave her another awkward half hug as they walked.
She was a little torn about the next night's plans. She was looking forward to seeing the rest of the team; however, she was a bit weary of how they might treat her. All in all, she was excited to be spending the evening with Sam.
She would just have to live through another night of impending panic to get there.
Additional Author's Note: So, what does everyone think of Sean? No, there's no love interest stuff tied to him; he and Jules are just wise-ass friends. I was originally going to call him Jack, but then I realized, this is Jules we're talking about here. The guy's name has to begin with an S. I hope you liked the Richard Nixon thing. As you might guess from this and my MMPR story, I have a slight obsession with the thought that Richard Millhouse Nixon is hilarious. Don't ask me why. I'm just special that way. Here's a hint for you faithful readers: although there is exorbitantly more humor in this piece, it will get darker than Mutiny of the Brain.
Please leave a review and tell me what you think of this chapter and the new character of Sean. I can always use your constructive criticism and encouragement.