The startling question caught the doctor unawares. "Why would you ask that?"
"I've been experiencing horrific nightmares for the past few days," Murdock began falteringly, his muddle brain still swimming in murky waters.
"Nightmares?" The doctor frowned, sliding his chair closer to the bed. "What are they about?"
"I walk around and all I see is dead bodies strewing the ground. Some are mutilated beyond recognition," he choked out, his eyes bulging out in horror at the scene unfolding in his mind.
"I...I try to get away and I run and run but I can't shake them. There are too many of them and they keep dropping from the sky with a loud thump." He cringed at the vivid vision of the hecatomb, swallowing hard at the overwhelming emotions threatening to engulf him. "They beg me to help them. Their wailing pleas are deafening. They drive me insane. I just...I just don't know what that means, doctor."
"You are obviously reliving your past involvement in the Vietnam War."
"I was in a war?" Murdock asked in utter shock.
"Yes. Rank of Captain. You were a pilot in charge of flying the wounded soldiers to base camp. Up until recently you were treated for symptoms of regression. You were prone to serious bouts of depression."
"Then why do I have a weapon in my hand?"
"A weapon?"
"Yes. When I look down I see I'm holding an automatic rifle. I get sick at the thought that perhaps those soldiers fell on the battlefield under my own bullets," he quavered with a voice strangled by emotions.
"According to your Army record, you were wounded twice. You might have shot that rifle of yours once or twice in self-defence."
Murdock closed his eyes in despair and sighed out dejectedly, "I can't remember."
"Maybe it's just as well that you don't. Those memories are best kept buried within you for the time being anyway. For now we need to address the present."
"I don't know anything," Murdock answered with a dash of exasperation. "I don't even know my own name. You keep referring to me as Murdock but...that name doesn't mean anything to me. You mind as well call me John Smith for all I care!"
Dr. Harris noticed the reaction in Murdock's eyes at the mention of that alias. "What?"
"Nothing," Murdock dismissed, though disturbed by the weird feeling that name stirred up in him. He couldn't determined whether it was a good or bad omen.
"Colonel Decker, sir, perhaps we're following the wrong lead. The girl is obviously clear as far as we can tell," Crane reasoned with an incensed Decker, obsessed on pursuing his quest.
"She knows the A-Team and Murdock is a member of that gang. You heard what that psychiatrist said about Murdock blurting out the name of John Smith? As in Hannibal Smith? I'm so close to nailing them I can taste it. I have my two baits and I just need to wield a little more patience. I'll hook them eventually and when I do, I'm going to relish the feel of reeling them in," he revelled in his own victory, salivating at the mouth at the thought of bringing in the big fish.
"So what now?"
"The girl is bound to come and visit Murdock again once the shrink gives the ok. He's desperate for answers as to why he landed in this hospital and I bet she'll be too willing to provide him...and us... with all the details," he smiled wickedly.
His nights were now beleaguered by morbid nightmares that drained him physically and mentally. He dreaded closing his eyes for fear of the horrific visions of dying soldiers reaching out to him with mangled limbs and screeching wails would return to haunt him. He fought against the effect of the powerful sedative they would inject him to avoid falling into that dark abyss that engulfed him in a putrid stench of death.
All the same, they would find a way to sneak up on him, sometimes popping up during his daydreaming periods. The walls were closing in, squeezing him into a tight corner, sucking the air out of the room. He felt trapped, his mind suffocating, pacing the length of his cage in search of breathing space narrowing by the hour. He had to get away, to break out of this dungeon tightening its stranglehold on the speck of sanity he still had left.
Two weeks had flown by since Murdock was first wheeled into the ER in critical condition and respiratory distress. Owing to the Captain's strong constitution, the dire forecast issued at his admission progressively shifted to an encouraging prospect of recovery. Yet, one problem subsisted: his mental instability, which they observed to be increasingly unsettling.
To palliate this problem, Doctor Harris considered another angle, which was the 'angel' Murdoch kept referring during his sessions. Harris assumed that Kelly Stevens fitted the description of this angelic vision and thus allowed her to visit the patient, with hopes that it might trigger a constructive reaction that would eventually help unleash the dark memories with which Murdoch had been struggling.
That morning, an anxious Kelly spruced herself up to drive to the hospital after days of being denied visiting rights at the psychiatrist's advice. The A-Team members were still bunking in her home-office basement, cleverly tucked away underneath the concrete floor. Granted, not the finest lodgings, but it made for good shelter against the armada of bloodthirsty military scavengers sniffing out their preys in every corner the city.
Decker knew that the herd would stick close to the injured sheep, rendering them vulnerable and susceptible to commit mistakes, as they try to seek out their wounded friend. He could pick up their scent wafting in the air, relishing the feel of knowing they were wandering about, waiting for news on their comrade in arms and that Kelly Stevens was undeniably their emissary.
"Doctor Stevens, thank you for coming," Dr. Harris greeted at his office door.
"I was told at admission that you wanted to see me?"
"Yes. Please sit down." He ushered her into the office and beckoned her to take a seat.
Kelly took notice of the psychiatrist's forlorn expression and frowned suspiciously. "Something wrong with Murdoch?"
He sat in his chair and leaned forward on his desk. With a fraught -laden sigh he locked eyes with her and spoke solemnly. "I hate to say we're not making any progress. Contrariwise, his mental state appears to be worsening with each session I attend with him. He is withdrawing within himself, regressing into the past, not so much by choice, but by some guilt that he seems to be carrying inside, and I can't break that spell. It has a powerful hold on him and is progressively dragging him down. But I believe you may be the one to throw him that lifeline that he can cling to."
"Well...I don't...how do you mean?" she asked stutteringly, confused as to what the doctor expected of her.
"He keeps referring to an angel he saw during his delirium. At first I assumed it was a fever-induced hallucination; however his vision matches your description, Miss Stevens. He's in no doubt referring to you. You said he did briefly regain consciousness when you tended to him at your office."
"Yes he did, but he was pretty out of it."
" Well he does remember seeing you. Whenever he speaks of you, his eyes literally light up. There's a spark of life, however dim and fleeting it might be, it's there. You are unequivocally the angel of mercy he's seeking to help wrench him out of the beast's clutches and eventually, his salvation."
"Me?" Kelly gulped, flattered by the compliment and yet frightened at the colossal undertaking she fears will befall her. Was she up to the task of bringing a total stranger out of his torpor? Would it backfire on her and wind up being instrumental in pushing him further down the path of self-destruction? "I...I don't think I can handle that responsibility Doctor Harris."
"You want to see him get well, don't you?"
"Well...euh...yeah...I guess," she hemmed and hawed, caught unawares by the straightforward argument thrust at her. "But you must understand that Mister Murdock is a stranger to me. I've never met him before. I don't know anything about him. How can I ultimately help him?"
"We'll see how he responds to you first and we'll take it from there. Shall we?" he requested, gesturing to follow him out the door.
They made their way to Murdock's room with Kelly feeling apprehensive at the sight of the stone-faced guard posted at the door. Dr. Harris held a hand up as instruction to wait by the door while he primed the patient for her visit.
Harris baulked at the empty bed, but figured Murdock was in the bathroom and traced back his steps. He knocked on the door. "Mister Murdock, are you in there?" he asked, not getting an answer. "Mister Murdock, are you all right?" he insisted, an uneasy awareness suddenly creeping over him. He turned the knob and slowly pushed open the bathroom door.
"Oh no." Harris uttered in shock before hurrying out of the room. "You!" he hailed the guard by the door. "Did you see the patient leaving this room?"
"No Doctor. What's the matter?"
"Mister Murdock is not in his room."
"What? I wouldn't know anything about that. I just relieved the other MP about twenty minutes ago," he said defensively.
Harris with Kelly following close behind strode up to the nurses' station. "Has any of you seen Mister Murdock?"
"He's not in his room?" replied one of the nurses on duty.
" I just checked. He's not."
"He's probably walking around somewhere."
"I specifically requested that he'd be confined to his room until I instructed otherwise."
"I'm sorry Doctor Harris, but Doctor Simmons said it was all right."
"I'M Murdock's doctor in this ward, NOT Doctor Simmons. Why wasn't I told about this?" he seethed, simmer eyes darting the chastened nurses. "We need to find him, quick! He's not well enough to be out there on his own," he stressed, whipping the nurses into action.
"How could he just walk up and leave? Especially with a guard at his door?" Kelly questioned as she found it hard to fathom that possibility in this secured ward.
"Hopefully he's still in the hospital. I'll check with security."
Once notified of Murdock's disappearance, Decker collared the MP on guard duty that night for his testimony of what had transpired in that room minutes before the patient's flight. Was the young officer fibbing when he steadfastly claimed seeing or hearing nothing out of the ordinary, nor that Murdock was seen wandering out in the hall? Decker suspected the sly Captain had cleverly orchestrated his escape by seizing the MP's short restroom break to furtively slink out of his room and steal away.
But sadly, it was later established from the evidence of blood smears on the pavement below Murdock's room that the disturbed soul had indeed managed to jump out the window.
Decker showed up at the hospital in an uproar, casting blame on the hospital staff for their lack of patient supervision.
"How could this happen? Aren't there supposed to be barred windows in the nut ward?" he spewed out at the psychiatrist who took offence and fired bwith the same vehemence.
"Colonel Decker, I can vouch that Mister Murdock never exhibited suicidal tendencies. Aside from a partial amnesia and recurring nightmares, he was lucid and aware of his surroundings."
"Given the circumstances, that was clearly a wrong diagnosis. This man was certified insane and treated at the VA psych ward before he landed in your care, doctor!" Decker stressed on a waspish tone.
"I'm aware of his record of paranoid anxiety delusions and intermittent memory loss, Colonel, and believe me those disorders were seriously taken into account during my sessions with him," he emphasized with great emotional restraint. "But he was not deemed dangerous to others or to himself, therefore he was not held in restraints. Incidentally that could have aggravated his condition." Brows knitted as a wave of suspicion washed over Dr. Harris' face at the sudden realization that Decker or his men could have goaded Murdock into committing this unthinkable act. "Unless you or someone from your team pushed him to the edge?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor!" Decker scorned, turning to Crane to avert the doctor's scrutinizing glare.
"I don't mean physically, but your constant grilling about the A-Team could have had its toll and pushed him over the edge. Coercing an amnesiac's brain into recalling facts that he's not ready for can be fatal, particularly when he's in a fragile state of mind, like Mister Murdock was."
"Doctor, allow me to doubt your assumption that Murdock was as you say, fragile. It was plain to see he was faking it," Decked asserted with a passionate conviction.
"Then you're a better psychiatrist than I am," Harris retorted resentfully.
"In that capacity, perhaps I am." he gloated, grinning with contempt. "I'm familiar with how these guys think and move. I've trained many of them. Their mouths say one thing but their eyes tell a different story. Now I've been patient and indulging you because of your authority on this ward, but your pussyfooting around has cost me to lose a highly valuable thespian in this cat-and-mouse game, possibly the missing link I need to reel in the gang."
"Your obsession may have cost that man's sanity, possibly his life!" Harris condemned, glowering disdainfully at Decker who dismissed the comment with a smirk.
"He knows I'm hunting his teammates down and that I won't relent until I catch each and every one of them."
"I wish to God you don't!" Harris spat between clenched teeth before leaving.
The A-team was stuck in his claw. Decker could smell them a mile away but could never get close enough to sink his fangs into them. He had cried victory too soon the last time he held them in his clutches but once again, they had managed to slip through his fingers.