Timelines: Chapter Eleven (Wherein we finally get some answers!)
"Am I doing the right thing?" Deidre and Ellil stood outside the door to Counselor Troi's office. Gripped by a sudden dread, she had grabbed his wrist just as they were about to enter and held him back. "Am I?" She turned to him.
Mosel considered her. Though her face was ashen, her lips were set in a thin, determined line. She eyed the door, unyielding. "Do you want to know why you've been brought here?" She nodded. He paused for a moment. "Are you committed to exploring the darkest, most clandestine depths of your subconscious mind, regardless of the damage such knowledge might cause?" As a Cardassian, Mosel was intimately familiar with the intricacies of the mind, having been subjected to the rigorous mind-discipline programs that were required for all Cardassian children. The expanses of his mind often terrified him, but his very existence was now devoted to such pursuits, despite his fear. Mosel was intimately aware of her distress but he did not want to take her into his protective arms or pull her away from the door, away from her fear. He admired (and, he surprised himself, respected) the courage with which she faced her decision, regardless of what was discovered during this session.
Nodding again, Deidre finally looked at him. "I'm ready," was all she said. Together, they entered the room.
Captain Picard and Counselor Troi awaited them. Dr. Crusher hovered over the sofa, tricorder in hand. "I want to monitor your progress," she said in explanation. "I'm not confident that your body should be allowed to suffer further stress after so recent an ordeal. However," and she glanced ruefully at Picard, "I have been told that it is for the best. But if it gets out of hand…"
Picard joined the conversation, agreeing that Dr. Crusher would be allowed medical override if the situation became unstable. "Though," he said, "I find that unlikely." Crusher merely rolled her eyes (but only after the captain looked away).
Counselor Troi indicated to the couch. "Please, sit down," she said to Deidre. "Gul Mosel." She nodded and he claimed a seat next to Deidre on the couch, leaving enough space between them for decency.
"I'm going to give you a mild sedative," Crusher said, approaching with a hyperspray. "It should make the process a little easier."
"All right," Deidre said, as Crusher pressed the tip against her neck. Having administered the drug, she perched on the couch, tricorder at the ready. Picard leaned forward slightly in his chair in anticipation.
"Now, Deidre," Troi began. "I want you to relax. Focus on your breathing. That's right, in and out, deeply. Relax your body. Listen to the sound of my voice. I want you to follow it as you focus on a spot in front of you. That's good. Now, draw that focus in, let your focus turn to the awareness of your mind, where that awareness is coming from. Very good, relax. And breathe."
Mosel watched, captivated, and he felt his own breath rhythmically change. His shoulders relaxed and the tension in his muscles eased. He saw Deidre's eyes close and her chin drop lower, as Deanna instructed.
"Now," Troi continued, as she observed her patient's condition. "I want us to return to that day on the roof, when you were brought here. What do you see?"
"The same roof," Deidre replied, her voice slowly monotone, a tone Mosel did not recognize. It was strangely eerie. "It's the same. There's nothing."
"Let's go back farther," Deanna said. "Why were you on the roof?"
"I don't know. I just was." Her voice deepened. "It hurts to be here."
"Why does it hurt, Deidre?"
"I don't know. I want to get off the roof."
"All right. Where were you before you were on the roof?"
"My flat."
"Good, go back there," Deanna encouraged. She kept her voice even and slow, guiding Deidre backwards through her memories.
"I'm there. But it's not that day. Not the day I came here."
"What day is it?"
"The day Domhnall and Brían came over. They came over to talk with me. It was something important."
"Good, tell me more about that. What did they say?"
Deidre floated in her memories, the sound of Deanna's voice soothing her, pulling her backwards toward remembrance. The image of her apartment filled her mind: the blue door leading in, the small kitchenette, the sofa pushed too near her television. Domhnall and Brían sprawled in front of the TV, eating her ice cream while their wolfhounds, Brian (a family joke, Deidre always said to strangers. "My brother never knows if we're calling for the dog or yelling at him") and Boruma chewed on her sneakers.
Deidre spoke her memories aloud to the others as they came to her.
Deidre entered the apartment and dropped her grocery sack on the kitchen counter. She spied the tops of the twin's light brown heads over the sofa, their hair a shade darker than her own blond. "Let yourselves in again, ay?" she called into the living room, struggling to be heard over the twin's John Wayne film.
"Yeah, hope you don't mind." Brían twisted his head around. "We were in the area." His full lips grinned: a trait that the three siblings shared, along with their hazy grey eyes.
"You better not eat all my feckin' ice cream," she said, coming to the couch. Tossing herself over the edge of the sofa, she landed with an ungainly "oof" on their laps. Settling her feet on Brían's legs and her head on Domhnall's thigh, she reached for the Neapolitan container.
"Relax," Domhnall scolded. "We saved you the chocolate." He dangled the spoon over her forehead and it dripped dark goop on her brow.
"Arse," she said, grabbing the spoon from him and simultaneously wiping her brow.
"Sh!" Brían hissed. "This is the best part."
The siblings focused on the tiny screen just as John Wayne appeared in his Davy Crockett hat. "Republic," his screen image said, and the twins, along with Deidre, intoned it with him. "I like that sound of the word." The siblings recited the lines with Davy Crockett, having memorized them in over twenty years of viewing. The twins loved John Wayne and enjoyed teasing Deidre, reminding her of the crush she had on the American legend during all of primary school.
"Some words can give you a feeling that makes your heart warm," they continued. "Republic is one of those words."
"Yeah," Domhnall said as they finished, "I know what word makes my heart warm. Angelina Jolie's pus—."
Deidre's scream interrupted him. "Agh! You're feckin' sick."
Brían hooted from his end of the couch. "I'd love to get me some of that!"
"All right, shut it, the both of you's." Deidre leaned forward and grabbed the remote. "That's enough of this shite."
"Hey, we were watching that!" The twins yelped in unison.
"You've only seen it a hundred times," she snapped. "Now, whatch you come around here for?"
Domhnall looked offended. "Can't we come visit our baby sister?" Deidre raised her eyebrows and innocently licked the ice cream spoon.
Brían tickled the bottom of her feet and she kicked him. "We need to borrow your car," he confessed. "We have to go away for a little while."
"What, again?" Deidre sat up, the ice cream forgotten. "What did you amadáns do this time?"
Domhnall got his 'guilt look', the one his mother looked for whenever the twins would sneak out after curfew. "We roughed up one of Matt Malloy's guys," he said. "He came to collect, but we didn't have it." He looked to Brían for support.
"Aye, we borrowed a little money for the races last month."
"Well, how bad is the guy? The one you roughed up?" Deidre glared first at Domhnall, then Brían, as the 'guilt look' crept across his face as well. "That bad?" She gasped.
"Well," Domhnall stalled.
"He won't be waken' up to find out," Brían said.
She shook her head. "Jaysus. You've gotten yourselves into a mess this time." She rose from the couch and stalked into the kitchen.
"Now, don't be mad," Domhnall said, as the twins followed. "We'll take care of it, get the money back."
Brían nodded. "Once we give him the money, it'll be fine," he said.
Deidre paused at the kitchen counter. "How much?"
"Ten thousand," Domhnall muttered.
She buried her head in her hand. "Why?" She shook her head, not expecting an answer. "All right, you can take the car." She tossed Brían the keys off the counter. "When will you be back?"
Brían shook his head, his shaggy hair falling over his eyes. "As soon as we have the money."
"And there's one more thing," Domhnall said. "Can you watch the dogs?" They all looked over at the hounds as they slept in the too-small-space in front of the television.
"Sure," she grumbled. "And I'll make you something to eat to take with you."
Brían went to the tiny refrigerator and pulled out a packet of roast beef. He waggled his eyebrows and tossed it to her. "You make the best sandwiches," he said.
"Yeah, you know," Domhnall said, twisting off a bite of the sandwich meat and earning a smack on the hand in reply, "B. and I were talking, and we think it might be best for you to go down to your mate's house for a while. Doesn't Mary have an extra bedroom?"
"More like a closet," she said, buttering the bread as she knew they liked it. "You think it's that bad?"
"Malloy's not happy, you know how he gets."
"Don't feckin' remind me, I dated the bastard for a year." She slapped the bread slices angrily together, hunks of beef hanging from the edges. "He'd sooner I drown in the Lagáin than have me seeing another guy." She piled the sandwiches, about half a dozen, and stuck them in a plastic bag. "Take some crisps with you, too. They're in the cupboard."
Domhnall, being closest, reached in and pulled out a family-sized bag. He stuffed them in a grocery sack along with the sandwiches. "I guess we'd better be going," he said. The three siblings looked at each other. It was not the first time they had said goodbye in such a way, but the same heartache pulled at each of them. They came together in a motley hug, the twins a few inches taller than Deidre. She rested her head between their slender, tattooed necks and breathed in their mingled scent.
"I love you's," she murmured.
"Aye," Brían said.
Domhnall said, "We love you." They both kissed the top of her head.
She led them to the door. "God be with you, and take care of yourselves." She touched each of their cheeks as they passed.
"We'll be back in a few days." Domhnall winked at her, and the twins scuttled out the door, clutching their goody sack.
She looked mournfully after them and shut the door as they disappeared down the stairs. Brían already had a sandwich in his mouth.
She went to the dogs and scratched Boruma on his shaggy, grey head. The hound glanced blearily up and sighed. Glancing around her apartment, she made a mental note to tidy up before leaving for Mary's.
A sudden roar sounded outside her window. She whipped her head around, instantly recognizing the noise. Her heart skipped a painful beat before she hurled herself out the door and down the stairs.
Deidre's narrative suddenly paused. Mosel and the others leaned forward, breath bated. Her eyelids fluttered and her breathing halted. She released a blood-curdling scream.
"No!" Her body pitched itself violently forward, Mosel catching her centimeters before she crashed into the coffee table. His eyes widened as he restrained her, her arms flailing.
"Domhnall, Brían," she screamed, "get out of the car! Oh my God, get out of the car!" Her chest heaved and her arms thrashed against Mosel's grip. Beverly had recoiled at the onslaught, but she scanned her now with the tricorder, noting her elevated heart rate and blood pressure.
"We have to stop this!" Crusher insisted, but was overshadowed by Deidre's screams.
"They're burning," she sobbed, "oh God, they're burning in the car. Domhnall, get out!" She waved her hands suddenly in front of her face, as if the car had exploded again in front of her. She cried out in pain, lost too deeply in the memory for Deanna to retrieve her, no matter how many times the counselor insisted she focus on her voice. Mosel struggled to contain her body as it heaved against the couch, her limbs taut and mouth stretched in a never-ending scream. "They're burning, they're burning!"
"Counselor!" Picard yelled. "Stop this at once!" He jumped from the chair.
"No, captain!" Mosel insisted, as Deidre wailed. "You must let her finish!"
"This has gone far enough," Picard roared, disgusted with Mosel's insensitivity.
Mosel scowled at him, still holding the shuddering body. "She chose to remember. Respect her wishes and let her do so! She made the choice." Mosel nearly bared his teeth at him, but the words seemed to have their effect. Picard did not resume his seat, but he restrained Dr. Crusher from giving her another sedative.
Beverly recoiled again, turning on Picard. "But this is insane, captain," she snapped. "She could cause herself physical damage!"
"But she needs to remember," he said, deeply uncomfortable with Mosel's speech but recognizing its truth. "She knew the consequences and made her decision." Beverly threw up her hands, but followed her orders.
Deidre, meanwhile, had replaced the scream with a bone-chilling wail. Bent over at the waist, she sobbed into her knees, Mosel's arm still cinched between her stomach and thighs. "The church, the church in the dream," she sobbed. "It was their coffins! Malloy rigged the car and they took it instead of me. It should have been me!" She screamed again and pitched herself against Mosel's grip. "It should have been me!" He wrestled her, with difficulty, back against the couch, his teeth gritted with the effort. He braced his feet against the floor as she lashed out.
Picard turned to Deanna. "Quickly!" he said. "Ask her what happened next, get her out of this."
Troi nodded, her own heart pounding, overwhelmed with the waves of intensity bombarding her. Deanna felt as if she had just witnessed the explosion and could feel the heat on her face, the ragged shock of grief. "Deidre! Deidre, listen to me," she urged, leaning forward and grasping the woman's shoulders. "What happened next? Why were you on the roof that day?"
Deidre gasped. "The roof." Her shoulders went rigid for a moment and Mosel feared she would suffer another outbreak. But her body went suddenly limp, as if the memory had suddenly become too much, and she fell forward, held up only by his arm.
"After the funeral," she breathed, "I came home. I changed my clothes and turned on the TV." She went silent. Deanna motioned the others to not interfere. Soon, she resumed. "John Wayne was talking about the Republic, so I went up to the roof." Her eyelids flared open, staring into Deanna's surprised gaze. "I went up to the roof and I looked around," she said, her voice shaking, beginning to regain its clarity as she pulled herself out of the hypnosis. "I saw the planter bed they helped me build, heard sirens in the distance. I went to the edge." She paused, her eyes welling with tears. She gasped, raggedly, its haggard draw startling her companions. "I jumped off. I died. I hit the street and I died." Her head turned loosely around, almost flopping on her shoulders. She looked into Mosel's stunned eyes. "And then I saw your face." Her head dropped onto his shoulder as darkness took her.
The group sat in horrified silence. "Oh my God," Beverly finally murmured. "Oh my God."
Mosel, with Deanna's help, set Deidre's limp body gently on the sofa. "So the Romulans took her because she died?" His tone implied that the notion was ridiculous, even as he frowned.
"No," Picard said, his own voice returning. "Because she was alone." His mind started putting the pieces together, the puzzle fitting almost perfectly into place. "She mentioned that her parents were dead. There would be no one to miss her after her brothers died. No missing persons report filed, friends assuming she consoled her grief in private. Alone." He shook his head, astounded at how cleverly this all fit. "The Romulans must have studied this, studied our records, that's why we can't find anything about her, or her family. It's all been arranged perfectly. The only question is: how many others have they done this to? How many people from our history have they abducted for their experiments? And for what?" It was the last missing piece of the puzzle. What were they planning? This had larger implications than he had first assumed, and the thought sickened him. "I must contact Starfleet," he said. "Will she be all right, doctor?"
"Yes, sir," Crusher said. "I'm going to administer another sedative and put her straight to bed. She should be in her quarters. I'm afraid the atmosphere in sickbay would be deleterious. I would like to stay with her, but I have a conference with Starfleet medical this afternoon. Deanna, could you…" But as Crusher looked down at Troi, who still crouched next to the couch, she found her friend with an arm curled under her head, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Deanna," Beverly murmured, "are you all right?" She knelt and put her hand on the Deanna's back.
Troi sniffed and wiped her cheek. "This poor woman," she said. "I can feel the grief radiating off her in waves, even while she's sleeping. She's dreaming of them." She turned to Picard. "I'm sorry sir, but I don't think I'll be able to give you a briefing on her condition until tomorrow. She suppressed this memory, but now it's overwhelming her. I'll be able to tell you more after her shock has dissipated."
"Yes," Picard said sympathetically. "Of course, counselor. Dr. Crusher, should you—."
"I'll stay with Deidre this evening, captain," Mosel interrupted. He rose from the couch and straightened his uniform. The incident had left him rattled, but he pushed the feelings to the back of his mind. "I'll need return to the Saharon briefly to give my report to Central Command, but I will be back before Dr. Crusher's conference."
Beverly looked at Picard in protest, but to her surprise, the captain agreed. She threw up her hands again. "All right," she said grumpily. Tapping her comm. badge, she alerted Transporter Room 3 that she needed two beamed to room 1010, deck ten. She put her hand under Deidre's head and they dematerialized.
Mosel watched them depart and then nodded to the captain. "We will speak later," he said, and strode from the room. Picard turned to Deanna, who had risen to her feet and was smoothing out her skirt.
"Will she be all right, counselor?" Picard asked, concerned.
Deanna sighed. "I think so, captain," she said wearily. "With time. Her mind kept this memory from her, perhaps to shelter her against the shock when she was brought to the future." Wiping her cheeks one last time, she looked at Picard through blurry eyes. "What are you going to tell Starfleet?"
Picard considered a moment. "That we have a very big problem on our hands." And that, he thought, was the greatest understatement of all.
