While the majority of the crew was in the mess hall, a skeleton crew was left to man the most important stations. And a few others were assigned to try hacking into the holodeck, to keep Seska distracted. Engineering was practically empty. Bolian Crewman Golwat stood with one blue hand on her hip, the other resting on a console. The small screen below her displayed the holodeck, in the same grid-formatting that the crew had been using to monitor the senior officers over the last few days.
Shaking her head, Golwat remarked, "The Doc better get some people in there soon. Seska wasn't bluffing when she said she was speeding up the story." Speaking half to herself, she observed, "Time was already passing much too quickly before, and now it's been less than two hours since 'Kaaren' died and it's already the next 'day.'"
From his station at the Warp Core, Muhammad Ashmore asked, "But they're all alright? The senior staff I mean?"
Golwat tilted her head to the side, in a Bolian nod. "For the moment."
"What's everyone's status?" Ashmore asked. "Where's Seska first of all?"
"At a holo-grid," the Bolian replied. "Still trying to out-hack us. The distraction's working." She glanced up to the second level of Engineering, where Kao-Li Xiong and Angelo Tassoni were pretending to hack into the holodeck. "They're doing a good job."
"What about the senior staff?" Ashmore asked.
"Neelix is asking around town, to try to find out who killed his wife. Paris, Torres and Kim are hiding in a cellar in on the edge of town. Seven of Nine is taking a nap, with the Suder hologram watching her through her keyhole. Chakotay's higher than a class of Academy freshmen on Andorian Crystals. The captain's downing coffee like an alcoholic, oh and Tuvok's gone completely crackers. Not that those last two are really news."
Ashmore double-checked his console, then left his station. "It may not be surprising news, but it is bad news. Maybe it's me, but Tuvok seems to be the last senior officer you want going bananas. I mean, the Captain loses it, she just locks herself in her quarters for a few months. If Chakotay's hallucinating, worst case scenario, he punches someone. If Seven's implants malfunction, she usually just steals a shuttle to get some alone time. But Tuvok, he's the one that will run around the ship mind-melding people, or knocking someone out in the turbo-lift. I wouldn't be surprised if he strangled Neelix." He came up next to Golwat, and looked around the screen. "Where is he?"
"Writing on the wall."
"Tim?" Ned Felix poked his head into the alley. "What are you doing here? I thought we came out here to look for information about who might've killed my wife!" He moved into the alley. "Tim? Timothy Excelsior?"
"My name," his partner whispered, his eyes glued to the wall he was writing on, "Is not Timothy Excelsior."
Even with all the grief and rage storming through Ned's thoughts, a tiny smattering of confusion managed to squeeze its way in, and his eyes shifted back and forth. "W-what is your name then?"
Tim emitted an almost animal-like grunt of frustration, and gave his head a tiny shake. He was writing very intently. Ned came around to look at what he was drawing. Tim had covered the wall in sketchy spirals, marked off into sections and labeled with cramped sloppy writing.
"Is that some kind of map?"
"Indeed." Tim replied. "Of this city. This world. This…zoo."
Was it possible that Kaaren's death had somehow had a worse effect on Tim than on her own husband? No, Tim had been starting to lose it before that, ever since Ned had found him unconscious. This must be the result of his head injury.
Ned stammered, "It's getting dark out. Maybe we should just go to a hospital," Ned suggested. "I know a quick route—"
"All the routes in this so-called 'city' are illusions, tricks. Like a game of chutes and ladders!" He finally turned to face Ned. Tim looked and sounded determinately stiff, like he was trying to keep all of his emotions concealed, but his frantic voice implied that he wasn't succeeding. "Ned Felix, San Francisco is an enormous city. One of the largest in America. Yet in all of our searching, we've walked down the same alleys, the same streets, past the same businesses. We've encountered the same individuals, from the Queen's Cabin all the way to Sandrine's. I remember each of them now as clearly as if we were just there. All the same buildings, but shifted in order, as if every time we wish to visit some place 'new,' this city simply rearranges itself to create the illusion that we are moving."
Ned nodded, as if he understood. "Yes! That's um, very interesting. I'll keep that in mind. Now why don't we just—"
"Ned?"
Willy stood on the sidewalk, staring into the alley, with his hands in his coat pockets. Ned had no idea what to say. There was no hope of him acting cheery today, or of offering a reasonable explanation for why his partner was doodling on the wall.
"Ned," Willy hurried into the alley. "I read about Kaaren, in the papers this morning. I've spent the whole day trying to find you."
Ned's jaw clenched. "I don't want sympathy. I'm out here looking for answers."
"I know. And I might have one for you." Willy shook his head. "O-or at least a clue. Ned I," his face contorted. "I didn't want to say anything, it's not proper to intrude in this kind of thing, but I can't stay quiet now, not if it might have something to do with her death."
"Spit it out Willy!"
"She was at the movies last week! With a man. I was at the same showing, that John Wayne picture. They were…well they weren't being platonic."
Ned's second worst fear, after Kaaren's death, had come true. His blood boiling, he demanded, "Who was the man? What did he look like?"
"He, he was tall, lanky guy. Pale, light-brown hair. Dressed like a hobo…"
Ned was visibly trying to keep himself from shaking.
Ned managed to urge Tim back to their car, and dropped him off at the hospital. Then, hitting the accelerator, he sped back to the house. Kaaren's body was in the morgue now, but the mess hadn't been cleaned up. Ned flew past the blood stains and tore up the stair case. Once inside the bedroom, Ned turned the room upside-down, looking for some evidence, anything that might prove whether or not Willy's story was true. Maybe Willy had been mistaken, maybe he'd just seen a woman who looked like Kaaren…
Ned looked under the bed and froze. An unfamiliar, red sock sat bunched up, far under the bed, covered in dust bunnies. Ned reached under and fisted it up. Sitting upright, he smoothed out the sock, brushing away the dust. A cartoon character grinned at him from the sock's ankle.
Porky the Pig.
Tim Excelsior—not that he accepted that as his name any longer—was led into a waiting room at the hospital, where he waited…and waited. A few days ago, he would have assumed that he was being overlooked because of his skin color. But now, he was convinced that it was just another part of the twisted illusion that was this city. He decided to do some more investigating.
Tim strolled right out of the waiting room, and down the halls of the hospital. No one batted an eye. His clothes were clean and his composure flawless; he probably looked like a visiting friend or relative. He glanced through the window of each door, as he passed the hospital rooms, unsure who or what he was looking for. He passed a room with a tattooed patient, and then did double-take. Charles Liberty lay on a gurney, with a blanket covering him up to his shoulders. And for some reason, his mouth was gagged. The only other person in the room was a gray-haired nurse, who was reading the morning funnies in the newspaper (at seven o'clock in the evening no less).
Tim tried the door. Not surprisingly it was locked.
The nurse's head turned up at the sound of the clicking doorknob.
Tim thought for a second, then grabbed the knob again and forced it down. It broke clean off. As the door swung inward, the nurse dropped the newspaper and Liberty's head turned sharply. The nurse stepped forward threateningly and drew a pistol from her skirt pocket. Without even having to think about it, Tim seized the wrist holding the gun, and with his other hand, gave her the neck-pinch he'd used a few days earlier to subdue Liberty.
After the nurse collapsed to the floor unconscious, Tim moved to the bed. Liberty was struggling frantically against some restraints that must've been under the sheet, screaming through is gag. Tim carefully undid the gag and pulled the ball of fabric out of his mouth.
"Get me out! Un-strap me! Please!"
Tim's eyes traveled up and down Liberty's face. He'd seen this tattooed man in a similar state of struggle, recently. Sometime in the last few weeks, or months. Tim realized that he himself had been the thing the man had been trying to escape from, that time. Tim had been holding his head.
"I know you," Tim finally said quietly.
"Yes!" Liberty hissed frantically. "Yes we met at Kitty Indiana's club, you knocked me out with that neck pinch. Get these straps off! That woman's not alone, there's another one, she'll be back any—"
Tim placed two fingers over Liberty's tattoo. "My mind to your mind..."
"What the hell are you doing?" Liberty's squirming increased, and he hollered, "Help! Help, someone!"
The hospital staff walked past the room, as if they didn't hear them. This did not surprise Tim.
"They cannot hear us, Mr. Liberty," Tim assured him. "This is all an illusion. And I intend to find out who is controlling it."
This did not serve to comfort Charles Liberty, and only seemed to increase his fear of Tim.
"Now focus," Tim ordered. "Relax your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts…"
The surface of Charles Liberty's mind contained nothing surprising: determination to escape from Seraphine, fear for Annie and Billie, memories of the War and growing up on an Indian reservation. The emotions were strong, but the memories were weak, very feeble. Like tissue paper. Tim tried to dig on, but found himself stuck. It was like when you were digging in the sandbox at school, and finally got to the bottom of the sand and hit clay.
Tim was vaguely aware of Charles weakly begging him to stop. The experience was growing painful for both of them. But still Tim pressed on—in part literally; his hold on Charles head tightened.
"We have met before," Tim urged. "We've both been in this dilemma before. We've had our minds tampered with, on multiple occasions."
A memory suddenly flew up—one that felt real. Charles—or whoever this man really was—had been restrained to a bed in a "hospital." He'd been trying to save his comrades from another illusion like this one. And then on another occasion, he'd also been held prisoner by the woman who currently called herself "Seraphine." The illusion around them was built on real situations. But where did those real events take place? And when?
Charles was not handling their link well. His panic coupled with the bad memories being brought up made entering his mind akin to sailing through a hurricane. He was too weak, Tim decided. When he pulled his hands away, ending their meld, Liberty was panting, staring at the ceiling in a daze.
"You cannot help me," Tim decided, and turned to the door.
Blinking out of his stupor, Charles croaked, "No wait, wait! Annie's in danger, I've got to get to her! Please, please!"
Annie. Annie Hanson…
The last sane thoughts that had been going through Tim's mind were of concern for Annie. She was being stalked by Gardener, the psychopath. Both faces were familiar to Tim, in the same way that Charles' was. He knew where he would be going next.
Charles watched his last hope of escape take off madly down the hall, forgetting about him entirely. His head slammed back onto the pillow and he turned away from the door, not wanting anyone to see the tears that rolled from his squinted eyes.
Ned Felix paced the bedroom, the Porky Pig sock in hand.
Tommy Chicago, that scum. So Kaaren had been willing to stoop that low. After all that Ned had done for her…
But what could Tom's affair have to do with Kaaren's death? Surely if Tom was going to kill someone it would be Ned, to get rid of competition, wouldn't it? But who knew. It was obvious now that Tom had no scruples. Sleeping with Ned's wife, and impregnating another woman—
The other woman!
Kaaren had told him and Tim how a pregnant woman had showed up at the door the other night, argued with Tom, and then driven off with him and Harry Kimitsu. Kaaren had sounded disturbed, almost frightened when she told them. If they'd both loved Tom…if Tom had left the pregnant one for Kaaren…that could certainly be a motive for murder.
By now, Ned was past caring about the law or what was ethical. The only thing on his mind was Kaaren's body, slumped by the window. Five minutes later he was in his car, with a pistol in his coat pocket.
The little man with the large eyes had followed Annie into the apartment complex the other day, and then up the stairs, claiming he lived on the same floor as her. The next day, she'd seen him twice on her way to work. She saw him at work, in the audience. And she saw him on the way home. Several times, she'd rushed up to her door's keyhole, half-expecting to see him standing out there, but didn't.
She was pacing the room in her long white robe now, contemplating where else she might look for the silver Bird. Trying not to think about what the Nazi was doing to Charles, with all the drugs and operating tools at her disposal.
There it was again. A shadow under her door.
This time, she didn't look at it. She continued milling about her apartment, as if she'd noticed nothing. As carefully as she could, she made her way to the keyhole and peered through. But whoever was there was already gone.
Annie decided to try a little experiment. She quickly retrieved her keys from the counter and dropped them into a robe pocket. Then she stepped out into the hall, and hurried down the steps, leaving her door unlocked and opened just a crack. She continued down to the lobby and waited for three minutes. She ignored the confused front-desk worker, who was clearly wondering why Annie was standing in the hall in her bathrobe. Then she returned back up the stairs, as stealthily as possible. Her apartment door was now fully closed. Probably locked. Luckily Annie had the key in her pocket.
She slid the key in and unlocked the door, then shoved it opened. That creepy little man was in her apartment, going through her dresser drawer. His large opal eyes locked on her, and he charged for the door. Annie caught him with an iron grasp, and threw him down to the floor. Then she kicked her door shut.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. "Are you with Bruna Rike?"
"N-no," he stammered. "I-I-I'm, I'm just a pervert. I like to look at women's…" he closed his eyes, struggling to find the word. "…socks!"
His eyes flew opened, as he apparently realized that he'd probably picked the wrong word.
"Indeed." Annie seized him by his long scarf, spun him around and slammed him against the door. "You're going to tell me who sent you to stalk after me and why. Was it Kitty? Is she suspicious of me?"
"W-why would a kitty be suspicious? Did you steal her tuna fish?" the little man laughed nervously at his own pathetic attempt at a joke.
"I'm going to count to three," Annie warned, her ice-blue eyes boring into his black ones. "And when I'm finished you will tell me everything, or I'll send you out that window! One…"
The door suddenly flew opened, knocking both Annie and the man into the wall. Annie retained her grip on his coat, and he hung sandwiched between her and the door. When the door swung shut again, Timothy Excelsior stood in her apartment, looking around with twitching eyes that finally landed on Annie and her stalker.
"You!" Tim grabbed the end of the man's scarf, and pulled him out of Annie's grasp. "Jon Gardener!"
Annie stood pressed against the wall, and watched Tim spin Gardener to face him.
"I know you," Tim stared into Gardener's terrified eyes. "I have known you…I have been one with you."
Annie's eyebrow arched. "Well, at least I know nobody's here to ravage me."
Gardener shot her an offended look, and shook his head frantically. "I ain't queer! I don't know this crazy ni—"
Tim suddenly brought both hands to Gardener's head, and shut his eyes.
"My mind to your mind…"
Annie and Gardener exchanged confused looks. Whatever Tim thought he was doing to Gardener, it wasn't happening. Tim began chanting more frustratingly, his closed eyes squinting. Finally he released Gardener.
Heaving, Tim pointed at the startled man and hissed, "You are an illusion!"
Annie chose to interpret that as, Time to get the hell out of here. She bolted out of her apartment and tore down the steps.
Tim's voice echoed through the complex, "Whoever you are controlling this dream, I will find you …"
For the last several hours, Billie, Tom and Harry had taken up residence in the storm cellar of an abandoned farm. It was the type of basement that was dethatched from the house, like the kind Dorothy's family owned in "The Wizard of Oz." Billie sat at the bottom of a staircase that led up to a slanted pair of double-doors.
"Okay," Billie ran her hands through her curls. "So let me get this straight; someone stole the Bird, your boss thought Charles did it, so she captured him, and…then what?"
Tom and Harry exchanged an uncomfortable glance.
Tom replied, "Aaand then we…tried to get him to tell us. Where it was."
Harry shook his head innocently. "All we did was rough him up a little, nothing serious."
Billie stared at them, then began to titter. "W-wait, wait a minute. Are you telling me you actually tried to get him to make a confession with the old 'tie him to a chair and beat him' routine? You do realize he gets punched for a living, right?"
"No!" Tom assured her. "We didn't think he'd talk from that, but we wanted him to think we'd think he would, so we could send the singer in later on to, to you know, 'Ooooh, Rick darling,'" Tom's impression of Ingrid Bergman was high pitched and poorly accented. "'Ooooh my love, I'm so sorry….' You know?"
Billie stared at him.
"Hey," Harry said, "We weren't completely ineffectual. I knocked his chair clean over!"
Billie shot to her feet. "What?"
Tom quickly cut in, "On accident! I was getting ready for a swing, and then I accidently hit Harry and he fell into—"
Even as Tom was rambling, Billie was grabbing poor Harry by the shirt and slamming him into the basement wall. "Charles is like a brother to me! If you've done anything to hurt him I'll have you wearing your balls for a bowtie!"
Harry stared cross-eyed at the manic woman.
"Hey," Tom came up behind Billie. "Now just a minute. So if his opponent completely pummels him in a boxing ring, you'll just laugh, but we do the exact same thing and you—"
The sound of a gunshot ended the conversation.
Bits of wood flew into the basement. All three heads turned up to the basement doors. The lock was blond clean off. One door was pulled opened, with a frightening force. They all feared it would be the police staring down at them, but instead it was Ned Felix. Felix stomped down the steps with a gun in hand, glaring at them all threateningly.
"Thought you'd get away, Chicago?"
Tom and Harry hadn't the faintest idea what Ned could be on about. Surely he wasn't here to kill them all over Tommy's affair with Kaaren. Billie of course had never met Ned, and was stuck staring, trying to figure out what universe he was from.
"So!" Ned exclaimed. "Here you all are, hiding like rats in a hole."
In Engineering, Golwat slapped her blue hand over her combadge. "Golwat to the Doctor. Get someone in the holodeck now! Neelix is about to kill Pairs, Torres and Kim!"
"Understood!"
Ned took a few steps closer to his three hostages. "I guess you were in such a hurry to get out of the city, you didn't notice how many people saw you switch cars and take off to this little farm. Maybe you forgot, Chicago, I have an entire network in this city!"
"Ned," Tom was just short of shouting, "...what?"
"What?" Ned mimicked. "Why don't you ask the policeman who you killed." Harry flinched. "Why don't you ask Kaaren. Why don't you ask her!" he glared at Billie.
"What?" Billie gripped the gun in her own pocket.
"Ned," Tom shouted now. "What the hell is going on?"
"I've been asking myself the same question," Ned came right up to Tommy, his gun inches away from his chest. "I've been wondering it ever since Tim and I came home last night, to find Kaaren in a pool of her own blood!" he was shouting now. "With four holes in her!"
Tom's jaw dropped. Billie gasped and wavered slightly. Harry quickly caught her arm.
"But I know a few facts now. I know that you and Kaaren were playing patty-cake behind my back!" Ned barked. "And I know that just two nights ago, one of your old girlfriends turned up pregnant! The next thing I know, Kaaren is mysteriously dead!" Ned jerked his head to Billie. "You're lucky you're pregnant. It's the only reason I don't kill you right now!"
Tom's gun came out. "You're damned right you won't kill her, hedgehog!"
"This is your fault Chicago!" Ned pressed his gun against Tom's heart. "You hop from girl to girl, not caring if she's married, not caring if you get her pregnant, and then when one of them kills the other you take off like a coward, and kill a few policeman on the way—"
Billie brought the gun in her coat up and shot through the pocket, hitting Ned in the leg. Ned made a noise and stumbled, giving Harry the chance to swipe his gun. On his way down, Ned grabbed Tom's leg, pulling him to the ground with him. Tom and Ned were soon rolling around the cellar floor, wrestling for the gun. Harry and Billie both took aim at Ned, but it was impossible to get a clean shot with him and Tom fighting like they were.
Either Ned was doped up on some kind of drug (which would explain a bit), or his thirst for revenge trumped the pain he should have been feeling from his leg, which was bleeding profusely. Tom slammed Ned onto his back, and it looked like Billie and Harry finally had a clean shot. Just at that moment, Ned wrapped his fingers around the gun in Tom's hands, and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot was followed by Harry's scream, as he slammed backwards against the wall, his gun twirling upside-down on his finger.
In the second Tom and Billie stood watching Harry, Ned wrenched the gun from Tom and rolled out from underneath him. He got to his feet and stood over Tom with his gun trained on his forehead, execution style.
The next gunshot shook all four of them.
Tom was still alive, with no holes in him. Tom, Ned and Billie turned to the staircase. Even Harry, panting, blinked through his pain to see who was there.
It was a cop.
He cocked his gun and descended the stairs, with a perfectly trained posture. He resembled a younger, thinner, tattoo-less Charles Liberty. He didn't hold his gun with both hands, like cops usually did in these situations (or at least in the movies). He held it with one hand, the other arm held out for balance.
In a low stern voice, the cop said, "That's enough."