Chapter Five…Shifting Realities
"Just because you're not Paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you."
Irons punched a button changing the monitors focus to a different area of his personal realm. It displayed Ian entering a black car and heading toward the city. He smiled and tapped in a different code that gave him a "bird's eye view". The satellite in geosynchronous orbit obtained the coordinates broadcast by the device implanted in the sole of Ian's boot. A real-time digital feed was broadcast directly to Irons console. He followed Ian's trek, delighting in having the control and omniscience provided by his technology. After reviewing the tapes regarding Ian's activities, Irons was not pleased. Ian had been making contact with Sara. She rebuffed him which Irons expected to see, but Ian continued to make advances. What did he think he was doing, going down on one knee in the police parking lot, wondered Irons.
He could understand Ian saving his life, but Ian's actions afterward were questionable. Irons believed he was witnessing too much independence on Ian's part. Following Sara, Irons knew, Ian would express concern regarding the Witchblade. The tapes revealed it was more than reservations regarding the Witchblade, Ian's extended fire escape visits to Sara's loft were the proverbial 'last nail in the coffin'. The fact he was not by my bedside when I awoke, reasoned Irons, was proof that young Nottingham's priorities had become skewed.
He had been reading Ian's body language and there was something different. The subservience he expected from Ian was lacking. He was practically cocky, almost patronizing when he inspected the monitors. Just remembering the recent encounter made Irons fume. I may have been lenient before the coma, he reflected. Ian should be brought back into line before he becomes a real delinquent. Ian would have to be reinitiated back into his proper place. After all, thought Irons, he's only a tool and useless unless he's doing what he's ordered. Irons sighed then summoned Immo by pressing a code into his lap-top. Immo materialized within a few seconds of being called.
"Yes, Mr. Irons, how may I serve you?" Immo was grating. He was relieved Irons was recuperating.
"Dr. Immo," Irons wrote, "I want you to implement 'Project Phoenix'." His steely gaze bore through the doctor. True the doctor saved his life, there were no other options, deliberated Irons. Ian's instruction and fine-tuning had to be constantly enforced.
Immo stopped in his tracks as he read Irons' "request". He could feel the color drain from his face. "When?" was all he could ask? Mentally he revisited the details of 'Project Phoenix', trying to determine if Ian had a chance of surviving the ordeal. He glanced apprehensively at Irons who was taking his time, completing his next order.
"Tonight," Irons wrote. "I want him back. Apparently your medical cocktails have not been working, nor have you done any follow-ups regarding his conditioning. Your reports are lacking; I realize I was your main concern, but your reports state that my condition was stable. There were opportunities for you to maintain his 'training'. You know, as well as I, that reinforcement is imperative. You have let him stray."
The last statement Irons inscribed was like a physical blow to Immo. He nearly staggered. It was one thing to have to bring Ian into line, but to be charged with his rebellion. "Mr. Irons," was all he could stammer.
Irons ignored him as he continued writing. "I want it done TONIGHT!" He tapped the pad, emphasizing his point. Irons' blue eyes locked onto Immo, holding him like snake. Tonight, mouthed Irons, then he pointed at the door.
Nodding, Immo backed out of the room. Luckily for him, setting up was easy and he kept the virtual programming device close at hand. Irons was predictable, thought Immo, just predict the worse. Once he reached the hall, Immo headed for his office, he had to set up for what would seem like an office consult.
Immo never really thought that Irons would actually use 'Project Phoenix". It had been a brain-child of Irons' so that he could keep the current physical body of Ian Nottingham and merely adjust the man's loyalties and beliefs. Immo had studied the effects on three of the former Black Dragons. It had been successful, but the men had never had the chance to actually think for themselves, or had so specific a directive like Ian. Ian had been raised to be the guardian of the Witchblade and by default the Wielder. His greatest fear was that Ian's mind would shatter and violate all previous and painstaking manipulation. Immo would lose his life and Irons would lose the best bodyguard/assassin. He only hoped that Ian was as pliable as he appeared, then they both would have a chance for survival. Pushing the negative thoughts aside, Immo prepared a genetically engineered sedative psychogenic drug to enhance and accelerate the reprogramming process. Ian had been genetically and chemically altered, enlarging the R-brain, reptilian brain. These enhancements made him aggressive and fearless, but susceptible to strobe lighting and high pitched frequencies. Immo synchronized the light frequency, and the volume of the rhythmic noise that would incapacitate Ian long enough for him to administer the drug. After making sure all systems were ready, he prepared 'the trap'.
Irons watched Immo heading for his office confident that by tomorrow evening, Ian would be the capable, subservient assistant. Smiling, Irons returned his attention to Ian's evening. Ian's last patrol. Savoring Ian's restoration, Irons considered his afternoon. Something unusual happened midday; he could almost taste the Power. It was different than the Witchblade; he rolled the remembered sensation over his tongue. Relishing the difference, like a rare wine. Oh yes, he thought, Power is My Drug of Choice. Once Ian was again under his complete control, he would find out everything that had happened in the library. He knew the power went out and the back-up generators refused to start. Call it a hunch, he mused, Power seemed to crackle over his skin while the electronics were down and the flow seemed to end when everything returned to normal. He turned his interest back to the digital feed. Ian had parked the car in the warehouse and strolled leisurely among the shadows towards Sara's loft. Knowing the boring routine, Irons picked up his laptop and proceeded to check the company reports. He could wait, he held all the cards.
***
Sam was awakened by her Creatures doing a tap dance on her bladder, or so she thought. Hastily she changed into her brown robe and made her way outside to the privy. If only she could create an indoor bathroom, she yearned, and if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride. Robe on, she hurried outside, the sun's rays were just kissing the morning clouds. The birds were announcing the day and their plans. Sam chuckled; the fact that she could understand them still amazed her. She hurried to the privy, and then washed her hands that a small outdoor basin. Making her way to the kitchen, she smiled and greeted the Brothers. Her energy was contagious; soon the entire monastery was filled with chattering monks. Breakfast; normally a quiet time was filled with good-natured conversation. Some of the monks were trying to learn how to tell jokes. It was funnier to listen to the Brother's attempt to tell the joke, than the joke itself, Sam considered. Knock-knock jokes were a definite hit and many of the monks tried creating "new" material.
"Knock-knock," boomed Brother Chuen.
"Whozz there?" squeaked Brother Xiang. He knew he had to practice English, so he never missed an opportunity.
"Buddha," replied Chuen.
The entire room fell silent.
"Buddha…who?" asked Xiang hesitantly, looking around the room.
"Buddha you." Chuen smirked, glanced around the tables.
"Buddha you…who?" Xiang was beginning to look nervous.
"Buddha you wash dishes so we can eat later." Chuen pronounced, appearing proud of his joke. To his dismay, he joke was met with groans, but it didn't stop others from trying. The hall was alive with chatter and bad jokes when Sam stood up to leave.
By the time Sam left the room, her side was hurting from so much laughing.
Meditation and chanting was supposed to follow the morning meal, but Sam couldn't sit still. After telling the monks she was going for a climb, she left along the path toward her Nemesis. She spoke the Word and allowed her Artifacts enjoy the fresh morning walk. Keeping to the game trail and up along a ridge through a vibrant valley, Sam reflected on her Nemesis, a sheer cliff that had a ledge approximately four stories up, with an overhang.
When she arrived at the monastery, for what she was told "to learn the Eastern Art of Healing", suddenly turned into a 'learning challenge'. There had not been any indication that she was here to be tested, and her first test (besides living 'simply') was to climb the cliff to the ledge without benefit of pitons, rope or an imaginary safety net. She tried her best to talk her way out of it, but soon learned that the monks had been responsible for putting the 'born' into stubborn. Fifty-five and climbing a cliff, make that a sheer cliff, in an oversized brown robe. Right, and she had a bridge to sell. I better find the bridge, she thought. Her first time she tried, she made it about a foot off the ground. The next couple of times she actually got higher. About her seventh try, she studied the cliff and noticed a slight indentation in the wall that went up at an angle. Tying the excess material of her robe in a knot, she began the climb. Three quarters of the way up a gust of wind buffeted her; she over-compensated and slammed into the wall. Blood trickled down her face; the wind started to pick up and her hands were slipping. The wind swept across her body and she felt herself starting to fall, without thinking she scrabbled up and made it to the safety of the ledge. Shaking from strain and fear she allowed herself the luxury of collapsing under the overhang. Sam curled up and ended up falling asleep. The next morning she awoke cold and sore and absolutely sure she wasn't excited at the prospect of climbing back the way she came. Taking a deep breath, she swung her legs over the side, carefully rolled onto her stomach and slowly and deliberately sought and found handholds and footholds till she reached the ground. Her legs could not support her weight and she gradually slid to her knees, resting her head against the wall. After what seemed like eternity, she pulled herself into a standing position, then with purposeful steps returned to the monastery. As she met the eyes of the Brothers, she saw their pride and felt their acceptance of her. She had conquered what many of the monks could not, climbing the cliff.
Sam gazed up at her Nemesis. Now, it was more therapeutic than a challenge. Tying the knot in her robe, she instructed her Artifacts to stay close. In a blink of an eye, she was on the ledge. At the end of her first four years, she had climbed onto the ledge not realizing a storm was about to hit. She was struck twice by lightening during the night and knocked unconscious for two days. Regaining consciousness, fighting the burning pain and the blindness that turned out to be only temporary, Sam discovered the Divinities had invested her with Power. She had no difficulties getting down from the cliff. Her body healed, dead skin flaked off as she made her way in the direction of the monastery. That night had set her second lifetime in motion.
She took a cleansing breath, exhaled and settled into a trance; one that she hoped would help her determine her path.
Her inner clock roused her, along with the cries of her Artifacts. The Fae sat patiently on her knee waiting for her to open her eyes.
"So, Mac" she smiled at the tiny winged Creature, "you look like you've got something on your mind."
"Aye Lass, I do indeed." He/she stood up and looked across the valley. "There was powerful Evil in that man's gilded cage."
Sam nodded, "I noticed, but it's tied to him somehow and we just can't destroy it. There is a humongous chance that it would cripple or kill him. I won't that it happen, not on my watch."
Mac looked at her, "You should know," he paused.
"That…?" she prompted.
"The Evil knows that you, possibly we, were there. Next time you go, there might be a trap awaitin'."
"Good point. I'm glad you noticed." Sam began to grin at the Fae but stopped, "Oh no, Ian Nottingham, Mac do you think he's in danger?"
Mac's face was somber. "Possibly, but he lives with that Evil. He should know what to expect."
"But my visit?" She countered.
"You can dream walk and warn him tonight. I doubt a few hours will make any difference." Mac shrugged.
"I take it you have some ideas to combat the Evil. Right?"
"Aye, if you're interested." He/she trailed off unsure if Sam would listen.
"Of course I'm interested. I'd be a fool Not to listen to you. What do you think about hearing what the Brothers found out, get as many facts as possible, and then come up with some solutions? I know once you hear what the Brothers have to say, you'll be able to come up with more plans."
Mac nodded. "True enough." He/she met Sam's eyes; Mac knew the saying that the eyes were the window to the soul. As he/she held Sam's attention, he/she knew it was true, and that his Chosen Master had a pure soul and a kind heart. Mac couldn't believe how lucky he/she was to have Sam and Evil would have to go through him/her to try and do Her harm.
As if reading the Fae's thoughts, "Don't go trying to be a hero on me. I need you in one piece." Sam ginned and then sighed, "Let's go so we can get to work. I foresee travel in our future," she said with her best Romanian accent. Sam waited until Mac flitted off her knee before flipping on her stomach and making her way down the cliff. As Sam and her entourage of Artifacts headed back, one after another made Its way onto her body. Each one was restless for what may lay ahead.
Sam mused as she followed the trail. There had been a feeling of urgency during her last year at the monastery and it echoed in her extensive fighting and intense meditation. She had delved deeper into the arcane studies of the mystic arts. Mentally and Spiritually her Artifacts faults and strengths had imbued her nature. She was able to discern and create beneficial uses for their "faults". Her body had become a hard vibrant muscle with reflexes faster than the Masters'. It had taken ten years and she had become a tool of destruction with a redeeming skill of Healing, Clairvoyance and Abilities that would constantly emerge. Now Sam understood why she'd accelerated her lessons.
The Master and the monks that had traveled with her were waiting in the Sanctuary library. Cheese, fruit, bread and juice were set out indicating this was going to be a long and involved session. Sam was grateful for the snack and indulged herself before settling down to business.
Each Brother approached Sam and she took their hands in succession. As she held their hands, she saw, felt and noted everything they did. When she was done "reading the Brothers, she went before the Master and offered her hands. The Master took her hands and relived each of the monk's journeys. He stood in silence even after she released his hands. She could tell he was overwhelmed. Not so much by the information but by the fact that so much Evil existed in the world beyond the Refuge. Unanimously, they decided she would return to the States. The Master would make the necessary arrangements for her departure and re-entrance into the modern "civilized" world. Other Brothers set to work researching the 'severing of Bonds'. They understood the man's sanity, let alone his life was at stake. Sam would consult her Creatures and learn what strengths and abilities they could provide to aid and protect her with this task.
***
Ian stood on top of the building across from Sara's loft. He leaned against the wall merging with the shadows. His thoughts escalating from the Woman, he thought, "No, her name is Sam," whose soul he inadvertently touched. And then his thoughts twisted into Irons consciousness' and the fact he was literally on Irons' radar. He corrected himself again, "No, via satellite." All this time he had thought he was alone, such deception. He turned his head and watched the flicker on Sara's wall. The television was on; it was one of the few occasions where she watched a show. The weather was mild. He was happy to stand and observe Sara's residence; there was a possibility that she would pass by the window. Her presence, even from a distance, brightened his mood.
Two hours later, she turned off the television and after a few moments, the lights. He discovered on the nights she watched TV, it took her longer to fall asleep. He waited an hour then started down the steps to her fire escape. Halfway down the steps, his cell phone rang. Out of habit, he checked the number; it was Dr. Immo.
"Yes Doctor, is there a problem?" Ian's voice was low.
"I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Nottingham, but there are some irregularities concerning Mr. Irons' tests. I wanted to confer with you before I spoke to Mr. Irons." Immo's voice had a slight quaver to it.
Ian recognized Immo's wavering voice which usually indicated he had bad news. Immo is afraid of his own shadow, he thought. "I take it you would like me to go over the test with you and find an appropriate way of telling Mr. Irons."
"I know it's late."
Ian interrupted him before he would start to grovel. "Will you be in your office, in about an hour?"
"Oh, yes." The relief was evident in his tone. "Are you sure you don't mind."
"I will be there in an hour. I don't mind." Ian felt like he was dealing with a damp rag, but he tried not to think too badly about the man. Immo had stitched him up with sincere concern on many unpleasant occurrences. He knew how unforgiving his father was, so he could not blame Immo's reaction.
"Thank you. I'll have everything ready so I won't take up much of your time."
"Very well," said Ian and disconnected the call. Just stop groveling, he thought.
Ian climbed the fire escape to Sara's apartment, making sure not to step on the squeaky rung. Cautiously he peered into her window. She had been restless and was tangled in the sheet, her hair cascading over the pillow. He sank to his knees as he memorized every curve of her body. Her face was obscured by her hair; he wanted desperately to be able to brush it off her cheek and feel its silkiness. At least that is what he thought her hair would feel like. Slowly he stood, held by the vision before him. Reluctantly he made his way down the fire escape and to the car locked in the warehouse. He released the sigh that had been building once he left Sara's window. A ghost-like friend is nice, he reflected, but to have someone real would be… For the life of him he couldn't express what it would feel like; in all honesty, he couldn't imagine it. He never had the opportunity to be close. If being isolated made a person invulnerable, then he must be Superman, he thought. Right now, I wouldn't mind being Jimmy. He put the car into gear and sped toward the Residence, dreading Dr. Immo's not so silent pleas.
*****
Immo placed the phone back into its receiver with a satisfied smile. Standing, he went and got the plate of Ian's favorite treat and had a glass of milk waiting in the refrigerator. He knew playing the scene of the demoralized doctor with Ian would come in handy. The file with the misinformation was on his desk. The scene was set.
Immo checked on Irons earlier and was pleased to see him sleeping deeply. The safest and surest way to meet Irons 'request' was with uninterrupted peace. He punched in a code on his laptop; he'd gotten from Irons. Ian was making excellent time. Immo settled back in his cushioned office chair and went through the oppressed doctor routine. He finished his rehearsal just as Ian was parking the car. Shutting down the computer, verifying the syringe was in its concealed space; Immo stood, picked up the file and started pacing. He was flipping through the file as Ian approached the slightly open office door. Immo looked up as Ian was getting ready to knock.
"You're here." Immo looked at his watch. "You made excellent time come in and sit down." Fluttering his hand at the chair, "I'm sure you had a rough night."
Ian started for the chair, and then he noticed the tray, he thought he'd caught the aroma wafting down the hall. His freshly baked favorite, perhaps this won't be so bad after all, he thought. Immo was the only person that allowed him to indulge with his double chocolate chip cookies. He slipped into the chair.
"Are the results that bad, Doctor?" asked Ian, looking directly at the forbidden delights.
Immo gave him a small smile, "Maybe not that bad, but this is my way of thanking you for taking the time to see me. Oh, I almost forgot the milk." He scurried over to the refrigerator, opened and picked up the glass of milk. "I hope you don't mind, but I had to get whole milk. I think it tastes better with them."
Oh yes, thought Ian, it does taste better with cookies. Ian picked up a mound of warm sweet cookie dough chocked full of melting chocolate chips crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside, just the way he liked them. "Did you want one?"
Immo looked around, noticed the door was open. He peeked out, and then closed it. "Yes, I would love one." He hesitantly approached Ian, as though he half expected him to deny him the cookie at the last minute. He gave Ian an appreciative smile before taking a rare delicacy. He took a bite and chewed it slowly, like Ian, enjoying the double chocolate flavor. There was nothing like a little sugar to help complete a distasteful but necessary task, Immo decided.
"Here's the file, there are a few ultra sound photos. Let me grab them." Immo went to a cabinet across from Ian and grabbed a sleeve of films. He took a couple out, went over and attached them to a light used for x-rays. "Make sure not to spill your milk, let me dim the lights." He watched Nottingham nod and set his milk on the table next to him so he wouldn't spill it on the file. "Now these films show the damage…" He dimmed the lights and moved so he could point to the areas; Ian was looking at the films. Ian didn't hear the muted click in Immo's lab coat.
Suddenly the room was filled with excruciating noise, and the lights flickered at an insane rate. Ian grabbed his ears, when he looked up for Immo, the doctor had vanished. Forcing himself out of the chair, he felt a stabbing then a burning pain in his neck. Within seconds, he was on the floor, convulsing.
The last thing he remembered was a blue silk robe, his attempt to grab it, and a long, low yell fought its way out of his throat, "Sam" he groaned.
Immo stayed behind Ian as the drug took affect. He had titanium restraints ready. The instant he was sure Ian was unconscious, he moved the area rug, slid Ian on the highly polished tile and shackled him to the rings that had been set into the floor. He put a protective collar on Ian to keep his neck straight. He punched the button on the remote in his lab coat and the room's lights returned to normal. Taking a small vial with eyedropper, he proceeded to "glue" Ian's eyelids open. The virtual reality visor had a timed, tiny spray that kept the eyes moist. Gently he set the visor over Ian's eyes. As he waited for Ian to gain consciousness, he wondered who Sam was.
****
Pain. Indescribable, overwhelming pain. Sam tried to scream but no sound came.
Mac, sensing more Power that had ever been on this earth building, dived into the base of Sam's braid and wove her hair tightly about him. Something was about to happen and he was going to be with her, no matter what.
The Brothers watched helplessly as Sam grabbed her head and slowly sank to her knees. The Master was attempting to reach for Sam, to distract her, before she folded onto the floor.
As her head slowly met the floor, the scream broke free of its prison. Instead of the shriek that was expected, it was a sorrowful moan. "Ian!"
There was an unexpected implosion, and Sam was physically gone.
The Brothers stood in shocked silence, which grew even deeper when the Master said, "Samsara is not in our country." He closed his eyes, and then he whispered, "I no longer sense her life force."