"IN PULLUS VERITAS"
(IN CHICKEN, TRUTH)
Author: Gillian Slater
E-mail: LeoricGS@aol.com
Rating: PG -13
Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...
PART FIVE
Forty-five minutes passed without a change in Michael's state, and Lisa and Heather sat on the floor with their backs resting against the couch he lay on. The TV was on with the volume low but neither was really concentrating on the programme, instead glancing alternately from the clock on the wall and behind to their guest.
"Where is he?" Heather moaned for the fifth time.
"He'll be here soon, honey," She soothed, as much for her own reassurance as her daughter's, "He did say he'd be an hour." She looked blankly back at the television, hardly noticing the warning message on the screen until the significance hit her. "The following programme contains strobe-lighting effects which may effect some viewers with epilepsy." In her mind she hastily ran through the events of the early evening, remembering Heather's excitement about her Christmas tree lights, her disappointment when they started to dim and flicker rapidly...
"Oh! Hey, I just thought of something! Heather are your tree-lights still plugged in?"
"Uh-huh, but they don't stay on," She murmured dejectedly.
"Michael, uh, your dad told me that it was flickering lights that caused his blackout... and that the same thing could wake him up again. Turn them back on!" She went to stand by the main lightswitch and waited for Heather's signal. Simultaneously they flicked their switches and the corner of the darkened living room was again dotted with tiny coloured lights which began to blink randomly at speed as Heather moved the wires.
"Hey, nice effect." Lisa rushed towards Michael, who was nodding approvingly at the Christmas tree.
Heather jumped up, accidentally pulling the out the plug she was holding and plunging the room into pitch blackness. "Mr. Newman! You're awake!" Her excited yell punctuated the darkness as she too ran to the couch.
"Oh, now the power's out." Michael commented.
"Heather..." Lisa began, but saw there was no need as her daughter practically leaped to the main switch and turned the lights on again. Michael closed his eyes briefly against the stabbing glare, shielding them with his hand whilst his vision adjusted.
"Are you okay? Can you see all right? How many fingers am I holding up?" Lisa's questioned him hastily. Michael propped himself up into a reclining position on one elbow with a puzzled look.
"Uhh, yes, yes and four. Did, uh, you two start the Christmas games without me, 'cause I.."
"You don't remember? No, of course not, why would you? You've been unconscious the whole time."
"Whoa, back up there! Unconscious?" He looked at the faces of his wife and daughter, also realising that he was for some reason laid on the couch once again.
"Well, I think Heather's tree-lights effected you. You slipped into some kind of trance..."
"Like a coma!" Heather interjected.
"A coma?"
"Yeah. I've been in one, too. Did you see an angel?"
"Ahem, no. No angels... listen, you're not making the best kind of sense, the two of you."
"Oh, gosh! Maybe he's got amnesia - he doesn't remember anything!" Heather suggested, the anxiety returning to her small face.
"Heather, quiet!" Lisa chastised, "Let me explain. Mr. Newman, you remember Heather switching on the Christmas tree lights, right?" He nodded. "Well, right after that you collapsed on the floor, and you've been catatonic ever since, got it?"
"Ohh," Michael breathed, the realisation suddenly hitting him. His condition. Strangely enough, since his 'rebirth' he'd never even given it a thought. In his old life he had medication for it, but...
"Yeah, and mom guessed you must have photosensitivity syndrome." Heather copied the word exactly in her most authoritative tone, underpinned with a boastful smirk, but Michael gasped as she said it.
"Well, I guess there are all sorts of reasons..." He covered quickly.
"My, ah, husband had this condition, and it seemed just like what was wrong with you. Luckily I had some of his pills left. Did you know about this at all?" Michael floundered, feeling keenly that he couldn't tell her a blatant lie and say no, but to admit that it was the exact same condition would only put her back on the mind-track she was on earlier, which was altogether too dangerous for her to be considering. Thankfully, at that moment the grandfather clock interrupted with its familiar, gentle chimes, rescuing Michael from his predicament.
"Ten o' clock. I almost forgot, I... I'm sorry Mr. Newman, but I called your boss."
"Dr. Morris? You called the doc'?" Michael's stomach clenched in dread.
"Yeah, I, I didn't know what else to do. He's on his way, he should be here any minute."
"I've gotta go." Michael leaped up from the couch, fighting down a wave of dizziness as his overzealous equilibrium system kicked in. "He can't find me here."
"He already knows! Hey, I know you skipped work but that's hardly a hanging offence."
"No, it's a shooting offence," He remarked bitterly, "And I'd rather not ruin another one of your holidays with violence." He looked around for his jacket as Lisa continued to plead with him.
"Mr. Newman -- Michael, don't leave, really, it'll be fine."
"With respect, you couldn't possibly realise what you've gotten into here."
"Well, I would if you'd just tell me!"
"I can't. It's just safer this way, trust me. I'll leave, he'll pick me up someplace... else... and hopefully you'll live through the night." As he strode quickly to the door and opened it, he discovered his jacket draped over the hall table and slipped it on, only to have it grabbed tightly by his wife, anger blazing across her features.
"You are NOT walking out of here until I get an explanation, Mr. Newman. IF that's really your name. Somehow I don't think so anymore. And your 'Doctor Morris'? What kind of medicine does he dole out in the IRS, huh? I don't give a damn how 'top secret' all this is supposed to be - I want to know how it is that you know everything about me, my husband, my daughter, my house... and how come you just happen to have the exact same extremely rare brain condition Michael did... Michael?"
As she once again went through her mental checklist of all his strange behaviour, all his inexplicably similar qualities, all those coincidences, that most outrageous idea once again began to insinuate itself into her thoughts, alarming her so much she had to forcibly block it out. There was just no way...
"Lisie, you don't understand. They will kill you..."
"Who's they? The Government? You're supposed to be working for them."
"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have come here..."
"No, you should. I'm glad you did, because it's clear to me that whatever dodgy business you get into with your government work, you wanted to get out, and I helped. Now I think you owe me some answers."
He saw the fire in her eyes, the determination, and returned her look with equal obstinacy. She refused to back away from her dangerous questions, he refused to satisfy her curiosity. Michael raised his eyes and groaned his frustration, for the first time catching sight of the mistletoe hanging directly above them. Lisa still clutched his jacket tightly by the sleeve, unrelenting, and Michael knew only one thing would distract her now.
In a sudden movement, he bent his head to hers and caught her lips in an assertive kiss. Given the circumstances, he'd expected her to struggle briefly, maybe pull away. He even thought he'd earned himself a slap in the face, but clearly his theory had proved correct - she was so distracted, so affected by him that she leaned into the kiss, her need mirroring his own.
What had begun as a diversionary tactic to enable his escape spun rapidly out of control as Michael began to lose himself in his raging emotions. It was like the accident, his death, the change - all of it, had never happened and he was truly her husband again. He was trying so hard to keep his identity from her, but all of a sudden he couldn't remember any of the reasons which had been so compelling only moments ago.
Lisa's fierce resolve melted the moment his lips touched hers, and as her rational, reasoning mind switched off and she surrendered to her overwhelming feelings, she discovered that there was more truth in this, in the way he kissed her, than in anything else he'd said or done. She also realised that, being so desperate to find a logical explanation for him, she'd refused to acknowledge the radical notion already formed in her mind. She'd told herself it wasn't possible, but now, with her eyes closed, giving in to the sensations of the moment, sensations she knew so well, she could almost believe...
Heather gasped inaudibly as she saw Mr. Newman move into the kiss. She'd expected the argument to heat up, to hear her mother's voice become more angry, for his refusals to become more adamant, perhaps even for a full-blown fight to break out, but not this. She stood rooted to the spot, feeling keenly that it was impolite to stare at the two of them as they kissed, but for some reason not wanting to alert them of her presence, to disturb them. But why not? she asked herself. Because I don't want to spoil the moment... She couldn't begin to explain why she was so pleased to see her mother in another man's embrace. Surely, she should feel a little offence, a sense that her father's memory was being betrayed, but there was nothing of the sort, just the strangely comforting sense that this was... right. She took the small, silent steps necessary to get from the hallway back into the living room so they were just out of view, satisfied that once again she could take the credit for their progress - she'd hung the mistletoe there herself.
As the consuming desire in their embrace mellowed into tender acceptance, they gently broke off the kiss to study each other's expression - hers still questioning, but with a new touch of awe to her curiosity, his now relaxed and perfectly contented to show the love he'd tried to conceal, to let it linger in his happy eyes. Their faces still only inches apart, Lisa examined his finely chiselled features, noting how incongruous such a calm, sanguine gaze seemed, issuing from the eyes of this impulsive, adventurous young man before her. She'd seen him engaged in clearly life-threatening tasks with vibrant ease, and yet now he seemed look out with a mature expression beyond his years. She could almost swear a different man spoke to her silently from within his exciting exterior.
"Michael..." she began hesitantly, her tone so soft it was almost a whisper. But her half-formed plea was suddenly lost as they both caught sight of the dark figure looming in the doorway, the fury blazing across his face promising serious and deadly repercussions.
Doctor Morris looked on with an ire previously unknown to even him. He was wounded to the quick by Michael's blatant disregard for his authority. He thought that he'd at least earned some respect from his headstrong pupil, especially when he had acquiesced and allowed him to stay in his own place over the holiday. Now, witnessing the moment of intimacy between his treacherous subject and his wife, the way she whispered his name - his true name, there was no doubt that he had callously thrown secrecy to the wind and told her everything. It was the final straw, this time it was a fatal mistake. He advanced with intent etched into his cold expression.
Michael's arms fell from about Lisa's waist as he whirled to face the doctor, bringing his spread hands up placatingly.
"Doc'..." He began ineffectually.
"It's over, Mr. Wiseman. Finished." He hissed, "You've betrayed my trust once too many. The lab - now."
"No, it's not like that, I didn't... tell..." His eyes widening in realisation, he looked back at Lisa, whose face was a picture of shock.
"Wiseman..." she breathed, "He said..." She put a hand to her forehead, trembling slightly. Losing her balance slightly in the face of the revelation, she shuffled backwards to the little telephone-seat in the hall and slumped down on it. Heather, who had been tactfully hiding just around the corner now dashed forward to stand beside her mother, staring intently at both Michael and Dr. Morris, her eyes full of confusion.
"Doc'! She doesn't know, I swear... or she didn't..." Michael whispered, leaning forward in an attempt to maintain the appearance of secrecy. Morris did not reply. His hand had flown to his mouth in a belated gesture, and his eyes were tightly closed as he mentally rebuked himself. Given the position of Mr. and Mrs. Wiseman when he arrived, he had, in his rage, simply assumed... He opened his eyes to glare at the young man before him.
"Get in the car." The voice was chillingly hollow.
"But..."
"Get in the car, now."
Michael glanced back with a pained expression at his wife and daughter, wanting so much to run to them, to calm their fears and confusions... it was a husband's job, a father's job, but he was also sensible of the magnitude of the situation, and the mental state of the irate doctor. He'd overstretched his bounds for sure this time, and even he wasn't brave enough to push any further. He nodded in defeat and headed past Morris towards the limo. As he cast a quick look back he saw the door slam shut behind him, and his anxiety jumped up a notch. There was no telling what the doc' would do.
"Okay! Just what the hell is going on here? Whatever it is I'm sure it's all your fault!" Heather's outburst jolted Morris out of his dark thoughts. With one hand he turned the lock of the door, whilst with the other he reached inside his coat and put his hand on the small pistol there. The metal felt smooth and cold - appropriate for the task. All of his vehement threats sounded so empty to him now, as he faced their chilling completion. Bringing out the revolver, he levelled it at Mr. Wiseman's only child, the debate searing though his brain with neither argument gaining the upper hand.
Heather equalled his piercing glance with one of her own most withering looks, copied meticulously from her mom's most furious episodes, practised and inflicted on all her junior-school antagonists to surprising effect.
"What, are you gonna just shoot us now?" Heather asked mockingly, impulsively stepping forward to meet the threat head-on, apparently unafraid of the consequences.
"Heather, get back!" Lisa hissed, trying to grab her daughter's sleeve, the shock she was undergoing now replaced by immediate fear. Heather stepped smartly out of the way and continued her fearless approach.
"You know, you think your such a top-dog with your expensive suit and your government-speak and your 'orders', but when you pull a gun you're just like every other criminal on a macho-trip."
"You've got a brave girl, here, Mrs. Wiseman." Morris commented, a sad smile breaking through the mask of his enforced detachment.
"So, after you blow our brains out, without even telling us why, which I personally think is seriously unfair, then what?" Heather barged ahead, "Sirens, front-page headlines: 'Crazed scientist shoots innocent schoolgirl', there'll be a state-wide man-hunt : 'suspect still at large', you know. Unless you've got a licence to kill or something." Heather glared daggers at the man, somehow sensing that his resolve was crumbling, determined to resist him to the last, to make him back down, even if she felt ready to drop under the pressure at any moment.
Morris saw the fire in the teenager's eyes and knew it was her father's, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the same unconquerable spirit leaped and blazed inside his little girl, too, and that whatever the outcome of his own thoughtless blunder, the revolver would play no part in it. Mrs. Wiseman stood beside Heather, and the two of them watched the cold expression melt from his face, and the gun hang limply in his loosened grip.
Morris began to consider what his next step would be, his normally hair-trigger responsive, acute mind giving him no help, when a loud crash intruded on his non-thoughts and he was propelled forwards by the swinging door.
Michael's force was calculated exactly right so as to bust the lock and open the door without knocking it off its hinges entirely. It was his door, after all, and he was sure that after this little episode the government wouldn't be sufficiently enamoured of him to pay for it. He saw the small black pistol skate across the floor away from Theo's sprawled form only to be purposely trapped by Heather's foot. He looked proudly at his startled but satisfied daughter and winked. She returned the wink and grinned, forgetting for a moment of the trauma she'd been subjected to on account of his identity crisis, and slid the gun back towards him. He retrieved it and without thinking crushed the short barrel effortlessly, removing the most immediate threat to his family.
"Whoa!" Heather exclaimed, as Michael tossed the warped revolver casually out of the door. "How'd you do that?"
He didn't reply. He would say nothing further without Morris' permission. It was not his usual attitude for sure, but he was acutely aware of the precariousness of this situation. Lisa and Heather had now been alerted to the fact the he was in no way normal, and were possibly realising who he really was thanks to the doc's fateful slip-of-the-tongue. But he also knew that right now he had to bring the scientist back on his side, rather than the Pentagon's, otherwise this Christmas could very well be the last for his wife and daughter.
Michael glared darkly at Morris for a moment longer, then bent and dragged the flattened doctor roughly up from the floor, staring fiercely into the eyes of the man who had dared to pull a gun on his precious daughter. What he saw in those eyes, however, was not the determined self-righteousness he had become so accustomed to seeing, and the look of utter helplessness on the scientist's dark face was completely new. His surprise at this was enough to halt the storm of fury which had been rising steadily in Michael, and he simply set Morris down on his feet and turned his mind to the other stuation brewing in his hallway.
"Ah, listen, before we all get to the angry accusations stage, why don't you two just go sit in the living room for a sec, huh? I need to talk to Doctor Morris in private." Lisa glared at him, as if to question how he dared to run out on her after such a turbulent few minutes. He left the drooping doctor's side momentarily and reached out one hand to his wife. She flinched back from it at first, but then allowed him to place it gently on her shoulder.
"You'll have your explanations, Lisie. I promise. Just a minute alright?" She put her own arm about Heather's shoulders and nodded, allowing her daughter to lead her into the other room. Michael turned back to Morris and gestured for him to move outside the door.
* * * * *
