Chapter 7: (You Drive Me) Crazy
For the past week Michael Vaughn has met with his new patient: Sydney Bristow. Two weeks ago she shocked him by knocking on his door, running into his arms, and sobbing incoherent drivel about the CIA and her father and him. Does he naturally magnetize crazed women? He is a psychologist, that explains it somewhat. But can't he find someone normal like maybe Kristen? Vaughn snorts realizing how quickly he'd bore -- for all the trouble they're worth, the more eccentric and passionate and mysterious the woman, the harder he falls. Sydney doesn't disappoint. Wow…what a fucked up insane enigma.
Finding her equally fascinating and unnerving, he studies her every movement -- tucking her hair behind her ear, the slight head tilt when she grins, her nose crinkle at bewilderment. Her voice wrestles to stay composed and strong. Her resolve impresses him for she only breaks when (of all things) she discusses their supposed relationship. Vaughn avoids the topic as best he can, but he kids himself into believing that he can avoid it all together. Can he see himself dating Sydney Bristow?
Sure… after all he nearly married Dylan Bradford. But he didn't really love Dylan, it just seemed right at the time. They had been dating off and on for a couple years, neither was getting any younger, and both fervently detested each other equally. He stayed with Dylan because of Abby; because Abby left him in the rain with just a note at the train station, and Dylan was the next girl to come along. He really loved Abby, even if she causes symptoms of an acid trip. If Sydney is an enigma, Abby is a mirage.
Sydney. What will he do with Sydney? She sent him over the edge today. Vaughn paces his office, rubbing the back of his neck and reviewing today's session. There's nothing in particular to gaze at as he stares out his window. "You thought I died and you couldn't handle that… you were a danger to yourself… The CIA felt you would be good candidate… to remove specific memories."
He doesn't buy it. He's had his share of girlfriends and he's liked them all, maybe even loved some, but none -- not even Abby - has stirred up in him the kind of love Sydney describes. Part of him doubts his capability to love in that manner, even though Sydney -- he doesn't know what Sydney does.
"He said 'you could set your heart by this watch.' … Yes, the watch stopped… The day I came to your door? …I don't know. I went to put it on one day and it wasn't working. Technically it stopped after he pushed her out his door. His father never said that; he remembers every detail of his father and the time they spent together before his death -- he did not say that. His mother gave him the watch after his father's funeral. That's one of the few incorrect details though. Sydney was right on the money with most -- the dog, the aunt, the diary -- but not the watch.
How does she know so much about him, and he know so little about her? She filled out her forms with a P.O. Box, and his investigations have turned up nothing but dead ends. No files, no police records, no birth certificate, no medical records. Sydney Bristow does not exist. So who is she really?
He and Max need to have an immediate pow-wow. Leaving his office, he strolls down the hall to barge into Max's office. The sweet sounds of Mr. Blue Sky reverberate through the office until Vaughn turns off the radio. Not pleased, Max stares at Vaughn questioning what that was for.
"I'm done. No more of your sick mind games."
Max doesn't seem phased. He expects this. Vaughn observes his friend suppressing a grin, which infuriates him. Max and Vaughn glare at each other for a moment until Max throws up his hands in defense. "Okay."
"This is psychological warfare: everything she says has an alternative meaning. She's playing me, and I'm playing her and we're at a stalemate."
"I stand by my decision. Something traumatic happened to Miss Bristow, which she won't tell me. She will not tell anyone but you. She needs your help. You're going to be her psychologist, and you're still going to see her three to four times a week."
"I know, I know, but it's still too awkward. Too crazy. And how in the hell am I suppose to stay professional when I just want to tell her she's a neurotic nut and kick her out of my office? No, not just kick her out, but get a restraining order. She's clearly a delusional who knows her capabilities. This woman needs serious help, which I can't give."
"I disagree. Anyway -- think of the challenge of it. This case is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Hell, I wish she was obsessed with me! It's fascinating."
"You can have her."
"I would if I could, but I can't so I won't -- because she only wants you."
Vaughn settles into a chair, "Why? I've never met her before in my life."
"Really? She almost had me convinced otherwise."
"What did she tell you?"
"Plenty." Max titters, "You two were hot and heavy, and not just in the sexual way. You should hear her go on about you, Mike -- major knight in shining armor complex. Her guardian angel, her rock, her axis, her constant, her North. I'm impressed. So much so in fact that 'if I were a woman, and I were not around, I should be in love with you'."
Barely believing the story Max is retelling, Vaughn comments. "Good movie, go on."
"Your basic double agent-handler spy romance followed. All those countermission meetings sparked the undeniable: think Romeo and Juliet. But there was Comedy Tonight and when you took down some international crime syndicate, the two of you literally started making out right then and there in the ramshackled office building. Very sexy. She wouldn't tell me how or why -- because of it being classified and a matter of National Security. You know, typical spook stuff -- but she disappeared for five years and now she's back and you don't remember her. That's what I know of your presumed relationship."
A twinkle appears in Max's eyes. Damn it, Sydney has worked her magic on him, too. Curtly, Vaughn retorts, "She claims that the CIA erased my memory."
"WHAT?" Max jolts, not expecting that. Leaning forward, Vaughn nods. WHAT? Vaughn's reaction precisely.
"Because the CIA erased them, Max. That is her story. The CIA erased my memory, and not just a moment or a week, right? No, they erased ten years. bTEN YEARS./b And they replaced that time with false memories. She told me that today!"
"Why did the CIA erase your memories?" Max inquires, genuinely fascinated by his friend's situation.
"According to her, because of her death. It seems that I just couldn't handle it."
Max shakes his head, crazy. A pregnant silence hovers until Vaughn says what they are both thinking: "How the fuck could the CIA erase a decade of my life and I not know?"
Slowly, Max remarks, "Because they erased the erasing of them as well."
Vaughn opens his mouth to retort, but Max's growing smirk stops him. Holding his head in his right hand, Vaughn allows Max's comment to sink in before slowly laughing. "Good point."
Vaughn sighs, "I mean, you can't erase memories, right? I've never heard of such a thing."
"Well." Max starts, "Theoretically, I suppose that's true. I mean, think about Alzheimer's."
"You can manipulate memories, this is so, Max, but... Have you ever heard of anything like this?!"
"No. But, I don't know what the CIA does on a daily basis."
Vaughn rises again, at a loss for thoughts or words. He paces before standing behind the chair, and resting his hand on the back. "I have a hunch on her diagnosis. Did she tell you about Julia Thorne?"
Max shakes his head, and Vaughn enlightens, "I did background checks on Sydney. It's like she never existed. When she showed up at my house, she mentioned how she was pretending to be an assassin named Julia Thorne. And how Julia was tortured and has no memory of her five years."
"You're thinking Disassociate Disorder?"
Vaughn nods.
"Do you have any information on Julia Thorne?"
"No, I literally just came to this conclusion. I surmised that I'd run it by you first, then run background checks tonight."
"So this means you're not quitting?"
"Apparently not."
Max continues, "Good, this isn't about you, this is about her."
Vaughn jolts his head towards Max, not liking the idea of being lectured. "Bearing in mind her fixation with me, I think this is about me, just as much as this is about her."
"But it is her fixation, and whatever impact it has on your life, you need to get over it."
"Get over it? You try getting over being told the CIA not only erased but also implanted memories into your brain! I can't get over it Max. Do you understand exactly what she is saying? What it means if she is right? She's not…" Vaughn lets his thoughts trail off.
"If you're so certain she's not right, why are you making such a big deal out of it?"
"Don't analyze me."
"All I'm saying…"
Kristen's voice echoes over the intercom, "Mike, you have a call on line 2. It's Miss Clark."
Max questions Vaughn with his eyes. Vaughn begins to say, "Tell her…"
"She knows you're here."
Vaughn mouths fuck and picks up the phone. "Abby." His voice is raspy, and he curses himself for doing this.
"Michael. How are you?"
His mind says: tell her something, anything to make her get off the phone. He refuses to partake in this dance again. However, he replies. "I'm well. You?"
"I'm fine. I'm back for a while, until the papers are finalized."
He makes a sound like, Oh, but doesn't verbally respond. His mind reiterates: Get off the phone…
"I am calling to see if maybe you want to have dinner sometime soon." Her voice hasn't changed one bit. She still uses the same pleasing tone, acting as if nothing has changed.
By now his mind is screaming: No… No… No… Why? So you can mindf-ck with me again and make me fall in love with you and then shatter my hopes when you run off to Africa? No.. No.. No… "Sure, that sounds nice." Weakling. Why did he just say that?
"What about Monday?"
"Monday's good."
"How about you meet me at Beachwood's Brewery, say 7:30."
"7:30 it is."
"Great. It's going to be great to see you again."
"You too. Bye, Abby." Vaughn doesn't wait for her goodbye. He slams down the phone.
Max doesn't wait for Vaughn to speak. He says quickly, "It's been two years. You're different people."
"Shut up."
"You're an…"
Kristen's voice echoes over the intercom again, "Mike, you have a phone call… The Wicked Witch."
"I'm with a patient!"
"She'll wait."
"Patch her through," Vaughn orders. He picks up the receiver and immediately hangs up.
Max laughs, highly amused. "That was rude."
"But necessary. What is it about me that screams 'Come and get it!' to every crazy woman on this planet? As if Abby wasn't bad enough, then came Dylan."
"And let's not forget the woman you seemingly chose to forget…The lovely Miss Bristow."
"Yeah, how could I forget her? She's well on her way to beating out the other contestants to be crowned Queen of the Basketcases."
What neither of the boys knew -- well Max knew, but he just forgot -- is that Sydney had asked to speak with Max before her next meeting with Vaughn. Max agreed to meet with Sydney and told her to come back at a better time, since he had an appointment in five minutes. Sydney nodded, deciding to come back later in the day. She slipped in the office and up the stairs without checking in, since she didn't want Kristen to tell Vaughn she was there.
As luck would have it, her timing allowed her to hear the latter half of the conversation, but that was more than enough to sting. Realizing that she has heard them, both of the men stare at her horrified as she quickly excuses herself and hastens down the steps. This isn't right. Plan D -- get Vaughn to trust her - failed. All she managed to do was make a fool out of herself. She ignores his shouts and leaves.
Sydney disappears from the door, and Max and Vaughn now gape at each other. Max waves him off -- Run-after-her-you-dimwit. Vaughn doesn't protest.
Sydney is already flying down the stairs when Vaughn calls out to her. She doesn't respond, so he chases after her (something he's never done before). He follows her out the door and into the parking lot.