PERFECT STRANGERS: PART XI

Light.

Ouch. Harsh light.

As Brock's newborn eyes fluttered open, the fuzzy images of machinery and buzz of electronics sharpened in his eyes and ears. When had he fallen asleep? He thought back as far as he could... x-wing... white room... metal bed... the whir of machinery... and needles?

"Wipe them out. All of them."

"What?" he whispered, but his voice felt weak; he could barely hear himself. "Is this a dream?" He let his eyes fall shut again, welcoming the darkness that surrounded him, but was quickly jarred from the calm by a sharp vision. His own scream echoed in his ears as a needle was shoved in his neck. Four faces, watching, smiling at his anguish, laughing at the cold metal cuffs that bound him to that bed, his prison.

"No... no! Please, stop!" he moaned.

"All of them."

Brock's eyes flew open, but she was still there, her eyes cold and indifferent.

"Inside your mind, where you can't escape me."

Brock swore he could feel his thoughts and reasoning slowing down, changing, transforming. He couldn't think. His mind was no longer his own.

"One of us now."

What? I don't know who-- who am I!

"Sweet revenge is yours at last."

No! Who are you?

"I am your mind, Brock Mitchell."

What! This can't be--

"You belong to me."

No! Brock sat bolt upright in bed, but before he could blink the vision out of existence, he slumped back down with a groan. "Too fast, too fast!" his nerves bellowed. Suddenly, the vision had disappeared and he was awake, his entire body screaming in agony. He felt like he'd been electrocuted and he was pretty sure his head had been trampled by several herds of angry banthas. As he brought his hands to his face, they too expressed their displeasure at having to move. He hurt bad enough to cry, but he figured that would be painful too, so he didn't. Where was everyone? Why had he been abandoned in wretched misery? His own voice echoed in his ears again.

"Where am I?"

Jaina spun around to see Brock trembling on his bed. Her mouth fell open in slight fear and disbelief. "He's awake." She walked slowly across the room to one of the machines and administered a dose of painkillers, which began to work immediately. Part of her wanted him to experience a little of the pain she'd been going through, but his pain was so strong, it was making her hurt. Even after she had drugged him again, he didn't speak, didn't move. He just lay there with his eyes closed, breathing heavily.

"Brock?"

The name hung in the air for a moment. The way she said it. Not harsh like in his vision. It was sweet, like a song-- a sad song. Finally, a connection was made.

"Brock-- Arren Mitchell. Twenty-three years old. Captain of Echo squadron." His eyes fluttered open. "Brock-- is me. Who said--"

And there she was.

"Jaina." he whispered. His body still ached, but the sight of her put his soul at rest. She was so beautiful. An angel. A new flood of memories came rushing back. Sweet memories. Her face had been the last thing on his mind before he had fallen asleep. But why was she so sad now? They were here together, in this place full of light and-- oh no.

"Am I dead?" he asked as she approached his bed.

"No, you aren't dead." Jaina said eyeing him, warily. "We thought you might have been, but obviously you aren't."

"Then where am I?"

Jaina looked at him in disbelief. "You don't remember?"

"No. I mean-- everything is fuzzy. I don't know what's real and what's--"

"You're on Yavin IV in the infirmary!" Jaina wailed. She threw her hands in the air. "How can you not remember, Brock!"

"Jaina, are you going to cry?" he asked softly.

Jaina shook her head. He didn't remember. "Don't you know who sent you here!" she continued in a shocked whisper. "Don't you know why I look like this! Don't you know why your face hurts so bad! It's all your fault!" she shuddered, pushing back tears. "It's all your fault because you came here with that!"

Brock followed her accusing finger to a shelf across the room. Inside a clear case lay a long deadly blaster rifle and a dagger. Both of which looked all too familiar.

Suddenly, with a new rush of pain and confusion, vivid memories swept over his mind and his whole demeanor changed. Brock suddenly remembered select details about his life as if they had just happened. The day he met Jaina, the night at Astraglo, the banquet, his deal with Jacen, his fight with Jaina, the apologies, the kiss and the battle that brought him into space and launched him on the path to Yavin. He began rambling off events to see if he could trace a path to his current position.

"Right before you came here," he began. "I got double teamed... I was at your place, remember?"

Jaina nodded. "That was a long time ago."

"After you left, I was flying like crazy, all the time. No really big jobs though. Then we got news of this one disturbance and they told us we had to go right then... I hadn't talked to you in four days, and I missed you really bad." That caught Jaina's attention. She slowly turned to face him.

"So after we won the fight, I decided to visit, since we were close to Yavin."

"Then what?" Jaina pushed. Brock continued, not making eye contact with her. "I never made it." he paused. "A-- tractor beam! I got caught in the tractor beam. It pulled me into this all white room-- and when I got out of my x-wing to see if there was a way out, they drugged me. They had to. It was invisible and it came out of pipes in the ceiling! That's where the vision started! All four of them. They got me."

"What?" Jaina asked exasperated. "You're not making any sense. Who got you?"

Brock didn't even hear her. "She got in my head-- "into my head so I couldn't escape." She said she was my mind. She said I was one of them."

"She who?"

Just then, the first of many strange and vivid flashbacks jarred Brock's thinking.

Swung the blaster rifle from his shoulder... hands trembled as he ran them over the slick, high powered weapon... screaming and running in terror at the very sight of him... sneak in... destroy everyone... everything in sight...

"She gave me that!" Brock exclaimed pointing at the rifle. He sat up slowly, still in a bit of pain. "She gave me that gun..." He trailed off, for that was the part where everything stopped making sense. He closed his eyes, thinking hard. "Destruction?" he whispered softly. "Destroy who?"

"JEDI!" a voice roared.

Brock's eyes flew open. "What?"

"What? What is it?" Jaina asked anxiously.

"The Jedi Order must be destroyed!"

"No!" Brock screamed. "Gods, what is going on? Who are you?" He squeezed his eyes shut clutching his head between his hands. "Go away!"

"What is it, Brock?" Jaina asked. "Who are you talking to?"

"I don't know…" he sputtered.

Into the foliage, waiting... Whatever it was wouldn't be around long enough to tell anyone about him... spotted it, flying through the trees... no threat to him. Nothing was... leveled his rifle... fired twice... his victim tumbled to the ground.

"Oh no," Brock moaned. He turned to Jaina. "Oh gods, what happened? What did I do?" Jaina didn't speak a word. She just stood there glaring at him. He stared back at her, the terror of that moment playing back in her eyes, in his mind. He reached into his memory for details. So dim, so shallow, so--

Bright.

Bright red-gold tresses flying to the ground behind his fallen prey.

"Tenel." he breathed. "I didn't--" he glanced back at Jaina for reassurance. She didn't even look at him. Brock recoiled. "I can't believe this. I shot her! What happened! She can't be dead."

"No, she's not dead." Jaina growled. "Just-- disabled."

Brock sighed, relieved. But all too quickly, he was seized by another disturbing flashback.

The girl was close to the camp... and if she made it all the way... ruined... easier now to take her down himself.

"Oh no. There were more?" Brock mumbled in disbelief.

Upon her... his strong, cold hands encircling her neck... cutting off her air supply...

He stared at Jaina until she turned around. Her large brandy brown eyes were wide with severe mistrust and red with tears. That fear looked too familiar. Too recent. The perspective had switched. He could no longer see the struggle on Jaina's face-- now he was in her place.

Glared up at him as menacingly as possible... got a good look at his face... short, wild hair... fiery, heartless...

Brock stared hard into cruel and vicious eyes.

Strangely familiar green eyes...

"NO!"

That lone syllable echoed through the infirmary. Jaina stood frozen in fear and Brock's visions shut off, as if someone had cut the cable to his memories. He didn't believe it. It was too awful, too unbelievable. He sucked air into his lungs and threw back the covers of his bed. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked at his hands. Hands that had nearly cut Jaina's life short. He stumbled out of the bed, mad thoughts blurring his vision. He made a move toward Jaina, but she recoiled as if he were a poisonous animal.

"She hates you now. She's afraid of you."

Brock cringed covering his ears. "I know!" he mumbled. "I know! Just shut up whoever you are! This is all your fault!" Brock couldn't stand it. He collapsed on the floor at Jaina's feet. After a moment, he sat up on his knees. His shoulders sagged and his head was bowed, contrite tears dampening the clinic floor.

"Please," he begged, his voice stifled with sorrow. "Just kill me. Destroy me and this voice within me that made me hurt you. Any way you want. I deserve nothing less."

END PART ELEVEN