Keeper of the Truth
Disclaimer: I do not own The A-Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A-Team.
AN: I know I'm using the name Donna Sullivan in part of this story, notably as Murdock's mind is becoming more shattered. Hannibal would use that name in speaking with Doctor Richter since in my series of stories Daniela used that name as an alias to keep from being found by her family ('The Hospital Nurse' story). Murdock and the team knew her real name but those she worked with might not.
Chapter 26
Face climbed in the rear passenger's area of the van first and helped B. A. get Murdock belted in to the con man's usual seat by the door. It would be easier to get him out of the van and into Doctor Richter's care once they arrived at the VA hospital. The con man waited, anger over his own inability to foresee the end result of his friend's part of the mission in the forefront of his mind.
I just hope Hannibal can get Murdock's doctor this time of night and not the night nurse and orderly.
Murdock might see anyone but Richter as an enemy. Even if he was groggy with the sedative he would fight back against anyone he didn't fully trust. Face realized Murdock probably didn't trust any of his own team at this point.
It would explain why he fought so hard to avoid being moved from that shower.
The Captain had spent enough time with his own shrink that he should recognize him and maybe go with him willingly.
At least I hope so.
The dome light above made the huge ugly bruise along the pilot's jaw stand out in sharp contrast to the pallor of his face and the Lieutenant grimaced. Before he could stop himself, he muttered, "Man, B. A.!"
Seeing it, B. A. flinched, took a step back and mumbled, "I didn't mean ta hit the fool so hard."
Hannibal patted the big man on the shoulder, shooting his Lieutenant a warning look. "We know that."
"He was actin' like he didn't even know who I was. He took a swing at me." B. A. scowled at the memory.
The Colonel might have smirked at the thought of Murdock trying to hit the Sergeant if not for the seriousness of the situation. "Did he connect?"
"Rabbit punch ta the chin." The black man shrugged as if it was nothing but a mosquito bite. "He was actin' like there was somethin' in the truck he was 'fraid of. Didn't make no sense the way he was screamin' an' fightin'," B. A. muttered, staring at Murdock with as close of an expression of regret and worry as Face had ever seen. "I didn't mean ta hit 'im that hard."
The con man moved to the seat nearest the window. He turned sideways to keep watch over his best friend, studiously ignoring both of the other men.
Hannibal motioned with his head for B. A. to get in the driver's seat, then turned his attention back to Murdock and Face. "I didn't give him a big dose, just enough so we could handle him."
"He hates being put under," the con man answered bitterly. "You know that."
"It was for his own good. You saw how he was going to gouge his face with his nails. What else were we supposed to do?" The Colonel noticed someone peeking out of a window at them and abruptly ended the discussion. Moving to the passenger's side door, he got in. "Let's go, B. A.," he ordered.
Face quickly slid the side door shut and settled back to guard his best friend against any nightmares that would drive him closer to the brink of madness.
If he isn't already past that point.
oooooo
Richter was finishing some work on one of his patient's case files when the call came in on his office phone. Frowning, he wondered who would be calling this time of night.
He almost didn't answer it.
No one knows if I'm here or at home. And if I don't answer it, I can get home faster.
But then curiosity got the better of him. That and a sense of duty and responsibility. He knew there was one patient under his care who was not at the hospital.
Maybe this is Murdock checking in. Letting me know he and Billy are fine.
The thought of Murdock's imaginary dog made the doctor chuckle. It was one of the pilot's more lasting harmless delusions.
Still smiling, he picked up the receiver and glanced at another page of the file in front of him while he responded, "Hello. Doctor Richter here. How can I help you?"
"Richter, this is Smith."
The familiar voice made the doctor sit up in his seat and push away the file. For Hannibal Smith to call meant only one thing. Something had happened to Captain Murdock.
"What can I do for you?" As he asked the question, he felt his gut tighten with concern.
Murdock was a bit of a mystery. He felt in the last few years he had only begun to peel back the layers of coping mechanisms and shrouds hiding the psychological injuries the pilot daily carried with him.
Richter honestly liked the veteran Captain. Among all of his current patients, he enjoyed his sessions with Murdock most. He never knew what new innocent obsession or delusion the man would bring to his therapy time.
And while much of what Murdock said and did was put on to ensure he continued to have a place to stay at the VA hospital, Richter knew some, perhaps more than some, of it was a result of the buried memories and trauma of whatever the man had suffered during his childhood and later in Nam.
He wanted to help Murdock adjust so he could eventually function with a minimum of medication out in society. But he had many more layers of pain and denial to gently probe at and reveal before that could happen.
If something happened to him, I'd never forgive myself for allowing him to go with his team mates this time.
There was a long pause at the other end.
Something was very wrong for the A-team leader to be at a loss for words.
"Is Captain Murdock injured?" Richter finally asked, trying to keep his voice level and calm.
Another pause, then, "Not physically except for a bump to his head. I didn't see signs of a concussion."
Then why . . .
There could be only one answer to that question. "Maybe you'd better bring him here. I'll meet you near the entrance."
The other man sighed as if relieved Richter had suggested that without too much having to be said.
"We're on our way. But Doc . . . ?"
"Yes?"
"It would be better if you met us without anyone else with you. Except that nurse Donna Sullivan. He trusts the two of you. Will you do that?"
Richter didn't have to think at all about his answer. "If I helped Colonel Roderick Decker to capture the three of you by letting anyone else know you're coming, Captain Murdock wouldn't trust me anymore, would he? Donna Sullivan isn't working tonight though. I'll have to meet you alone." He hesitated. "Will I need a sedative or restraints?"
"Right now he doesn't pose a threat to anyone. We're just a few minutes out. Just meet us."
There was a click, then a hum indicating the conversation was over.
Right now?
For Smith to admit that not even Lieutenant Peck could help Murdock out of whatever psychotic episode he was having meant it was bad.
Damn Smith!
Frowning, Doctor Richter placed an empty syringe and a vial of haloperidol in his jacket pocket just in case and hurried out of his office to the elevator.
oooooo
Murdock groaned softly as he tried to open his eyes. The back of his head pounded with a fierce headache.
He tried to lie down but found a strap held him from moving up from his seated position. At first, the voices in his head told him he was in the interrogation hut.
They didn' use th' ropes this time. I don' smell any o' th' piss 'r other smells either. Where am I?
Until he could figure it out . . . and the jackhammer and mocking voices in his head was making that very difficult . . . he would feign semi-consciousness.
He heard a voice that sounded like Hannibal but it was too muffled for him to make sense of it. It sounded like he was very far away.
The strap holding him upright didn't seem to do much except prevent his upper body from falling forward off the seat. His arms weren't restrained. At any moment, if the enemy should come too close, he could get his unfortunate victim in a chokehold and use him as a shield against anyone attacking him.
Charlie wouldn' be that stupid, leavin' my arms free t' move . . . so this can't be th' interrogation hut. But I can't be stupid either. If th' enemy's close, I gotta be ready.
The restraint seemed to only encircle his pelvis. It seemed a little like the type of straps the doctors used on him when they administered EST. That was when he first arrived at the VA hospital more than five years ago. When Doctor Richter became his primary doctor, the electroshock therapy was quickly discontinued. The doctor wouldn't use that type of measure unless there was no other way to control an episode.
It was one of the reasons he trusted Richter more than any other VA doctor.
There weren't any of the other restraining straps that they normally would use if he were about to receive EST. And there was a sensation of muted lights flashing by as if he was moving quickly along a lighted path.
But if I ain' in Nam 'n' I ain' at th' VA hospital where am I?
He wracked his memory for the answer. He remembered something about a group of buildings atop a mountain and a room that vaguely reminded him of the room where the Great Oz spoke to Dorothy and her companions. Words swirled in his head and he knew that if he could reach inside his brain and rearrange them they would make sense.
Are you prepared to join us in our journey . . . get clean . . . gotta get clean firs' . . . clean . . . Are you prepared . . . are you . . . what journey . . . WHAT JOURNEY?
The multiple voices in his head laughed at his confusion. He whined without meaning to and immediately someone touched his shoulder.
"Just rest now, buddy. You're safe. Do you hear me? You're safe."
The voice was familiar but he knew the message was wrong. He wasn't safe. He couldn't rest.
I'm s'posed t' be somewhere else, doin' somethin' else . . . but what?
And a quiet peaceful voice in his mind answered, "Are you prepared to join us in our journey?"
Maybe Doctor Richter could help him remember what that question meant.
He managed to mumble, his words slurred from the sedative, "Doc . . . Ah need mah doctor . . . "
Someone answered but he couldn't hear the response. His enemies' voices shouted at him again. He raised his hands to clutch at his head only to have them forced back down to his sides. More calming words were directed to him, this time laced with worry.
He whined, an anguished sound that became a howl as the voices continued to mock him.
All sensation of movement stopped suddenly and someone clapped a hand over his mouth, shushing him like he was a small child awakened by a nightmare. It sounded like Face. He fought but couldn't escape the pressure pinning him in his seat.
A door opened beside him on his right and Hannibal's voice cut in over the top of his muffled howl.
"We're here, son, at the VA. Doctor Richter is waiting for you."
As the words registered, his howl turned to a series of gasping sobs.
And then he felt himself being helped to his feet. His legs wobbled as if he had been sedated for a while. Half-opening his eyes, he vaguely made out his doctor's face as he came toward him.
As his doctor grasped him around the waist to help him inside the hospital, Murdock didn't look back. It was better not to.
He was afraid his reality would shift again and he would find himself in another nightmare.