Caught in the monkey jar: Blackbeard Interludes
Horse with no name- (America)
Next door's cat came in and started sniffing at the pork joint Sara had left out on the counter top whilst she was hanging up the washing. Jack came into the kitchen as Charlie tried to climb up and remove the cat. The combined efforts of Jack grabbing Charlie and the cat leaping out of the way, made the tin with the uncooked pork and blood juices fall to the floor with a loud metallic clang. The small pan of cranberry sauce got knocked off too. The pork joint skidded across the floor and the cranberry sauce slowly crept towards it. Jack was splattered with the meat juices and some of the sauce before it landed on the floor. Charlie made to go pick the meat up.
"NO!" shouted Jack and grabbed him to him. "Don't touch it!"
Sara came in hearing the noise to be greeted by a tearful Charlie crushed to Jack's arms and Jack staring at the mess on the floor.
"Mommy?"
"What happened?"
"I tried to stop 'pencer from getting dinner but it got knocked on the floor and now daddy won't let me go…." gabbled Charlie
That's when she realised Jack was mute.
"What's wrong with daddy?"
"Nothing."
"But..."
"Shh Charlie. Come here. I need to talk to dad alone. Let's see if Joanne over the road is in. You like her don't you?"
"Yes but…. daddy."
"Jack? I'll be a minute, I'm coming back. Jack?"
Jack hadn't moved an inch but the cranberry tide had reached his sneakers.
Sara rushed Charlie across the road to her neighbour Joanne.
"I need a really big favour, could you keep an eye on Charlie for a while. I'll be back later"
"Sure hon, everything okay? Do you need me to call anyone?"
"No! No, we'll work it out."
She swore later that she had only been gone a few minutes at most reassuring Charlie and coming right back. Jack was still in the kitchen, but he was curled up on the floor, the pot roast had gone and he had sauce and dark stuff – dirt? On his pants and hands and smudges on his face. Why had he taken his socks and sneakers off?
"Jack?"
He ignored her. What had he done with the pork joint? And why? She looked in the kitchen trash bin. Nope. Dirt…Panicked she went into the garden. There in the middle of the border was a disturbed patch. Knowing and yet not believing it she walked woodenly to the spot. There was no tool nearby…he'd used his hands? She swallowed and fetched a trowel. There it was. Dear God, why had he done this? She shook… piecing two and two together and came up with an unholy number. She dug it up again and put in the bigger trash can in the garage. She actually thought about whether she should leave it where it was in case…in case what, Sara? He wants to dig it up or rebury it someplace else? If she left it, it would rot and smell and she did not want to think how that might affect Jack.
It was some time before she managed to coax Jack off the floor and upstairs and into bed. He refused to wash. He refused to speak. She'd just have to figure it out later. Sara sat in the bathroom and cried hard and silently into a bath towel. She pulled herself together and collected Charlie.
Jack woke up suddenly. He lay still waiting and listening. Muted voices from downstairs confirmed Sara and Charlie were there. Why was he in bed? Had he overslept? No, he remembered it had been mid morning; he squinted at the bedside clock. 2.40pm -What the hell? If he'd gone to bed because of a headache it hadn't worked at all. His head was pounding and his back ached liked he'd been gardening or lying on it wrong. Well no wonder, as he realised he was all curled up under the sheet.
Water, he needed a drink of water. Now. Flinging the sheet back he sat up and swung his feet to the floor. Head hurt. He looked at his hands and feet distractedly. What was on them and on his clothes? He sniffed a hand. A sweet smell, earth? And….blood ? His stomach lurched and he rushed to the bathroom to be violently ill. He turned the light on so he could clean up. He washed his hands watching the dirt swirl down the plughole. Had he imagined it? There were no MP cars outside, Sara and Charlie seemed to be okay, so what had he done? He tried to think and came up with nothing. He looked at himself again, still clothed, bare feet with dirt on them and..? His shirt cuff had a red stain on them. He looked in the mirror and saw red on his face. He pressed a hand to his head as he 'heard' shouting and 'saw' red blood exploding everywhere. He clutched desperately at the toilet bowl as his stomach turned inside out again. Shaking, he washed at the sink and then slumped to the floor. Oh, God he was dying. He sat trying to summon the strength to get up and shower. Tears of pain leaked from his eyes. How much longer was this going to happen to him?
There was a swirl of air and someone reached for him. "Don't touch me!" he gasped roughly, snapping his eyes open and seeing the hurt look in his wife's face.
"Jack?" she asked.
"Not feeling so good. Going to have a shower and clean up."
"You got one of those headaches?"
"Oh yeah." He heard her opening the cabinet and she placed the bottle in his hands. Startled at the contact he jerked and the bottle dropped onto his lap.
"Did I do too much gardening?" he asked warily. There was a pause before Sara replied "Yeah, you did, Jack. Way too much," then she left.
Jack realised that cracks were appearing around the construct he'd created. He had no control over the flashbacks or nightmares. Thankfully he came to realise Sara couldn't understand what he said when it happened. It was just that he scared her by shouting at her. Sometimes he came to himself and saw the confused and scared look on his little boy's face too, and that really got to him.
Military hospital
"Are you sure that's what happened?"
"Yes, the dinner got knocked off the counter in the confusion with the cat and my kid trying to climb up the furniture. I put it in the trash. Nothing else happened doc."
"So, why would your wife be so upset with you?"
"I don't know. Maybe 'cause I had a bad headache and crashed out for the rest of the day?"
"Why did you have to put it in the trash? You could have washed it, not like it was cooked or anything…"
"No, he… it was dead...I mean ruined, a mess on the floor. I cleaned it up. I don't get the problem here."
"Uh- huh, I see. So I don't need to be worried about lost time or flashbacks?"
"Absolutely not. What are you writing doc?"
"Just some notes. Did you know that you just referred to the dinner and I quote "he…it was dead, a mess on the floor"?"
"No."
"You did."
"Did not."
"Do you know why you did that?"
"You're twisting my words. I'm not lying!"
"Okay, not lying- avoiding or hiding perhaps."
"We're having a conversation, what more do you want?"
"It's progress from when we first met, yes. But there's a long way to go."
"Are we done here? I have to be someplace."
The doctor noted Major O'Neill's hand rubbing at his forehead and he looked slightly panicked.
"Are you alright, Major? Why do you have to go?"
"I'm fine. A headache. You're not getting anything else today." Interesting choice of words thought the doctor.
"There's still time left on the clock. Stay a few more minutes," coaxed the doctor.
"No! You can't make me!"
"Calm down. I'm not forcing you to do or say anything you don't want to. See the door is not locked and the window is open." The doctor would know there was something wrong if the Major responded to the tone and trigger words. "It's just you and me talking. No one else need to know what you tell me."
"Bastard!" Bingo, thought the doctor.
"Major O'Neill, I thought we were well past all that."
"What?"
"You lost time didn't you?"
"And how would I know if I can't remember it!"
"There are some other methods we could try. Hypnotherapy for instance."
"Doc, you can make me cluck like a chicken and bark like a dog for all I care. But it's not going to work worth a damn I assure you."
"I am fluent in many languages as you well know, including chicken and dog."
"Sorry about swearing at you in Russian doc."
"Well you weren't quite yourself at the time. I forgive you the German, French and Spanish too."
"Pretty sure I said a whole bunch of things I didn't mean…"
"No I'm quite sure you did mean them but not to me. That's why I didn't reply to you in Arabic either. We only speak English here. It levels the playing field" The doctor decided to leave it there for today. Maybe they could come back to this another time and dig a little deeper. He knew there were other blockages in O'Neill's damaged psyche- he had read his medical file in great detail. He only hoped that they could relieve the pressure before it was too late.