HALLOWEEN FOUR
"She's starting to stir, Chief."
Slowly, Joan becomes aware of conciousness. Her head throbs, her body is tightly confined to a chair and there is a swaying motion. Joan opens her eyes. She is bound by straps to a heavy metal chair that is bolted to the floor. The room, what she can see of it, is riveted white metal panels—a cargo van? To Joan's mind there is a familiar wooziness.
"I feel…drunk. Am I drunk?"
From behind her Elaine Lishack appears, and Joan notes the completition of attitude change. Like someone replacing a light sweater with a heavy coat, Lishack the quirky science teacher is gone and in her place is Agent 66. The 'coat' no longer is a perfect fit, but she wears it well. Her thoughts and emotions are tightly controlled, and old skills have reasserted themselves. This is a woman who can do whatever has to be done. Joan easily imagines that in her heyday, 66 was quite the irresistable force.
Joining her is an old man of about 80. He is of medium size with grey hair and is remarkably fit and spry. He burns brightly with a sense of duty that borders the fanatical, but unlike Issac B. Dunn, there is at his core a basic decency. He gives Joan a reassuring smile…
"Don't be alarmed Miss Girardi, we mean you no harm."
Joan repeats, "Am I drunk? My words aren't slurred but I feel really, really drunk."
"You're not drunk. This is a side effect of the truth serum that we gave you, Miss Girardi. Or may I call you Joan?"
"Sure, if I can have your name."
"My name is Max."
"Hello Max." Joan says as she notices the .38 caliber snub-nosed revolver under Max's jacket. Very old school, but Joan has no doubt he is deadly accurate with the old-fashioned weapon.
"My God, Max…your soul is heavily burdened. You've killed over a hundred men."
Max hesitates, looks to Elaine and receives a shrug.
"Yes Joan, in the line of duty I have had to kill a lot of very evil people. How do you know this?"
"Because I'm an instrument of God and I can read your soul… Hey, that's a secret. Why did I say that?"
Max looks to Elaine again. "Is this why you called me out of seclusion, 66? To hear the ravings of an asylum candidate?"
"Listen to her, Chief. There's something different about Joan. Try to keep an open mind. I know I am after experiencing that…supernatural evil on the roof of the school. I think Joan may have the answers you've been seeking for most of your life."
Max turns back to Joan, who looks very confused…
"I'm not suppose to tell. Don't want to go back to the funny farm. I'm not crazy! I must be drunk. And…I'm tired. It was exhausting facing that demon, but I'm tired way beyond that. I've only been at this for four years, but I am so worn out by how my life is going. When I first started working for God, I never imagined how hard my life would become. I have free will. I could quit. In fact I did for a short time, but I couldn't stay away. I do important work. Besides…how do you walk away from God? Are you sure I'm not drunk?"
"Joan, your current state of confusion is due to the drug we administered shortly before you woke up. It's a refinement of an earlier truth serum that our lab boys cooked up. You will tell the truth, as you believe it, until you fall back asleep. When you wake up, you won't remember anything that occurred during this time period. This truth serum is a remarkable breakthrough, and would you believe it works in only five seconds?"
Joan giggles. "Cow crap."
"Oh. Uh, would you believe 50 seconds?"
"Nope."
"Well, I'm not actually sure how fast it works, but it is very quick. It varies person to person."
Joan begins to cry.
Max asks with concern, "Joan, what's wrong?"
"I lost my baby."
"Baby?"
"I was in denial. I didn't want to admit I was pregnant. Not after all of that drinking I did. But down deep I knew. Jimmy, I'm so sorry. I lost our child!"
Joan begins to sob uncontrollably.
"Chief, what's happening?" Lishack asks.
"It's an unfortunate side effect of the drug. It not only releases all intellectual inhibitions, but all emotional ones as well. Uh, a little help?"
Elaine steps closer and awkwardly pats Joan on the shoulder.
"There, there. I'm sorry for this painful time, Joan."
Between sobs Joan gulps out, "The doctor says I damaged my uterine wall. The chance of me carrying another baby to full term is low. Really low."
Elaine sighs. "Chief, is this normal?"
"Like I said, it varies person to person. In some people, like your Joan, it just releases a flood of dammed up emotions."
Joan cries out, "I'm horny!"
Max and Elaine exchange a glance and then stare at Joan who blushes deeply.
"Did I say that outloud? Well, it's true. I loved Jimmy Tubbs with all my heart. He introduced me to sex, and it was great! Now he's gone and I miss him so much, but I also miss sex. Today, I was in a long car ride with this nice, cute guy and briefly…I had sexual thoughts about him. Now I feel so guilty. I'm sorry Jimmy!"
Joan resumes crying.
Max sighs. "This is useless. We're not going to get any information about my old protégé, I.B. and his plans. This poor girl is confused, grief stricken and probably a little crazy. She will tell us what she believes to be true, but what good are her delusions to us?"
"Chief, don't give up. After what I saw Joan do tonight, I know she has answers that we need. Why else would I.B. recruit an ordinary college co-ed?"
"I recruited you 66 while you were still in college. I saw your potential even at that young of an age. But this girl…?"
"On the roof, that…THING also called Joan an instrument of God. What if she really is? Try telling her your story, Chief. See if she has the answers you want - not about government agencies, but about…evil."
Joan remarks, "I know your story, Max. I.B. told me the whole tale about you two and your rogue agency. You use to head up some small, super-secret spy organization, and when it came time for your group to be decommissioned by the government, you and your people disappeared. You went rogue because you were unwilling to give up the game. And you Agent 66, who is going to kill me for saying that, you 'retired' shortly before all of that occurred. You've been living in hiding because you have so many enemies from the old days. 'Elaine Lishack' isn't even your real name. But…you have an Aunt Candace living in town. She sells cosmetics."
Lishack responds, "One of the giveaways in establishing a new identity is the lack of connections to a past, like family. Candace is in the witness protection program and we provide cover stories for each other. We've been doing this so long, I think of her as family. Aunt Candace is babysitting my daughter Emily right now."
Max says, "And for the record, my agency didn't go undercover because we were thrill junkies who couldn't give up the rush. When the Clinton administration began shutting down the smaller spy outfits at the end of the cold war, they didn't understand our mission. We weren't part of the cold war effort. Instead, we were charged with the task of stopping a vast, private criminal organization that was exploiting the cold war for profit and power."
Joan frowns. "Still the same thing. Cold war ends and your profiteers end. Hey, how do you profit from a cold war?"
Elaine answers, "There are ways. Arms deals, phony intel sold to both sides, commoditites…"
Max adds, "They once fostered a panic about a phony border war between two major oil producing nations. Before the truth could get out, they made over a billion dollars in the oil market. On more than one occasion they brought the world to the brink of nuclear war in order to increase their political influence with various nations. Those countries willingly paid through the nose and even surrendered their foreign policies to avoid a repeat."
Joan shakes her head. "That's insane. The risk isn't worth the payoff. What good is money and power if you blow up the world?"
Max replies, "And that is what has been baffling me for nearly half a century of service to my country. Near the end of the Eisenhower administration, the Soviets began accusing us of wildly provocative covert actions, and we were doing the same to them. Eventually a couple of senior agents, one from each side, got together and figured out that we were being played against each other. Out of that came the formation of our agency to combat this new threat. We regularly co-operated with the Soviets in this effort, and we were never a part of the cold war struggle."
Lishack continues, "But the threat from these criminals didn't end with the cold war. Their very adaptive organization continues to this very day. They seem fanatically dedicated to spreading hate, fear, confusion, chaos and violence. They are still finding ways to make money and gain influence through keeping as many as people as possible killing each other. Terrorism is their latest area of involvement."
Joan mutters, "A lot of terrorists are demon influenced. So, who are these criminals?"
Max replies, "They've gone by a lot of different names over the years, and they've been around a lot longer than we originally assumed. We now know they were behind that start of the first world war. How far back their organization goes we just don't know."
Joan nods. "Probably thousands of years. It sounds like they are controlled by a satanic cult."
Max dubiously asks, "Satanic cult?"
"Most likely several cults spread around the world and working in co-operation in what they think is their master's plan. You know…the devil."
Elaine asks, "Joan, are these cultists demon posessed like that man tonight?"
Joan shakes her head. "No, none of them are posessed, and most aren't even demon influenced. These nutjobs serve willingly for what they see as the winning side. The fools believe the devil will reward them for their efforts. Too bad they don't get it. Beelzebub isn't capable of gratitude. The devil can only offer the opposite of God: hate, misery and death. He…killed my Jimmy."
"How do you know all of this?" Max asks.
"My tutor told me." Joan says with a yawn.
"Tutor?"
"A 25 foot tall angel with glowing eyes and six wings. He's got a lot of attitude, but still…I kinda…like him." Joan's head drops and she snores.
Max sighs. "That's all we will get from her."
"Chief, can't we revive her and give her a second dose? There's so much Joan could tell us."
"Sorry 66, but the drug is too powerful. It has to be completely out of her system before a second dose can be risked, and that would take nearly a week. Besides, what's the point? The poor girl suffers from religious delusions, which is in her known psychiatric file. She's just a lot worse off than people think."
"No Chief, I believe what Joan was saying. You know me and my record. When I say there was true evil on that rooftop tonight, you know I'm not being hysterical or confused. I saw Joan drive a demon out of Dennis Park, and I felt how the scene became…cleaner. Less evil. Chief, think about it. All of the years we spent fighting those madmen, never understanding why they were doing the insane things they did. If Joan is right, it explains everything. The reason our enemy didn't care about the fate of the world was because they were serving the devil."
"And in all of these years, after the hundreds of enemy agents we captured and interrogated, we never even got a hint of this? That satanic cults were behind all of the chaos and death?"
"Chief, you know we never got close to any of the inner circle. Maybe the rank and file agents didn't know the brand of evil they were serving? Money and power was enough for them. But as for the leadership, that we now know stretches back over a hundred years, doesn't what Joan said make sense?"
Max hesitates. "Well...yes, in a twilight zone kind of way this would explain everything, but what good does it do us? I can't go back to the handful of loyal men I have left and tell them we are shifting our focus to hunting for pentagrams and pitchforks. They would think I had lost it. I'd be forced out - not that I'm unwilling to retire. What about it 66, ready to come back? I'd gladly turn over to you what is left of the agency."
Elaine shakes her head. "Sorry Chief, but I made my choice and I'm sticking with it. I like waking up every morning and not having the first thought of the day be: 'Will I have to kill today'?"
"I understand. Your friend Joan was right about my soul being troubled. I start every day thinking about the men I've killed and how that will affect the fate of my soul." (Looks at Joan.) "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to hire an outside consultant to research satanic cults. I once met a man at a cocktail party in London. He was a little drunk and kept going on about his job of researching ancient texts that dealt with demons and such. If he's interested, I'll offer the job to...Giles was it? Yes, that's right - Rupert Giles."
"And what of Joan?"
"We will drop her off some place safe. Her memory of the last few hours will be gone and she will feel like she has a terrible hangover..."
X X X X X
"Joan? Joan, are you okay?"
Joan moans in pain as the first thought that occurs to her is: 'Not again!' Joan's head throbs, her mouth is dry, her stomach is churning and she reeks of beer. These symptoms are all too familiar to Joan - a hangover of monumental proportions.
"Joan...?"
She opens her eyes and in the dim light she recognizes Spencer Reid.
"It's dawn?"
"The sun is just rising."
Joan looks about and recognizes her surroundings. She is flat on her back in the truck bed of her pickup. Half a dozen empty 40 ounce bottles of beer surround her.
"Oh God..."
"Joan, what happened? Where did you disappear to last night?"
Joan groans while her stomach rebels. What did happen last night? Her mind is a fog, but she knows she must deal with the here and now...
"Spencer, please, don't let my family see me like this."
Reid hesitates only a moment before lifting Joan into his arms and carrying her to the cab of the truck. Joan is impressed by the surprising strength of the thin young man, and she is deeply embarassed to see she has peed herself. Reid gently deposits Joan in the passenger seat and then gets behind the wheel. Joan hands him the keys and he quickly drives away.
Later...
Joan steps out of the motel bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. She slips into bed and Reid tucks her in like a grateful child. Joan feels a great deal of tenderness for this kind man who has helped her. After texting a reassuring message to her mother, they had checked into a national chain motel just west of the airport. Aspirin, coffee and a long shower has left Joan feeling a lot better. Her clothes were discarded, and after a quick trip to a nearby Wal-mart, Reid has supplied her with all she needs: pajamas, a new set of clothes and fresh undies. Everything is the right size, even the bra, which causes Joan to re-evaluate her opinion of Spencer Reid's success rate with women. His conquests may be few and far between, but he obviously has an eye for details.
"Feeling better?"
"Getting closer to being human again. Thank you, Spencer. I'm so glad my parents didn't see me in that condition. Not again."
"Again? Is heavy drinking a habit?"
"I had a brief period after my fiance's death when I was boozing pretty hard. After that, I swore off drinking."
"Then how do you explain getting so drunk? If you really drank six 40 ounce bottles of beer on your own...well, that is a dangerous amount of alcohol to consume in a short period of time. And yet, you don't seem to be nearly as drunk as you should be after such a night of binge drinking. Perhaps you were partying with a group?"
"I...honestly don't remember. It's all a blur. But if my drinking has reached the level of memory blackouts, then that's really scary. How did I end up in the back of my truck, and where did I get all of that beer?"
"I know that college students who are not legally old enough to drink usually have a way of getting alcohol. If you had to guess, where would you most likely get so much beer?"
Joan sighs. "There's only one spot where any co-ed can get unlimited amounts of booze and...an unexplained memory loss. Fraternity row has at least one party going on every night, and on Halloween, they were all in full party mode."
"That explains the beer... Joan, do you believe you were given a date rape drug?"
"A roofie? I thought of that. Before my shower I did a careful self-exam, and I appear to be unviolated - thank God. Maybe some guy slipped me something and his plans were interrupted? Who knows, maybe even in Fratboy Land, there exists a good samaritan. Still, I wish I knew..."
"Perhaps if I jogged your memory? Do you remember our arriving at Arcadia High?"
"Uh, yeah. The sheriff got a report about Park being in the school quad. Oh God, those poor cops that were gunned down. I should have prevented that."
"Because your...'psychic' abilities told you far more than you shared so that Homeland Security could get credit for stopping the Halloween Killer, Miss Girardi?"
Joan sighs. "We're back to 'Miss Girardi'? Spencer, I'm sorry for the poor impression I've made, and for the more than a few lies I had to tell you. I wish I could explain..."
"National security. Got it."
"Please don't be that way, Spencer. I thought we were getting friendly. After all, it's not every guy I allow to buy me underwear." Joan says with a weak smile.
Reid smiles back, still feeling the attraction he has for Joan. "I suppose we could declare a clean slate and start all over again."
"A clean slate - like my memory... Wait, I seem to remember being on the roof."
"With Dennis Park? That's where we found his body after his suicide."
Joan absorbs Reid's words. Yes, she is almost certain she confronted the death demon on the roof of the school. Did she win? Well duh, obviously she won or she wouldn't still be alive. But then...?
"Joan, are you remembering something?"
"Just fragments. I don't remember what happened on the roof, and after that it's all a blank." Joan says as she wonders if after her 'victory', she went out to celebrate? It seems so unlikely, but what other explanation can there be?
"Joan, you look exhausted. I'll let you get some sleep while I work on my action report. I'm not sure how I'll phrase it and still stay within Homeland Security's secrecy guidelines."
"Look at it as a way to stretch your creative juices." (Joan yawns.) "I hope my snoring doesn't disturb your your work."
"I hope my work doesn't disturb your...sleeping."
Reid steps closer and turns off the bedside lamp. He smiles and Joan notices that it is a cute smile. Impulsively, Joan grabs his tie and pulls Reid closer...
"Thank you, Spencer."
They kiss.
THE END.
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