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The Night of the Misplaced Memories
A Wild Wild West story
By Deana
I had all 4 of my wisdom teeth out yesterday...one of my lifelong worst fears, but wow am I in good shape! The recovery has been nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be...thank you, God!
This is a tag to the episode, 'The Night of the Howling Light'. I find it interesting that after Artie regained consciousness after Jim had to knock him out to prevent Artie from killing him under hypnosis, Artie couldn't remember what had happened, even though Jim remembered what HE did while hypnotized! Here's my explanation!
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Artie and Jim left the lighthouse, each of them finding their horses where they'd left them.
Artie mounted with difficulty, his body very sore, as if he'd been involved in a fight. The back of his neck in particular hurt the most, and he figured that's where the blow had been dealt that had rendered him unconscious. Wincing, he lifted a hand to rub it.
Jim watched him, feeling guilty for hitting him. "You all right?"
Artie sighed, turning his head both ways to loosen up his neck, and wincing again when his action only succeeded in increasing the pain. "Sure. I don't remember anyone hitting me, but I guess it's pretty obvious when you wake up lying on the floor!"
Jim said nothing, as they started riding away from the lighthouse.
Artie sighed. "I really wish I could remember what happened…I came here searching for you, but then there's nothing until I woke up, with you standing nearby. Where were you all this time? It's a good thing you showed up when you did, or whoever knocked me out might've killed me."
Jim inwardly flinched. What if things had gone differently, and he'd been forced to kill Artie in self-defense? No, he could never do that…he'd let Artie kill him first. He sighed at the terrible thought of Artie living with the guilt and horror of having killed him.
"Why are you so quiet?" Artie asked. "Are you all right?"
Jim looked at him, trying to act normal. "Yeah, I'm fine, Artie…just wishing that I'd gotten there sooner."
"What happened to you, anyway?" Artie asked.
Jim sighed. "I was brainwashed into killing Chief Hotemi."
"What?!"
"I didn't, though," Jim said. "I resisted, and came out of it."
Artie sighed with relief. "Thank God…that would not have gone over well in Washington."
Jim agreed.
They spent the ride with Jim explaining what had happened—most of it, anyway. He found it odd that he remembered everything that had happened while being hypnotized, yet Artie didn't remember anything. He wondered about that, hoping that he hadn't hit him that hard, but didn't want to mention anything that would make Artie remember that he'd tried to kill him.
Once they reached the train, Artie all but stumbled over to the couch, plopping down on it tiredly. Jim knew that if they'd put Artie through the same conditioning that they'd done to him, then Artie's body must've been screaming for rest, especially considering that they used sleep deprivation to break their subjects.
He frowned when Artie rubbed the back of his neck again, and went over to him. "Let me see," he said, reaching down and pushing on his friend's back.
Artie obediently sat forward, displaying what was turning into a spectacular bruise.
Jim winced, feeling guilty again. "That's definitely the wrong color. I'll get you some ice."
Artie sat back again. "Thanks."
When Jim came back, he found that Artie had fallen asleep, head tilted back against the back of the couch. Jim winced…that was definitely going to hurt. "Artie," he said, nudging his friend's arm.
"Humm?" Artie said, starting to lift his head, but halting with a wince.
Jim sighed. "It's late, time for bed."
Artie put a hand on the back of his neck before lifting his head, and he stood slowly, making his way down the hall to his compartment, with Jim behind him.
"Let me know when you're changed, and I'll bring you the ice," Jim said.
Artie wondered why Jim didn't just give it to him there, but he was too tired to ask. He mumbled an affirmative response, before going into his compartment.
Jim changed and put on his robe, waiting a couple of minutes before going back into the hall. "Artie?" he said, knocking on the door.
"Come in."
Jim went into the room to find Artie sitting on his bed, fighting with a pillow, trying to mash it into a shape that would be easiest on his neck. He noticed that there was a pouch of painkilling powder on the nightstand, and an empty glass that had obviously had water in it a short time ago.
Once Artie finished with the pillow, he held out his hand for the ice, eyes drooping with fatigue.
Jim made a face, wondering how Artie thought he would arrange it behind himself. "Lie down," he said.
Artie obeyed, lying on his side facing him.
Jim reached over and placed the towel of ice against the base of his neck. "How's that?"
Artie gave an involuntary gasp. "Cold!"
Jim smiled. "Very good, Artie," he said, reaching over again and pulling it away slightly. "Better?"
Artie closed his eyes, pulling the covers over his shoulder. "Um humm," he said. "Thanks."
"Anytime, Artie. Sleep well."
Artie gave no answer, already drifting off.
Jim watched his friend sleep for a few minutes, struck by thoughts of what could've happened.
With a relieved sigh, he eventually went to bed.
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"Jim!"
Startled awake by the shout, Jim sat up in his bed and leaped out, dashing into the hall and into Artie's compartment. He quickly turned up the gas on the lamp, and hurried to his friend's bed. "Artie, what is it?"
Artie's eyes were wide open and his hand was over his mouth, as if he were shocked about something. He looked at Jim and tried to quickly sit up, but winced and moved more slowly, pushing himself upright with his elbow. He stared at his friend for a minute, before closing his eyes and swallowing. "I tried to kill you," he said.
Jim sighed, having hoped that Artie would never remember.
"They brainwashed me too," Artie said, eyes still closed. "They wanted me to kill you…I resisted the conditioning, but they were relentless…and succeeded." He shook his head, even though it hurt. "I tried to kill you!" he repeated, with agony in his voice.
"But you didn't."
"Only because you fought back," said Artie. He subconsciously raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry about that, Artie."
Artie opened his eyes. "Sorry? Don't be sorry, Jim! You shouldn't've held back," he said, remembering how the fight had begun…Jim had tried not to hurt him, even while Artie had tried to strangle him…
Artie looked down at his hands, before looking up at Jim and seeing faint marks around his neck. Sickened, Artie turned pale and put a hand over his face, lying back down.
Jim put a hand on his friend's arm in comfort.
Artie suddenly looked up, as more memories came flooding back. "I tried to shoot you! I shot at you twice with your own gun! How did I miss?"
Jim had wondered the same thing; Artie was an excellent shot, and should never have missed at that range. "I can only assume that you were resisting even then," said Jim. "You didn't want to kill me, so you didn't."
Artie sighed, having no way of knowing if that was the truth.
They were silent for a minute, and Jim waited patiently in case Artie had more to say.
"When I woke up and saw you in the lighthouse, I had no memory of this," Artie said. "Nothing at all, until the dream that I just had. What I did was so terrible, that my mind obviously tried to repress it."
"I wish you'd never remembered," said Jim.
Artie gave a deep sigh. "So do I." He sighed again. "I'm so sorry, Jim."
Jim shook his head. "Don't be, Artie. It wasn't your fault, I don't blame you at all."
Artie knew that his friend would say that. He sighed, closing his eyes.
Jim reached behind his friend and picked up the now-soggy towel. "How's it feel? Do you want more ice?
"Please," Artie answered.
Jim fetched it and returned, placing it against the back of his friend's neck again. "Need anything else?"
"No. Thanks, Jim."
"Anytime, Artie," Jim headed for the door, before turning again. "Don't dwell on what could've happened…dwell on the fact that we're both here, alive and in one piece." He gestured towards Artie. "Well, more or less."
Artie smiled slightly at that one. "You're right, Jim. G'night."
"Night, Artie." Jim lowered the gas on the lamp, and left the room.
THE END