Every Thought Captive
Disclaimer: I do not own The A Team movie or television series or any of the delightful characters found on The A Team.
Chapter 57 Convincing Words
An order was an order even if the order was coming from his former deceased CO. It was a difficult thing to do, leaving the safety of the pilot's seat and standing in the partition gap to allow Mister Cazador to move past him.
For one thing, Face's ghost was right behind him somewhere. For a moment, he thought he could feel the spirit of the dead con man standing very close. Trembling violently, he waited for Face's next move. The icy hands would grip him, maybe around the throat like he did to Face back in the motel. He could do nothing to stop a specter bent on vengeance.
'N' I'd deserve it fer what I did t' him.
Then he heard a groan and muffled curses and knew he didn't want to turn around and see what was happening behind him.
Face Ghost gasped out, "You're going to have to talk to Murdock for a while on your own, Colonel. Hanson's starting to come around."
The sound of bodies scuffling on the floor of the plane and knuckles repeatedly striking flesh sent a chill of fear down his spine.
Mister Cazador's assistant? What happened t' him? Why's Face's ghost goin' after him? 'N' after Face's ghost takes care o' him, am I nex'?
He didn't know ghosts could fight. Whatever injuries Hanson was getting from the spirit, he realized he would get a whole lot worse. The thought made him shiver all the more.
He was grateful when Cazador quickly slipped by him and settled into the vacated seat. Trembling, Murdock huddled in the copilot's seat, trying to make himself as small as his lanky frame and the confined quarters would allow. Nothing was making sense.
'N' now I'm gonna hafta talk t' Hann'bal's ghost 'n' 'splain why I killed 'em. But I can't. There ain' no 'scuse fer what I did. I deserve hell fer doin' it.
Cazador affirmed over the headset that he had the controls and that Murdock had shifted seats in the plane. Murdock glanced over at his employer. Cazador had all he could handle getting their plane back on course. There would be little help from him if Face's ghost should attack or the Colonel should suddenly materialize behind him in the cockpit.
Hannibal's voice crackled over the earphones, "Murdock, do you still hear me?" The voice made his gut wrench inside him.
No mercy fer me . . . no mercy fer a killer . . .
Cazador's dark eyes flickered over to the other man. He seemed genuinely concerned about his new pilot's mental state. After briefly assessing Murdock's condition, Cazador spoke to the voice on the other end. "He hears you. Talk to him, whoever you are, and I'll find a place to land the plane."
He reached over and gripped the distraught man's shoulder. "Go ahead. Whatever's going on, this guy sounds like he wants to help you. Talk to him."
Murdock searched his employer's face for reassurance. Cazador nodded and tried to smile. Clearly, the events of the past few minutes had him confused and apprehensive.
You 'n' me both, boss.
"Go ahead," Cazador mouthed. Then he turned his attention back to finding the abandoned mine and the nearby uncovered airstrip they were supposed to land on.
Murdock closed his eyes and swallowed before beginning his apologies. "Hann'bal? If this's yer ghost, I gotta know ya forgive me fer what I did. I gotta know . . . " His voice trailed off into a series of muffled sobs.
Ain' no forgiveness fer someone like me.
Murdock heard an angry roar from the passenger area and knew it wasn't Face's ghost. The metal partition shook as something slammed against it.
"There's nothing to forgive, son. Nothing at all." Hannibal sounded so . . . alive. So much like his usual self.
But I know that's impossible. The blood . . . 'n' how they were layin' . . . not movin' . . . not breathin' . . .
Long ago, Gramma told him a story about Jesus appearing to his followers after his death. There was one among them who refused to believe.
How'd th' story go? He had t' stick 'is fingers in th' stab wounds t' know fer sure. That's what it's gonna take fer me. But if I touch 'em, what'm I gonna find? Flesh 'n' blood . . . 'r somethin' else?
"I didn' mean t' do it, Colonel . . . Ya gotta b'lieve me . . . I don' know why I did it . . . I don' know why . . . " He was rambling again, on the edge of the dark abyss of insanity. Blood demanded blood, a price had to be paid.
"Captain, I need you to be quiet and listen. We're alive. Face, B. A., Amy, me . . . we're all alive. You didn't kill us." The Colonel's voice was soothing. He wasn't angry like someone who had been betrayed by one of his own should be.
Maybe he don' know he's dead yet. Yeah, maybe they ain' gone anywhere yet b'cause they don' know I killed 'em.
"I saw you . . . B. A. . . . you . . . my buddy . . . you fell . . . I had th' gun . . . 'n' Amy . . . I left 'er t' die out there on that trail . . . "
"You thought you saw that. You were being tricked by Colonel Jackson to believe that."
"I . . . I shot th' gun . . . I saw th' blood . . . 'n' Amy . . . sweet li'l Amy . . . " The words were coming out quicker now. His mind had so much to process. The memories he thought he had were dimmer but still there. How could he deny they happened exactly the way he remembered?
"Jackson and Stafford did something to you back at Granite Peak. You thought you killed us but you didn't." There was an anxious quality to Hannibal's voice that Murdock had never heard before.
A loud groan came from the passenger's compartment. Another heavy bang of something hitting metal resounded through the cockpit. A pistol clattered to the floor between the seats from the gap in the partition.
Frowning, Murdock picked it up and turned it over in his hands, examining it as if it was a space rock fallen to Earth. He recognized it as Face's nickel-plated Colt Lawman MK III and it was loaded.
It's loaded . . . it'd be so easy t' do what I did t' them . . .
He considered the weapon in his hands, continuing to stare at it instead of putting it to his head. Something about it was bothering him.
Why'd Face's ghost need a gun?
The presence of the gun didn't make sense. Somewhere in the background on Hannibal's end, an angry rumble interrupted the Colonel. "Give that headset ta me, Hannibal. I'll talk some sense inta the fool."
A second later, Murdock heard crackling on the other end, followed by B. A.'s voice. "What's all this talk 'bout ghosts, fool? If I was a ghost, don't ya think it'd be me hauntin' ya up there in that plane, an' not Faceman?"
It made sense until the pilot thought about it a little more. "But you don' like t' fly with me anyways. So maybe ya are a ghost . . . "
"Wouldn't stop me from hauntin' ya, fool. Wouldn' hafta worry 'bout dyin' all over again, would I? So bein' I ain' up there, I must still be 'live, right? B'cause no way I was gonna go up in the air with you pilotin' that plane." There was a pause on the other end. "You still with me, fool?"
I wanna b'lieve. I really do.
Murdock was so focused on what he heard over the headset, he didn't notice the fight in the passenger's compartment had ended.
"Y . . . yeah . . . I'm still here, B. A."
"Amy wants ta talk to ya. Letcha know she ain' dead either." The airspace crackled again and Murdock guessed the headset on the other end was being passed to the reporter. If there was a headset. If they weren't ghosts.
More and more, he was beginning to think he had gone insane. Or his friends were really alive.
"Just about to set down, gentlemen," Cazador murmured over the headset.
"Murdock?" It was Amy's voice. The pilot swept a hand over his eyes, remembering the last he saw of her, the sun-blistered face, the broken wrist. Bathing her face with a wetted-down cloth, feeding her M and Ms, forcing their meager supply of water on her and telling her a ridiculous story to keep her from going to sleep forever.
"Amy? I didn' mean t' leave ya . . . " His voice broke. He had done so many foolish things, including not getting the second backpack while he still had the strength to do it. If he had, he could have used his Browning against Jackson, made the chopper pilot bring Amy to the hospital.
So many things that should o' been diff'rent.
"You had to. Jackson didn't leave you any choice. I know that."
"Amy, sweetie, I wanna b'lieve but I know what I saw, what I did. How can I have mem'ries o' stuff that never happened?" He felt his heart beat faster, his breaths come quicker, his shivering increase. Sweat slicked the palms of his hands and he wiped them, one at a time, on his khaki pants. The gun in his hand seemed to grow heavier. He was beginning to feel dizzy. A paralyzing dread of something terrible about to happen made the memories clearer, more frightening.
His words wavered. "Amy? Darlin'? I don' know what's th' truth anymore. Ya gotta help me . . . " His chest tightened with his panic and if he hadn't had this kind of thing happen in the past, he would have thought he was in the midst of a heart attack.
She was trying to pick her words carefully. Murdock sensed that. He also sensed something wrong in the silence that filled the passenger's area of the small plane. Listening for any sounds from behind him, he felt his sixth sense screaming at him.
'N' now Face's ghost's comin' fer me?
"Have I ever lied to you, Murdock? You did your best out on the trail to keep me alive. Why would I come back to haunt you? I'm not a ghost. I was rescued in time." Her reassuring voice wasn't stifling the panic. Something was going on back in the passenger's section. He didn't think it was Face's ghost either. He almost didn't hear her next words.
"Listen, we're almost at the site you were supposed to land. Wait for us and we'll prove to you we're alive. Okay?"
When he hesitated to answer she added an anxious, "Promise me you'll wait. Please, Murdock?"
Before he could reply, the pilot detected a slight rustling behind him. Before he could turn to see what was happening, someone palmed his forehead, jerking his head backward. A searing pain across his throat alerted him to Hanson's attack.
Clutching the wound, feeling the hot sticky trickle of blood spill over his fingers, he saw the figure hesitate and smirk, then turn toward Cazador. Without thinking, knowing his employer was in danger, Murdock raised Face's .357 magnum and fired.
"Murdock? Oh God . . . was that a gun shot? What's going on?" Amy's fading voice was the last thing he heard before he slumped in his seat.