Life as a New Hire Ch. 25

"One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us."

"One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension.

The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there - radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E&S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back.

"Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy."

"Ah...yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy.

"Koumiss," the boss offered.

I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago.

"Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser.

"Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit.

"We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary.

He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon...okay, I'm not sure where that came from.

"Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters."

Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender.

The Leader looked pissed – if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on.

"She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty.

"My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at NYU and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries.

Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. WTF!

"What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad.

Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier.

"Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM.

"It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter'...would probably get my skull split open.

"No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old 'OT' schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction.

"Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone.

"I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down.

Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience – the Seven Pillars.

He was young – maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes...his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara – Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind.

"I know that place," OT muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse – a road sign...in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded.

Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone.

"You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood.

"What do you wish for this gift?" OT reached out and touched my sleeve.

"When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied.

"A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," OT smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live.

"I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did."

No one said anything for a minute.

"Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?"

Pause.

"What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried.

"I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense."

"MRI," I groaned.

"Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo."

"What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level.

"We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted.

"He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier..." Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia – the absurdity of my life was sucking her in.

"I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us.

I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited.

"How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me.

The answer was obvious – two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right.

"Ah...two?" I responded.

"Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head.

"What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group.

"It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens."

"I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered.

"Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd.

I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'.

(Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey)

I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk.

Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority.

The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum.

They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs – again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed.

I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state... or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask.

"Do you feel an unnatural...interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?"

Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge.

Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests – same results. I was the second coming of Christ – back from the dead...or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go.

Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy – that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy.

I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck – I speak from experience.

Next up at bat: 'I was possessed'...I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could.

Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague...the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning.

That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu.

Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point – yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people.

Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much.

Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife – to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone.

Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before.

Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver ... everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes.

Final remaining hypothesis – I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax.

How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution – let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two – current – least favorite doctors.

When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan – no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me...no more interrogations – an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'.

I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out.

Hospital highlights:

(Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally...)

Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?"

(Guilty looks all around)

CoN: "What are all these needle marks?"

Havenstone Medico – "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma."

CoN: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body."

(Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else – jackals)

HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone."

CoN: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?"

HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek."

CoN: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?"

HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates – he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic."

CoN: "Helpful – that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring – some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?"

HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet."

CoN: "Isn't he a bit...big for you?"

HM: (looked straight at my crotch) "Not at all. I think it would fit nicely." (Coughing around the room)

CoN: (to me) "Can you provide any insight?"

Me: "I have a bad habit of walking into people who want to hurt me."

CoN: "These are multiple wounds."

Me: "I piss off multiple people."

CoN: "What do you attribute that too?"

Me: "I'm a reincarnated Amazon warrior bent on saving my sisters from global destruction. It is a surprisingly unpopular life path I have chosen."

CoN made eye contact with the Psychologist...he shrugged. "Amazons are female warriors. Has your condition destabilized your gender identity?"

Me: "Let me check." To Parasitologist – "Are you married?" I could see her wedding band through her glove.

Para: (key note of hesitation): "Yes."

Me: "Happily?"

Para: "He's overseas."

Me: "That has to be tough on you both. If I can get out of here, would you like to go out with me for a late dinner, or an early breakfast, and talk about your specialty?"

Para: "Ummm...in a purely professional capacity it would be okay." Yummy.

Me: (to CoN): "I'm good."

CoN: (girlish smirk): "Thank you for establishing that for us, Mr. Nyilas."

Endocrinologist: "Have you noted an increase in your sex drive?"

Rachel (from the far side of the room): (fearfully): "Goddess help us all."

Me: "Hard to say. I've only been awake for a few hours. I'm feeling pretty sure that nine more orgasms and I'm done for the day aka normal for me."

(Various people looked to the Psychologist – who shrugged again. That guy was always bending over backwards and taking career-ending risks on my behalf - really.)

CoN: "You believe you are a male Amazon that can ejaculate nine times a day?"

Me: "Ten. I've already had sex once today, but it was with two women. One ejaculation. As for being a male Amazon – welcome to my Hell. How about this? Call my boss, Katrina Love. She will confirm that I believe I am an Amazon, it does not impact my abysmal work performance and she has medical evidence that I can, in fact, ejaculate ten times a day. This does not make me a freak. I love women, fully support the condom industry and I shall not apologize for either."