Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tracy’s eyes opened and she jumped up out of bed. She looked around and discovered that she was lying on the white table. She looked around, frightened, as her heart felt as if it would beat its way out of her chest. She looked down at her hands, and then walked over to the mirror. Relieved, she could see her reflection – if there was one, anyway – her complexion was very pale.

Tracy looked over at the door and sprinted over to it. After discovering that it was locked, she began screaming. “Hey! I'm here! I’m alive!”

A nurse appeared at the door first and she screamed when she saw Tracy moving, let alone, alive. She, then, ran from the scene.

“Hey, come back here!” Tracy screamed.

Several minutes later, Bolan ran to the room to see why the nurse was so hysterical. “Jesus Christ Almighty God,” he whispered and felt as if all the wrong’s he had done in his life were now catching up to him.

He slowly unlocked the door, opened it and entered it with caution. “Move back, please,” he said in an uneasy voice.

“What are you talking about?” Tracy yelled. I went through hell, just to come back to this? “I’m alive, Bolan,” she said and he sighed.

Bolan shook his head. “I’m not too certain. Have you heard of the live undead?” he asked and she grinned.

“Zombies?”

“Yes,” Bolan smiled and turned to make sure his staff was still watching over the proceedings. “They originated in Africa – in the West Indies. A corpse, alleged to have been dead, is revived through black magic,” he explained.

“Look, shithead, they’re also supposed to be real dumb and can’t talk,” Tracy countered and Bolan produced a syringe from his pocket. “What’s that?” Tracy was on the defensive quite quickly since her episodes in hell changed her forever.

“Just a tranquilizer. You need to be calm,” he explained and she sighed.

“No. What I need is to be alive. No more sleep – not now.”

Bolan glanced over at a nurse and nodded. The nurse made a movement and Tracy turned in her direction; but just as she turned, Bolan moved in and grabbed Tracy’s arm and inserted the needle into her arm.

“You son-of-a…” Tracy passed out before she could say any more.

Tracy awoke five hours later and Bolan entered her room and she sat up when he approached her. She looked down at her arm where he had given her the injection and then she glared up at him. “Well? Learn anything yet, Doc?”

Bolan sighed; there was nothing he could say to make any sense of this whole mess. “Tracy, it’s a fact that you are not dead, but some supernatural occurrence has taken place here,” he explained.

Tracy smiled. “No shit. Like, I committed suicide, fought for my life in hell – while I was dead – and came back to life. Now, if that’s not supernatural, nothing is,” she replied and he grinned.

“You really must not have wanted to die – otherwise you wouldn’t’ve come back to us,” he began and then lowered his eyes. “There are several things that you need to know and I’m terribly sorry. Your father died in his sleep two nights ago,” he began and she nodded.

“What about Rick?” she asked, and received the same apologetic face.

“He committed suicide right after you did,” he answered and she shook her head.

“I know, damnit,” she was getting frustrated and felt like she was getting nowhere. “I knew about my father. But Rick – is Rick alive, like me?” she hoped.

Now it was Bolan who was frustrated. “What the hell are you talking about? He’s dead – he’s not coming back,” he explained and she shook her head.

“No, you don’t get it,” Tracy exclaimed and then an orderly entered the room and walked over to Bolan.

He leaned close to Bolan and whispered something Tracy could not hear. “What about him? Or shouldn’t I ask?” Bolan whispered back as he glared at Tracy.

“His heart’s beating again, but he’s slipped into a coma,” the orderly whispered and Bolan sighed and rubbed his temples.

“All hell’s breaking loose around here,” Bolan grunted to himself and stood up. “I’ll see you later – when you can talk some sense. Until then, good-night,” he said and then exited her room with the orderly.

Bolan sat in his office later that night. He was reading a book simply entitled Tracy’s Diary. His eyes slanted a bit from the poor lamplight and then he sighed. “That’s what this is all about,” he whispered and then closed the book. “Well, I can’t have her remembering any of this – or she’ll really go nuts.”

When Bolan met with Tracy the next morning, she was first to lash out. “Now I know why no one likes you – you kill everyone. How’s that make you feel, knowing that you killed all the kids?” she asked in a pitiful voice and Bolan smiled behind gritted teeth.

“Tracy,” he began and she cut him off.

“Miss Kingston.”

Again, he smiled. “Miss Kingston, then,” he paused. “They’re all dead, yes. But think of it this way: They died in the line of duty – to protect a dream crusader such as yourself. And Richard, I’m sure you’ve heard by now, is not dead,” he explained and she sneered at him.

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“He’s in a goddamned coma! He may never come out of it,” she screamed and he sighed.

He tried to make her see the light side of all this, but, perhaps there is no light side to this nightmare. “All right, you win,” he said, then looked over at his nurse and nodded and she grabbed another syringe. She handed it to Bolan and Tracy watched the needle with fright in her eyes.

“I told you, no more drugs. I have to stay awake; just long enough to make sure Rick’s okay.”

“It’s just to calm you down. You’ve been busy these last couple of days – you’ve gone through several days of hell,” he answered and she grinned.

“You have no idea,” she replied with sarcasm but she still shook her head in protest.

Bolan stood up and shook his head in return. “I’m sorry, Miss Kingston, but it must be this way,” he said and reached out for her arm before she could stand up. She struggled, but in vain, as the needle went into her arm.

Tracy found herself sitting in a chair; she was awake and very calm. Bolan sat in a chair directly opposite her. Tracy looked as if she were brainwashed. “How do you feel right now, Tracy?” Bolan asked and looked straight into her dilated eyes.

“Fine,” she replied in an almost hypnotic tone.

“I’m going to count backwards from five to zero, and when I reach zero, you will be asleep. Five…four…three…two…one…zero,” he counted and then noticed that Tracy had entered a deep sleep. “Can you hear me, Tracy?” he asked when he heard her slow and steady breathing.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Good. Now, I want you to forget everything that has happened in the past three weeks. Is that understood, Tracy?” he explained.

She seemed to have hesitated before saying, “Yes.”

He smiled and then spoke once again. “I’m going to count again backwards from five to zero, and when I reach zero, you will awaken and remember nothing. Is that understood?” he explained.

“Yes,” she replied for a third time.

He counted a second time, and when he reached zero, her eyes opened and she looked both confused and frightened.

He grinned at her. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Tracy Kingston,” she answered.

He nodded and smiled once again. “Do you know who I am?”

“Doctor Charles Bolan, PhD,” she replied, but this time, Bolan threw her a confused expression.

Then he looked down at what she was looking at and smiled when he noticed that all she did was read back to him his name badge. “You still have your sense of humor,” he commented.

He stood, lifting his arms out. “Please, stand,” he suggested and placed his right hand on her left shoulder. “Tracy, you went into a coma three weeks ago and when you regained consciousness, you were screaming and told us that you were dreaming of a monster. I decided to rid your mind of that monster – that’s why you can’t remember last night,” he explained and then exited the room and filled her in on what had happened in the last three weeks while she was in her “coma.”

Later that night, Bolan and Whitaker were sitting in Bolan’s office discussing the events of the previous two days. Whitaker was unimpressed with Bolan’s actions toward Tracy. “Will she ever remember again?” he inquired and Bolan sighed.

“Eventually, yes. It was the drug that caused her memory loss; the hypnosis was just a smoke screen act – that’s all,” Bolan replied and Whitaker straightened his back and leaned toward Bolan.

“What drug is this that you’re talking about?” was his next question.

Smiling, “I don’t have a name for it yet, but I pretty much invented it. It’s a drug to induce memory lapse – I had my lab crew working on it for years before it was finally finished last year.” Bolan liked his new drug-toy and took full responsibility for it – no matter what the consequences.

“Can she ever remember again?” Whitaker repeated the question and Bolan sighed in disgust.

“Yes. When I came up with the drug, there was a counter-drug which was discovered. So, yeah, all I have to do is give it to her,” he explained and Whitaker shook his head.

“You’ve really gone off your rocker this time. I’m beginning to think that you’re more insane than most of your patients. However, you’re a genius and you’re using it in a dangerous way. I don’t like it at all,” he began as they stood up. “You will reverse the effects – tonight. Then, you are relieved of duty – for the rest of your god-for-saken life. I will personally see to it that you never have ‘doctor’ in front of your name again,” he concluded and Bolan began trembling.

“But, you can’t do that,” he protested as he shook a finger at Whitaker.

“Good-night, Charles,” Whitaker said and then headed for the door. Once he placed his hand on the knob, he turned back and faced Bolan – who had slumped back down into his chair. “Fired,” he said with a large smile and then exited the office.

Instead of going to his own office, Whitaker decided on paying a visit to Tracy. “How do you feel, Tracy?” he asked upon entering.

She had never placed her eyes on this man. If she had she doesn’t remember so. “Scared,” came her only response and they grinned at one another.

“I know,” he nodded. “Your memory will return soon,” he paused and sat down at the foot of her bed. “You know, there’s a boy about your age here who’s in a coma. It’s a shame because he should not be like that. I should have done the right thing many years ago,” he seemed to have entered a trance. “I could have stopped the entire thing before it got to you and everyone else. I could have stopped Orion if only I hadn’t become chicken-shit about the whole thing,” he concluded and then sighed and patted Tracy on her back and then left her alone once more.

He knew that he had left her more scared and confused than before he had entered the room; he was hoping that the slightest mention of Orion might have triggered her memory without the need for any more medication.

Bolan sat in his office as nightfall enveloped the skies above Lungland and he poked and prodded through a box with Rick Hopman’s name written on the side. His blood-shot eyes fell upon a strange looking book and picked it up at once.

The book had an antique appearance and when he opened it, Bolan was not too surprised when he could not read any of the text. He closed the book and read Alexius as the only title the book had to offer.

He stood up and lit another cigar and then headed to the door one last time and as he placed his finger on the light switch, the cover of the book flew open from a will of its own. Curiosity overcame him and he walked back over to his desk and looked down at what page the book had opened to. Finally, he thought, English!

He put his burning cigar in an ashtray next to a full bottle of Jack Daniels.

Simply, one phrase appeared across the white page. He did have to try to clear his drunken head to make out any meaning.

You want revenge; I can give it to you. I can give you all the power you can possibly handle, and immortality. No pain – guaranteed.

Bolan thought for a moment and then poured himself another glass of Jack. All the power I can handle plus immortality. No pain. With a guarantee, he pondered. And then he formed an evil grin on his face as one other phrase appeared under the first. He bent his head down closer to the book so he could read the smaller script.

“I lied?” he read aloud and just as he widened his eyes, and before he could do no more, a large monstrous arm plunged out from within the book and wrapped around the back of Bolan’s neck.

He flailed his arms, not caring that he had knocked both the cigar and alcohol off the desk and onto the carpeted floor – igniting flames almost immediately.

He screamed as the arm pulled him closer to the book. Screams of “no” were the final words Charles Bolan said as the sound of insane laughter filled the room.

“What’s your worst nightmare?” asked a voice as the arm brought Bolan to the book and, breaking his body, pulled him through the pages to another world; A world where Dreamkillers fought and Orion ruled his realm for one cause: Entrance into the Forbidden Realms.