Slight of Mind, ch 12
Persistent Ghosts

MacGyver ran across the grass, leaving a police sergeant puffing along behind him. Everything he needed to know about where to go had been on the surface of the man's thoughts; MacGyver had heard them without trying. He headed unerringly toward the trees, his heart pounding in his chest. When he reached the leafy bushes that bounded the lawn, he leaped over them like a hurdler.

Now he was forced to slow his headlong charge; the trees were thick and closely spaced. The shelter of overlapping limbs allowed a small amount of sunlight to filter through. Groundcover was a sparse, little more than a few discarded branches lying upon a rusty bed of dried needles. Here and there, some exotic-looking mushrooms pushing up their pale faces up into the meager light.

Mac hurried on, the officer still on his heels as they zigzagged through the trees. Soon he could see another policeman standing near the trunk of a large pine, waiting to assist a woman who was climbing down. She was going slowly because she was carrying something. Mac thought it was a child that she was holding, but then he realized that it was in fact a dog. She reached the ground safely, the animal squirming slightly in her arms. She bent and set the animal down, and when she turned her head to thank the policeman for helping her, Mac caught sight of her face.

It struck Mac like a whirlwind—memories that were not his own blew through, buffeting his senses and burying his own feeling and thoughts. It was as if he had known her all his life. Not because of the endless profiles and paperwork that Mac had read about her, but because of the actual memories—borrowed memories—that were surfacing in Mac's mind, popping up like corks in a pond.

He knew the scent of her hair, the touch of her hand, the shape of her face. The way her eyes changed color after she woke up in the morning. He knew that she loved raspberry truffles. Her name was Catherine, but he didn't call her that… she was 'Cath' to him, willful and sensual and graceful. He even knew how much sugar she liked in her coffee in the mornings.

He also knew another feeling for this woman, a feeling that nearly overwhelmed everything else, the heart of a volcano welling up just before it boils over the edge of the crater and burns like hell itself. It was anger—anger and hatred and an urge to destroy—more powerful than anything that MacGyver had ever felt before.

MacGyver grabbing the nearest tree, skidding to a stop. The police officer ran past to lend his help in getting John Jr. out of the tree, but Mac remained where he was. He didn't trust himself to face Catherine Kelly.

He was afraid that he would kill her.

⌂

Mac's Voice-over:
My grandfather told me once that anger can do more damage to a man than the fists of his enemies. It took me a lot of time and growing-up before I understood his words. In fact, I didn't understand it until I began to learn the guitar.

Harry left us when I was about ten. He was just gone one day, no explanation. I know now that at that time he was struggling with his own grief over the loss of Grandma, but back then I was just a kid. I had lost my father in the same accident, and Harry and Mom were all I had left. When he disappeared, it hurt. I was very angry at him for leaving us.

I was taking guitar lessons at the time—which I didn't like, but I went anyway because Mom wanted me to. I could never really refuse to obey her. I'm glad she kept me at it, because it turned out that through music, I could channel my anger and change my frustration into melody. Maybe that's why now, when I'm upset or frustrated, I play guitar to sooth my mind.

Music taught me to understand that it's the nature of man to conflict with his environment. The things that we touch, we change—some times for the better and sometimes for the worse. Just like tuning a guitar; each chord is different from the others, but if you play them together correctly, you get a pleasing result. There is no harmony without some conflict.

So, while I was playing guitar, I remembered what Harry had taught me. I learned to deal with my emotions in ways that are constructive rather than destructive. I learned to change my anger into music.

But what I was feeling now—this violent wave of rage, more powerful and chaotic than any feeling I can remember—no music could possibly cleanse.

Mac knew that there was something very wrong with him. He realized that the ESP drug must not have completely worn off, and he was experiencing thoughts and strong feelings aren't his—they belonged to John Kelly—husband and father and now a dead man, his blood not yet dry on the ground.

Why am I feeling… HOW can I be feeling what he knows… if he is dead?

The trees seemed to be closing over MacGyver's head like the edges of a grave, crumbling soil falling in as he tried to climb out. He felt as if he were suffocating!

Gulping for breath, Mac turned away and walked back the way he had come. He knew he couldn't face them—couldn't speak with Catherine Kelly or her son—until he could be sure that he was in control of his own mind.

⌂

This is what it feels like to go crazy, Mac thought, as he wiped sweat from his face. He had paused outside of the house, reluctant to enter and see the grisly scene of John Kelly's death again while he was wrestling with mixed emotions. Why do I feel so… angry? Angry—and in love—with her. This is not me!

'No,' a voice answered Mac's thought, 'It is not you… it is I.'

Who… Kelly? John Kelly?

'Who did you expect… Houdini?' A shiver of otherworldly laughter echoed in Mac's skull.

"John Kelly is dead." Mac said this aloud, more for the benefit of his own ears than for the hearing of others.

'Yeah… I noticed that.' The voice was parched with sarcasm, 'You murdered me… and the police just pat you on the back! There is no justice in life… or in the afterlife, apparently.'

"What are you doing inside my head?" Mac asked aloud. A policewoman who was passing by at that moment turned and stared at him. He covered his face with his hands, and muttered, "What do you want?"

'Well, I don't seem to be able to make you do what I want. Very disappointing. I really thought you were going to do it, there for a moment. I know you're capable.'

"I don't kill people, Kelly. I don't understand why you'd want to."

'Oh, just because I can… usually. Don't try to understand it, man. You just don't have that kind of crazy in you. Or that is, you didn't…,' Kelly amended with another eerie chuckle, '…until I washed up inside your head.'

Mac searched his memory for something that Starkoss might have told him that could help. Nothing worked to drive Kelly from his mind. "Look, I'm not going to hurt your wife for you, so why don't you just go away?"

'And let my murderer go unpunished?'

"I didn't murder you… it was an accident!"

'Well, I'm no less dead for good intentions. And if I can't kill the one I want to kill, I'll just have to take it out on someone else.'

Kelly's anger flared through Mac's mind, causing the pain of his headache to increase terribly. Mac gasped, bending over and holding his head as Kelly's laughter rang out again. 'At least I know that there's still some damage I can do!'

The pain was so great that Mac blindly stumbled against the side of the house. He slid down to sit on the ground. The pressure inside his head was still increasing, as if Kelly were stabbing him in the brain, twisting the knife. Stop it… stop! Please!

Savage pleasure at Mac's agony filled Kelly's thought, but even as suddenly as it happened, Mac's pain began to fade away. Kelly's voice grew dimmer and more desperate as he realized that his time in this world was up.

A dark corridor appeared to the disembodied man, and there was light glimmering down the tunnel… but it was far, far away. John Kelly felt himself being pulled irresistibly forward, away from MacGyver and the world he had lived in. His desire for vengeance dissolved into fear.

MacGyver heard Kelly utter one last cry of 'NOooo…' dwindling to nothing in the landscape of his mind, and then all became quiet. The long dark corridor—so similar to that one he had followed Harry down once—stretched out before him, but he felt no desire to take that walk again… not now.

Eventually, the light dimmed and faded. Mac's pain and confusion seemed to fade with it, leaving him alone in the blessed darkness.

Mac opened his eyes and let his head fall back, sighing with relief. He started when something cold and wet touched his hand. He looked down and saw the family dog, sitting calmly beside him. Little more than a puppy, it began to lick Mac's hand.

MacGyver reached over and scratched the dog's ears gently. The dog curled up trustingly beside him. It laid its head in Mac's lap in an overt plea for more caresses.

Mac obliged, murmuring, "That feels good, huh, boy? Let's just sit here for a while… what do you say?"

The dog thumped the ground with its tail in vigorous agreement.

Epilogue

Pete Thornton was on the phone when MacGyver entered his office. He waved Mac in and pointed at a chair. Covering the mouthpiece of the phone with one hand, he whispered, "I'm on hold… just a minute, Mac."

"No problem!" Mac sat down and settled comfortably into the chair. Pete looked him over out of the corner of his eye and noted with pleasure that his friend appeared to be back to his usual good health; MacGyver had a fresh tan, he moved with energy and seemed relaxed. His face had finally lost the lean haunted look that he had acquired during that terrible week after the accident at Western Research and Development.

"You're looking more yourself," Pete commented after he hung up the phone. "That was Doc Beatty," he added.

"And…?" Mac drawled, leaning forward as if waiting for the punch-line.

"…And… she says you're doing fine. Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

"For going in for a check-up as soon as you got back from your vacation. Those two weeks in the woods seem to have done wonders." Pete hesitated for a moment, then he said, "So…?" with the same drawl that Mac had used earlier.

Mac grinned. "So… what?"

"So is everything back to normal? You know…" he gestured vaguely toward his head, and then pointed at Mac, "… normal."

Mac stretched his arms over his head and sighed. "I think so."

"No more headaches?" Pete pressed Mac with questions, "No more precognition? No more déjà-views?"

Mac shook his head after each, a smile beginning to play around the corners of him mouth.

Pete picked up a large envelope that was lying on his desk, showing it to Mac but holding it out of his reach. "You don't know what is in this envelope?"

"I have no idea."

"Good! Because now… it is my turn to do parlor tricks!" Pete reached under his desk and pulled out a paper bag, which he set on his desk with a theatrical flair. "Let's see if Swami Pete can use his mystical talents to tell you what is inside this envelope!" Pete opened the bag and took out a large purple turban that was covered with beads and feathers. He set the thing on his balding head and struck an exaggerated expression of inscrutability.

Mac laughed out loud. It was the most outrageous thing he had ever seen. "Pete, you look ridiculous!"

"Hush! Voice not your heretical heckling!" Pete picked up the envelope and pressed it against his forehead. "Yes… I'm getting something… wait! No… yes… it's something…"

"Come on," Mac shook his head slightly, "… gimme a break."

"No… it's coming now… yes… I've got it! It's your bonus!" He flourished the envelope and handed it to Mac. "One season pass for this year's National Hockey League… courtesy of the Phoenix Board of Directors!"

Mac eagerly snatched the envelope out of Pete's hand. "All right! Pete!" Mac opened the envelope and studied the contents.

"You earned it," Pete smiled as he watched his friend's delight. "And you should be close enough to the ice that during every game you'll probably be in danger of getting frostbite!"

MacGyver laughed and kissed the envelope before he stuck it securely in an inner pocket of his jacket. "This is really great… thanks, Pete!"

"Well, the Board is very pleased. Not only did we close down John Kelly's mob interests and get a whole lot of bad men off of the streets, but we also managed to prevent anyone else from suffering because of that ESP research. You did a good job, Mac."

"Well… I didn't really have much choice, did I?" MacGyver shrugged. His smile faded a little as he forced himself to ask a question that had been much on his mind during his entire sabbatical. "So, how are Mrs. Kelly and John Jr. doing?"

"They're fine, Mac. Mrs. Kelly wanted to thank you personally for saving their lives."

"Pete…" Mac began to protest softly, shifted uneasily in his chair.

Pete held up a placating hand. "Don't worry. I said to her what you asked me to say… that you were called away on an emergency assignment. She and her son have already been relocated, so you don't have to be concerned about her trying contact you."

Mac sighed, relaxing again. A buzzer sounded, and Pete picked up the phone to take a call. MacGyver patted the pocket where he'd put his bonus, letting the thoughts turn over in his head.

Mac's Voice-over:
I can't explain why I was still afraid to face Catherine Kelly and her son. The serum had long worn off and I was no longer experiencing headaches or hearing people thoughts—living or dead. But deep inside my head, I could still remember feelings that weren't mine. They were fading slowly, just like a normal memory does, softening and stretching thin as time passed… not as intense as they once were, but they were still there.

A part of me was still in love with a woman I'd never spoken to. I hoped that her new life would be a good one.

For now, I was content to be myself once again—with only my own thoughts and confusion to badger my mind.

Pete hung up the phone and looked at MacGyver. "So… are you ready to jump in again?"

"Sure," Mac responded. "Wherever in the world that you're planning to send me… just be sure I'm back before the Hockey season begins. I don't want to miss a single game!"

Pete frowned. "How did you know I was going to ask you to travel out of the country…?" he asked uncertainly, "You didn't… read my mind… did you?"

Mac laughed. "No Pete… I read the file you've got lying open on your desk! Relax! I'm not psychic… I'm just damn nosy!"

fin!