The Invictus, page 7
“Wait! Don’t go!” Craig begged. “I need to understand. What’re you talking about?”
Craig bolted upright in bed, panting. His arm was outstretched toward the wall.
“Craig? What’s going on?” Now Lauren was awake, groggy but concerned.
Unsure of what the dream meant and unwilling to try to describe it to her in the middle of the night, Craig encouraged her to go back to sleep.
“Nothing. It was nothing. Just a bad dream. Get some sleep.”
Lauren nodded as if she understood and rolled over. Craig glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand and saw it was 2:30 a.m. He lay on his back and stared at the dark ceiling, puzzling over the dream until, after some time, a blanket of tiredness descended upon him and he fell soundly back to sleep.
Craig had overslept. While his classes hadn’t started yet and he didn’t have any other commitments that day, he liked to get up when Lauren did so he could spend some time with her as she got ready for work. The whirr of the blender in the kitchenette of the Wicker Park apartment they shared announced that she had already showered and was preparing to leave.
“Lauren, you’re leaving already?” Craig called out. Though he had slept in, it was still earlier than she usually left for work.
“In a bit,” she responded. “I’m going to Minneapolis for a few days. I need to head toward the airport soon.”
Craig’s bare feet hit the floor as he arose in a T-shirt and gym shorts. He quickly freshened up in the bathroom, then headed to the kitchenette. He stood in the doorway as Lauren finished prepping her breakfast drink and said, “Remind me why you’re going up to Minneapolis and how long you’ll be gone.”
“Recruiting. Going to find the best and brightest.” She squinted one eye skeptically. “Hey, I found you, didn’t I?
“I was already working there, I’ll remind you,” he quipped.
“Not anymore, baby,” Lauren played along as she poured a smoothie into a container. Wearing a knit sweater and wool slacks, she looked as radiant and chipper as she always did in the morning. Craig loved the way her thick auburn hair swept across her shoulders as she moved.
“Seriously, why do you still have to travel for recruiting so much? It’s not like GPH needs to hire a ton of new people all the time.” Craig referred by acronym to Gray, Parker & Harris, the accounting firm at which Lauren worked in HR.
Lauren turned and smiled at him. “Now, Craig. Am I sensing a touch of worry or jealousy? For pity’s sake, I let you move in, didn’t I?”
She liked to joke and keep things light, and Craig was grateful for that. It was one of the qualities that helped pull him out of the frequent spells of depression he had suffered before they met and when they first got together—spells that fortunately weren’t so common anymore.
“It’s just . . . I don’t know. I was looking to run some stuff by you.”
“Then call me,” she countered.
“It’s not the same,” he said.
Looking concerned, she asked, “What’s up, sweetie? You’re talking like you did when we first dated. All shrouded in mystery and whatnot. Something has you conflicted again?”
“I’ve been thinking, is all. I mean, things are really good right now.”
“Right now?” She raised an eyebrow.
“No, they have been. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve just been feeling, I don’t know, a little more anxious.”
“How come?” Lauren gently challenged him. “You’ve been talking about this new phase for a while. No work obligations. Getting to go back to school, focusing on martial arts again. Haven’t you been looking forward to getting to exactly where you are now?”
“I know. But I’ve also gotten sidetracked from something I think matters too: figuring out how and why I used to be able to do the strange stuff I could do. And for what purpose, I guess.”
Lauren shrugged her shoulders. “But you have the freedom of not needing to work now, and you can focus on other things. And that certainly seems to have agreed with you and your mood.”
“You’re right. But there’s also times, especially when I talk with Danny, that I’m reminded of all that unusual stuff, and also the trauma he went through.” The emphasis on Danny was actually a dodge. His frame of mind really had more to do with the sudden return of his capacity to heal himself. And now his dream of Emma.
“But Danny’s been able to have his own break too,” Lauren replied. “Hasn’t he been on desk duty? You shouldn’t feel like you’re letting him down. He hasn’t needed you to try to help re-create images—or whatever you did at the crime scenes.”
Craig hadn’t told her how much Danny wanted to get back to the work he was so good at. Or that he had just brought up again that old letter Craig had found.
“Isn’t it all good how things are going now for both you and him?”
Craig sighed. Each high point she had mentioned about this new phase of his life had given him pause recently, and he felt nagging unresolved aspects of each. He remained quiet.
“Is there something I’m missing here?” Lauren asked. “You haven’t told me about any new episodes, like getting glimpses of people’s thoughts or feelings the way you did with . . . it was Danny’s girlfriend, right?”
Emma, Craig thought. He remembered telling Lauren how he could see into Emma’s mind. Her mentioning Emma so soon after the odd dream seemed too much of a coincidence, so he decided to open up a little more.
“No. Not glimpses. But a bunch of other strange things seem to be popping up all at once. Like the other day, I was heading to aikido after I registered for classes, and I saw a young woman working this older guy over with some aikido moves. It was weird. Didn’t make sense. But I found myself charging across the street to see what was going on. Damn near got run over.”
“So, wait. You’re telling me you got some weird feelings about a girl you saw on your way to karate—”
“Aikido.”
“Whatever. And that made you run into traffic?” She was clearly growing annoyed. “Wasn’t this the same day you said you were going to talk with Madison about volunteering?”
“Yeah.”
“And didn’t?”
Craig lowered his eyes and nodded.
“Now maybe it’s me who should be a little jealous.” She went back to gathering her work bag and other items together.
“No, it’s not like that,” Craig reassured her.
“Why is it not like that?” She furrowed her brow.
“Well, because nearly getting hit by a car threw me off a little, and then I felt like I needed to catch up with Danny on some things.”
“Why would you need to do that?”
“Because . . .” He felt like he was back on his heels now. “Because it’s been a couple years, and I’ve gotten used to being, well, normal. Maybe I’ve ignored too many things that I should have figured out by now. Things I really need to resolve.”
“I’m not trying to be rude, but the things you’ve struggled with are visions, dreams, glimpses into other people’s heads. The progress you’re making right now is real. It involves tangible things.”
Craig had never told her about his ability to heal his own wounds and project force from the palms of his hands. The latter had undoubtedly saved his and Danny’s lives that night in Iowa—it didn’t get more tangible than that. But he still didn’t feel ready to share those experiences with her.
Instead, he said, “But remember when this all started to happen? There was an arc to this, Lauren. Like how it all linked back to my dad, and that the killer in Chicago was the same person who killed my dad and the same one we fought in the church. And I really want to know: Are my abilities similar to my dad’s? And if so, what does that mean for me, and what I’m doing with my life? How am I supposed to use them?”
Lauren shrugged. It was the first time she seemed dismissive about Craig’s past.
He pressed ahead. “It just seems like there’s a bunch a stuff lately that’s pushing me to get clarity about my past.”
“Why do you choose to exist there?”
Craig thought that was an odd question. “What are you saying?”
“You seem so preoccupied with those things, with where your special abilities may have come from and why. What about looking inside yourself and trying to understand what you’re supposed to do today? And the day after that? Move forward, Craig. Use your experience to help people, now and in the future, like volunteering. Go back to school like you’re planning. Stop dwelling on the past.”
Now it was Craig’s turn to bristle. “That’s not really the advice I thought you’d give. The point is that my abilities have gone cold. Maybe I need to try to figure out why that is before I move on.”
“I’ve been making a bunch of suggestions about figuring yourself out. But so far, you’ve blown me off. Is there something you’re not telling me? Something else that’s been going through that head of yours?”
“Yes, I’m questioning my purpose. And I’m wondering whether I’m being a little too selfish. Maybe I just need to warm these things up in my mind again and examine what I find. What’s the harm in doing that and thinking them through?”
Craig wouldn’t admit it to her—he had really only started to sense it himself—but he had begun to feel like the enlightenment he had achieved during the encounter in the church was beginning to wane. And for some reason he couldn’t explain, he found that distressing, and he felt like he needed to do something about it.
Lauren let out a dramatic sigh. “To be sure, if you’ve grown colder after being so close to a roaring fire, make no mistake: it isn’t the fire that has moved.”
“Okay. Weird,” Craig said. He was used to indulging in her eccentric comments, but he felt like this conversation was going nowhere.
“I think I follow,” he said. “I’ve been getting fragments of info, and I need to move a little closer to them to see how they might fit together?”
“A person always encounters more resistance when they start to get closer to learning the truth.”
It felt like a throwaway line to Craig, and he treated it as such. “It certainly feels that way this morning.”
She looked at him, her disappointment plain. “Whatever you think you need to explore, just go there. Figure it out. I need to jump on the L and get up to O’Hare.”
“When will you be back? I told Danny the three of us could grab dinner later this week.”
“Just call me and tell me the reservation time. I’ll see if I can wrap things up in Minneapolis before then.” She smiled. “I just really need to get moving. I’m already late.”
As she headed for the front door, Craig was confused. She had been so supportive over the many months they’d been together. Why was she being so judgmental now about where Craig should focus his energy and attention?
Craig’s phone buzzed on the counter where he had left it the night before. When he picked it up, he saw that it was Danny. He didn’t want to let it go to voicemail, so he hurried to address Lauren. “I need to take this, but I’ll call you and let you know about dinner.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Are we okay?” Craig asked.
“Sure.” And with that she was out the door.
He turned back to the phone in his hand and answered it just in time.
“Hey, Danny.”
“Listen, Craig, I’m gonna need you to . . .”
There was a moment of silence, and then Craig heard another voice in the background say, “Hang up the phone, Walsh.”
“Just hold on a sec,” Craig heard Danny say.
The voice in the background came through again, more sternly: “Hang up the damn phone.”
With a click, the call disconnected.
Craig stared at the phone, puzzled. It didn’t sound like Danny was in any kind of trouble—the dangerous kind of trouble. Rather, it sounded like he had been admonished for something.
Danny stood alone in a conference room, looking out a window that allowed him to see the buzz of activity in Chicago’s Seventh Precinct.
He was thinking through his next move. Since getting a partial green light from his new lieutenant to assist with investigations, he had been making slow but steady progress in reinserting himself into the daily flow of police activity. But he wasn’t satisfied that the course he was on would yield what he sought. There was also the curious case of the informant he had interrogated the week before, and those cryptic letters that were branded on his arm. He was trying to balance his own self-interest and curiosity. It was important that his colleagues started to see him as a legitimate detective again, despite his physical challenges.
What to do next? he thought. He decided to treat his personal situation the way he would when solving any case: take a patient approach and wait for an opportunity to emerge that pointed in a direction toward further progress.
He watched as a group of men entered through the common area of the precinct. They weren’t law enforcement personnel. Most looked to be in their late twenties or early thirties, but in their midst was an older man with graying hair. He wore a conservative suit and walked with a limp. Behind them was Deborah Wood from Homeland Security. Lieutenant Mason, who seemed annoyed, trailed behind.
Danny decided to join the group in the hopes that there would be an opportunity to integrate with his new boss. He placed his nearly empty coffee cup on the conference table, snatched up the new cane that Hammond had made for him, and walked out the door. He was still getting used to walking quickly with the cane, but he found it surprisingly easy to work with, a nice complement to his size and gait.
By the time he caught up with Mason, the group had nearly reached the auditorium. They were joined by additional police officers.
Danny approached Mason and said, “Chief, what’s up?”
“This is the guy who’s supposed to help out with the DHS connections. He’s also going to tell us about his personal experience.” Mason’s preoccupation with the visitors seemed to allow him to drop his guard with Danny.
“You think he can help?”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
Danny followed Mason into the conference room and took a spot next to him, standing and leaning against the back wall. Other members of the force sat in chairs and began to exchange conversation with the older man.
The older man took several minutes to explain his philosophy and insights into criminal behavior. He then took questions from some of the detectives. He came off as professorial, elitist. The younger men he’d come in with appeared dispassionate, disconnected. Danny wondered who the guys were: the man’s bodyguards or handlers?
“What’s this guy’s story? he whispered to Mason. “Did headquarters outline how they think he can help?”
“Well, that’s a real good question. He’s Matthew Bishop. Well, Colonel Matthew Bishop. He was a POW in Vietnam. Some expert on guerrilla tactics while he was over there. But no one really seems to know for sure.”
What? They don’t really know his background? What the hell is he doing here? Danny wondered.
Mason went on. “From what I’ve learned, the guy has built himself up as this big enigma who knows a lot from all this heavy experience. I haven’t been able to find much more info that that. And he seems to need to travel around with this . . . what would you call it, entourage?”
His dismissive tone was clear. Danny was sure Mason doubted Bishop really had anything to offer the precinct. “You’re not buying it, I guess,” Danny said. He thought he might get to know Mason better if he met him in that cynical place. After all, he felt the same way.
“Not really. Something’s not quite right about him. I don’t doubt he’s been in the military and seen some shit. But here he is, supposed to share all this great insight with us, and he comes off like a diva. I don’t like it. He’s not like any real warriors I’ve known, and I’ve been in the military about as deep as anyone could be.”
Mason seemed more real to Danny than he had previously thought. And he was more serious and intuitive than Danny had expected. It was also the first time Danny had heard Mason speak of his time in the military. Others had mentioned he’d been Special Forces, but Mason never talked about it.
“I get what you’re saying. Seems like a whole lot of style, if you wanna call it that. Let’s hope there’s some substance there.”
“Agreed,” said Mason.
Danny turned his attention on what Colonel Bishop was saying.
“You have to understand that any terrorist you encounter harbors a deeply held belief of the need to maim and destroy.” Bishop was pacing at the front of the auditorium as he spoke, limping slightly. “You need to understand the necessity of having a much different mindset—a feeling of being invincible. I’ve come to call it an ‘Invictus’ mindset.”
“What do you mean by that, sir?” one of the detectives asked.
“The word is Latin. Meaning ‘unconquered.’ I’ve had the privilege to know at least two men who used this mindset to persevere through all types of hell. Let me share with you how remarkable the men were who embraced this belief, for it made them incredibly powerful. Highly effective.
“I met one of them in a battle tour and the other while I was in captivity. Both had endured terrible, almost unfathomable trauma—trauma that had scarred them internally as much as externally. But it had also forged them, and it allowed certain qualities to come forward, including a level of resilience that neither of them had previously dreamed possible. In both cases, strange and powerful abilities emerged that had been latent until they were triggered, over time, by their ordeals.”
Bishop was proving to be a master storyteller. Any superficial pretense Danny had about the man fell away, and his genuine belief in what he was saying was coming through. He kept the officers and detectives rapt with attention.
“These men were pushed to their physical and emotional limits. But once they reached them, something amazing happened. One developed the ability to steal glimpses into the thoughts and motivations in someone’s mind. The other became nearly invulnerable to any injury resulting from physical attack.”
