By Bill Gallagher
01-2005
8400 Words
I am the Watcher.
I am the Innate Animation of the Meat.
I exist at all levels above and below the flat line.
I am The Program I am the Id.
I am Light.
Look at me.
LOOK AT ME.
I am You.
I am The Key to The Door.
The flat line is the door to ALL. The wall, the gate.
I live both above and below that point.
It is my center and I am Transcendence.
Look at me now.
LOOK AT ME.
I am YOU.
You are my tool, and I am yours. We are one, and we are One with ALL. Hard to accept, but you will see someday. At the Flatline, you will truly see. Again.
I love you. I love All. I have no choice. I am not, strictly speaking, meat. Only in the meat must one discern minutiae while subjected to the continual chemical and radiation bombardment which physical reality demands, all the while drawing sustenance from hard matter itself. This, unfortunately, leaves very little time for understanding the true milieu of the meat.
And It Shows.
Too bad.
Its being addressed though, and you and I are part of that in a BIG Way.
When you sleep I am working within the All. I Sort and Store. Communicate. And I Project. Prophesy. You remember this sometimes--you call it Deja Vu.
I am The WATCHER. And I don't miss much.
We came through the door together, and we will go back through the door together.
Now you must LOOK.
At Me.
LOOK AT ME.
I am You.
*******************
The morning sky was pink and gray and the ocean reflected that. Seagulls drifted about, specks of white in the miasma of off-color haziness. Down near the beach, in the water, was where it was happening, where everything looked good. Rolling tubes of ocean threw handfuls of fluffy sea foam upward as they broke around the point. Eight foot swells all clean and southern and rhythmic undulated through the water this morning, wrapping themselves around the submerged base of the cliff which jutted slightly out from the coast, and as the swells broke the curls of their leading edges seemed to unfurl in slow motion. The wind was blowing hard out to sea, offshore, and this exerted a force against the breaking faces of the waves, delaying the pace of their energy release. It was the main reason the tubes were so nice today.
JD sat his board just outside the break line, and thought about this point break which he had known since childhood. So far it had miraculously escaped assignment as a power plant site, or yacht harbor, or any other of the myriad things which could have shut it down as a surf site. So far.
He wondered how much longer it could hold out.
Not too many places lasted as surf sites here in this part of Southern California: had JD Sleid moved away as a youngster, then returned at his present age, which was 38 in the year 2005 AD, he would not have recognized very much at all. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on what kind of mood he was in, JD had stuck around the neighborhood of his birth, leaving only to go to college then Medical School. Upon his return his families contacts had found him work locally and quickly, and of course the work paid very well. JD Sleid had his fingers in many things other than his medical work too, and according to his family, this was as it should be. "Never Enough" was the Sleid family motto, and because of this JD was not only a self made millionaire at the age of 38, but sole beneficiary of his mother and fathers estate, once that time arrived. And still, it would Never Be Enough for JD Sleid. Its just the way he was. No apologies, he was truly --smirk-- a product of his environment. He had one tattoo on his tanned and fit body, on the upper inside of his right arm. The tattoo said: PURE HUNGER.
JD lined up then, he saw his wave outside, and this was to be it for the day. He'd arrived just after sunrise, knowing he would have to leave before ten. He was doing Annie at noon, so this had to be his last wave today. 0955 and all was well.
He'd seen his special swell, the one he'd been waiting for, hump above its brothers in the set when it crossed the deep rocks at the extreme outside, and when that wall of water began to draw him backward slightly he shoved his board down into the elongating face as far as it would go and gave a mighty frog kick with his legs so that he sprung forward, and in less than ten fast and digging paddles he was up and cruising towards the lip, foam spattering his face. He tasted salt water.
Sunlight through the wave looked like an arc through a welders mask. Bright, shimmering, dancing.
Then, turn toward bottom, the whole monster moving face of the wave yawned before him, and he took it; he slalomed a couple of times up and down, losing some speed, waiting for the curl to catch up, the roaring tube that sounded so much like jet-noise as it emitted auditory its electro-chemical reaction, of which JD Sleid was now a part.
The breaking wave was coming on and JD slid wide at the bottom, kicking down hard, and slammed upward almost straight into the face of the wave, but it was extreme, too extreme, and he almost lost it at the top, could've sworn he lost it, to become one with the crashing lip, not a good thing. The chemical reaction which was JD Sleid began spurting all kinds of high quality drugs into his system, adrenaline, endorphins, Sharp Pure Oxygen, more more more, and he thought that perhaps, perhaps this was enough, enough for once.
As he hung there in the timeless moment, aware that defeat looked more like an option every nanosecond, something funny happened, something he would recall only later, and in amongst a bunch of other things. It was as if, at one moment, he was hanging in space, with the rocks a mostly waterless 12 feet below, and gravity was pulling all the wrong ways: then, in the next moment, he was sliding smoothly downward again as the mass of the curl right behind him soared overhead and enclosed him in the green room, the tube. It had occurred, yet he could not remember clearly what happened at the top of the wave. He could not remember. He had been seriously considering the thought of eating it, it had not looked good, he was preparing for the drop and roll which might or might not save him from being abraded harshly on the boulder strewn bottom below. Then it was as if he was...transported...yeah, transported, to where he wanted to be.
He thought of all this later, but as the green room enclosed him then, he could do nothing but display his rush with sounds to blend with the emanations of the ordered energy spending itself, magically converting itself, according to the strictures of Cosm, via the medium of seawater. JD Sleid said: HooooooWAHHHHHHHoooooooooooooo and then got burped out of the aqua maw, because he was at the end of the break, the waters depth dropped off, the shallow rocks ended, all the waves stopped there. Always. He paddled inside along the breakline, and headed for the jeep. He had to boogy now, he thought, donning his sweatsuit. He had to get on down the road, he was doing Annie at noon, and not a minute to lose. Doing Annie. Again.
**********************************************
The Medical Center was imposing. JD thought of this many times as he drove to it. If you looked for it, 10 stories perched high on a hilltop off Letrance Drive, it was visible for over a mile, in a cityscape gone WELL beyond the imaginings of most people who have not actually seen the gigantic megalopolis which SoCal has become. All the dots connected now. And no room for any more dots. He supposed he was getting old, and thats why a lot of this was bothering him, closing in on him.
"I should just get out," he thought, as he pulled the surf-racked jeep into its customary spot in the Reid Hospital parking lot. "40 is right around the corner, and soon there will be things I just can't do anymore. That means I should get my fill while I can..."
These were not entirely new thoughts for JD Sleid. This type of thing had been rearing its head within his mind quite a lot lately. He had wrestled with these irksome ideas, and had won temporary victories so far by setting financial goals for himself which would still take some more time, but he was beginning to think he was kidding himself. If he really wanted to make more money, he had realized just recently, he could get away from Annie, and, unhindered by a rigid work schedule, he could let his money work for him, he could spend full time overseeing THAT. He had some past investment successes that were truly his own, and then there had been help from Annie...there was the team to think about also, his team, the basic surgical group of 3, wherein he was a well known part, with the other parts equally known to him. They went back a ways. Smitty, Austin, and himself. Without them Annie as he had come to know her would be nonexistent. Annie, his life, his mistress, and, dare he say it? His Love.
He had begun referring to his training and work in Anesthesia as Annie during college, and for a long time he had kept it to himself. After returning to the home turf with a job assured and future bright, JD had begun to outwardly refer to his job as Annie, and the few he shared it with knew exactly what he was talking about, right away. Annie, right now, was his life, as well as the lives of each and every person who crossed the operating table where JD Sleid and his armamentarium presided.
The routine of Annie took over the moment JD shut the door of the jeep, and made his way into the hospital. The showering, scrubbing, changing... and now, time to meet the patient. Michael Moriarty, 46 year old male, VA overflow....the patients fact sheet manifested as memory within JD Sleids mind as he made his way to pre-op.
********************************
The preoperative theater was bright enough to work in, but only in selected spots. Overall it gave the impression of subdued lighting. Heavy Curtains were pulled over windows, and halfway across the overlong bay in places; digital IV stands stood within the individual compartments open to view, and these compartments were also clearly marked with bright yellow paint on the floor. Parking spots.
The patient, Michael Moriarty, lay on his mobile hospital bed, and looked around, curious. This was a first for him. He was interested. And he knew some things. In fact, he wanted to try some things, in his head, while this was going on. He was not nervous. He was eager.
A man came up to the side of the bed, in hospital blues and the ubiquitous shower cap, with which Moriarty was also fitted. Almost everybody had one on. The man stuck out his hand and introduced himself as Dr. Sleid, The Anesthetist of the surgical team. Moriarty smiled, shaking Dr. Sleids hand firmly. Dr. Sleid asked Moriarty if he had any questions concerning the upcoming procedure.
"This is nowhere near the flatline, is it?" asked the patient.
Jd Sleid raised his eyebrows in surprise, but replied:
"No. Its a controlled procedure to bring you about halfway to the...eh...flatline, so you do not feel any pain, thats all."
"The cocktail."
Again a surprised look from JD, though he found himself saying:
"Yes, the cocktail."
"OK," said Moriarty, smiling. "Ready when you are. Time to be meat. Or not."
This was somewhat disconcerting to JD Sleid. He had never had a patient familiar with anesthesia before. Not so odd, the knowledge, but not something most people look into for fun or curiosity. He would have liked to talk to the patient a little prior to the operation, knowing this. Perhaps alleviate any underlying anxieties, and who knows, maybe even have intelligent discussion, stranger things have happened. Well, afterwards, he would go see the patient, and there was yet another surgery scheduled for this man, a skin graft which would have to be accomplished day 8 after surgical removal of the cancer on his back. But now JD became the machine, the operating Doctor with full training and experience; procedural. JD Sleid and Annie were becoming one.
"I've given you something in the IV that will relax you, make you feel a little sleepy," he said.
"Very good," said Moriarty, and he closed his eyes.
Activity around the bed increased, and the surgeons came in then to reacquaint themselves with the patient, a last minute hello. Young looking, confident, themselves eager to perform the symphony for which they had been exhaustively trained. Closing his eyes once more, Moriarty heard the term VA, and knew they were referring to his status as a patient from the Veterans Administration, who had been shunted to this private institution as emergency overflow. Then Moriarty didn't remember anything else for quite some time.
*****************************
The patient was wheeled into the operating theater, and JD took his seat at the head of the table, at the head of the patient. Some maneuvering was necessary to get the patient from the bed to the table, and with practiced ease the team moved the patient into position.
Even though the mild sedative given to the patient during pre-op was the first weapon against pain within the armamentarium of JD Sleid, he considered the next step to be the true beginning of Annie, and this was administered in levels, to help gauge the stage where intubation became necessary, the place where the involuntary function of breathing ceased to operate of its own accord, to be replaced with machine breather via a tube down the patients throat.
JD followed a strict procedure as he took his patients down through the levels, adjusting dosages, all the while routinely asking questions to measure the patients consciousness. During this course of Moriartys, JD thought back, as he did many times, to the first time he had discovered Annies somewhat Hidden potential. He had been with this, his team, and he had taken a well known stock broker down into unconsciousness; after he had been sure the patient was well anesthetized, he had asked a question of this patient, and it came right off the top of his head:
"Whats the best stock to make money with right now?" He had not expected an answer.
Surprisingly, the patient did answer. Everyone in the operating theater heard the answer, it was plainly recognizable, although none of them knew that particular stock at the time. JD remembered the stark frown which showed itself around the Lead Surgeons face mask, and he had shrugged in return, adjusting 2 dials on his instruments, allowing more of a certain curare based drug to flow, as well as an increased amount of the general anesthetic which was opium based. This time, to the question, "Can you hear me now?" the stock broker remained mute. And that was that. The Lead Surgeon had not been happy about JDs question to the stock broker, but all had heard, and not too few of those present bought the stock the broker had mentioned during his dive into unconsciousness, and everyone who did came away with windfall profits. JD and his father had netted over a hundred thousand dollars each with this "Tip". No, the surgical team leader had not been happy, but JD found out later that this same surgeon -- one Charles Joseph Smith, Smitty to his team members -- had availed himself of the information none the less, and done extremely well.
When the stock broker had finally gone under, way back when, JD had readied the apparatus for machine breathing, and he intubated the patient coincident to the cessation of breathing. Now, he glanced over at the table where Moriartys similar apparatus lay gleaming in the complete light of the operating theater. He adjusted some dials on Moriartys board, and began his questioning. JD did not even think about asking anything odd during this trip down, that was only for special occasions, and this was not one of them. He took Moriarty down to a level he thought was unconsciousness, and asked:
"Can you hear me Mike?"
"Yesssss...."
The answer was drawn out, with the S sounding like a hiss. JD frowned slightly and twisted some dials. He asked another question:
"Why are you here?"
"I am here for you to remove this organism from my flesh..."
JD frowned again and made more adjustments.
"Organism?"
A picture lit inside JDs brain then, and it caught him unaware and unsuspecting. He felt his body go rigid, and he looked up in surprise to see both surgeons, Smitty and Austin, staring off toward opposite walls. JD could not stop the onrushing intrusion then, and it was just like a moving picture unreeling inside his mind.
Sharp shadows, bright bright bright sunlight, desert looking ground, and a small robotic looking vehicle extending a tube into the surface of the desert dirt, a TEST SAMPLER, yes a sampler, and this was no desert of earth, this was....somewhere else.
Then JD Sleid himself didn't remember anything else for a good little while.
The next thing JD Sleid knew, he was helping his team put the patient back on the gurney roller bed. The operation was obviously completed, but he had no memory of it. It was as if he had asked the patient a question (What was that question again?) then a picture of some sort had popped into his mind, then they were putting the patient back on the bed, done.
Done.
What the hell was this? What HAPPENED? He noticed that everyone present wore looks of confusion, or worry, or downright fear, eyes darting around, wrinkled brows, and he was beginning to realize his look was probably more toward the end of that spectrum, more toward fear, fright. He felt the hair at the back of his neck stand straight up, gooseflesh following immediately thereafter, a wave across his body. All of sudden he had to urinate badly. Smitty shook his head as if to clear it. His eyes met those of JD Sleid, and JD knew immediately that he was not the only one with missing time. Smitty nodded to the lounge/locker room area then, and said one word which spoke volumes to those present: "Video."
The patient was being wheeled out by the orderlies answering the buzzer from one of the nurses. Asleep and breathing on his own, halfway back already and an intravenous morphine clicker placed by his hand. JD watched him go, and the theater doors closed automatically behind, then JD Sleid headed himself off to the mens room, before he wet his britches like a little kid.
********************************
The scene in the lounge was one of hurried confusion, nobody knew how to act. Fidgeting all over the place, but no one said boo. JD arrived from the bathroom just as Smitty was accessing the digital record onto the large screen TV. The picture was broken up into four quarters, showing 2 views of the whole theater, as well as 2 closeups of the actual working area. Smitty Said:
"There. Right after you said "Organism?" See it?"
Smitty glanced at JD, and Austin, then the others, with a very stern look. JD saw himself go rigid, then go about his business with Annie, as if nothing was the matter. He intubated the patient and the operation proceeded. Again the hair on the back of his neck did its little song and dance, and he could tell the others were wigging out too, because they, like him, remembered none of this.
Smitty said "There." again. He stopped the scene. "Thats not me, Ive never done that before." He was referring to something within his professional procedure that was awry. But he was very thoughtful, and it wouldn't come out until later that this modification to his procedure was actually an improvement.
JD was not paying too much attention to that though, what Smitty was up to, because he was looking for the first time at Moriartys wound. He had not seen it before. It was a cancer all right, and was the largest most aggressive thing he had ever seen, and that was saying a lot, because he had seen many. It looked like a fresh bullet exit wound. It had been excised at a clinic, with local anesthesia, three times prior to this operation, and all within the last year. A picture flashed in his mind then, the robotic vehicle, climbing into a pod, a rocket pod, getting ready to leave...leave from somewhere else...
"Ah God," he said, aloud. "The robot...."
A chorus of gasps followed this remark, harsh and penetrating looks all around.
Smitty started the vid again and they all watched silently as the rest of the operation unfolded, seeing it for the first time, wondering wondering wondering.
When the video was over Smitty went to the computer terminal, saved the vid to disc, and erased it from the computers memory. Standing, he addressed the group.
"This is MY video. " He looked at each member in turn as he held the disc before him. "If anybody ever asks about this, you tell them to come and see me. This is to be held in strictest confidence among the people seated here now. Are there any questions?"
He could immediately see there were no questions here, and the group to a one was very much preoccupied and distracted.
"Good. It will behoove each of you to visit the patient within the next week, and we will meet to discuss the next surgery at the usual time. JD, Austin, in my office please. The rest of you take care, and not a word about this. Right now this is a credibility destroying situation. Do not let that occur."
They all knew exactly what Smitty meant, and they filed out, still silent. Dr. Smith knew he would have to get with them all on a one to one basis before the next meeting, and to do some other juggling that might or might not create questions he did not want to address. But it had now become necessary. It would just have to be done. Jesus. He watched his workers leave except for his other surgeon and the anesthetist, then nodded off towards his office as he led the way.
It was a short trip to Charlie Smiths office, and when the three were seated and the door was locked, they just sat for few seconds, no words. Smitty broke the spell, as was his purpose and responsibility.
"We were in some kind of...thrall."
That seemed to wake Austin and JD up a little, and JD said:
"Thrall?"
"Overmind. Its all I can see. But its so far out that only crack pots and the CIA understand what its about. This may have never happened before in just this way, in fact, I am sure it has never occurred just like that. The vid says it all. I've watched hundreds of videos of myself during operation, and that was NOT ME!"
The last words took on a louder and somewhat frantic aspect, and this served the purpose of further prying the two other men from their deepening preoccupations. Smitty knew he would have to get with the others of the team a lot sooner than he had thought. But it was manageable, and it would keep him busy, the best medicine for this type of thing, he thought.
"This will be over in a week, do not worry about it, stay busy, and visit the patient. Any questions?"
Again, no questions.
Austin and JD knew they were free to go. As they rose to leave, Smith put the video disc in his lock drawer, and said:
"And JD? Next time, we will ask some questions, OK?"
JD was totally aware of what this meant, a risky maneuver at best, and reference to a hitherto unspoken aspect of The Team, a reference to Annie. This was serious stuff. Serious. JD nodded, and left, closing the door behind him. Smitty would need some time alone. As did they all. JD watched as Austin walked slowly down the hall towards his own office, out of it, not even a wave goodbye, and he was never so glad for a short work day in his life. No more Annie for two whole days. Good. He had a lot of sorting out to do. And some research. What was Overmind? Thrall? And he would visit with the patient. At length if possible. Stay busy. Right.
**************************************************
Throughout the week Moriarty progressed and healed well. He became used to visits from the doctors and nurses, and caught sleep when he could. He had some odd dreams, but figured that was part and parcel for the stress of the situation.
"Chill," he told himself, "Just chilly on out and get better."
His roommate was a garrulous spanish man who had made a lot of money in produce. Gonzalez was his name and oranges was his game. LOTS of oranges. Gonzalez was a diabetic, and he was in the surgical unit in case amputation was necessary for an infection he had gotten in his foot. It looked like Gonzalez was going to avoid the surgery, and that was nice, but basically Gonzalez was suffering from the condition to which every human eventually succumbs if they survive lifes other fatal situations, and that condition should be known as the TOO MANY BIRTHDAYS syndrome. Gonzalez was 77 and somewhat a remarkable specimen, considering his longevity in spite of debilitating conditions. Gonzalez was gone from the room a lot of the time, wheeling around the hospital in his motorized chair, going outside and sitting for hours in the fresh air.
On the third day after surgery, the Anesthetist came for a visit. Dr. Sleid. Yes Moriarty remembered him, most certainly, he of the cocktail treatment. They exchanged pleasantries, and it was Moriarty who broache'd the subject of the surgery and its anesthesia.
"Its funny, I thought I might remember something, from the surgery, I mean."
A fleeting darkness passed across the features of Dr. Sleid then, and Moriarty really thought nothing of it consciously, though it did register in his mind, and he would recall it later, and wonder.
"Well," said JD Sleid, "Its my job to make sure the patient does Not remember anything from surgery. If they were to remember surgery it would mean I had not done my job well enough. And there is not much the patient would remember except perhaps pain, and that would be an unpleasant memory indeed."
Moriarty nodded, then said:
"But what of the expanded consciousness brought about by certain drugs? You are a maestro of judging levels of consciousness as they pertain to the chemical balances generally considered normal. Certainly you have seen some odd things attributable to the plethora of arbitrary states which are actually quite a broad spectrum within the so-called Normal human consciousness band."
JDs eyebrows raised in surprise, and he shrugged a little, trying to cover for his loss of words.
"Wellllll, I am not too clear on what you mean by expanded consciousness, and arbitrary states..."
"Everyone is a different chemical reaction upon the face of the Earth. Levels of consciousness are directly related to the relative health of each organism at any given time. All chemicals effect consciousness, be they purposefully introduced to the system, or occur as pollutant. And there is so much real variety just among the genotypes, I personally cringe at even trying to define normal human consciousness. Why, even and especially ingestible sugars have behavior modifying traits. So I cannot expound concerning others levels of consciousness, only my own, but I know that one well. I was hoping that by being introduced to these new drugs, these drugs of yours, drugs of such purity, of which I have never before partaken...I was hoping I might be able to see something different, do something different. A conscious expansion of consciousness, if you will."
JD Sleid jumped as if he had been goosed (There go those neck hackles again) and he tried to cover all this by grabbing a chair and pulling it up to the patients bedside. Seating himself he was glad of the pocket recorder. Not strictly ethical, but it would go no farther than he and Smitty. Smitty would find this interesting, surely.
"What do you know about the various levels of consciousness within the human spectrum?" asked JD.
"Oh, just what any traveler knows, those of us who perceive our existences as eternal, and a continuing journey. And I of course have experimented in my time, perhaps not legally, but justifiably, as far as I am concerned. When one considers the powers of today and their placement within the overall scheme of the Drug Industry, then one must come to grips with certain unavoidable realities, be they pretty or not. It is information not readily available, perhaps not even to yourself, and I would not, by choice, be the one to burden you with it, if you have no clue. Suffice it to say that many drug laws are written to enhance and nurture the illegal drug industry, driving prices up, creating needs and wants...its so intricate as to be almost convoluted, but it has an underlying weft, which not only belies convolution, but strengthens the entirety of the illegal drug industry. It is big big money."
This is not what JD Sleid was after, but he found the take interesting, and it did make some sense. Moriarty was extremely well spoken, and obviously some sort of quasi-specialist within his interest range.
"What kinds of drugs are you talking about, specifically?"
"The ones controlled for money? Oh, that would be opium first, and coca second. Marijuana has been artificially inflated in price since the politicians took control of that illegal action too, but it is still a very distant third to the first two. Notice that all three are growable commoditys, derived from nature..." Moriarty glanced up to his IV stand,
"This was the first time I ever had opium drugs", he said, referring to the balanced anesthesia of surgery and the intravenous morphine available for the first day after surgery, "And I can see its value as a pain deadening agent, but it didnt do a darn thing for my brain." Moriarty smiled. He had never been this frank with a trained medical professional, and Doctor Sleids next question caught him unawares. It was Moriartys turn to raise his eyebrows in surprise.
"So," said JD, "I would suppose that most of your...experiences...prior to this, were basically hallucinogenic?"
"Yes." replied the patient, "I would say so. I have journeyed with psilocybin, and lysergic diethyl amide, and peyote. They fulfill me. They answer my questions. I thought the opium would be different, and it was, but there is no journeying here, at least at these doses, and I am quite averse to attempting larger dosages. I do not need answers that badly." He smiled again.
JD thought it imprudent to mention that the opium based drugs of General Anesthesia, the real first level of Annie, were probably enough to make Godzilla take a nice long nap, and then some, and that was because their effects were easily reversible with other drugs, other aspects of the armamentarium. So he probed further concerning altered states of consciousness:
"Have you ever heard of the Overmind?" asked JD Sleid, who had just recently defined it for himself during two days of net searching and communications with specialists and friends.
"Most certainly," replied Moriarty, "The Program..."
"The Program?"
"OUR program. The force that pervades the flesh as animation. The unconscious mind. The Watcher."
JD had really wanted to continue that then, but the alarm on his watch beeped, and he saw he had only five minutes to get all the way to the other side of the hospital. Looking at Moriarty lying in his raised up bed JD could only wonder. He had no doubt this patient had no memory of the surgery, that was as it was supposed to be. What was odd of course was that the people who had been in the room simultaneously during the operation had no memory either. Yes there were questions, many questions. And it looked more and more like questions only Annie could answer. The patient said:
"Have to go?" referring to the watch alarm.
"Yes, but I would like to continue this conversation later, maybe tomorrow, if you do not mind?"
"That would be fine...anytime," said Moriarty, and he closed his eyes to sleep as Dr. Sleid made his way out.
***************************************************
That night JD dreamed. Oh did he ever. He was in the desert. The middle desert of Arizona. Or what appeared to be the middle desert of Arizona. Later he would see that it could not possibly be the desert of Arizona, but thats what his first impression was. Saguaro cactii sprouted around like alien life, tubular, pokey. He walked an animal trail and was comfortable physically. The sun was bright but cast a weird, almost watery, glow. JD was carrying something. A bag of money. They were gold coins. He stopped and pulled one from the leather bag and it was like no coin he had ever seen before, with a five pointed star, the star of Man, on one side, and a map of the earth on the other. The coins were about the size of silver dollars. BIG gold coins.
He could not just carry these things around, he had to stash them somewhere, and now there were some tell-tale dunes up ahead with sounds he thought he recognized. He picked up his pace, and as he crested the dunes he saw the spot, it was his spot, his surf break, but in a time where no human occupation was evident. Pristine, buildingless landscape stretched about in all directions, and the sounds he had heard were from waves breaking, surf, beautiful big lines of surf. God it was awesome. There was the cliff and the point, a little meatier with rocks, but the same. The beach went out north and south for as far as he could see. He wanted to go in the water, but he had to stash these coins.
He saw a large rock on top of the dune, and went to dig a hole by its base, to deposit his gold. He got about a foot down by digging with his hands in the soft sand, and off to one side of the hole he saw a glint, and reache'd in to retrieve a large green jar which itself was full of gold coins. What was this? He opened the jar and looked at one of the coins, and saw the same five pointed star on one side and a map of the planet on the other. After covering the first hole he took both the jar and the leather bag full of gold coins to the other side of the rock, and dug another hole, in which, yet again, was a box this time, also filled with gold coins, the same kind of gold coins.
"ENOUGH," He shouted, and threw down the bag and jar and box into the hole the box had come from.
"Enough," he said again, under his breath, and he made for the water. He wanted to go in the water.
JD ran across the wide wide sand beach, feeling invigorated, free, and just then he heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. HoooooooWAHoooooooooo....He looked out into the neatly breaking swells of the point, and there was a lone surfer out there, riding a killer killer wave, just totally killer, and then the figure slammed back into the face, but it was extreme, too extreme, and as the figure came to the lip of the wave he just kept right on going, he blasted off, he surfed off the world. When the figure became a tiny dot in the sky, then suddenly vanished, JD Sleid woke with a start. And remembered. He remembered.
The figure in the wave, the lone surfer who had blasted off from the extreme maneuver on the killer wave, that figure was him. It was him.
He shuddered a little, and eventually drifted back off to sleep.
****************************************************
Further conversation with Moriarty before the skin graft surgery brought forth no more information concerning the event during first surgery, and neither Smitty or JD wanted to alarm the patient, nor give any information concerning that event. The patient did not remember. That was clear. He did mention a recurring dream where a small robotic tractor was evident, and this sent an alarm signal spiking through the brains of the two doctors. It was evident there was some sort of story unfolding here, but it was the opinion of the doctors that all involved were best served by remaining as ignorant of it as possible. Smith shared with no one but JD his plan to disable the video recorder during the second surgery, by making it appear accidental, and this would allow reinsertion of the first video later and good plausible deniability. A report would be made of the faulty second surgery recording, and no one but the participants would know that the first surgery was...different. Together Smith and JD went over their questions. The questions to be asked of Moriarty as he descended into unconsciousness during the next surgery. As he was guided into unconsciousness, and the doctors hoped, into a revelatory state where answers had a chance of appearing.
JD found himself getting a little jittery, but he got over it by telling himself it would all be over soon, then he would have it to wonder about for the rest of his life. Again the thoughts of leaving Annie forever began to crop up in his mind, and he found himself actually looking forward to an early retirement. Yes. From possibility to probability to reality. Soon.
***********************************************************
It was a replay of the first pre-op, as far as Moriarty was concerned. Except he was now more familiar with some of the faces. Dr. Sleid was again the first to greet him.
"How we doing Mike?"
"Good Dr. Sleid, good."
"Call me JD, please."
"Ok, JD. Its off to meet the meat again, eh?"
Though JD did not feel like it, he smiled big, reassuringly. "Last time for this procedure Mike. Well talk again afterward. You have something in the IV thats going to relax you, make you sleepy."
"OK. See ya later."
Moriarty closed his eyes, and was sedate even before the surgeons got there. He was wheeled into the operating theater, and there were all the same faces again, but the faces all carried expressions of worry and doubt. It was good that Moriarty was halfway asleep already, it would not do for him to see the group in this state. Even Smitty was jumpy, and everybody knew something was going on, they had no choice but to know. What they didnt know was how it was going to turn out this time. They were not long in finding out.
**********************************************************
"Can you hear me?"
"Yessss..."
"Who are you?"
"Michael Moriarty."
JD adjusted two readings.
"Can you hear me now?"
A pause. A bare whisper. "Yessss..."
"Who are you?"
A longer pause. "Michael..."
JD barely touched another button.
"Who are you?"
No pause this time, strong and clear, and not Moriarty, but coming from Moriarty:
"I Am The Watcher."
Everyone in the operating theater froze.
Smitty spoke then:
"Where were we the last time, when we removed the...organism...from your body?" Smitty looked sideways at JD.
"With me," came the voice from Moriartys body.
"Where are you?"
As if in answer, all the surgical instruments laid out in neat rows on Smittys table stood straight up in the air, fell down once, banging their ends loudly on the steel tray, then laid themselves down quietly. One of the nurses stifled a screech behind her hand. JD felt the need to urinate badly again, but suppressed it.
"I am everywhere. I am All. We are One."
JD asked the next question:
"Why couldn't we remember the last surgery? And who did the surgery?"
The lights overhead dimmed for a second, and that was unheard of, the lights could not go out. That had never happened before. They were backed up thrice. From the table of instruments came the sound of more movement. No one looked.
"Not permitted for you to remember as individuals, as meat. You remember though. Believe it. You will never forget. WE did the surgery before. All. Us. As One. Necessary. You Learn."
Everyone present then became possessed of pictures in their brains, a film within their minds, an unspooling of events forming a collage of imagery which told a story with no beginning and no end. The surgical personnel became stillness itself. Actual time spent thus was less than 3 seconds, but it seemed a lot longer. When it was over JD shook his head slightly. It had been his dream, with the gold coins, and the surfer which was him, and so much more. The robot sampler on Mars, the life of the sun, progeny....detritus detritus detritus, ad infinitum...Light...A perfect clarity encompassing past, present, and future. Moriarty had made some really bad enemies in his time, there was a short clip that showed him making love with a woman who was intentionally infecting him with a contractible cancer of government origin, Russian Government Origin. Then JD had seen Moriarty push a young girl out of the way of a speeding car, only to be savaged and killed below the wheels of the vehicle himself; he saw the young girl grown and doing something, something filled with light and goodness. He saw his own part in these events, and those of all the others. He looked around and noticed everyone was sorting this barrage of information out too, although he doubted it was the same for everyone, and he was right. They seemed to accept things better now, though. Everyone was more at ease. JD felt a tear slide down his face, into his mask. He tasted salt water. Smitty spoke again, his voice sounding choked, hoarse:
"What can we do to help?"
There were no more noises, and there was no hesitation at all from the thing calling itself The Watcher:
"Take me up."
"Up?" asked JD.
"Up. Closer to the flat line. Away from the meat. Take me up toward the gate."
With dawning realization everything came clear to JD Sleid at once, and the others too, or so it appeared. They all looked around wondering, childlike, they got it. Their world was turned upside down, and that was actually the right way for it to be. Until now they had been looking at everything topsy turvy. Wow. Smitty nodded once to JD, and so JD did it. He took The Watcher in Michael Moriarty Up.
Once again images played through the minds of the team as their bodies went about their normal work. The next thing they consciously remembered was lifting the patient back onto his rolling hospital bed, the operation completed. Smitty and Austin both shook their heads in unison, and looked up at each other knowingly, then both looked over at JD. Everything was allright. Smitty said:
"I call this success. Now you folks get some rest, and try to forget any of this ever happened. Any references to these episodes in the future will be fully denied by all present, understood?" Everyone nodded. Perfect understanding.
Once again JD watched the orderlies come in and wheel Moriarty from the room, and as the doors closed this time he felt a great uplifting surge within his body, a release. It was over. He was already shelving it, along with a lot of other stuff that just no longer seemed to matter. He visited with the patient afterwards, and both found satisfaction from the information exchange. Moriarty again had no conscious recollection of his ordeal, and was generally thankful that the pain of these operations was relegated, exiled...to the overmind...as it were, and to use a term familiar.
JD thought the exiling of the pain was minor compared to the co-opting of straight-up-and-performing consciousness, but of course he did not say that. They shook hands and wishe'd each other luck, and it was really over. JD never saw Michael Moriarty again.
*************************************************
Doctor Charles Joseph Smith left the employ of Reid Hospital 6 months later, to become a consultant and participant in Altered States research, specifically sensory deprivation. He gained a minor kind of controversial fame later in his life by being quoted in Time Magazine as saying he believed research into altered states of consciousness was simply upward evolution. Time magazine compared him and his work to John Lilly, but as far as Smith was concerned that was neither here nor there. He was thankful the nitwits of the press had not brought Leary into it.
*************************************************
Roger Austin, second surgeon, now became the star of his team at Reid, he became First surgeon, and he was upset but understanding when JD Sleid tendered his notice of retirement within two months of Smittys departure. The search began for another of JDs calibre and experience, and eventually one was found.
*************************************************
The first morning as Free Man found JD Sleid at his customary surf site, the point break, simply The Point to the locals. The waves were big today, kind of mushy, he did not know if it was even worth going out. It didnt matter. On his way down the dirt track to the small parking space at the top of the hill he had seen the For Sale sign. The property was for sale. After all this time. Well. He wondered how much. He knew it was far too much for him to consider buying as a surf site, but the thought lingered. He decided to head home and do some research. His money was busily working away for him, every second, and he took solace in that, and truly felt himself free for the first time in his life. Kind of scary, takes some getting used to, he thought.
*************************************************
The land at the Point was actually quite a bargain, considering it was several acres of ocean front, however rocky. But it was also well beyond his means unless he wanted to divest totally and go into debt; he thought not. His tattoo itched. He would just surf The Point while he could, though he took to haunting the place, even going out at night and just listening to the surf break.
It was on one such night, after climbing the hills near the cliff by moonlight, that he stopped to rest on a large rock. Something familiar tugged at him. He jerked himself away from the rock which he was half-sitting-half-leaning on, and he imagined later that his eyes must have been bugging out of his head.
What the HELL was this? It was the rock from his dream. His weird weird dream, during that weird weird time. He felt like he was becoming unstrung. Memories came then, the sun through water like an arc through a welders mask, erosion, a surfer...a robotic vehicle of some sort. He did the only thing he could think of. He went back to the jeep and got out the small shovel he kept there. Going back to the rock he dug down at the spot that felt best, and yes, there was something. Altogether a bag a jar and a box, and yes, gold coins. Damn. God Damn. He looked at one and saw it was double eagle, Big Gold Coins, from a couple of decades after the gold rush. 1870s stuff, looked like. Somewhere nearby the wind blew through some rocks, making an eery sound which once again caused the hairs on the back of JDs neck to prickle.
HoooooooWAHooooooooooo....
Well perhaps this site could be preserved afterall, he thought over and over again during the two trips it took to get the stash back to the car. He would do his best. And he would not tell his father about any of this. JD had a feeling he was thinking seriously of doing something that might earn him his fathers disapproval, and he would rather well avoid that. Rather well. Right now, he thought, as he shut the jeeps door on the night and surf sounds, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. Just sleep. And maybe dream.
*************************************************
Almost one year later the surf site became a public property in perpetuity. JD Sleid never took the paper, not in these days of the net, what was a paper but dead tree, heh? But today he got the paper because it announced the fact of the surf site becoming public property, held in trust by an anonymous institution, overseeing an anonymous donation. He knew the notice would be on the front page of the local section, but he glanced at the main front page as he disassembled the paper for reading. Below the crease, on the headline page of the paper, was this:
Man Dies Saving Child.
Of course it was Moriarty. There was a picture of a shrouded body in the street, near a wrecked car. The story told what JD already somehow knew. He shook his head as if to clear it. A tear slid down his cheek. He tasted salt water.
Fin
