Chapter 32

"Finally! They're gone. Those women could peel the meat off the bones of a Rhino at fifty paces when they get riled. They're right, though. I never should have said those things to Ann. What the hell is the matter with me? Could there be some sort of damage from the operation? It's not like me to do something like that. Damn it all! It's going to take a long time to get to the point where those women will forgive me or trust me. Even if they do, though, there will always be that black mark against me in their minds," thought John dolefully as he laid his head back on his pillow.

He mulled over what he had done and what to do in the future for hours.

"I'm behaving like a little kid, a baby! Ok, I can't see. So what! Ann and the doc say that this is, most likely, temporary. Even if it isn't, I still have my mind and this old body. But these emotions and this anger, these extremes ... I just don't get it."

In another emotional flip, John switched from the mournful state to one of angry determination.

"Well, fuck it! I can retrain the body, and as for the mind, I can train it as well! I must! And if my loss of vision is permanent, then I can train my other senses to compensate for that loss, too."

"It's time to start right this minute," said John loudly to himself as he began trying to work his legs. It took all that he had to force even the slightest movement, but he kept at it in a fit of unbalanced obsession.

Hours later, Ann came into the room. The evening was taking the light from the sky, and was filling the room with shadows.

"Well, are you going to listen to me, now?" she asked sourly as she checked his pulse.

Her eyes went wide, because John's heart was racing furiously. She looked at his face and even in the dim light saw that he was dripping in sweat and that his face was suffused with the deep blush of overexertion. He was as purple as a plum. She also noticed that the sheets were soaked, also.

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL YOUR SELF, YOU STUPID OLD BASTARD?"

Ann quickly pulled her stethoscope from where it hung around her neck and put it to use.

"Well, it's fast ... but steady and strong, at least," she said with relief.

She sat on the side of the bed and asked, with grave concern clouding her face, "John, what are you doing?"

John pushed the button that raised the bed, partly so that he could "look" Ann in the face, and also to be a bit more comfortable.

"Look, I'm sorry for my actions, and for the terrible things that I called you, Ann. The others raked me over the coals for it and rightly so. I've been a shit, a spoiled child. Though I don't deserve it, I ask your forgiveness. As to what you found when you came in ... well ... I've decided to work as hard as I can to get back on my feet. The problem is that my legs don't seem to want to cooperate. That's it in a nutshell...

"Well ... actually, it isn't. I seem to be suffering from extreme swings in my emotions and judgment. I go from anger to depression and then back and, and it scares me. I want to strike out and cause pain. Ann I've never, ever wanted to do such things, before. I'm really scared!"

Ann just stared at him for a long time—John waited, trying to be patient, but he soon began to fidget. Soon it was evident to Ann that John was fighting a losing battle with his temper and frustration. She could see the veins in his head begin to pulse and become distended. The color of his face, as well, was changing, the purple color of rage that she had seen earlier was returning. John was near to exploding!"

"John, I don't know what is happening but I promise you that we will get to the bottom of this, as fast as is humanly possible. Just hang on, and when you feel that you are losing it tell us before things get out of hand. Ok?"

In a strangled voice and through gritted teeth, as he struggled to control the building anger John said, "Yes!"

Ann hurried from the room and went straight to the com room and grabbed up one of the sat phones. She called John's doctor and related all that was going on. Needless to say, the doctor was concerned, very concerned.

"We need to get him in here immediately for tests, Ann! I really don't like the sound of this."

"Yes, Doctor. We will get him there as soon as possible. Doctor, may I give him something to settle him?"

"Yes. Yes of course. What do you have on hand?"

Ann rattled off a list of sedatives. The doctor picked one, instructing a dose that would do the job.

"Thank you, Doctor. See you soon."

As soon as she hung up the phone she went to the drugs cabinet, and filled a syringe with the needed medication. Then she hurried back to John. What she found worried her more than she wanted to admit. John was, again covered in sweat as he fought his inner demons.

"Damn I hope this shot is strong enough," she thought as she injected the fluid into the IV port.

It was!

Now that John was calming she sat on the bed with a pen and his chart in her hand, and asked John to describe what he was going through—she noted everything on the chart as he spoke.

"It's hard to describe, Ann. I guess it ... Well ... It's as if my emotions are a small fire, all nice and calm, like a little campfire. Then ... then it's like someone comes along with a five-gallon bucket of gasoline and dumps it all on the fire at once. There is an explosion, and then a raging conflagration. I've never in my life felt that angry or determined or whatever! Not even when I found out that lowlife relative sold my kids out, and caused their deaths ... and let me tell you, I was filled with a blood-lust rage, then just as fast I swing to another emotion—sadness, joy, whatever. That's all I can say."

"Ok, John, you try to rest. We'll get you on the jet as soon as she's ready to fly. They were doing some maintenance, and need to button that up before we can leave."

John just nodded and rolled over.

Ann went out to talk with the others. Word had gotten around by way of the rumor mill.

The room was now tidied up. Gone was the trashed look of scattered papers, overturned furniture, and open file drawers. Everything was now spit and polish, even the man that sat behind the desk. General Vezza was a changed man! His uniform was perfect; from its razor edged creases, and shining insignia, to its highly polished shoes. Gone were the greasy locks and food-flecked beard. His face was clean-shaven, and so was his head.

The greatest change though, was his demeanor. The man was now calm and lucid. The logic that had once marked him as special, was now back. Even though the insanity was still there, it was an insanity that was manifesting itself in a deeply calm obsession to avenge himself on those that had betrayed him.

To those that were around him it looked as if their General had moved past his grief and returned to sanity. Later, they would learn otherwise.

General Vezza's thoughts were filled with the planning required to rebuild his organization, to the point that he could send out death squads. He had already located some of his former people. He planned on killing them all, down to the last man that had broken the oath of loyalty.

"It looks as if John has developed more embolisms, Mary. Worse, still, is that some are leaking into his brain. That is what I think is causing the loss of emotional control," said the doctor in a cold flat manner, totally lacking in empathy.

The doctor may have been talking to Mary directly but most of John's crew stood around the couple on the couch trying to hear. Shock and gloom permeated the group as the news was given.

"What can we do about this, then?" asked Mary.

"Well, that's the thing, I'm afraid. It's as if the blood vessels in his brain are rotting away. Also, if those vessels are failing the way I think they are, then I think that there is a very good chance that this problem is systemic."

Ann audibly sucked in her breath in surprise at the doctor's statement. This caused Mary to jump and look up at Ann. The look on Ann's face caused Mary to go ashen.

She turned back to the doctor and then asked, "What does all of this mean?"

"It means that there is little that we can do for John, now. It is just a matter of time before a major vessel lets go. When that happens, it will most likely kill your husband," stated the doctor in a flat cold manner.

The doctor's bedside manner was that of a dead fish. He stated all of this with the flat disconnected voice of the jaded. Many of John's crew took offense at the callous treatment of the one that most now considered the mother of the Reapers ... Donna, least of all.

With the martial arts quickness and physical strength that she was famous for, Donna grabbed the doctor by the throat, and lifted him from the couch. The move was so fast that none of the others were able to stop her, even if they had wanted to. Just as quickly as she had lifted the man from the seat she now swept his feet from under him, slammed him to the floor and then sat on his chest, all without easing the pressure that she held on his throat and, therefore, main blood vessels to his brain. It was an amazing display of physical prowess from such a small person.