The fifth story of the
'Visitations' fan fiction series by Brother Grimace
*****
"Owww, my head hurts..."
"Well, it should," a
voice from one said spoke out, unable to hide the mirth in its tone. "Watching
how you got here... I'm going to save that tape for whenever I need cheering up...
my, my, my... you DO take that 'win at all costs' mythos to ridiculous extremes,
don't you, Mr. Thompson?"
Kevin Thompson lifted
his head and opened his eyes, blinking as he saw the nondescript, well-dressed
man sitting in the chair beside him. "My head hurts... why do I feel so stiff?"
"That would be because
you've been going in and out of consciousness for over a week. They were afraid
that you had suffered some sort of brain injury, and the doctors have been
monitoring you closely to see what happens... oh, you don't have to worry. The
nurses are right outside if you need them."
"I'm in the hospital?"
"Yes, Kevin – you're in
the hospital. The stiffness should go away soon. You took several rounds in the
chest, but you remembered to wear your body armor-"
"Dude, Gunny Lesser's a
bear about that! Sandefur was about to get on the truck without his 'cause he
was rushing, and when Gunny saw him, he cussed him out like he was on cable!"
"The round you took in
your leg passed through cleanly, so it should heal with no problems."
"Oh, yeah. I'm in the
hospital! The redhead nurse gave me some water earlier. Man, she is cute-!"
An emotion that
resembled pain crossed the man's face. "You'll be all right."
Kevin finally focused in
on the man. "Hey, who are you?"
"Someone who is very
concerned about you, Kevin. I'm someone who'd been paying attention to you
since you were in fifth grade. You know, they never did get that toilet at the
Darling residence to work normally after your visit, and you never bothered so
say anything about the bars of soap. Small, yes, but from little acorns..." The
man shifted in his seat. "So... this is Camp Victory. One would think that, with
the amounts they'll spend to set up permanent bases here, the military would at
least splurge a bit for more comfortable chairs for those who visit the
wounded. They will get more complaints on the subject, I assure you."
Kevin finally noticed
the man in full detail. "Hey, you're not supposed to be wearing stuff like that
– you need to be wearing your cammies and your other gear – wait a minute! The
nice suit- Dude! Are you, like some CIA guy or something – like the guy who
helps James Bond in all of his movies and stuff? Is that why you're dressed
like that, 'cause I heard that over here, you guys get to do, like, all sorts
of wild stuff – anything you want!"
The well-dressed man
shook his head slowly. "No, Kevin. I'm not CIA."
Kevin thought a minute,
then his face lit up, and he gave what he thought must have been a
conspiratorial kind of wink. "OHHH! I GET IT! You're in one of those really
secret spy teams – like the one Melody Powers is in!"
"Kevin. Let's not talk
about that, okay?"
"Yeah, okay. Ever since
I got into the Army, they taught me about secrets – 'classified', like stuff on
the radio. Cool."
The well dressed man
sighed deeply, then leaned forward to take a closer look at the bandages on
Kevin's head. "That looks like a nasty bump on your head, Kevin," he said. "How
do you feel?"
"It still hurts a bit –
dude! You should see my helmet! They said that I got hit a couple of times
right in the head!"
"Four rounds – and two
struck in almost the exact spot," the man mused, almost talking to himself.
"That was something that should have been noticed beforehand; I'll have to
speak to someone about that..."
"Hey, you're sounding
kind of weird," Kevin said, and he started to rise from the bed when a loud
groan of pain rolled out of him. "OH, man – that hurts more than the time I
rode the minibike-!"
"The doctors did their
job," the man told him, helping Kevin re-position himself back in bed. "There...
how does that feel?"
"A little better," he
allowed. "Hey – if you're, like, a secret-agent man or something, how come
you're visiting me in the hospital? Gunny Lesser and Captain Howell both got
hit, too – they said that the Gunny wouldn't make it if we didn't get off that
block, so that's when-"
"You absolutely screwed
up my plans for you," the man said under his breath. "Running out at those
insurgents, and then that fortified position..." He looked back in Kevin's
direction. "Kevin – listen. I'd like to – well, I need to do something for my
job. Now, it won't hurt and it will help you out, because it'll let me help the
doctors help you to get better and back to your buddies – but it'll seem..."
The man searched for the
right word. "Weird. I have to do something that'll seem weird. No, nothing like
that – well, let me just show you..."
Kevin watched with
apprehension as the man pulled out a multicolored device that vaguely resembled
a PalmPilot, but relaxed as the man passes it over him once, twice – stopping
at the areas where he'd been wounded, and then once again. "Good... there doesn't
seem to be any permanent damage. You're a very healthy young man."
"Hey – clean living is
what makes a good QB."
"Yes... about that. Kevin,
why didn't you go off to college and play football after you finished at
Lawndale High?"
"Hey – the President
said that people needed to fight the terrorists after those planes hit the
buildings! My dad and mom said that I should be in school, but I ran into this
Army guy; we talked, and he said that the thing is that the Terrorists are,
like, the worst opposing team ever, and that we've got a lot of good guys on
ours, but that they could still use a good QB! All I have to do is just
remember to listen to my sergeant and the officers, and I'd be able to score
for all the folks back at home!"
The simpleminded ones
always gave me the most trouble, he sighed inwardly.
"Well, Kevin, it looks like you've got a little bit of trouble that the doctors
missed... nothing that they can't take care of, once they know about it..."
Aneurysm – simple defect – would never have been
detected. If things had gone according to plan, it would have ruptured
ten years from now, about nine hours after this fool had won MVP honors in the
Super Bowl... while he was in a threesome with a cheerleader from the other team,
and a top network anchor who'd volunteered to cover the game and was infatuated
with the idiot, because he reminded her of a boy she'd had a crush on in
Catholic school. The resulting scandal would have done wonders in ruining
reputations and tarnishing images – the news that he was wearing a 'Mooby'
t-shirt when his brain blew would have been grist for the mill for decades...
I find it utterly
repulsive that I have to do this...
The man took a small box
from his pocket and opened it. "Kevin, I want you to take this pill."
"What is it?"
"It's a special pill. Top
secret. Seriously hush-hush, undercover medicine – the kind that they give to
the agents when they get hurt."
"Cool. What's it do?"
"It makes you all better
– better than better. It helps heal up all of your wounds – but not right away,
because that would make people suspicious. We learned about that. Now, you're
still going to hurt for a bit, and you should take things slow for a few more
days, but you should be fine in a week or two."
"Is this what they gave
Melody Powers after she got into it with the Commies at the stadium – did
Ratboy get one of these?"
"Well, Melody got one,
but Ratboy was allergic to the pills. Oh, he got better, but he had to stay in
the hospital for a while as he healed. I think that he'd want you to take that
pill and heal up, Kevin."
Kevin accepted the
violet-hued pull from the man, not bothered by the way it shone with a dim,
inner light, and took the cup of water handed to him. "I think that Ratboy
would also say that you've done your duty, Kevin," the man told him, taking the
empty cup away. "You saved all of your friends in your platoon, you saved the
Captain, and what you did saved Gunny Lesser.
You gave up so much to do the right thing, and now, it's time for you to
go home."
"Really?"
"You're a hero, Kevin.
You need to go home and go back to your life. You need to go back to football,
to having fun – you need to go back and be the QB. Oh, that's right – I brought
something for you... All of the other patients are over in the ward room, watching
the Super Bowl... this should tide you over..." Kevin's eyes lit up as he saw the
football that the man brought from behind his chair. "You know, a lot of people
wanted to sign it for you..."
"Oh, MAN!" the young man
yelped, his eyes wide as he read the names of famous gridiron warriors past and
present on the ball. "All of these guys – oh, man!"
"I thought you'd like
it," the man told him. "They'll probably have a lot of big parties for you when
you get back. There are a lot of girls waiting for you at home, Kevin – well,
after this, girls all over want to meet you, back in the States. You should
make sure they all give you a really special 'welcome back."
The young man on the bed
didn't answer.
"Kevin."
No answer.
"Kevin?"
"Visiting hours are over,"
a voice rang out from behind, and the man looked up in obvious surprise. "I'll
have to ask you to leave. I've already allowed Private Thompson to get some
rest."
"It's not fair," the man
said, straightening up after slapping the sleeping form of Kevin a number of
times. "I was supposed to get him. He was on my list."
"Well – he made his own
choices," the delicate voice behind him spoke, and the well-dressed man turned
to see a petite, alabaster-skinned beauty in a lab coat. "You wanted him for a
Judas goat, so you could have him turn more to your side. You could still try.
It is part of the deal..."
Disgust coated the man's
snarl as he tossed a magazine at her feet. "He'll be on the cover of every
major magazine in the free world within two weeks. People all around the world
will know his name before the end of this week. He's a hero now."
"You're angry because he
made selfless decisions, and thought of others before himself. Surprised you,
didn't he?"
"I had plans for him,"
the man said, disappointment on his lips. "Big plans."
The man started towards
the door of the empty hospital ward.
"You could still try."
"God save us from stupid
heroes – they're always the worst kind! Short on brains but long on guts and
honor, and they don't have the imagination to see beyond their own variation on
'I have to save the world!" He winced at the look the Doctor gave him. "I apologize."
The man walked past the
Doctor. "So, you've given up your claim on the boy?"
"Don't you get it? I
can't use him! He's hope given form, he was almost a martyr, he's, he's – he's
inspiration!" the man hissed. "He gave up money, fame, unfettered sex and the
easy life to serve – and now, others will look at him and follow his example as
the way to better themselves and serve for the benefit of others! A year from
now, he'll toss the coin at the beginning of the Super Bowl! Seven weeks from
now, he'll be awarded the Medal of Honor in a Rose Garden ceremony that will be
seen around the world! His little
foundation to help inspire kids is going to take off and have over a million
members by this time next year!"
He spat – and an insect
died instantly as it ran up and made contact with the spittle. "Decades from
now, they'll still be following the example of this fool, and going further
beyond that; even now, I can just imaging the foul, vomitous stench of
righteousness, and selfless effort, and good that will rise up wherever that
blighted idiot walks, following behind him like History itself followed Forrest
Gump. For what I'll need to do to balance this out... that person... he... is not
worth the trouble."
The man stopped at the
door, and looked back. "To the world, he is a hero. I can't use
him."
The doors whispered
shut, and the Doctor looked down at a peacefully sleeping Kevin. 'He's wrong,
you know," she said, leaning down to kiss him gently on the forehead. "You're
not a hero, son. They try to find or make those every day, and seduce others
into following their plans by making heroes into lights to follow down those
paths. I hope they don't put you into that mold, or try to see you as something
bigger... I hope they don't put you on a pedestal, so they can tear you down
later – but I cant tell them what to do. I just hope they see you for who you
are. You're the QB."
The Doctor smiled down
at him. "It's what you were meant to be, Kevin. It was all you ever needed to
be."
END
7 February 2005