SECTUAL

They were taking a long time to answer.

"Mexicans?" Delia asked.

"Colombians." Roman replied.

She stares at him and sighs. Then the door swings open. The man's face showed discontent. They walk in
and the door closes behind them. 

The tension was unbelievable. Even Roman could feel it, giving Delia a glance of uncertainty. The man who
let them in returned to his seat while another man sat in a chair across the room. Roman tossed the black bag
onto the neatly-made bed. Delia's eyes were darting back and forth. She could feel the sweat beading already.

"Where's your brother?" Roman asked the unarmed seated man.

"Takin' a piss." he answered.

The bathroom door opens and the third and final man enters the room. He's holding a shotgun.

"Get 'em off." he barked, raising the twelve-gauge.

The unarmed man approached them, standing only inches away.

"What's this?" Roman asked in surprize.

The armed brother moves slightly closer now.

"Down to your fucking underwear!" he yelled aiming that shotgun right at Roman.

Delia looked over at him as the room suddenly became electrified.

The unarmed brother grabs Delia and pulls her aside, motioning for her to undress.

"Check the bag, it's all there!" he shouts.

The aggressor now pushes the barrel of that scattergun into his stomach.

"I found out some very important information last night." he said.

Delia strips down to her bra and panties. She's visibly shaking, watching this whole thing go terribly wrong.

"And what did you find?" the still-dressed man asked.

The angry Colombian racks his shotgun and puts it back up to Roman's mid-section.

"That you're a dirty fucking fed." 

Delia's heart is now pounding in her chest. This truly was the end.

"You're out of your fucking mind!" Roman screamed as the blast sent him backwards onto the bed.

He squirmed for a few seconds before giving up the ghost. So quick how Life becomes Death.

Delia screams in terror as the man holding her ties her arms behind her back. The doorman still seated,
watching it all like a movie. He hasn't moved or said a word the entire time.

The angry armed man nods and his brother grabs Delia's arm and marches her into the bathroom. He forces 
her onto her knees and pushes her head down into the urine-filled toilet. She fights him but soon finds
her face submerged. Drowning in piss-water wasn't high on her list of ways to die.

"Drink up you fucking fed whore!" he said, setting the shotgun down in the corner.

Delia's ears now fill with the disgusting liquid as she continues trying to hold her breath. He brings her up
for air and she can feel hot fluid hitting her back. The man releases her and falls onto the floor. She raises
herself and turns to see the doorman standing with a gun to the Colombian's head. He's speaking to her
but her hearing is obstructed. She now knows it's the first man's blood soaking her back. 

"Free her hands!" he yells at the Colombian. 

The man hurriedly cuts the zip-tie. Delia steadies herself, one hand on the bathtub and one on the toilet. It all
hits at once and she quickly leans over the bowl to puke. She earned it.

"Whatever you're gonna do to him, do it fast!" the doorman said.

Delia jumps to her feet, and grabs the shotgun. They all exit the tiny bathroom.

"Sit next to him." Delia demands.

The Colombian stands, eyes wide, frozen. Delia racks the twelve-gauge.

"Sit the fuck down!" she screams.

He flops backwards onto the bed, into a pool of Roman's blood. The doorman calmly returns to his seat.

She stands over him, seething in rage, still trying to catch her breath. It went about as bad as it could have.

"Tu sucia puta blanca!" he yelled.

Delia fired straight into the man's crotch. He let out sounds she'd never heard before. She threw the now empty
shotgun onto the floor. The room looked like a movie set. Nothing felt real. She scrambled to gather her clothes
and got dressed. Wary of the man who stepped in to save her life.

"Who the fuck are you?" she questioned.

"Doesn't matter." he said rising from his chair. 

He walked over to a navy blue backpack nestled between the bed and nightstand. He pulled out a banded
stack of hundred's and tossed them at Delia.

"Leave town, now! Or you'll be dead before dark." he said matter-of-factly.

Delia's mind couldn't keep up with the all-out fuckery of this situation. She stuffed the money into her back
pocket, grabbed her gun from the nightstand and moved towards the door.

"Thank you." she said as tears wet her cheeks.

"Get the fuck outta here." the man said as he also readied himself to leave.

She ran to the car, fished the keys out from under the front seat and burned out of that parking lot.



There was a storm battering inside of her...

Delia went straight to her motel room, dumping Roman's car in the vacant lot behind.

She burst through the door, manically grabbing her things then ran to her car. She revved the engine
and was gone. The highway was calling. Ten grand would get her as far away as she wanted to go. West
seemed most promising. Anywhere was better than here. Her first priority was to get out of D.C. before
the city-wide lockdown went into effect. After that, Maryland in the rearview. She'd drive all night if that's
what it took. She was never one to run from a fight but cutting her losses and keeping her life seemed
to be the smart move here. "There's no winning this..." she remembered. Maybe he was right.



It was time to rethink a lot of things.

Minor edits to posts #282 and #284.

She got as far as Pittsburgh before realizing there was a strange man's blood dried on her back.
Another cheap room. Hopefully, a shower and change of clothes would help her find the perspective
she so badly needed. Walking from the bathroom, she fell backwards onto the bed, still wrapped
in her towel. Gun on the left pillow. Fifth of whiskey on the nightstand. Her head filled with static.


Anything to forget the last few days...

Her eyes crack slightly, the room's only light being the faint wisps of sun sneaking in around the
curtain's edge. Her blurred focus moves from straight ahead to the right where she finds a silhouetted 
figure sitting next to the window. She panics - reaching for her gun; it's gone. Springing from the bed
she stands, heart racing, looking over at her uninvited guest. She turns the small bed-mounted lamp on.

"You're a heavy sleeper." the man said, glancing down at the half-empty bottle on her nightstand.

"Who are you?" she asked, almost breathless.

The man picks her gun up from the small table he's seated at, stands and leans over the bed tossing the
weapon towards her. She quickly grabs and points it at him.

"If I were here to kill you, you would've never woken up." he said.

She stands there in only panties and a tank top. The man dressed in a blazer and jeans sits back down.

"I just need to talk." he said holding his hands up.

Delia backs away slowly, picking up her clothes and dressing herself with one hand while keeping her gun
on the man with the other. They maintain a hard stare the entire time. She now moves closer as the man
crosses his arms. 

"You've got two minutes. Use them wisely." she delivered with a tone of finality.



The hangover was expected. As for the rest of it...

Delia sat on the edge of the bed staring at the man, dumbfounded.

"We really need you in on this." he said.

She stood, walked the length of the room twice then sat at the foot of the bed.

"This sounds like a conspiracy-nutjob movie of the week." 

"I can only give you the truth I know." he replied.

Delia wasn't sure she was ready to accept this truth.


The United States military had begun secret experimentation on certain qualified members going as far
back as the sixties. By the nineties; things were running full force. It was an off-the-books affair called 
ESP: Enhanced Soldier Project. Using implantable technology, surgeries and follow-up therapy, they would
take the best of the best and make them better. The ultimate killing machine. Nano-bot tech would ensure
a steady flow of detection, healing and repair. Monitoring with just a quick scan. The future was here. It was 
no longer a fight strictly for the battlefield but one of the mind. On every level, from espionage to propaganda. 

Belief was now a weapon. Independent thought - an enemy combatant. This war would be perpetual.


"What about my car?" she asked.

"I'll send someone for it, we need to leave now."

This wasn't the morning Delia planned on waking up to. 

She put on her jacket, picked up her bag and they were gone.

"What's your name?" she asked.

The man slid the van door open and looked at her, saying nothing. She felt a thump on her chest. Looking 
down, there was something stuck in her - a tranq dart. He grabbed her and pushed her inside. Two men sat 
in the back wearing balaclavas, holding assault rifles. 

Delia was fighting it but losing. She fell into the arms of one of the men dressed in all black.

"It's alright sweetie, you're safe now." he said softly as her heavy eyes closed. She was out.



At the mercy of the unknown...

The man in the blazer and jeans stood watching Delia lying in a hospital bed through a two-way
mirror. She was unconscious. Another man wearing a fine suit approaches. They both stare through
the glass for several seconds without a word between them.

"I was beginning to worry." said the older man in the gray suit.

"I always come through." said the more casually dressed, slightly younger man.

"Did she buy it?" asked the older man.

"No, but she came anyway."

The older man looked over at him, then back to Delia.

"She was always too smart for her own good." he said.

"What happens now?" asked the man in the blazer.

"Your work is done. You'll be contacted if your services are required in the future." 

He looked over at the older man, then back through the glass before walking away.


Delia Delicato wasn't to head up a secret military super-soldier program. That's not to say such a thing
doesn't exist, but her lot would be something far different. Unbeknownst to her, a procedure had been
performed where an entire lifetime of false memories were implanted into her brain. Along with creating
the ultimate war hero, military scientists also had ways of giving out lives that only existed in silicon. People,
places, events, feelings; things that never happened. All made real and valued as gospel. Technology.

When you capture an endangered species, you don't kill it. You put it in a cage for all the world to see.

This would be their only way to control her.


The older gentleman stared at her in wonder, truly one of a kind. His phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Is it done?" asked the voice on the other end of the line.

"It is." he answered, then placed the phone back into his pocket.



"Goodbye Delia." he said quietly before walking down the dimly-lit hallway.

"I think she's waking up." the nurse said as she returned Delia's chart to the foot of the bed.

The man rose from his chair and now stood bedside, looking down at her.

"I'll give you some time." she said, then walked from the room.

Her eyes were sore, as though she hadn't opened them for days. The light was harsh, causing a squint.

"Hey." he said softly, leaning down.

"Hey" Delia returned.

She was at a total loss. No idea of who, what or where. 

"It's alright sweetie, you're safe now." the man said.

Those words. Those words. They echoed with an eery familiarity. Bouncing around in her head.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

The man smiled and gently brushed the hair from her face.

"Yes honey you do." 

She was so confused. 

"Who are you?" 

"It's me, Kenny. Your husband."

Everything brand new and so foreign, she had no barometer. It may as well have been true.

"I don't... I don't, where am I?" she questioned.

He leans down to kiss her forehead, caressing the side of her face.

"It's OK. You're fine now. You were in a car accident. It was bad. But you found a miracle."

Tears made their presence. It was all so much to take in. She stares up at the stranger.

"What's my name?"

"Julie. Your name is Julie." he said, rubbing her face again.

Delia was all but gone. Little to no memory of an entire lifetime; vanished. This couldn't be happening.

"They said I only had five minutes, you need your rest." he said kissing her forehead one last time.

Delia looked at him and felt nothing. This wasn't right. In her deepest knowing, something was greatly amiss.

"I'll be down the hall until they say you can have visitors again." 

She wiped the tears away and shook her head as he left the room. For better or for worse, this was it now. 



Kenneth and Julie Durham had a marriage to resume.

[The next morning]


Kenneth enters the hospital room carrying a black overnight bag. Delia's awake, their eyes connect
and he smiles. She tries but only manages a halfhearted attempt.

"Good morning. How you feelin'?" he asked, setting the bag down onto the chair.

"Better. I think." she answered.

He leans in to plant one on her cheek. He pulls back smiling.

"I brought you some clothes. You're coming home." 

While those words sounded great at face value, she didn't really know what they meant. Home.

"I'm gonna go pull the car up while you get dressed. Take your time." 

He walks from the room and she sits up on the edge of the bed. This had to be a dream.

Delia scoots off the bed and stands for a moment, finding her legs. She looks into the bag on the chair.
A loud tie-dye t-shirt, a blue jean skirt and hemp fiber flip-flops. Who was this Julie character? She had no
clue of her real identity but something told Delia that this attire was far from her usual.

She got dressed and sat in the chair, waiting for what's-his-name to return.

The wheelchair ride down the long front hallway was the strangest part of this whole thing yet. Kenneth pushing
slowly, humming some annoying tune. This was no dream; it was a nightmare! They reach the curb and
her loving husband turns her to the side, holding onto the chair with one hand while opening the passenger 
door with the other. He assists her up and over and into the car. After she buckles herself in, he shuts the door
and rounds the front to hop in and they drive away. An orderly comes for the chair as Ken & Julie leave the parking
lot and disappear down the street.



Was Delia ready for her new life?

The drive home was more quiet than she anticipated. None of the scenery looked familiar.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Billings Parkway." Kenneth shot back, not missing a beat.

Delia continued to take in her strange new surroundings.

"No, I mean what city?"

He didn't answer right away. Which lies to tell when? Even trained monkeys slip once in a while.

"Fort Wayne."

She'd heard the name before but that was the extent of it.

"We live here?" she questioned.

They shared an uncomfortable look, he turned away but she stayed on him.

"Yeah, we do." he said, eyes forward.

Delia was rusty on her geography.

"Fort Wayne what?"

"Indiana." he replied.

She didn't know what to think. That implant so far only kept her from knowing who she really
was, but it wasn't placing her into Julie's footprint. Not yet anyway.

"They said it would take several days for things to get back to normal. Your thinking and all."

Delia caught her image in the side mirror. Curiously removing her headscarf.

"Honey... maybe you should leave that on?" he said reaching over with his right hand.

It was too late. The scarf was off as she examined the bandage wrapping her head, touching it gently.

"We'll have to stop by the pharmacy for some replacements. You've also got a couple scripts."

Her eyes looked tired, weary. They pull into the drug store parking lot and Kenneth finds a spot right
in front.

"I'll see if they can fill these now. Back in a minute." he said before getting out.

She watched him go inside. Some complete stranger. Her husband. Kenny. Something was off.



At least she had the beautiful sunshine. High in the lower 50's. Silver linings.

It was somewhere between urban-residential and rural. Off to itself, down a little country lane.
No prying eyes of nosy neighbors. How perfect. Where better to keep such a dangerous secret?

They coast up the long driveway and Kenny stops just short of the front walk. 

"Wait just a sec." he requests.

Hopping out and running behind, he grabs Delia's things from the trunk and hurries to open her
door. Careful to take hold of her arm, he walks her to the front door. He unlocks it and pushes it
open. She stands looking a bit unsure of things.

"Home Sweet Home." he said, smiling at her.

She cracks a tiny grin, then walks inside. They get to the end of the front hall and he sets her bag down
on the couch. The living room was of medium size and sparsely decorated. Maybe this Julie had some
sense after all.

He walks over and guides her to the couch.

"Any of this coming back to you?" he asked.

Delia gazes around the room. It was nice, very pretty. But nothing. No memories. No fondness.

"No. Everything's still just..."

"That's OK. It'll take time. The important thing is you're here now!" he said leaning down to hug her.

He picks up the pharmacy bag and joins Delia on the sofa. He removes three bottles and holds them in his hand.

"These are for pain. Up to two every six hours, OK?" he said, placing the first bottle onto the dark wooden
coffee table.

Delia stares at the other two still in his hand. He looks at her with saddened eyes. 

"And those?" she asked.

He put them down on the table as well, but set apart from the first bottle.

"How much do you remember from before the accident?" he asked.

Her gaze went from him to the table and then towards the kitchen. Once again, at a loss. She closed her
eyes and tried to find something. Anything. That's when technology kicked in.

"There was a sunroom. I was painting, my clothes were speckled with every color. An old white t-shirt."

Kenny smiled as her eyes opened. 

"That was our old house. But it's good you remember that. You loved that room."

She felt a twinge of relief. Finally, something actually real. As perversely false as it was.

Her eyes back on those two bottles. She noticed his expression changed to one of a more sheepish nature.

"So?" she said, looking over at him.

He scooted a tiny bit closer and took her right hand between his.

"These are for your condition."

Delia's heart sank. What on Earth could this mean? Worry instantly set in, she inadvertently squeezed
his hand tightly and sighed.

"What's wrong with me?"

"A year after we were married, you were diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder." he said softly.

She stared at him blankly, having no idea what it meant.

"That triggered a deep and lasting depression. Your doctors put you on medication after a couple weeks
of therapy. It stopped the suicide attempts." he said now dripping crocodile tears.

"So, I'm crazy?" she asked, her breathing becoming deeper.

"NO! You are not crazy!" he hammered back as she shot up from the couch, walking across the room.

Delia was now crying into her hands. Kenny ran towards her, wrapping her with both arms.

"It didn't matter then and it doesn't matter now! I still love you!" he said, almost sobbing.

She returned the embrace and shed many tears onto his shoulder. They stood together for several seconds
while their emotions ran free. She pulled away, looking into his eyes.

"We won't let this thing beat us." he said, pulling her close once again.

Standing there in each other's arms, he rubbed her back in small circles. She was losing her mind much the 
same way. This just kept getting worse. And this was only day one.



That silver lining turned black awfully quick.

She couldn't sleep. Not any further than shallow in and out napping. Turning over, she spies the clock.

4:05am

Delia sat up in bed, letting her eyes wander the perimeter of the darkened room. Adequately furnished
but not filled to gaudy levels of clutter. Julie did have a good sense of home-making. She was glad. She was
also appreciative that her and Kenny slept in different rooms. It was due to the up & down nature of her
sleep disturbances. Or so the story went. No matter. Having her own bedroom went a long way towards
making this whole thing more acceptable. For now.

Feeling restless, she walks into her small en suite bathroom. It too was spare in the accoutrements. She was
really starting to like this Julie gal. She lowers the toilet lid and sits. Eyeing up those damned medicine bottles.

Risperdal 2mg 
Zoloft 100mg  

What a terrible lie. Mind-raping someone into believing they are severely mentally ill. Not to mention forcing
unnecessary medication on them. Of course, they were just sugar pills. With a touch of sodium fluoride. A little
something to keep that fighting Delicato spirit from becoming too bold; too much of a problem. 

However displaced and backwards everything felt, she was slowly finding her balance in Julie's shoes.



This was both comforting and tragic. The worst part - she was actually starting to like the tie-dye.