Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Eighteen (Pt. 1)

I still can't believe what I was seeing.

A 76' Mustang. That's his car. Lenny's car. Why did everybody else in the world―except for me―had to be millionaires?

This 76's ain't like those ordinary vintage junk you might find in your grandpa's old garage. Newly repainted, the sunlight that glinted off the two stretches of gold paint that ran down the monster's hood forced Phil to squint even just to look at it. The four massive Michelin tires merely added to the monstrosity of this beast, and when Lenny started the car, its powerful engine roared to life, sending tremors all around in a five-yard radius.

"What are you waiting for?" Lenny waved his hands at Phil, who was standing stock-still, staring at the car with his mouth gaping wide like a royal fool. He tried to hide it, but it was too late. Shooting Lenny a sideways glance as he stepped into the car, he noticed the smug grin on his friend's face.

"Oh, shut up, you," Phil muttered, beckoning Tanya to take the back seat while he rode shotgun.

Lenny started the engine but left the gear in neutral. "Aren't you gonna ask how I got this baby?" I could hear the smirk in his voice.

"Your grandpa's yard sale? For what, a couple of hundred bucks?"

Lenny chuckled. "A yard sale indeed. Except that this yard happened to be the yard of the richest man in town, and the price was a little bit more than 'a couple of hundred bucks'. But let's not digress any further, for I know you're desperate for answers―"

Phil disagreed with a totally unnecessary cough.

"―and the answers shall be revealed to you," Lenny promised. "So, where do we start?"

"Perhaps with your superior," Phil suggested.

"My superior?" Lenny frowned.

"Yeah. Your boss. Whom you're working for." Phil hinted. "You could be a millionaire and a brilliant scientist, but you never was the leader. You would never spearhead controversial projects like this on your own, not unless ordered by someone else. So, who gave you the orders?"

Lenny bit his lip and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. I was half-expecting him to deny Phil's accusation or say something like 'we'll get to that later' when he sighed. "I only know him as the Duke."

"The Duke." Phil mused. "Where's he from? What does he look like? And how long have you been working for him?"

"Eight years, more or less." Lenny shrugged. "He always wears a mask, so I have no idea how he looks like. However, I do know that he's tall, around six feet three, and has a ramrod straight back. We would often joke about it behind his back―no pun intended―claiming that if we extracted his backbone it would make the perfect metre rule man has ever seen."

Ugh. I thought. I should have known better than to trust scientists when it came to the joke department.

"'We'?" Phil raised an eyebrow.

"My colleagues and I back at LAMRAED." Lenny clarified. "He's the one who presented us with the deal―the contract, to be exact―namely Operation Athena."

A distant memory stirred. Athena. Wasn't it the name of Lenny's underground lab?

"Go on," Phil whispered, almost inaudibly, like an enchanted man.

"The operation's main objective is to find a way to implant one's consciousness inside another human being's. Phase One―the extraction of the subject's consciousness―was evidently successful with you. On the other hand, Phase Two―the re-implantation of that particular consciousness―is now complete, as you can see."