Man on the Edge
A/N: Inspired by the movie 'Inception', with a nod to the Stefan Petrucha X-Files comic issue #7, "Trepanning Opera". If you've not seen 'Inception', see it. Then come back and read this.
Man on the Edge
Shawn Henson opened his eyes. Even though it was still early morning, the sunlight was bright as it peeked through the narrow slats of the venetian blinds that he hadn't quite shut the night before.
The day would be a hot one, judging by the already warm interior temperature of the bedroom. The city had reached a high of 33 degrees Celsius the day before; today would probably be just as hot.
Shawn expelled a lungful of air and forced himself to sit up, drawing back the thin sheet he used as a cover. He slid his feet out to touch the floor and sat for a few moments, trying to collect his thoughts. He made an attempt to grab hold of the quickly fading memories of a dream he had, but found, as usual, that the more he tried to pin down the details, the more elusive they became. Shawn had heard that if he kept his eyes closed after waking, recalling a dream would be easier, but he rarely found that to be helpful.
His dreams were of little consequence to him now, anyway.
There was a coin on his dusty bedside table. Shawn reached for it, held it in the palm of his hand for a few seconds, and then flipped it. He caught it, mid-air, and slapped it on the back of his left hand.
Heads.
Shawn flipped four times more, and each time, he counted heads. He put the coin back on the table and made his way to the bathroom for his usual shower and shave.
This was his current morning routine: Rise, flip the coin five times. Shower. Research. Read. Plan. Maybe remember to eat. Sleep. Maybe dream. Rise again, flip the coin five times. Shower, research, plan, plan, plan…
Predictable.
In the past, the routine would have been vastly different. Shawn would have opened his eyes, showered, eaten a quick breakfast with his wife and then headed to his downtown office where he worked for an engineering firm.
That had all changed one morning not so long ago when Shawn had opened his eyes, but his wife hadn't, plunging his world into the predictable nightmare that it had become.
Today, there would be a notable deviation in the thirty-four-year-old's current, predictable routine. Shawn convinced himself that today, his plans would come to fruition. He would finally fix it so that his world would return to the way he wanted it to be.
…
The members of Team One's Strategic Response Unit paired off and departed from the compound in their vehicles for the day's patrol. There were no warrants to serve and no training exercises on their schedule, which almost always meant the shift would be spent being a visible presence in the city they had sworn to protect and serve.
Anything was possible during patrols. Things could be peaceful, or things could be turbulent. There was never anything 'routine' about 'routine patrols', and as such, Team One knew they had to be prepared for anything and everything.
So, it was no surprise that an hour into the shift, the voice of dispatcher, Winnie Camden, announced that their expertise was needed immediately.
"Team One, hot call! We have reports of a gunman at the CN Tower; white male, mid-thirties."
Sergeant Greg Parker and Constable Michaelangelo 'Spike' Scarlatti were nearest the renowned landmark.
"We're on our way, Winnie," Greg announced over the comm. Spike, who was driving, switched on the blue-and-red flashing lights and shrieking sirens. City blocks whizzed by in a blur as they speedily bore down on their destination.
"Okay, what else do we know about the situation?" Greg asked the dispatcher, hoping to get as much pertinent information as he could. In this job, he was called to make split-second decisions, so the more he knew, the better the chances of resolving the incident without bloodshed.
"Hold while I patch you through to the guy who called it in, Sarge," Winnie said. "His name is Elliot Todd. He's an employee there."
"Yeah, patch him through to my phone, Winnie," Greg instructed.
"Will do."
"Thanks, Winnie," he said, and waited for the connection. He introduced himself when Elliot was on the line.
"Hi, Mr. Todd; I'm Sergeant Greg Parker with the Strategic Response Unit. I understand there's a gunman inside the tower right now?"
"Yes, Sergeant Parker," Elliot answered with a nervous edge. "He's uh, he's actually taken the elevator up to the Edge Walk platform."
"Edge Walk?" Greg repeated. "That's where you can step outside and get a 360 degree view of the city from the top of the tower, right?"
"Well, not quite the top," Elliot corrected, nervously filling in unnecessary details. "I mean the top is the top; the platform isn't… Never mind. It's not the top, but it is still very high up. Yeah."
"Okay, tell me more about the gunman, Elliot," Greg gently urged, ignoring Elliot's digression. "Did he say what he wanted? Has he harmed anyone or made any demands?"
"Um, everyone's okay… a little freaked out, maybe…" Elliot responded, obviously shaken by the surprise twist his day taken. "But this guy… white guy in his mid-thirties, I guess… He seemed pretty normal in the beginning. Presented his ticket and everything like everyone else, b-but… When we started with the metal detector check, he got really shifty-looking; jumpy and nervous, if you know what I mean. That's when he pulled the gun…"
"I see," Greg said encouragingly. "Go on."
"He, uh, he told all of us - me and some staff and the rest of the Edge Walk participants - to back off and let him go to the elevators by himself," Elliot said, recounting the sequence of events.
"Is there any way to lock down the elevators from where you are?" Greg asked, hoping they might be able to halt the gunman before he reached the top. Already, his gut was telling him that if the gunman wanted to be alone in the elevator, he probably didn't want an audience for when he reached the platform on the outer edge of the tower. And once he reached that edge, Greg suspected the gunman probably wanted to end his life by jumping off. Death would be certain from that height.
"I guess we could have shut them down… shoot," Elliot berated himself with a groan. Greg could almost hear through the phone the mental slap Elliot was giving himself. "We were just all so panicked. We didn't think of it. But it's too late; he's already out there."
"He's 'out there', as in out on the edge?" Greg asked, raising his voice. "How do you know?"
Hearing the change in his boss' vocal volume, Spike frowned and briefly sent a concerned look Greg's way. He pressed the accelerator as the need to reach the tower was obviously that much more desperate.
"There's a camera mounted out there so people on the Observation Level can see their family and friends taking the walk," Elliot answered. "One of our security staff just reported they're seeing the guy out there now."
Greg cursed silently. They were probably going to be too late. But if the man hadn't yet jumped - if indeed he did want to jump - then there might still be the chance to coax him back inside to safety.
"Boss, we're here," Spike muttered, as he pulled the Chevy Suburban alongside the curb right behind a couple first response police cruisers.
"Thank you, Elliot," Greg spoke into his phone. "We're on the scene right now and we'll be inside shortly. Can you tell me exactly where you are so we can find you?"
"Yeah, I'm - I work at the Edge Walk 'Basecamp'," Elliot replied. "It's at the Visitor's Centre. You can't miss it. Oh, man… I hope that guy doesn't decide to do a swan dive… This whole thing is a friggin' nightmare!"
"I'm with you on that, Elliot! I'll be with you shortly." Greg ended the call and grabbed his leather-bound notebook before exiting the SUV. Spike had already hopped out and was selecting weapons for himself and Greg from the rear of the vehicle.
"Team One," Greg addressed the remainder of the members through the comm unit: "what's your ETA?"
"Still a little while out," was Jules Callaghan's reply from the SUV she was driving with Sam Braddock riding shotgun. "Maybe ten minutes; give or take a couple."
"We'll be there in about three minutes," Ed Lane said as he drove with Raf Rousseau.
"Okay, team, thanks. Spike and I will 'Alpha' here. We'll assess the situation, and I'll advise you as I go. Right now, witnesses have placed the gunman outside on the Edge Walk platform, so he's only a danger to himself at this point."
Unless he plans to jump, Greg thought. If his body hits a pedestrian… we're looking at more than one fatality.
Greg considered his options. Certainly, he should clear anyone in the immediate vicinity and stop traffic, so he instructed several first responding officers to go about this task.
With that taken care of, he and Spike made their way inside to meet up with Elliot at the Edge Walk Basecamp.
"Sergeant Parker? Over here!" called a voice. Drawn to it, Greg and Spike approached the Basecamp area, which had signage that welcomed visitors in English and French.
"Elliot Todd?" Greg asked, as he extended his hand to the forty-something man outfitted in a blue jumpsuit and harness.
"Yeah, that's me," Elliot responded.
"How ya doing? Is everyone still okay down here?" Greg inquired.
Elliot nodded. "A little shaken, that's for sure, but since nobody got shot or anything, we're okay."
"All right. That's good to hear, Elliot. This is Constable Scarlatti," Greg continued, gesturing to the Team One tech wizard. "Is there someplace we can set up a temporary command post?"
"Yeah, I can take you to see our security guys. They'll be able to help out for sure," replied Elliot.
"Okay, lead the way."
The two Team One members followed Elliot to the Security Office, and were introduced to the head of security, a gentleman in his late fifties by the name of Thomas Schneider.
"We can get you security camera feeds; anything you need," Schneider said to the SRU officers.
"Great," Spike said, setting down the tools of his trade on a desk. "I'll set up right here."
"Mr. Schneider," Greg addressed the security chief, "Elliot told me that there's a camera set up outside so people on the Observation Level can see the platform. Is there any way we can tap into that feed?"
"Sure, Sergeant," Schneider said. "We have it up on this monitor right here."
With relief, Greg saw that the gunman was there, sitting on the one-and-half meter wide ledge. The gun was nowhere in sight, but the subject, dressed in jeans and a black windbreaker, appeared to be repeatedly flipping something in the air and catching it.
Is that a coin he's tossing? Greg silently asked himself. What's that all about? Is he leaving a decision to jump or not jump to random chance? Heads he jumps or tails he stays put?
"Okay, we need to know who this guy is and what he wants if we're going to get him safely down from there," Greg commented to Spike.
"Copy that, boss," Spike said. "Grabbing a still of his face from security footage now, and… running it against the driver's license database. I'll let you know if we get any hits."
A few moments later, they were joined by constables Ed Lane and Rafik Rousseau.
"Hey, guys," Greg greeted them briskly.
"What do we know, boss?" asked Ed.
"Not much, Eddie. We have eyes on the subject, but he's just sitting there, as you can see."
"What is he doing, flipping a coin, or something?" Raf queried as he peered at the security monitor.
"Yeah, looks like it," replied Greg.
"Boss, got a hit on the driver's license," Spike spoke up. "His name is Shawn Alexander Henson. He's thirty-four years old, and lives on College Street… and oh, lookey-here… he's got a record, too."
"What is it, Spike?" asked Ed.
"He was arrested last year for 'disturbing the peace' and vandalism at a doctor's office. He was also charged with uttering threats, but that charge was dismissed. Mr. Henson didn't do time but was assessed a fine, which was paid in full."
"We need to speak to that doctor," Greg said with urgency. "Maybe he has a medical condition or something. Any intel about this guy at this point would be helpful."
"Boss," Sam Braddock piped up, "Jules and I are close to College Street. We can check out this guy's residence, see if there's anything there to help get inside his head."
"Okay, you do that, Sam," Greg answered, pleased that the young man was using his head and taking the initiative.
"Copy," Sam answered.
"Spike, let me know when you get that doctor on the phone," Greg instructed. "Sam; Jules, feed me what you find out from Mr. Henson's home as soon as you can; I'm heading up to the platform now. Ed and Raf: you're with me."
There was simply no more time to waste. Greg, Ed and Raf trooped to the elevators to hopefully stop a man from leaping to his death. The ride up was amazingly speedy, and the sudden change in pressure made the SRU officers' ears pop.
After less than a minute in the elevator, they reached the Edge Walk level, and made use of the harness cables already in place to secure themselves.
"Spike, we're here," Greg spoke over his comm link. "What do you see?"
"He's still on the ledge, boss," Spike answered. "But the wind is beginning to pick up a little out there. You need to hurry. He's not secured by anything. He's already pretty lucky he hasn't lost his balance if you ask me..."
"Thanks, Spike. How's it coming getting a hold of Henson's doctor?"
"Listening to the canned music while I'm on hold, boss. It's 'Breezin' by George Benson," Spike quipped. "I'll let you know as soon as I get through to a human being."
"All right," Greg said. "Sam; Jules… You find anything yet that could be helpful?"
"The landlady just let us inside," Jules answered. "She says Mr. Henson is a quiet guy and keeps to himself. He always pays on time, never any trouble."
"Boss," Sam interjected.
"Go ahead, Sam," Greg spoke as he double-checked his harness. Ed and Raf followed suit and the trio cautiously made their way towards the entrance to the platform.
"This guy looks like he's a movie buff. He's got a massive collection of movies and movie memorabilia all over the place," Sam said.
Greg didn't know if that would be useful, but it might be a way to start a conversation with the subject by finding common ground. Movies could be a safe topic.
"Hey, boss," Jules said, "I'm looking over this guy's shelves. His book collection seems pretty limited to a few topics: dreams, lucid dreaming, the unconscious, dream analysis, solipsism… there's one book here open on his desk. It's titled 'Bore Hole'… Hmm."
"'Bore Hole'?" Spike echoed. "Boss, that's a book about actual attempts at trepanning."
"Trepanning?" Greg repeated the word with a questioning tone, thinking the word sounded vaguely familiar. He was at a set of double glass doors which led directly out to a small anteroom. He could see out to the platform through the exit which reminded him of something he might see on a space shuttle. He still wasn't about to step all the way out before he had more intel on the subject. He had to be able to get inside the man's head and understand his motivations.
"Yeah, trepanning," Spike responded. "It's where you drill a small hole in someone's head. Some proponents thought they could experience higher planes of consciousness by relieving intracranial pressure. It's pretty much frowned upon by modern medical experts. But there are still kooks out there who think it works."
"Okay, thanks, Spike…" Greg muttered.
A movie buff with an interest in dreaming, higher states of consciousness and drilling holes in his head, he mused. I think we're dealing with someone who might be battling a mental illness. I'll need to really go careful here. If I say or do the wrong thing, it'll send him over the edge, both figuratively and literally.
"Eddie; Raf," Greg whispered to his teammates, "I'm going through the opening and I'm going to step out onto the platform. Cover me from behind. If you see the gun come into play, you have 'Scorpio'. But I really don't want it to come to that."
"Copy," Ed and Raf responded in tandem.
Greg tried not to make too much noise as his heavy boots trod on the metal grating. He inched his way forward and was immediately hit by a tremendously strong gust of wind. It buffeted him and blew his cap off his head, sending it sailing back inside the passageway. He really didn't like heights, but knew he had to put aside those fears and get the job done.
Shawn Henson was sitting on the platform just as he had been for the past five minutes. His fingers were curled tightly around the ledge.
Greg approached cautiously, but his footfalls inevitably clanked on the grating, drawing Shawn's attention with the noise.
"Don't come any closer!" Shawn shouted, turning his head suddenly to stare at Greg.
"Whoa, okay, buddy," Greg said calmly. "I'm just gonna stay right here. No pressure."
"You just let me finish what I have to do!" Shawn barked.
"You wanna tell me what it is you're trying to finish? My name's 'Greg', by the way… what's yours?"
"Well, 'Greg', since you're just a projection of my subconscious, my name doesn't really matter, does it?" Shawn countered.
"A 'projection' of your subconscious? You wanna explain what you mean by that?" Greg asked, a little thrown by this.
"Boss…" Spike quietly broke in.
"Just a moment, Spike," Greg whispered.
"This, all of this," Shawn was saying, waving an arm around, gesturing to the entire cityscape, "you, the clouds, the sky, this tower… this is all from my subconscious. You are just a part of one really long, idiotic, horrific dream that won't quit. That's going to change today, though."
"Boss," Spike cut in again, "I think I know what's going on with this guy. When he mentioned 'projection', I think he was referencing the movie 'Inception'."
Greg hadn't seen the movie, but said under his breath: "Copy, Spike… What else can you tell me about the movie that could help?"
"If Shawn thinks he's dreaming, he's following what's known as 'movie logic', in this case, the logic from 'Inception'. If he thinks this is a dream, the only thing he believes will wake him up is if he dies."
"Oh, great," Greg sighed. "Any way to get around this 'movie logic'?"
"Try getting him to talk about why he wants to end his dream," Spike suggested. "At the very least, it'll stall for time so we can work on some options for you."
"Sir?" Greg called out to Shawn. "I'd really like to help you out here. You mentioned 'change'. Is there something that needs changing that I can maybe give you a hand with?"
"No, you can't 'give me a hand' with this!" Shawn bellowed in frustration. "You're not real! You're just doing what my mind thinks cops like you should do. Don't try to stop me. This is the only way I can fix things."
"You plan to 'fix things' by sitting up on a ledge high above the city?" Greg cautiously asked. "Enjoying the view will make things better?"
Shawn gave a curt, condescending laugh. "Now you're being really stupid. Of course I'm not just up here to enjoy the view. I came up here to jump off. Then everything will re-set and it'll be back to normal."
"Okay, explain that to me," Greg said. "Explain how jumping off the edge will make things normal again."
"When I hit the ground, I'll 'die', and I'll wake up," Shawn replied. "You'll all just cease to exist, and the dream will end. I'll be back in the real world."
"The 'real world'?" Greg repeated.
"Yes!" Shawn yelled in exasperation. "I don't expect you to get it. You don't know any better. But none of this is real. It's all a dream. You're all just a creation of my mind. My real self is asleep. When I jump, I'll wake up when I hit the ground!"
"Is this dream world so bad that you want to leave it?" asked Greg, as gently as possible.
"Are you kidding me? This isn't just a dream; it's a nightmare!" Shawn verbalized angrily.
"Yeah, I agree things here can be pretty nightmarish…" Greg commented. "I've seen some pretty terrible things in my world as a cop, lemme tell you! How 'bout you share a little of your nightmare?"
Shawn seemed to get instantly morose. His whole body sagged, and he put a hand to his face.
"Boss, I'm on the line with Shawn's doctor right now," Spike broke in. "Her name's Sheryl McManus."
"Put her through, Spike," Greg requested quietly, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the subject.
"Hello, Sergeant Parker?" The voice of Shawn Henson's doctor filtered through Greg's earpiece.
"Dr. McManus, hi," Greg said in a low tone so Shawn wouldn't overhear. "Thank you for speaking with me. I'll cut to the chase: one of your patients - a Shawn Henson - is sitting three hundred-and-fifty-six meters above the ground, and he says he's planning to jump so he can 'wake up' and re-set his life. He thinks he's dreaming, and that by dying, he'll wake up. Does any of this sound familiar?"
"Oh, no. This is terrible!" Dr. McManus exclaimed. "Shawn Henson is a very troubled man, Sergeant. The last time I saw him, he became enraged because I… because I refused to perform a completely unnecessary surgical procedure on him."
Greg heard the reticence in her voice. Though he already suspected the answer, he nevertheless asked: "Why did you refuse to work on him, Dr. McManus? What was it he wanted you to do?"
The doctor's sigh was audible. "He wanted me to trepan him, Sergeant. He wanted me to drill a hole in his head. I mean, of course I refused! Nobody in his right mind would want a hole in his head. I'd have my medical license revoked for performing a procedure like that. The whole thing was preposterous."
"And when you refused him, that's when he vandalised your office and verbally threatened you, doctor?" Greg asked.
"That's right," Sheryl responded. "He never actually harmed me, but I considered getting a restraining order against him… Sergeant Parker, if he kills himself…"
"It won't be your fault, doctor," Greg assured her. "I don't think his actions today have anything to do with you refusing to drill into his skull. But is there anything else you can tell me about him that might help?"
"Uhm let me think…" Sheryl said. "I know that he lost his wife a little while ago… Her name was Regina, and I was her physician, too. It was completely unexpected… Congenital heart defect that we just never detected. She'd been completely asymptomatic. Sad, really. I think Shawn was having problems dealing with it. I guess he still is."
"Does Shawn have any other family or friends that you know of?" Greg asked.
"Both mother and father are deceased," Sheryl answered. "Father had a stroke and mother had colon cancer. I know Shawn and Regina didn't have any children… I couldn't tell you about friends."
"All right. Thank you, Dr. McManus," Greg said. "If you're able, please stay on the line with my team member in case I have more questions for you."
"Of course, Sergeant; anything I can do to help."
Greg decided it was time for the kid gloves to come off. "Hey, Shawn!" he called.
Shawn's head turned suddenly and his eyes widened in surprise. But the surprise faded quickly. "I told you to just leave me alone," he groused.
"I can't do that, Shawn…" Greg said. "You seemed surprised just now that I knew your name."
"You only 'know' it because of course my subconscious knows my own name," Shawn said wearily. "You're just feeding back to me stuff I already know."
"Listen, Shawn, I know about Regina, and I want to say I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Regina…" Shawn choked.
"Why don't you tell me about her?" Greg suggested, hoping to get the other man to open up.
"What's there to tell?" Shawn said sullenly. "We went to sleep together one night. When I woke up, she was gone."
"Is that why you're here, Shawn? Is that what you're trying to fix?" Greg asked.
Shawn nodded. "We met here five years ago on the Observation Level. I proposed to her there. We spend every anniversary and birthday having dinner at the restaurant. I feel closest to her here…"
"I hear you, Shawn," Greg said. "It sounds like you loved each other very much, and I can see how you'd want to be able to share good times with Regina again."
"That's right," Shawn said. "I want her back. So you just let me get this over with."
"Boss, tell him if he jumps, he risks falling into Limbo," Spike said quickly.
"I don't think this is the time to get theological on him, Spike," Greg chastised.
"No, not that Limbo," Spike replied, "it's a concept from the movie. The dreamers were aware of several levels of dreaming, and the deeper the dreams, the harder it was to wake from. Even if you 'died' in the dream, you risked falling into 'Limbo', a state of un-constructed dream space that could last for decades."
"You sure about this, Spike?" Greg asked uneasily. It all sounded pretty ludicrous to him. He'd never used 'movie logic' on a subject before, and didn't want to foul it up.
"Yeah, boss," Spike replied, doing his best to reassure the head negotiator. "Shawn wants to wake up. But if you can get him to at least consider the possibility that he won't wake up even after jumping; that he risks being trapped in an even deeper dream state if he jumps, he might reconsider."
"Okay, Spike," Greg said reservedly. "I'll give it a try… but I'm starting to think that if you know how to get inside this guy's head, I think I might need to step aside and let you take a crack at him."
"You want me to try to talk him down?" Spike asked with a hint of incredulity.
"Yeah. You understand this 'movie logic' thing," replied Greg, "I don't."
"If you think that's the best chance we have, then I'm on my way up," Spike stated. "But in the meantime, go ahead and try to plant the idea that if Shawn jumps, it could mean he'll just end up in Limbo."
"Shawn," Greg called out to the troubled man. "Listen, I know you think you'll be able to fix things by jumping off this edge. I know you think that this is a dream, and that if you die, you'll wake up. But what if that doesn't happen? What if you only get trapped in a deeper state of dreaming? What if you fall into 'Limbo'?"
"Limbo…" Shawn murmured.
"Could last for decades, my man," Greg continued, parroting what Spike had said. "You don't want that, do you?"
"No…" Shawn said slowly, as if carefully considering this piece of information. "But that's not going to happen to me."
"And why not, Shawn?" Greg asked, feeling his heart sink that Spike's idea apparently wasn't working to convince the subject to reconsider.
"I don't expect you to understand," Shawn said with insolence. "You're only trying to stop me."
"Shawn, of course I'm trying to stop you," Greg said calmly, praying that Spike arrived quickly. "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't at least try to get you to come back inside."
"Well, I'm not going back inside," Shawn retorted. "So either you leave me alone so I can finish this once and for all, or I make you leave."
With that, Shawn reached inside his windbreaker and waved the gun in the air as a show of force.
Ed and Raf, both of whom had been simply keeping watch from the anteroom, tensed at the sight of Shawn's weapon. They instantly raised their own weapons and trained them on the subject; Greg wisely having made sure he had given them space to shoot if necessary.
"You don't want to do that, Shawn," Greg stated. "Nobody here wants to hurt you. We just don't want to see you do something you might regret."
"Something I might 'regret'?" Shawn re-stated. "Ha! You sound like you actually care."
"That's because I do care, Shawn," Greg said. "My whole team cares. Come on, buddy. There's got to be other ways of doing this-"
"I tried other ways!" Shawn cried. "I went to my doctor! I told her what I wanted!" He tapped his index finger in the middle of his forehead. "She refused to do what I asked her to do!"
Greg felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I'm here, boss," Spike said.
With a sigh of relief, Greg said, "Great, Spike… things are a mess with this guy… I can't get anywhere with him."
"No problem," Spike said. "I have a couple things I want to try before we totally give up on him, though."
"Okay," Greg said. "Hey, Shawn? I know what happened with Dr. McManus, and I'm sorry she didn't want to help you. But there's someone here I'd like you to meet before you step off that ledge."
Slowly, Shawn looked up at Greg and Spike.
"Shawn, my name's Mike," Spike announced, "and I know you think that this is all a dream, but I want to ask you a couple questions…"
Shawn gave a short laugh and closed his eyes. "Sure. Go ahead, 'Mike'. Since you're just another projection of my subconscious, ask me anything. So far, this has been the most entertaining part of my entire dream."
"Can I see your totem?" asked Spike.
Shawn's eyes blazed open. "No. I can't let you see my totem," he growled.
"Why not?" Spike asked. "If I'm just a projection of your subconscious, I'd have already known what it is and what it does, because your subconscious knows. I wouldn't have had to ask you. But I don't know, and I'm kinda curious."
Greg listened to this, and wisely chose to allow Spike the freedom to ask whatever probing questions he felt necessary, but decided that when this call was over, he'd have a pile of questions of his own.
"Well, maybe you're not a projection of my subconscious," Shawn responded angrily. "Maybe you're an invader. You've infiltrated my dream, and now you're trying to trap me here so you can get to my secrets! Well, I don't have any secrets, so you can just give up."
"It's the coin, isn't it?" Spike ventured to guess. "Your totem is that coin you've been flipping."
A look of shock crossed Shawn's face. "How did you…"
"Lucky guess. Look, I'm not a projection of your mind, Shawn, and I'm not here to invade it, either," Spike said. "I know that you use your totem to help you tell the difference between the dream world and the waking world, because that's what they did in the movie 'Inception'."
Shawn reached into a pocket in his windbreaker and withdrew the coin. He held it in his hand for a few moments, as if scrutinizing every detail.
Spike watched as Shawn tossed the coin and then caught it again.
"Heads," Shawn muttered, and returned it to his pocket.
"And what does that mean?" asked Spike. "It is supposed to mean you're still dreaming?"
"Yeah," Shawn admitted. "But it doesn't matter anymore, because now I'm going to jump."
"No, Shawn," Spike begged. "You don't know for sure you're gonna wake up! What if- what if this isn't even your dream?"
"What do you mean?" Shawn asked, looking at Spike with narrowed eyes.
"What if you're not 'The Architect' of all of this?" Spike asked, desperate now for some other way of getting through to the delusional man. "What - what if there's an updraft built into this dream scape that'll just carry you back up when you jump? What if there's still a mission for you to carry out here? Maybe you've just been here so long, you've forgotten what that mission was?"
"Like a half-remembered dream..." Shawn uttered.
"Yeah!" Spike said excitedly. He began to feel like he was getting somewhere. "Don't quit on this dream yet, man. Try to remember your purpose. Try to remember what you're here to do. Maybe you have a promise to keep to someone?"
Shawn appeared to be thinking. "I don't know… I don't think so…"
"Look, why don't you put down the gun, and come back inside where it's safer to think and talk?" Spike asked.
Shawn shook his head vigorously. "No. This is my mission. I'm not supposed to be here. I want to be back with Regina… She's waiting for me."
"Where is she 'waiting' for you?" Spike asked.
"At home. In our bed," Shawn answered. "She's been sleeping. She doesn't want to wake up, but she will when I get back there. We'll be together again when I get back."
"How do you know for sure, Shawn? How do you know your totem is right?"
"Because it just is, okay?" Shawn shouted back. "Now leave me alone, all of you!"
"Okay, Shawn, I'd like to do that, but do me a favour, would you?" Spike begged. "Flip one last time. If it's heads, you come inside with us, and if it's tails, we'll leave you alone and you can do whatever you like after that."
"Spike!" Greg's whispered protest was steeped with anxiety. The Sergeant couldn't believe his team mate was leaving such a momentous decision to chance.
Shawn sat there, contemplating this request.
"One last flip, Shawn," Spike said. "Heads, you come in; tails, we go."
Shawn slipped his hand into his pocket and withdrew the coin again. "I… I can't…" he whispered sadly as he looked at it.
"I think you can," Spike gently encouraged. "Unless…"
The coin spiralled upwards in the air as Shawn gave it a final toss. But the toss was un-controlled, and Shawn had to reach out awkwardly to catch it. As he did so, he lost his balance.
Just as he went over the edge, Spike and Greg rushed forward to grab onto the falling man. Their harnesses strained to the maximum as they caught Shawn and slowly pulled him back to safety.
Ed and Raf came to their aid and quickly took possession of the firearm and placed handcuffs on Shawn.
"Subject secure," Ed commented matter-of-factly.
"Here's the coin, too," Raf said to Greg, handing him the small, silver object.
Greg looked at it as Ed escorted a cooperative Shawn back inside and towards the elevators with Raf in tow.
"Well, I'll be damned," Greg said with a whistle, as he turned the coin over in his gloved hand. "Spike, how on earth did you know?"
Spike only grinned as they disconnected the safety cables.
"It's the only thing that made sense," he finally replied, after catching a warning look from Greg.
The coin Shawn had been flipping wasn't legal tender, but it did have an unusual feature as it sported two heads: one on each side.
"It's a novelty coin," Spike explained on the way down to the ground level. "Ever heard of the character 'Two-Face'?"
"Isn't he a villain from Batman?" asked Greg.
"Right," replied Spike. "This is a replica of the coin that character would carry. Sam and Jules mentioned that Shawn was a movie buff and collected movie memorabilia… This 'silver dollar' is two-headed, guaranteeing that every time Shawn flipped it, it would land on heads. Used as a totem, it's pretty easy to convince yourself you're in a dream when the odds are always stacked in favour of that outcome."
"Yeah, I won't pretend I 'get' any of that stuff," Greg said with a shake of his head.
The doors to the elevator opened and they stepped outside into the lobby.
"I'm just glad those cables held when we went to catch Shawn," Greg said with obvious relief.
"Are you sure about that, boss?" Spike asked enigmatically.
"What do you mean, Spike?"
"Oh, I dunno," replied the tech-wizard-cum-movie-buff. "Maybe we really are just projections of Shawn Henson's dream. What if the cables didn't actually hold? What if we actually fell over three hundred meters, and that what we're experiencing right now is a limbo-like dream state?"
"Spike…" Greg warned.
"I mean, we'd never know for sure, would we…?" Spike winked.
END