Commander William Herrick – Changes (Part 1)
Mark P
OOC: Just to help orient you, this is Josh's dad. :)
(( Study, Herrick Residence, Earth, Stardate 240111.05 ))
Sitting on the side table beside a worn-in and currently occupied Wingback chair, atop a wooden coaster, was a real glass of 1945 Macallan Scotch. William stared into it, two ice cubes slowly melting away and taking the full flavour along with it. Soon, they’d fade out of existence, just like so many of the people he’d known.
It had been six months since Frontier Day. Six months since he’d been on the Sequoia and everything went to hell and a handbasket. Most had been lucky, and like himself, spared any long-term effects from that dark moment in history — that is, aside from the recurring nightmares and post-traumatic stress disorder. His friends, his companions, the bulk of his department though were gone. It was like the Mars attack all over again.
He breathed a heavy sigh and lifted the glass to his lips taking a sip. The drink had weakened with the melted cube, and even this quiet moment was one he couldn’t enjoy. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, and the images flooded in. Memories of when he turned into an automaton, furthering the Borgs interests and making converts of his team members. Those drones, the friends he had turned, had all lost their lives during that day. Most of them were killed by the officers that hadn’t used the virus-inflicted transporter.
He heard familiar footsteps approaching from the hall, which then paused at the open door. He knew Laura was debating saying something, she had agreed to be with him ‘for better or for worse’ however, every time she reached out, he hadn’t offered much back. Their last conversation had evolved into a full-blown argument when she mentioned he should entertain the idea of leaving the service. That was a week past, and neither had spoken to each other since.
After another long minute, he heard the footsteps continue to their bedroom where he again wouldn’t be staying. The dreams seemed less vivid when he slept upright, but even so, he’d likely awake with the seat damped in sweat.
He reached over and topped up the glass, hoping in vain that enough liquor would dull out the pain. The one resounding truth that William could currently hold on to was that he was stuck, treading invisible water in his maddening mind.
(( The Next Day, Conference Room, YMCA, San Francisco, Earth ))
Each of the attendees had grabbed a chair, placing them into a circle formation. Someone had already set up a table of pastries and hot drinks. For twenty-odd-some Sundays, William had been doing this song and dance based on guidance that this was a necessary tool for his closure. But, he felt no closer to peace now then when he’d started. Maybe this worked for others, the ones that weren’t the cause of needless deaths.
Facilitator: … William, you with us buddy?
He looked up and saw everyone in the circle staring at him. His eyes flicked to the man that was checking in on him, scraggly beard, wooly cardigan, and a look of genuine concern on his face.
Facilitator: Look, I know this isn’t the most exciting place to spend your afternoon but I was hoping we could hear something from you today. Maybe you could tell us about one of the friends you mentioned…
W. Herrick: You mean the people I killed? (voice raising) Yeah, some friend I am. ::looking around the room:: Hang around me, you wind up dead.
He turned around, kicking the chair over.
W. Herrick: That’s me… Will the Killer.
He didn’t bother looking back, a toxic brew of anger and disappointment bubbling up.
He walked to the door, kicking it open with his foot, and crossed the threshold. They wouldn’t want him back, he thought, and that was alright — no one there understood what he was going through. He shoved another door in the corridor open, leading to a restroom that he locked after entering.
Sitting down, he held his face in his hands and sobbed. Partially mourning his friends, and partially lamenting the fact that his road to recovery seemed to be at a standstill. After a few minutes, he was able to re-collect himself. He stood, taking a few steps towards the sink, and looking at his reflection with bloodshot eyes and splotchy face.
He stared at himself for a long minute, almost as if he was sizing up another officer, before he decided how he'd get unstuck. Today would be the day it all changed.
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Commander William Herrick
Refit Technician Lead
Starfleet Corps of Engineers
O240005JH3
he/him/his (player/character)