by Rob Horner
Wait. Like everything else, that sounded rehearsed.
It could be worse, she supposed. What if he was the complete antithesis of what she wanted in a man?
Isn’t he?
My husband is—
That gave her pause.
Without allowing the weirdness to intrude, she let her thoughts turn to Travis, who stood no more than five-eight or five-nine, and probably weighed about a hundred sixty pounds, tops. He was her physical ideal. Stan was over six feet, so tall he had to bend over to kiss her even if she stood on tiptoe. He was thin to the point of being gangly, all elbows and knees, and might weigh as much as Travis, despite the three- or four-inch difference in their height. He was not affectionate, not really. She couldn’t remember a single instance when he’d spontaneously swept her into his arms. He hated to cuddle, as though there was something repulsive about Sherry’s body that made him unwilling to be near her for too long at a time. His lovemaking had the feel of requirement, as though it was just something he had to do.
My life—
Having thinned the barrier between her mind and the cancerous ball inside of her, Sherry lowered her head into her hands, silent tears leaking from her eyes as the revelations crashed through her. No matter about any of the other things, those words on the mirror were at the heart of her problems, a delusion cooked up by her brain to explain all those things she could never bring herself to think about. The small voice still tried to reassure her that her marriage was perfect, but she could tell the lie from the truth now. She cried for the loss of whatever it was that had made her love Stan. She saw, for perhaps the first time, that there was no part of her that honestly loved him now, and she could find no memory of any time when he’d tried to show his love for her.
So why did you marry him?
She could find no good answer to this question. In fact, she couldn’t remember his proposal to her, though surely it had happened. She didn’t just wake up one morning married to the man.
Did she?
She had vague memories of their courtship, fuzzy images of Sunday picnics and evening dinner cruises. But when she tried to grasp hold of those memories and bring them into sharper focus, she realized that they seemed pale and lifeless. Like the small voice which wanted to keep repeating how perfect everything was, it all felt flat and fake. How do you reconcile memories like this with the man that he proved to be every day? How could she believe some fairy tale romance images straight off a Harlequin cover when she could find no examples of that kind of romance in her everyday life? He just wasn’t like that. Yet there he was, smiling at her, in those memories.
She shivered as the conflicting images tore through her.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. The car’s in-dash clock showed 3:15. And here came Stan, just exiting through the glass doors of PSD, heading for the car. Hastily wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her NWUs, Sherry watched him approach.
Stan had short brown hair, with features slightly too large for his face. He ears stuck out marginally from the sides of his head, the result of a lifetime wearing thick glasses. With the added pressure of a ballcap, the tops of his ears lay sideways, a modern-day Gollum. Even from her position in the car, Sherry could see his large brown eyes magnified by the glasses. His hands appeared too large, extending an unnatural distance from the long sleeves of his shirt. His gait was awkward and ungainly, as though it took all his strength to move his long legs. She almost started crying again for the fact that she couldn’t remember what had ever attracted her to the man she married. It caused a pain deep in her heart to do so, but she admitted to herself that Stan was very unattractive, and she shuddered in revulsion at the thought of having him touch her.
That didn’t need to happen, though. Stan never initiated any familiar contact with her, and the only times they made love was when she seduced him.
Your marri—
If she didn’t push the issue, he would leave her be.
He didn’t smile when he noticed her sitting in the car waiting for him. No, he never smiled. He did make a half-hearted wave, which she returned. Coming around to the driver’s side of the car, he slipped in beside her.
“Off early?”
“Kind of. Late lunch.”
“Must be nice,” he said. Even his voice grated. It was high-pitched and whiny.
And that was it. That was normal.
Stan made no attempts to draw her into conversation, and that was just fine. Sherry spent the time during the short drive to the government-owned and issued townhouse in contemplative silence, struggling with the contradiction between her memories and her perceptions, trying to find some fine line between the two that might offer an explanation.
6
Stan settled himself before the television almost as soon as they entered the townhouse, leaving Sherry to fix their dinner. This was also routine, and though her mind tried to conjure up fuzzy, half-lit memories of quiet dinners they’d prepared together, the soundtrack was overwhelmed by the snarky voice of Shepard Smith from Fox News coming through the television. As before, she couldn’t reconcile her memories with what she knew of the man. How could he be so different from how she remembered him? Had she been deluding herself all this time, only now coming to her senses?
No, she refused to accept that explanation.
What other answer could there be?
After a dinner she didn’t taste and his return to the television, Sherry sought solace in the bedroom, complaining of a headache that just wouldn’t go away. Stan grunted in response, not looking away from the television, which he’d switched to SportsCenter on ESPN.
Sherry lay in bed, dreading the moment when he entered the room. Despite that he never initiated any intimacy between them, what if he did tonight? The very thought caused her stomach to turn sickeningly.
Sometime around nine p.m. she started awake from a fitful doze, certain she’d heard the ring of an iPhone, but there was only silence. Stan hadn’t come into the bedroom. By ten p.m. she was fast asleep, falling away into a nightmare that Travis would have recognized immediately.
Chapter 5
Angela
1
Angela Bassett listened attentively as Lieutenant Robert Barnes expressed his need to speak with her, in person, as soon as possible. Though she was an agent of the United States government, she maintained a regular day job as part of her cover. She explained to the lieutenant that she got off work at five, but she had a date with Travis.
“Make an excuse,” he said, then hung up before she could reply.
The phone rang again as soon as the receiver was back in its cradle.
“Good afternoon and thank you for calling E.B.A. How may I direct your call?” she recited. Of all the undercover jobs she’d taken, posing as a receptionist was the worst.
“Hello, baby,” Travis breathed into her ear.
Angela couldn’t suppress a smile at his boyish passion. Despite that the whole relationship with him was a pretense, just another assignment, she found herself more and more attracted to him.
“I can’t wait to see you,” Travis said, his voice soft.
“I’ve got some bad news,” Angela said, her voice as soft as his. Quickly she scanned through her mind, searching for a lie that would sound believable. It took less than a second, just one more sad example of how good she could be at her job.
“Don’t tell me, your great-great-aunt, who lives in Pakistan, just fell down dead, and you have to catch a plane and fly over there to be present at her funeral.”
“Don’t forget the inheritance,” she added.
“Oh yeah, from the Saudi Prince who was her lover,” Travis finished.
Angela smiled in response.
Two young men, just returning from a smoke break, saw her smile and stopped momentarily. Angela knew she was attractive; it was another factor that made her good at her job. Standing only five-two, with platinum-blond hair and dark brown eyes, her features presented a dichotomy whil
e also approaching the ethereal. If she’d only had blue eyes, a previous lover said, she’d have the face of an angel. Add to those arresting features a petite frame accentuated with full breasts (only slightly enhanced, thank you very much), and you had a woman who found it very easy to get men to do what she wanted for the promise of a smile.
She thought herself loyal. She didn’t have a roving eye, but she did have an employer who cared very little for her personal preferences, and who made use of her without regard for her morality. Thankfully, courting Travis had been her only assignment for the past six months, and she had high hopes that nothing would come between them.
Except for the occasional summons from Lord Almighty Lieutenant Barnes.
“Nothing so simple as that, I’m afraid,” she replied, keeping her tone light to match his.
“Oh no, not that uncle who keeps falling into the Grand Canyon?”
“Damn! You mean I’ve tried that one on you already?” Angela asked, playing along.
“Tried? I made long-distance calls to the canyon for a week trying to find you.”
Angela smiled again, then said, “No, it’s just that the payroll didn’t get completed in time, and they need me to stay late to get it finished.”
“How late?” Travis asked. “I could bring pizza.”
He was willing to wait to see her! Damn that Lieutenant Barnes for making her do this.
“No idea right now,” Angela said. “And you know they lock the building after five.” She signed loudly, noticing the other men had moved on into the building. “I’m afraid I’m just going to have to cancel our date, I’m sorry.” And the funny thing was, she meant it. How many assignments like this had she undertaken in the past five years? She should be used to it by now. Yet none of the others affected her the way Travis did.
“Hmmm. This one is gonna cost ya, Blondie,” Travis said. “As punishment for standing me up tonight, you have to spend all day tomorrow with me, starting bright and early at nine.”
“Well, I don’t know about that—"
“I’ll be knocking on your door at nine,” Travis laughed, pretending not to hear her mock-hesitation.
“I’ll try to be up by then,” Angela replied.
“Till then, baby.”
“Yeah,” Angela said.
With soft good-byes, they hung up. Angela hated lying to him, but stronger than that was the fear of what would happen if she tried to fight the demands of her job. Her real job. Anything that compromised her federal position would probably see her reassigned to another country. That was the best-case scenario. She shuddered to imagine the worst the might happen to her.
Still, his light-hearted banter kept her in a good mood until she clocked out at five. Stepping into the August heat, she hurried to her silver Ford Fusion, cranked up the AC, and raced off to her rendezvous with the lieutenant.
2
In a corner booth at Captain John’s Seafood restaurant, less than a mile from her place of employment, Lieutenant Barnes waited as Angela walked toward him. Though she’d only met him once, she remembered his imperious attitude, obvious even in the way he sat, like someone shoved a golden poker up his ass at birth. When he looked around, it was with a bare minimum of movement. He might have been royalty for how he regarded those around him.
Angela had met many dangerous people in her line of work, and the lieutenant was one of the scariest. He wasn’t physically imposing; the bare arms extending from his short sleeve khaki uniform would never be called “guns.” No, he was frightening because of how he regarded everyone around him, including her. To men like him, other people were either tools to be used or impediments to be removed. Though only a lieutenant, he acted like an admiral.
Men with that kind of attitude were predictable after a fashion. If you could figure out what drove them, what would help them advance, you could keep them placated. But they could also be unreasonable in their demands, incapable of understanding another’s limitations, and unforgiving of failure.
She knew he was just one or two rungs above her on the intelligence ladder in this operation; but she wondered if he knew that. His blue eyes seemed harsher and colder than on their previous meeting, his full mouth petulant. He was a loose cannon with a hair trigger, and it looked like someone had pissed him off.
Something about that glare, which he turned on her as she approached, made her tighten her hips, losing some of her typical catwalk strut and adopting a less provocative walk. It didn’t seem wise to provoke him.
Sliding into the booth, she reached for a menu and pretended to peruse. The red vinyl felt cool against her legs, though the bench was just a little too far from the table to be comfortable for someone her height.
“Act natural, wait until the waiter comes.”
“I know the drill, Lieutenant. I’ve been doing this for a while.”
So much for not provoking him.
His eyes tightened, making him look positively prissy. She hid a smile behind her menu. Someone had pissed in his Wheaties.
A waiter approached but stopped at a different booth. Angela and the lieutenant waited in uncomfortable silence while the other diners ordered, and the waiter retreated.
Barnes sighed, causing Angela to look up at him again.
“I’m going to update you on the project as it stands. I know some of this may be beyond your previous briefing, and it’s not to leave this table. You now have need to know so you can continue to be useful as the project goes forward.”
Angela didn’t approve of the lieutenant’s choice of words, his tone, or the implications. Who was he to establish her usefulness? And was there a threat behind that? What happened if he decided she wasn’t useful?
There were currents here greater than his sense of self-importance, and she needed to be careful.
“Tell me, please, and I’ll do my best,” she replied quietly.
“The project is about to enter a new phase. Contact may have been made between Travis and…another.”
“Another what?”
“Another person like him.”
“What are you talking about, Lieutenant?”
“You don’t know?”
“No. All I was ever told was to meet him, get him to date me, and keep his interest. I’ve done that.”
“Yes, we know.” Lieutenant Barnes fell silent for a moment, regarding her with what seemed to be frustration. Did he expect her to know more than she did? Is that what this whole meeting was about? A fishing expedition? She thought back to her analysis of this man. He thought himself so superior, but he gave away more than he intended. He wasn’t trained for this kind of work; she could use that, if she played it right. He mentioned another person but didn’t say whether it was a man or a woman.
“Now all of a sudden you mention this thing about another, and I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to inject a little jealousy in her tone. Surprisingly, it wasn’t difficult.
“I’m afraid I really can’t tell you that,” he said. He seemed more in control now. God, he was such a shit.
“Then you shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Probably not,” he agreed.
An uncomfortable silence returned as the waiter came to their booth and was summarily sent away with an order for drinks.
“Listen,” Lieutenant Barnes said, “Travis is part of a…project, an experiment. He doesn’t know anything about it, and we must keep it that way. There’s another person like him, another experiment, if you will. You were brought in as a controlling factor, someone to gain his trust, be a person he feels safe confiding in. And now, things are starting to happen.”
“Okay,” she replied, “so things are happening. What kind of things? And what do you want me to do about it?”
“Try to draw him out. He’s been having dreams, or nightmares…whatever…that wake him up every night. See if you can find out what they are, if they have any meaning.”
“And that’s it?”
“For now.”
The waiter returned with their drinks, a vodka martini for Lieutenant Barnes, and a Miller Lite for Angela.
Sipping his drink, the Lieutenant added, “It’s imperative now, more than ever, that he doesn’t suspect anything.”
Thinking back to their phone interaction earlier, Angela replied softly, “He never has.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing, sir. Just wool gathering.”
“Yes…well…let’s keep everything under control, all right?”
Angela nodded, taking her first taste of the beer. She remained silent for several long moments, lost in thought.
The Lieutenant surprised her with his next question. “You truly like him, don’t you, Agent Bassett?” He emphasized her title just a little too much. He understood more than she realized and had just gained a measure of power over her.
His voice dropped, “That’s not a bad thing, Agent. If anything, it should motivate you to be more careful. There’s no reason the two of you can’t continue seeing each other, perhaps even on a more permanent basis.”
Angela schooled her features to stillness.
“But it all depends on what happens in the next few weeks,” he added.
Angela used the excuse of drinking her beer to avoid replying. Had she truly thought she could use his lack of information? This was a very dangerous man.
Finishing her beer, she said, “If that’ll be all, Lieutenant?”
“It will.”
She nodded, rising from her seat. She gave the restaurant a quick glance. Satisfied that no one paid them any undue attention, she turned and left the dining area.
Travis, she thought, what have you gotten me into?
Chapter 6
Dreams
Travis
Travis opened his eyes on a wasted, blasted landscape, a desert so barren of life that it could only exist in a nightmare. The ground beneath his feet was brown, like sand, but hard as concrete, with none of the whirls and dunes associated with a desert. The featureless land stretched as far as the eye could see, offering no relief from its sterility, no promise to head toward, no goal to reach.