by Rob Horner
Those memories, no matter how inconsistent, filled her with grief. But as she noted before, she couldn’t remember grieving.
Instead she had many memories, both fond and hated, of the eight weeks she spent at the Recruit Training Command, Great Lakes, Illinois. She could recall the features of both Company Commanders with startling clarity as if she’d just left their care.
Leaving Boot Camp, that was where her memories seemed the most…fuzzy. She’d been impatient to go home, eager to see…who?
Why, Stan, of course.
No, that was ridiculous. She had no recollection of Stan before Boot Camp. She’d had no serious boyfriends while attending Bayside High School. Prom had been a gaggle of girls going stag, renting a limousine, giving each other corsages, enjoying all the pomp without worrying about the circumstances afterward.
Sherry smiled into her coffee cup at those memories, remembering the five of them laughing and free in the back of the enormous black car. No, there was no Stan before Boot Camp, and she certainly couldn’t have been looking forward to seeing someone she hadn’t yet met. So why would she have been so eager to go home?
The only reason that came to mind was to go see her mother.
Had that happened?
Try as she might, Sherry could recall nothing of the two weeks leave period she should have received after graduating Boot Camp. There was…nothing.
At one point she was giddy with excitement, recently graduated with a new school for a high-end rate to look forward to, and then…nothing.
A gray wall.
She knew she’d remained in Illinois for an extended period, waiting for her school to start. Why was I in Great Lakes for so long? What was I doing?
Most of her fuzzy memories were from that period and almost all of them involved Stan. Letting those memories come, she found them as devoid of life as the other questionable memories in her head. Somehow, she was married to the man—newly married—as they moved to Pensacola for her to begin avionics training. When had it happened? Where had they gotten married? Why didn’t she have a single memory of the ceremony, or the honeymoon? Had her sister been invited? Had she come?
Shaking her head as she finished the coffee, Sherry realized there was one concrete option she could try.
The most obvious contradiction in her mind involved her mother. Was she alive or dead? Prove one and disprove the other. Rinsing out the cup and placing it in the sink she thought, I’ll just call her phone number. Either she’ll answer and I’ll know someone has been playing with my mind, or she won’t, in which case I’ll have to seek some serious mental help, because it means I’m going crazy.
Her phone was still upstairs, plugged in by the bed.
Heading back upstairs, she wondered about Travis.
Now there was something worth thinking about. Even though she told herself she might be married, she couldn’t resist an idle fantasy as she sat on the edge of the bed: his strong arms wrapped around her from behind, pulling her back against his chest. She wondered if his chest was as well-defined in real life as it had been in her dream.
Her dream!
She needed to talk to him, not just fantasize about him! She needed to know what was happening between them. Was he experiencing anything similar? She suppressed a flush of guilt—and desire—at the thought of talking to him.
What would Stan think?
What did it matter?
Whether she was really married to him or not, she couldn’t change how she felt. It wasn’t just that she was attracted to another man; this wasn’t adultery. First and foremost, she absolutely didn’t love the man she was supposedly married to; perhaps had never loved him.
How could you cheat if you weren’t even married?
She hadn’t proved that yet.
Grabbing her phone, she saw that it was only 3:00am. No matter how urgently she felt the need to reach out to her mother, she might not answer at this hour. Considering how tenuously she held to the belief that finding her mother would confirm her sanity, it was better to wait until the odds of getting an answer were more in her favor.
Despite the caffeine from the coffee, the exhaustion of the previous day combined with the relaxing bath to make her feel as though she might be able to get a little more sleep. Not wanting to be disturbed by the stranger she lived with, she locked the bedroom door and crawled back under the covers, still in her bathrobe.
I’ll probably just lie here for a while, she thought, but then felt her eyes closing.
No more dreams, please, she thought.
2
6:55am.
“Hello?”
“Lieutenant Barnes? This is Chief Davis, sorry if I woke you.”
“Yes, Chief. Go ahead.”
“There was some activity last night; both of the subjects had nightmares, and both of them woke up at the same time.”
“We recorded this?”
“Yes, sir. The technician isolated the pertinent segments of video and ran them concurrently, so it’s easy to note the timestamps.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Chief.”
“Enjoy your weekend, sir.”
“You too, Chief.”
Lieutenant Barnes smiled to himself, sipping a cup of coffee. Picking up the phone again, he dialed their on-base surveillance center, which Harry had code-named Watchtower.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, this is Lieutenant Barnes.”
“Oh, good morning, sir. This is Harry; we met earlier this week.”
“I just received a briefing from Chief Davis that both subjects woke up at the same time this morning?”
“Yes, sir, at 2:14am.”
“Have they gone back to sleep?”
“Well, the woman did after a while. She took a bath and had a cup of coffee first, though. Looks like some home front troubles there. Hubby left a little after eight. Don’t think he came back.” There was a pause, then Harry asked, “Isn’t it a little irregular, Lieutenant, you calling me directly? I thought I reported to Chief Davis.”
“You do, and will continue to do so, Harry. He reports to me, however, and sometimes I want to get the story from more than one person. Not everyone remembers details as well as you do.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Harry replied.
“Now, you mentioned the female went back to bed. What about the male?”
“Well, first he went and took a shower, and then it looked like he was going to go back to bed. He just tossed and turned for like an hour, though, then he got up and turned on all the lights in the room.”
“I thought he had a roommate.”
“He does, but it looks like that boy got lucky. Anyway, he turns on all the lights, and starts cleaning.”
“Pardon?” Lieutenant Barnes asked.
“Yeah, he cleaned. Tore through his room like he was expecting Trump for a sleepover, or something.”
“And where is he now?”
“Well, he actually left base for a while around 4:30.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, we can track him wherever he goes.”
Lieutenant Barnes tried not to growl the next question. “And where did he go?”
“GPS tracking looks like he headed out to the Dunkin’ Donuts, then across the street to Wal-Mart. He got back on base and headed to the Mess Hall for an early breakfast around 6:15; base traffic cams picked up his car entering the galley parking lot around then. Guess cleaning works up an appetite.”
Maybe you should try it, sometime, Lieutenant Barnes thought, remembering the state of the surveillance room, the empty takeout containers piling up in the trash can, the half-empty cups of old coffee scattered around the room.
“And now?”
There was a clicking of keys. “His car just pulled into the AIMD parking lot, sir.”
“He’s not supposed to be on-duty this weekend, is he?”
“No sir, not as far as I know. Maybe he just wants a little overtime.”
Lieutenant
Barnes thought about correcting the assumption but decided against it.
“Thank you again for your time, Harry.”
“No problem, sir. My relief just pulled up outside, so I won’t be back in the tower until Monday.”
“Thank you.”
Lieutenant Barnes disconnected the line and sat back, wondering what he was missing. Simultaneous dreams followed by a simultaneous, possibly compulsive, need to get clean; Agent Frazier removing himself from his surveillance of X-104; and X-22, suddenly--how had Harry put it?--tearing through his room to get it clean like he expected company.
Damn, he thought, slamming his fist down on his desk. He needed to report in to Captain Ortega. But first, he very badly needed to drive over to Watchtower and see those tapes for himself. Something was going on, a wave was building, and he needed to get into a position where he could either ride it in or get out of its way.
3
Sherry woke up at 7:47 am, immediately alert and concerned she might have slept too late. She hadn’t thought to set an alarm. A quick glance showed the bedroom door remained closed and locked. Surely, she would have heard had Stan returned and tried the door.
Before she could have any second thoughts, she grabbed her iPhone, unlocking it with her thumbprint, and dialed the number for her mother’s house from memory. As the signal went out from her phone, a device in Watchtower activated, storing the number she called as well as recording anything that might be said.
A triple series of electronic beeps sounded in her ear. An emotionless recording said, “The number you have dialed, seven-five-seven, three-four-zero, one-six-five-three, has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number, and try again, or contact your operator for assistance.”
Sherry set the phone back on the nightstand. So that was it. It was over.
She shook her head. The recording didn’t mean anything. So what if the number didn’t work? It had been five years, after all. One bad number certainly didn’t mean her mother was gone. It didn’t mean a damned thing!
Rising quickly, she discarded the bathrobe and grabbed panties and a bra from her dresser, not really considering what they looked like. She snagged a pair of jeans out of her bottom drawer, pulling them on quickly. Another drawer held her small supply of non-military T-shirts. There were a few blouses hanging in the closet, as well as a couple of skirts and a dress, but most of her clothing was military issue. The whole dressing process took only a couple of minutes, and she used only a minute more brushing the tangles out of her shoulder-length hair.
She chose socks and sneakers, instead of flats, to complete her outfit, then grabbed her phone and charger and headed downstairs. She placed the charger in her purse then sat down in the living room, tapping her fingers impatiently as the small laptop sitting on the coffee table powered up.
Finally, the Windows welcome screen presented her with a gorgeous shot of the Golden Gate Bridge, and she was able to unlock the screen with her password. Another thirty or forty-five seconds passed, as the computer picked up the Wi-Fi signal and finished its myriad background duties, before the spinning blue circle of thought on the screen vanished and she was able to open her browser.
How did you find someone on the Internet?
She tried using Google to search for her mother’s name, Victoria Galer, but got back a hundred results, the first few related to Facebook and Linkedn profiles, none of which matched her mother’s face or background. The fourth link looked like a way to run a background check on someone. Down at the bottom of the screen was a link to whitepages.com, which sounded promising, since the White Pages were how you used to look for a phone number. The website raised her suspicion for a scam, however, asking her to pay for a membership which would allow her unlimited searches for anyone she wanted.
What else did you do when you wanted to talk to someone? In this day of computers and smartphones, no one remembered numbers, they stored them. Very few people talked, they texted. And no one called information because information was always available to them via an Internet connection.
Picking up her iPhone again, she unlocked the screen, opened her dialer, and keyed in three digits: four-one-one.
4
“Thank you for calling Verizon, 4-1-1,” a recorded female voice said. “What city and state, please?”
“Um…Virginia Beach, Virginia,” Sherry said.
A brief pause, then, “What listing?”
“Victoria Galer.”
“One moment please.”
Sherry couldn’t keep her heart from pounding. For one irrational moment she felt certain the computer would inform her, in that same emotionless robot voice, that her mother was dead and she was a fool for trying to call her. Not even Verizon had cell service in Heaven.
“Please hold for an operator to assist you,” the voice said instead.
Sherry waited breathlessly while her phone issued a short series of sterile-sounding clicks. Then, finally, a live operator came on the phone.
“Verizon Wireless information. How can I help you?”
“Uh…I’m trying to get a phone number,” Sherry stammered.
“For what listing?”
“Victoria Galer, in Virginia Beach.”
“Spell the last name, please.”
Sherry did.
“We have several Galers listed in Virginia Beach, but none with that first name, I’m sorry.”
A wave of despair threatened to crash over Sherry.
“Ma’am?” the operator asked. “Will there be anything else?”
Then Sherry remembered her mother never listed her full name, but instead went by her first and middle initials.
“Can you check…um…V.A. Galer, please?” Sherry asked.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. That number’s unlisted,” the operator said a few seconds later.
“I’m…uh…her daughter, and it’s really important that I—" Sherry began, not giving herself a chance to react to the operator’s words, though a surge of euphoria swept through her.
“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am,” the operator cut Sherry off, “but I really cannot give you that number.”
“I…uh…okay,” Sherry said, stammering through the numb pounding of her heart. “Thanks anyway.”
“Thank you for choosing Verizon four-one-one.”
5
Sherry pressed the disconnect button, barely able to think.
Her mother was alive! She had to be!
But how could she get in touch with her?
Simple, silly! Sherry berated herself. You know where she lives.
Jumping up from the couch, Sherry darted to the windows beside the front door.
Stan left the car!
Not stopping to think what that meant or what it portended, her husband gone without their vehicle, she rushed back into the kitchen and grabbed her purse. She turned back to the living room and was reaching for her iPhone when it suddenly came to life, lighting up, vibrating, and ringing all at the same time. The caller ID showed a 4-3-3 exchange, which meant someone on base was calling her.
She stopped in the middle of the living room, staring down at the phone. Ghost fingers traced a musical scale on her spine. A sense of foreboding flooded through her and she knew answering the phone could be either the best thing she ever did, or the worst.
Either decision would change her life forever.
It rang a second time.
What if she didn’t answer it, just let it go to voicemail? She had something to do, after all, and she wasn’t on duty.
In the end, she couldn’t resist the call of temptation, the desperate need to know.
As she raised her thumb to the slider to accept the call, she knew who would be on the other end. It came to her in a flash exactly like those she’d experienced the day before in her work center.
6
“Hello?”
“Sherry?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t say anything else, just listen.”
/>
“But…I—"
“And don’t say my name, just in case.”
“I…all right.”
“I’m going to give you a phone number, and I want you to call it, but not from your home phone or your cell phone. I know this sounds crazy, but I need for you to run to a Target or a Wal-Mart and buy a disposable phone, like a TracFone or a Go Phone. Call the number I’m going to give you and let it ring twice, then hang up. I’ll call you back from a different number.”
Sherry’s mind made the connection; they were being monitored! It fit perfectly with everything else she’d worked through.
“Hold on,” she said. “I just need a piece of paper.”
“Hurry.” But Sherry was already rummaging through her purse, pulling out the small pad and pen she kept tucked into a side pocket.
“Okay,” she said.
“Call four-two-two, three-four-oh-two.”
“All right.”
“I’ll talk to you soon.”
The line went dead.
Sherry stared at the phone in her hand for several long moments, before remembering the urgency in Travis’s voice.
And it was Travis! That alone sent new shivers coursing through her.
He’d been worried about the phone. It sat there, innocuous, in her hand. Just a white iPhone in a pink Otterbox cover. She knew she could be tracked by a phone’s GPS; there were apps for that. But could her conversations be monitored? She vaguely remembered something on the news about security agencies tapping phone conversations, but it might have only applied to landlines. Still, Travis was concerned about it.
Shrugging, Sherry let the iPhone fall to the couch cushion. Pushing the notepad with the phone number back into her purse, she pulled out the Nissan’s keys and closed and locked the door behind her.
First stop, she decided as she started the engine, was the nearest Target, not only for the phone Travis mentioned, but also for the Starbucks nestled inside. And then, so help her, she was going to find her mother.