“Not unless you do.” Mark approached her, slowly, feeling like he was about to cross over a line.
Toni slipped off her navy jacket and folded it over the back of a kitchen chair. She waited in the soft light, her cream-colored blouse shimmering as she breathed.
Mark stood several feet from her, reminding himself it wasn’t too late. He could back off, leave, keep things simple. But her icy blue eyes, her pale blonde hair, that ivory blouse contrasted with her navy slacks—they all conspired against him. The heat of his anger at Sheila, the cold aloofness that was Toni’s trademark.
He crossed the line.
Mark closed the distance between them, slid his hand across her back, gliding along the silky fabric of her blouse, and kissed her. The heat of her body came as a kind of surprise, goading him. He kissed her harder, his other hand at the back of her head. He pressed himself against her.
She squirmed and broke away from his kiss. “In here.” She led him to her bedroom, then flicked on a small bedside lamp.
The light revealed another set of contrasts. The bed, nightstand and dresser were all of a sharp-edged black lacquered variety. But the paintings on the walls consisted of male and female nudes in various poses and combinations.
Toni kicked off her shoes, then unbuttoned her slacks, let them fall, and stepped out of them. She stood near Mark in just her blouse, which covered her to her hips. “Get your clothes off, too.”
Mark quickly stripped while Toni watched him, unbuttoning her blouse as she did. She kept the edges of it together until he was completely naked. When she saw the state he was in, she smiled, then slowly slid the blouse from her shoulders and tossed it aside, revealing the ivory lace bra and thong panties she wore beneath.
He stared at her trim, pale body for only a moment more before he went to her, pressed his hands to her back, and kissed her again. Then he kissed her neck, her shoulders, bending his knees to lower himself. He unhooked her bra and let it fall, then moved his hands and his tongue to her breasts.
Toni threw her head back and gasped, her long blonde hair swinging free behind her. She pulled his head harder against her.
Legs trembling, Mark squatted down, pulling off her thong as he did. Toni kicked it aside and flung herself onto the bed. Mark slid onto the bed next to her. Toni turned onto her side and reached for him. Mark could barely stand it; her small hand was so warm and firm. He groaned, and let her stroke him until he could take no more. Then he rolled her onto her back and positioned himself above her, supporting himself on his elbows and knees.
Toni wrapped her arms and legs around him, then pulled him down.
Mark lowered himself to her, then pushed himself inside in one swift movement. He hadn’t had sex with Sheila in several weeks, and the circumstances, the strangeness, everything converged to shatter his inhibitions, even with a strange woman.
He thrust over and over again, mindless of anything and everything except Toni writhing beneath him, matching his pace, surrounding him with feverish heat. Every single nerve ending was hypersensitive nearly to the point of pain. He grunted and thrust even harder.
CHAPTER 28
Sheila knelt on a foam pad in her garden in the mid-morning gloom of an early spring Saturday. The subdued light only served to further depress her.
A master gardener, she had most of the back yard organized into numerous separate beds, each containing plants selected for their compatibility: annuals, perennials, bulbs, herbs, low-slung vegetables, and climbers with their trestles.
And now it all looked like an insurmountable hell. She’d neglected the garden toward the end of the season to care for her father, and the weeds had mercilessly taken over.
The half-finished gazebo Mark had started last year stood in the center of the mayhem, yet another cruel reminder of how much his job had usurped his personal life.
Sheila stood abruptly, threw down her hand spade, tore off her gardening gloves and flung them to the ground. Unable to face the mammoth effort, she swore and stomped back into the house.
“You can take Mark’s bike,” said Sheila.
“No, I wouldn’t dare. I know how he is about that thing.” Molly fluttered a hand, warding off the idea.
They sat together on Sheila’s living room couch, trying to figure out what to do with their Saturday afternoon. Sheila had called Molly over for company, to take her mind off the disaster out in her garden. Mark was at work, of course. Sheila couldn’t recall the last time Mark hadn’t worked the weekend.
Sheila glanced out the living room window. The sun had finally made an appearance, breaking a week-long string of overcast early spring days.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Sheila stood and gestured for Molly to follow. “Now. The day’s too beautiful to waste.”
“All right.” Molly got up and followed Sheila through the kitchen to the garage.
“We’ll just lower the seat,” said Sheila as she flipped on the overhead light and pressed the button to open the garage door. She led Molly behind her car and across Mark’s vacant parking spot to the corner of the garage where the bikes were parked. “Yick!”
“What is it?” Molly halted several steps behind Sheila.
“No big deal, just dust and spider webs.” Sheila grabbed an old T-shirt from the shelf and wiped down the bikes. The dust on Mark’s was much thicker than on hers. Though she still rode alone when weather permitted, Mark hadn’t been on his bike once since he started at OneMarket.
Sheila got the garage door control from her car and dropped it into her handlebar basket. “Ready?” They went outside and Sheila shut the garage door behind them.
“Here, I’ll get that.” Sheila deftly lowered the seat on Mark’s bike while Molly held it steady. “There. Try it.”
Molly mounted the bike, took a couple of quick laps around the driveway to check the fit, and pulled up next to Sheila. “Just right, thanks.”
“Good. Let’s just head for the bike trail at the park.” Sheila took the lead, and they rode through the quiet neighborhood streets on their way to the trailhead.
Sheila glanced at the people they passed—mowing lawns, talking with their neighbors, weeding flower beds. She imagined them all having normal lives, unlike her and Mark. Weekends for relaxing together, seeing friends. Even doing household chores together would be an improvement on their life now.
“It starts right over there,” said Sheila as she threaded her way through the parking lot. She waited for Molly to catch up, then they set off at a leisurely pace on the crushed limestone trail. They rode side by side so they could talk, moving into single file whenever someone approached from the opposite direction.
The trees had just sprouted their new leaves, all vivid green and full of promise. The early spring sun was bright but not yet hot. A cool but pleasant breeze ruffled the leaves.
“It is beautiful out today. Look—the daffodils are starting to come up along the side of the trail. Great idea, but how long before we need to get back?” asked Molly.
Sheila made a dismissive sound. “Doesn’t matter. We can be out as long as we damned well please.”
“Won’t Mark get home and wonder where you are?”
“He comes home when he’s done for the day, whenever that may be. I’ve quit guessing. And that goes for every day of the week.”
“I thought by now he’d have settled in and his hours would have evened out.”
“It’s always something. Some new deadline, some new project. I don’t even know what he’s talking about half the time.” Sheila wished Molly hadn’t started the conversation in this direction; she wanted to enjoy the afternoon, not rehash her problems.
Molly turned to face Sheila and wobbled her bike. “Whoa!” She snapped her head forward and regained control before speaking again. “How can you live like this? If he’s never home, what’s the point?”
Sheila sighed. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Then why do you put up with it? Is that what you real
ly want?”
“Of course not. Can we talk about something else, please?”
“Sheila, you can’t go on this way. You guys have to talk about it.”
“Talking about it does no good.”
“Sheila, you have to.” Molly abruptly pulled to the side of the trail near a bench and stopped. “Now.”
Sheila turned around and pulled her bike up next to Molly. “You won’t leave it alone, will you?”
“No. This isn’t healthy for you.” Molly stood her ground, her chin set in the stubborn expression Sheila knew from their childhood. When she got into that mood, there was no choice but to hear her out.
Sheila set her elbows on her handlebars and slumped in surrender. “You’re right. It’s not healthy for me. I know that. But like I told you before, I feel guilty about it.” She spoke faster, the pain and poison draining from her in a rush. “I’ve driven him to this job. I made the case for it, goaded him into it. So now he’s not home because he’s determined to succeed at that job. What did I expect?”
Molly’s expression softened as she listened. “I see what you mean. But maybe the price is just too high. I mean, what’s the point of securing a future with someone who becomes a stranger in the process?”
Sheila thought for a moment. “What I really want most is to not end up like Dad—to not end up being the stranger in the relationship. But I suppose no amount of money in the world—until they find a cure—is going to guarantee me that. You’re right. I can’t let Mark turn into the stranger.”
Sheila sat on the couch that evening, fidgeting, planning her words, mentally rehearsing different approaches. Molly’s prodding had forced her to assess her situation honestly. Whether she did or didn’t ever get sick, this was no way to live. That much was clear.
And she’d be damned if she was going to be put off until another time. They’d talk tonight, no matter what, no matter when Mark got home. There never was a good time to talk, and she saw no reason why that would change.
No, she’d have to force the issue. But she wanted to have her points ready and succinct.
She flinched when she heard the back door shut. Twitching with adrenaline, Sheila got up and went into the kitchen. Mark tossed his keys on the table, then glanced up at her. He didn’t look quite as worn as usual, considering he’d just worked a twelve-hour Saturday.
“We have to talk.”
He rubbed his eyes and looked at her. “About what?”
“Your hours, the job, all of it.”
He sighed. “I’m not really in the—”
“I’m sorry, I don’t care if you’re in the mood. We talk now. This has gone on long enough.”
Mark sat down at the kitchen table, rested his face in his hands. “Can’t this wait? I’m beat. Let’s agree on a time to talk, so I can give this my full attention.”
“No. It won’t happen and you know it. Now.”
Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine. You’re obviously prepared. You go first.”
Sheila bristled at his sarcastic tone. “Well, I think most of it is self-evident. I’d like to discuss solutions, not rehash old shit.”
“Well, I’m not quitting now, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I’m making real progress, and besides, if I quit now, the last six months were for nothing.”
“But look at how we live! You’re always working! You’re always tired!”
Mark looked at her, his face flushed. “You’re the one who wanted this, so don’t start on me,” he said through clenched teeth. “Now that I’m there, I’m damned well going to earn the payoff!”
“But what kind of life will we have? More of this, for five years? Is it really worth it?”
“It’s not like I didn’t warn you before I took the job—it’s not like they didn’t warn me what I was getting into.”
“I didn’t fully envision what it would be like—sorry! I thought they were trying to gauge your level of commitment, and that it would get better once you got through the learning curve.”
Mark stared down at the kitchen table. “Actually, it is starting to get better. Just the other day, things really started to click for me. For some reason, I think I’ll be able to work more efficiently. It felt like I’d made some kind of breakthrough.”
“Well, I haven’t seen any difference in your hours. So I don’t know what big help this breakthrough was.” Sheila waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“The hours haven’t shortened because I’d gotten behind on my project, and so I need to catch up and complete it. But I really think once I do that, things will be better. I really think I’m about to turn the corner.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it. How long before you can be sure?”
“Less than a month. The project is due to wrap up then. Besides, I’ve hit the official six-month mark now, and I’m eligible for a few days’ vacation.” He smiled. “No electronic umbilical cord attached.”
“Really? It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like. How many days?”
“One week. One week with no computer, no on-call responsibilities. Nothing.”
“When?”
“I have to complete this project first. Then there would be a good breakpoint. I’ll put in the request now that I’m closer to seeing the finish line.”
“So, you really think that once you get through this project, your hours will improve?” Sheila folded her arms. “And if they don’t, what do we do then?”
“Just let me get through this project first. Then I’ll see how things are when I get back from vacation, and we can talk about it then.”
Sheila weighed his answer before responding. “All right. That sounds reasonable.” She approached him, put her arms around his shoulders and held him tight, for the first time in what seemed like forever. “I hope you’re right. I really do.”
CHAPTER 29
Josh Tyler stood outside the exam room door, his unease growing. Simmons awaited him on the other side of that door, and Josh had no idea why. The worthless receptionist had merely scheduled the appointment, not bothering to note the reason for the visit. Could be routine, could have nothing to do with Genesis, he told himself.
Grabbing Simmons’ chart from the rack beside the door, he knocked before entering and put on his best neutral face. Stay calm. Play it straight. “Well, Mr. Simmons, what brings you in today?” He forced a soothing smile.
Simmons hunched on the exam table, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. Dark circles lay beneath his eyes. His hair sported a cowlick. “I’ve been getting headaches,” he muttered, his voice ragged.
Josh reminded himself there were a thousand causes for headaches. “How often?”
“Every single day. All day, sometimes straight into the next day without a break. Excedrin used to work for me, but now it doesn’t do shit.” He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
Taking care to keep his tone clinical, Josh asked, “How long has this been going on?”
“A couple of weeks, maybe three. It’s not like I never get headaches, so it took a few before I realized it was becoming a routine.” He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck. “And they’re so much worse than what I’d normally get.”
“How so?”
“Well, I used to just get them behind my eyes—eyestrain from the computer, I imagine. But these! They take over my whole head. Like my brain is just pulsing against the inside of my skull, trying to crack it open.” Simmons clenched his fists beside his face as he described the sensation.
Josh went over to Simmons and perfunctorily checked his vitals: pulse, blood pressure, heart. Then he spoke quickly and confidently.
“Sounds like migraines. I’m going to prescribe Topamax for now. You should see improvement in the next week, two tops. If you don’t, come back in and we’ll reevaluate the situation. But let’s worry about that if it happens. The Topamax generally takes care of it.”
Simmons looked only slightly relieved. “But why are th
ese happening? I’ve never had migraines before.”
“They can just start in people with no previous history. Something in your environment may have triggered this sequence. Let’s take it one step at a time. Try the med first. Don’t add to your stress worrying about it, all right?”
“Will I have to take the medicine the rest of my life?”
“Not necessarily. Give it two weeks. We’ll know more when we see how you respond.”
Simmons bowed his head and rubbed his temples. “Sure. Anything to stop this pain.” His jaw muscles clenched.
“I’ll leave the prescription for you at the front desk. Go ahead and take your first dose right away.” Josh turned and left the room before Simmons could come up with more questions.
After preparing the prescription, Josh took Simmons’ file back to his office and shut the door. He flipped through the contents. In Simmons’ time with OneMarket prior to the Genesis program, his visits to the on-site clinic were limited to a bout with a nasty stomach virus and one round of bronchitis.
He made an entry for today’s examination. Patient complaining of possible migraine headaches. Prescribed Topamax. Reevaluate in two weeks.
The briefer, the better.
Josh turned to his PC and accessed the implant control software. Not yet sure what he was looking for, he browsed through the status information for Simmons’ implant. There wasn’t a lot to look at. He’d only uploaded that one set of documentation so far. So the device should simply be in a state of readiness.
He checked the signal strength. Strong and clean. No problem there. Then he checked the upload history.
Josh snapped to attention in his chair, every muscle rigid as the significance of what he was seeing struck him like a physical blow.
The upload history scrolled down his screen, listing the same file over and over again.
Josh quickly scanned the dates and timestamps listed with each entry. Genesis had uploaded the same technical documentation to Simmons’ brain every hour for the last sixteen days! Why the hell did it do that? It started to upload again while he was trying to figure out what happened.
The Genesis Code Page 14