She giggles. “Yeah, I bet you are.”
I scoot back on the seat and let her have control this time. Driving is good, but riding is good, too. I wrap my arms around her tummy and hold tight.
She maneuvers the bike up the bumpy road, and we get back to the highway. At the intersection, she glances over her shoulder. “Just how fast does this thing go?” She grins, then twists the throttle wide open and banks onto the highway, the bike nearly on its side and my knee skimming over coarse asphalt. The bike snaps upright when we straighten out, she runs up through the gears, and our rocket ride only accelerates. Speed so intense, I can barely hang on or find my next breath.
The sun follows alongside, funny how that works, the land around us screaming past while the mighty orb matches our pace, so far away that after miles it hasn’t budged, other than dropping below the horizon well before we might reach home. Our trek continues under magenta evening sky, and further into night, one lonely headlight guiding our way along the darkened highway. As we travel homeward, time passes quickly, as if the ride back is shorter than the journey out. Likely due to the ridiculous speed she applies to the motorcycle, but more than that, somehow the return trip always feels bound by different rules of time and distance. It just goes by faster. As in dreams, where time and distance do as they please.
But this is no dream. It had better not be. Don’t let me wake to a cold bed and empty arms. I squeeze tighter and cling to her warm body. Let this dream come true continue.
* * *
Rolling through quiet streets, we cruise toward the beach. The ocean is calm, reflecting bright moonlight, our exhaust the only sound, rumbling low. Madison slows the bike and turns in to the alley. She reaches into her jacket, clicks the garage opener, and jabs the throttle. Fires spits from the exhaust and we rocket past the opening door, then she slams on the brakes and nearly throws me from this bucking bronco.
“Was that really necessary?” I ask.
She kills the engine and springs off the seat. “Maybe not, but it was kind of fun, don’t you think?”
“What I think is, next time I’ll drive. At least the heart attack will be my own fault.”
Pulling my leg over the seat is a chore, and when my foot drops, the floor doesn’t feel all that solid. No, the floor is fine. The problem is my legs, rumbled to putty by the bike’s droning roar.
Dave bursts into the garage. “Where have you been? We had important things to do, remember? This is no time for joy rides.”
Madison removes her helmet and flings her hair into place. “Just shut up, David. We were doing important things, helping Adam remember more, so he can remember what to do next.”
Since when is it my job to say what we do? Let someone else, I’m in no mood for any of that, not right now.
“Look, Dave, I’ve had a rough day.” I get my helmet off. “Madison wore me out, if you know what I mean.”
Dave is aghast. His horrified glare shifts to her. “Right, real important stuff to remember, like how to get it on.”
Madison turns nasty, the bad kind of nasty. She lands a finger on Dave’s chest and jabs hard. “It is important, David. Knock it off with all the technical stuff, and all that serious, depressing, doom and gloom end of the world crap, like remembering any of that is going to make him better. He needs to know who he is, too, and what he feels.”
Dave swats her hand away. He looks poised to strike. He can’t be that barbaric, she is a woman, though given his contempt, he might use words more colorful.
We make it around the house as they continue arguing, their voices growing louder, fighting to shout over the other. I wish they’d shut up. Let’s have some peace and quiet while I lie down and relax. My entire body feels melted, except my chest is tight, and I’m out of breath, almost dizzy. Past the front door, I make a beeline for the sofa and plop down.
Matt comes out of the kitchen, hears their argument, and his eyes go wide. “You did what?” He blasts Madison, “Sex is all you think about. You slut!”
Oh man, here come the flames. “You watch your mouth.” She advances on him, aiming to rip his head off. “You’re not my master.”
“Right,” Matt says. “But what about Chris?”
Madison halts.
I’ve heard that name before. When Madison mentioned the crew.
“Who’s Chris?” I ask.
Madison says to Matt, “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Sure,” Matt says. “She’s not a whore, like you.”
She lunges and pins him to the wall. I leap from the sofa, and despite crushing pain of my chest in a vise, insert myself between the two.
“Now hold on!” I holler. “Who is Chris?”
Matt finally realizes my question but doesn’t answer. Instead he looks to Dave. “He really doesn’t know, does he?”
Dave studies me, then says to Matt, “I don’t think so.”
Madison steps back, getting uncomfortable with all this.
Matt starts for the wall of photos, muttering as he moves off, “I think Maddie should tell him. It’s only fair after what she’s done today.”
Another step back, she timidly says, “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, either.”
“Madison!” I shout. “What the hell is going on? I thought this was about me remembering things. Now you have something you don’t want me to remember?”
Everyone is in turmoil, and it has something to do with whatever she’s not telling. She doesn’t look so angry now, more like embarrassed or guilty. She stares at me, silent and worried.
Dave lashes out at her, “Maddie, tell him!”
Matt returns with a photo taken from the wall. “Fuck that, I’ll show him.” He shoves the small framed image into my hands.
Is this someone I should know? It must be, I have her picture. But how could I forget any woman so gorgeous? I struggle to correlate the image with its mental companion. Rusty hair, long and straight. Silky skin, and her eyes—the most striking feature—I have seen those eyes before.
Fierce pain strikes my chest, down one arm and into my jaw. The photo slips from my fingers and smacks the floor, shattering the glass. Lost in a spray of jagged shards, her tender blue eyes stare up at me. My love of many lives—Christina.
What have I done?
Another jolt stabs my chest. This heart throbs like a knife carving up my insides. No, I don’t want to look at this memory—it hurts too much.
But—they are friends.
I don’t know whether I’m more pissed, confused, or in pain.
“Madison, what’s the deal? Aren’t you and Christina friends?”
She is terrified, her words timid.
“We are.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We are friends, Adam, but we’re also competitors.”
“Competing for what?”
“You.”
Chapter 6
Cool water laps at my face, washing up one cheek, chilled by wet sand. At eye level, rippling fluid blends into swells frayed by a breeze. A pale yellow moon hangs low in the blood-red sky, turbulent with black clouds.
The river churns past, swells peak, and like a mouth opening, each tries to speak. What are the words? A droning rumble, but whispers leak out, calling for help—don’t leave us, don’t forget, please. My memories.
Caressing my cheek, the memories moan a plea to return home. Each like a child, not yearning for freedom, rather comfort in the arms of a loving soul.
Robed figures appear, bleeding out of blackness and walking along the shore. Reapers, faceless beneath their tattered hoods and sickles in their grasp, they turn to face the churning flow and walk upon the water, marching toward the horizon then fanning out across it. They raise their blades high, strike the red night, and rip open the sky. Blood gushes from gaping wounds, raining down on the memories floating past, which rise from the current as sparkling shafts with mouths, screaming a dying call.
I reach out to the bloodied wa
ter—the memories must not die. A shaft shoots from the surface in the shape of an arm and latches onto my hand. The shaft freezes solid, then the river becomes a thousand frozen arms, reaching for the sky.
The cold burns. Every arm shatters, a roaring thunder. The sky descends and the river transforms into a raging bloodstream surging through a winding artery. Drowned by the warm flow, my body melts away, reduced to scattered particles swirling among the rest. Faced with a million choices of where to exist, I select a single cell and take command.
But the reapers remain. They are tiny like me, though soon they multiply. Thousands of them hack with their sickles, tearing apart the passage. They have not melted, but neither have I. My body did not dissolve—I have assumed the smallest viewpoint possible, and now ride the flow within the body I hope to save.
Responsibility accompanies my new role. I am a leukocyte, a protector of life. The reapers are the disease. The strong providers join us, red blood cells, and other strange globule creatures, countless cells caught in a flurry of pulsing thrusts, and I am one. But how can I move? There is no how, only intending to advance, and I do.
Legions of fellow corpuscles join my crusade. My thoughts are their thoughts, we are a single point of decision, though scattered throughout the plasma. Under my command, the army advances on the intruders. The enemy shifts their destructive efforts from the walls of our home, and their sickles rip apart my comrades. Though stricken, my fellow warriors release a fireball of poison. The furious battle heats the blood as we soar through a network of cardiac expressways. The confusing twists and turns throw us into a swirling blend of combating microorganisms.
The flow halts and a violent backwash scatters the troops. Where is the next pulse? With our journey at rest, the reapers seize the opportunity for counterattack. Intent on victory, our forces match their assault. My fellow leukocytes emit a cloud of poison aimed at destroying the intruders.
The reapers wrestle and squirm, many disintegrating as though bathed in acid. We are winning the battle—we have upheld our responsibility to the body. But the flow remains at rest. Shouldn’t we be going now? Something is wrong.
A blade rips through my cell body and slices me in two.
I twist to face a surviving reaper, sickle poised to strike again. Beneath the ragged hood, a cocky grin. With a flick of his head, the fabric flops back to reveal his face. His eyes are glowing red orbs. The sickle strikes, I am quartered. He watches, delighting in the pain he inflicts, and pleased to know that I am fully aware—inflicted by him.
He grows larger, the sickle as well, which he thrusts into the artery and rips open a gaping wound, a pain endured by every member of my leukocyte army. I can feel it.
I can’t move, I’m falling to pieces, and the scene is growing dark. I force the remaining poison from my quartered self and shower him in a mist of death. Covering his face with both hands, he loses the sickle, and it drifts away into darkness.
A pulse blasts hard, throwing us into a scatter of cells, and tearing apart what little remains of my tiny body. I am coming undone, but I am not afraid. I accept my fate, but do believe I will miss existing. To not exist at all is worse than even the most mundane existence, even that of a single leukocyte.
Another mighty thrust, the missing rhythm returns, and the dying reapers are washed away. Again and again, the pulse beats strong. Yes, this is the song I know. Though a failure at my own survival, we have succeeded at saving the whole—this body will survive.
Blackness descends as I tumble helplessly, caught in the swirling flow. Something appears, soaring out of the dark. A glistening object, it grows larger, bouncing past a scatter of blood cells. Square, transparent and slick—an icy cube with someone trapped inside, screaming and banging, struggling to break free.
As the cube slips past, she looks directly at me. “Adam, help!”
I have to save her. What can I do? I can’t move.
“Adam! I need you! I’m here!”
The cube is swallowed by darkness. Her tender blue eyes are gone.
A pulse slams hard and my cell body explodes into a spray of debris.
I have come undone.
* * *
My only view is a ceiling, endless white squares, with tiny holes in a random pattern. I can’t move, the signals aren’t making it through. My body has only one response—not now, try again later. My eyes work, but all there is to see is that damn ceiling. The countless little holes are going to drive me insane. With some effort, my head flops to one side, but the new view provides few clues. A room sparkling clean, and a door with clothes hanging from a hook.
“I was so worried,” she says.
I know that voice—Madison. Behind me. After a ridiculous argument with my body, we agree to get this head pointed the other direction. I must squint. Bright sun comes in through a window past her, making a silhouette. She is sitting in a chair near the bedside.
The room is all white, except a gadget mounted to the wall, something rubber and shiny chrome. Near the bed is a cart full of electronic gear, and the place reeks of disinfectant. Mounted to the cart are tall rods elevating bags of clear liquid. From the sacks of fluid, thin tubing leads down, past a metal railing, then beneath a white sheet covering me. I reach for the cloth, my arm says hell no, but I insist, and together we raise the cover enough to see the tubing is taped to my wrist.
“Are you okay?” Madison asks.
“Dammit!” I holler, which hurts my insides something terrible. “Stop asking me that. Look at me. Do I look okay?” I try sitting up, but it doesn’t go so well. My entire body is sore, especially my chest. I get up on one elbow anyway.
She reaches for my shoulder. “Take it easy.”
Though confused and in a world of hurt, I still recall how to be pissed off.
“Make me.”
“Come on, lie down. You need some rest.”
“What happened?”
She withdraws, and hesitates. “Seems you had a little problem.”
“Okay, that’s it.” I tear the covers off and sit up straight. “I’ve had enough of this guessing game, and all your little clues.”
I stare at the wall and call upon my infinite determination.
“Now I will know.”
* * *
Strange, as though time passed, but at the same time, it didn’t. A lifetime of experience was compressed into a fraction of a second, then expanded back to fill the expected time, but in a space of no time. And here I am, right where I started.
Madison is puzzled. “Know what?”
“Everything I forgot.”
“Just like that.”
“Yeah, just like that.”
“So you know what happened.”
“Of course. That crate of vegetables fell off the train and smacked me right in the head. And you doctor people just finished putting in that thing that makes me forget who I am, so I won’t know what’s going on when I get fried.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my last marble. “What are you talking about?”
Nice, I like the sound of that. My turn to be the riddler, and hers to be riddled.
“Madison, I’m just kidding.”
“Then you really know.”
“Sure. Myocardial infarction.”
“My-o what?”
“My-o-card-i-al in-farc-tion. Are you telling me I know something you don’t? Now there’s a new twist.”
“I’m just . . . just surprised to hear you talk that way.”
“What’s wrong with how I talk?”
“Nothing, you’re just . . . what’s with the fancy medical lingo?”
“I used to be a doctor, a long time ago, in another life. I’m just calling it what it’s called. You know, the arteries get clogged and the blood doesn’t flow so well. The heart doesn’t like that, and says, Hello? Something’s wrong here. Feel this, that ought to get your attention. Bodies are funny that way. They speak a language all their own—pain.”
She only becomes
more confused. “But . . .”
“But what? Am I supposed to stay dumb forever? Not much better than dead forever. I’m tired of asking questions.”
“I don’t understand.”
Good, now she knows how it feels.
“Actually,” I say, “it was Jared’s fault. Well, not really, just in the dream.”
“The dream?”
“Yeah, he cut me apart. But I showed him. Kicked his ass good, but it took everything I had to finish the job. I was a leukocyte, like a bad-ass cop, out cleaning up the neighborhood.”
Dave enters the room and sees me sitting up. His eyes go wide. “Oh man, you scared the shit out of us.” He rushes to the bedside.
“Forget about me, I’m fine.”
“But you’re—”
“I had a heart attack, big deal.”
Madison shoots upright. “It is a big deal. You almost died.”
“So what, it’s just a body.”
Dave says, “It’s a big deal when you don’t remember how to get another one. Do you?”
He would have to remind me. Death is still a bit fuzzy, particularly, how to make it through. Awareness of immortality offers little comfort when you don’t know how it works. Okay, so I don’t know everything. But I’ll know soon enough.
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”
The door clicks shut as another fellow enters the room. A doctor, judging by the white coat. “After an extended period of rest,” he says.
“Look, Doc, there’s no time for that. I have much to do.”
The doctor shakes a scolding finger. “You have only one thing to do, and that’s lie down and get some rest. Then we’ll talk about what you’ve been eating.”
“What’s wrong with what I’ve been eating?”
“That’s what I’d like to know. I can’t imagine what foul substance you’ve been ingesting, but whatever it is, it’s ruining your body. You need to consider a better diet.”
“Try a daily dose of scrambled eggs laced with amnesia-inducing drugs, and see how you like it.”
The doctor’s puzzled stare leads nowhere.
Awakening: Dead Forever Book 1 Page 21