The Valkyrie_Genesis

by LK Walker

  “I brushed the hair from the poor kid’s forehead and told her it was going to be alright. She kept on crying. The man moved, scooped the girl in his arms and took off. I could hear her squealing in pain all the way.” My voice is high pitched and I tell the doctor what I had told the man, “I'm not a nurse—what the hell was I supposed to do?”

  The doctor is scribbling furiously. Obviously, I have landed myself in some Freudian dilemma that I wasn't aware of.

  “I can’t remember what happened after that, it all becomes a blur. I have no inkling if the kid was okay, whether she lived or not.” Even I can hear the pain in my voice.

  Doctor Abrams’ pen stops its frenetic scrawling and he rests it on his notebook.

  “You must remember, it is only a dream. No child was ever in any danger. No child was ever hurt.”

  “I know.” I still feel like I let her down, whether she was real or not.

  “How did it make things better with your interactions with the man?”

  The doctor really is picking at it today. His intense interest in my dreams is a little creepy. What’s worse, I know he is going to read into what I’m about to say. I take a deep breath. “It must have been later in the dream. The man came back from the infirmary. As soon as I saw him I—I started crying. I felt useless and I started crying, okay? In my dream, I had a good bawl. The faceless man tried to comfort me.”

  I can recall that clearly, his arm had come around my shoulders and he held me to him. God, he smelt good. But I was sure if I could have seen his eyes there would have been pity there. I am tired of pity. Tired of my weakness.

  “Then I got angry.” The doctor’s eyes are trained on me now. If there was a wrong thing to say, I guess that was it.

  “What happened, Cara?”

  “I screamed at him to let me go. He gripped tighter. I don't know what he was thinking, but he wouldn’t let me go. I smashed my foot down on his, hard, and I ran. I was about to enter a building when he screamed my name.”

  I can still recall Zander's voice. It was panicky, practically begging for me not to go in.

  “I don’t remember a lot after that. We sat, sprawled in the middle of the grassy field and talked about everything and nothing. I dream of him like that now. Not the regimented soldier I started with. Some parts are so vivid. I’ve never dreamt so much in my life.” I say it to make it clear to Doctor Abrams that this part of the conversation is at a close.

  “The anti-depressants can do that to you. It’s a common side effect.”

  I recall reading that on the packet along with a plethora of other nasty possibilities.

  “Interesting that you think he was a soldier.” Doctor Abrams points out. “Not unexpected, though.”

  I didn’t mean to let it slip, but I can’t take it back. I make some ‘mmmm’ noise to let him know I heard.

  The rest of the session is spent going over the usual stuff, talking through real life problems.

  “Do you still have a suitable supply of sleeping pills left?” The doctor is wrapping up the session, finally. I was already an emotional wreck when I walked in. It’s been a bit like kicking a dead horse.

  “Yeah, I do. I still have a good stash. I haven't needed them. They make me feel drowsy the next day and they leave a horrible taste in my mouth, like I’ve been sucking on cotton wool dipped in old sock water.” I don't mention they stop me dreaming. He has already given me a speech about needing to live in reality and not in my dreams.

  Doctor Abrams is still worried about my anger. My behavior in my dreams, unfortunately, reflects my reality. I scared most of my friends off a month back with a stupid, self-satisfying outburst. The doctor reckons their retreat is only a short-term reaction. I just need to make my peace with them and offer an apology. He believes they'll forgive me.

  My friends hate that side of me and I don't blame them. It’s a switch that flicked when Mom was taken away. Controlling it is getting easier and I am trying. I keep telling myself that I will get back in touch with them when I’m in control. I’d hate to do it to them again.

  My boyfriend, Jack, isn’t quite so easy to scare off, he’s stuck around for it all. When I get like that, like I might lose it again, he holds me and tells me the world will get better. My brother, Eli, reckons Jack’s a sucker for punishment. I have to agree, but I love him anyway. We’ve been together for nearly two years so at least he knows this isn’t my default setting.

  Chapter 2

  How many times have I dreamt about my fantasy land? I can only remember a handful, but it feels like more. My mind is not reliable, it could be playing tricks on me.

  I don’t believe you choose your dreams. Trust me, I’ve tried. On the verge of sleep each night I concentrate on the world I have created, as if it would come like a beckoned dog. It makes no difference, the subconscious is above such menial tricks. Still, it doesn’t stop me trying every night, including tonight.

  Jack's steady breathing tells me he’s already asleep. I try to absorb some of his comfort by spooning in behind him. Nuzzling to gain more warmth from his back and to breath in his unique musky smell. I feel safe here, with him so close. I drape my arm over him so I can lie flat against his broad back. Without waking, he wraps my arm under his and pulls my hand close to his chest. I lay a tender kiss on his shoulder before snuggling in deeper, my cheek resting on his bare skin.

  With my eyes closed and my body comforted, I start to lay down my fantasies. The doctor had mentioned lucid dreaming and I wonder whether my last thoughts for the day could breach my unconscious, enough to take me there. I hold onto the thoughts for as long as possible before my conscious disappears and the solitude of sleep drags me in.

  “Valkyrie connection is stable.” The words come as a muffled whisper from somewhere far away.

  “Sup, Cara.”

  I giggle a little at the welcome. The man who said it doesn't seem to understand my amusement. The colloquial greeting isn’t one my friends have picked up. But it rolls freely from his tongue.

  “Hi Zander,” I say with a smile. “How is the girl who was hurt?”

  “She’s fine. The cut wasn’t as deep as I first thought. They grafted it shut and she was back out playing within a couple of hours.”

  Suddenly his face flickers. For the briefest of moments, I can see segments of it, as if looking through the lines of a barcode moving back and forth.”

  “Woo,” my eyes try to adjust. “What’s going on?”

  “Can you see me?” Zander asks.

  “Only flickers of you,” I hold my hand up to touch his face, now that I know where his features are. My hand encounters stubble and I let it rasp against my palm. As I move my hand along his jaw line, it somehow comes into focus. His face flashes again and I catch a glimpse of dark chocolate hair, cut short. My hand drifts up from his jaw to above where his ear had appeared moments before. My fingers trail through his soft locks. I step in closer, his features flicker. By accident, I graze my hand across his ear. It comes into view. I gently caress its outer edge, marveling at its clarity. It’s strange viewing a person piece by piece. My mind is trying to slot together what I see like a jigsaw puzzle.

  My attention moves towards the middle of his face, my fingers gliding over the soft structure of his eyebrows. His eyes clear their way through the muddle. Brown eyes, speckled green, stare down at me more intensely than I could have anticipated.

  My lips part as a barely audible gasp escapes them. Dream or not—staring deeply into the eyes of a stranger whose face is only inches from mine will do that to me. It’s like being caught spying. I’m not sure why I hadn’t expected it. I guess I’m playing with a new toy and haven’t thought it through.

  My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I can only guess how noticeably flushed they might be.

  Zander is silent and still.

  I stare into those eyes as long as I can. My heart pounds in my chest. Oddly, my heart doesn’t feel broken while it is so utterly distracted.

 
I run my hand down his cheek and along his lips. He no longer holds my gaze and I can’t tell if he’s looking at my hand or if he’s closed his eyes. My thumb glides along his lower lip. It’s dry and slightly rough to the touch. Both lips come into view under my touch. They look weather beaten. His lips part and I can feel a warm ragged breath run over my hand. I look up again at those eyes, but they have, once again, turned into a haze.

  “It seems I only get to see one part of you at a time.” I drop my hand back to my side.

  Zander’s lips are still well formed and for an instant I think they will stay that way. As he begins to talk, they disappear, until his face is a blur. His words begin with a croak and he clears his throat to smooth them out.

  That’s the part I replay in my head on waking, trying to keep his image alive. I attempt to move his face to a part of my memory that will retain it, not offer it up as deja vu when I’m not expecting it.

  I replay it again. Each part, one by one.

  The muscles in my cheeks pull at my lips, smiling. I try to slot all the pieces of his face together, to imagine what he looks like.

  Jack is still asleep. He’s curled on his side, facing towards me. I compare Jack’s lips to the ones I remember touching. Jack’s are soft and smooth by comparison. I lean in and kiss them gently. His eyes flicker open, blinking at the morning light. His eyes are a dusky blue and they’re not watching me intensely the way Zander’s were.

  I’m not sure what color his were anymore. The dream is fading, but the intensity of his look still tightens the muscles of my chest. I try to hold onto it for a little longer.

  “Morning gorgeous.” Jack pulls me from my reverie.

  “Morning,” I give him a warm smile for no other reason than it reflects how I feel when I see him.

  Jack has very kissable cheeks. I slide out of bed after planting my lips on one of them.

  “Come back.” His hand tries to catch me, unsuccessfully.

  “Sorry,” I call over my shoulder. “You know how Captain Jackass is about lateness.” I should stop calling my boss that, even at home. There have been a couple of times when I’ve nearly slipped up and said it to his face.

  I don't want to lose my job or give my boss any reason to get rid of me. Something like immature name calling would push him over the edge. I’d be down the road in a heartbeat. The Department of Defense doesn’t play by the usual employment rules, so I keep my head down. Being a civilian working for them means I don't get paid much attention anyway. There aren’t many of us ‘civi’s’ on staff. The only reason we’re considered suitable for the roles is because of budget cuts. In other words, we’re cheaper to employ, and we aren’t entitled to the benefits.

  My brother, Eli, works for the DoD as well, but he enlisted. The DoD recruited him straight out of College, practically begged him. He topped his class in Computer Science and it turned out that his skills were exactly what they were looking for. At twenty-six years old, he’s already made a name for himself and is quickly moving his way up the ranks.

  Before I was offered my current job, I worked at a car rental place. I would have ended up staying there longer if my boss hadn’t been such a pervert. I had ‘managed’ his unwanted advances since I’d started there, kept him reined in. After Mom died, the comments and insinuations became too much, I lost it and told him to his face what I thought of him. The company heard all about my tirade. They disciplined my boss for his behavior and offered me a pay-out, if I wanted to leave. There was no way my boss was ever going to forgive me for what I’d done, so I took the money and hightailed it. In retrospect, that’s precisely what they wanted me to do. It was easier for them that way.

  After a few weeks of sitting at home applying for every job I could find, my mental health went into a spiral—worse than it had been. Jack called my brother. He was worried about me sitting at home in my pajamas, crying all the time. Eli is overly protective of his little sister. He pulled a few strings and nabbed me employment at the DoD. As Eli said, it isn’t a glamorous job, but it’s a step in the door and a steady paycheck. Not wanting to disappoint him, I work my butt off to prove I deserve the role. I'm a Personal Assistant and my boss is more of an arse than the last one, but in a completely different way. He’s not even a high-ranking arse. Just a low-level officer who aspires to reach the top without earning it. He makes me call him ‘sir’, though, as a civi, I’m not required to.

  Trust me—he’s earned his nickname. He’s a real Jackass.

  “Good Morning, Sir,” I say as I walk into his office with his mail in hand. The room is a small cubicle without windows, with a distinctive whiff of something decaying. Since it always smells the same, I’ve started to wonder if it’s him.

  Captain Jackass’s waiting palm is the closest I’ll get to a ‘good morning’ or a ‘thank you’. His eyes are still set firmly on the keyboard in front of him, searching for the next key to press. Only his index fingers ever touch the keyboard. With his head bowed, I can see his pasty, white scalp through his thinning hair. He looks up, and for a second, I think I might be wrong, he might say it this morning. He might actually say thank you. He turns to look at me and I get my hopes up. Ever the optimist.

  Captain Jackass smiles. How is it that he can appear more self-righteous than normal?

  “It appears the powers-that-be have finally recognized my capabilities.” He says. The smile never leaves his face. He takes the mail from my hand and slaps it down on the desk. There is glee in his eyes. It is completely out of place with the close-cropped haircut and the medusa-like, heavy-set eyebrows. Nevertheless, my curiosity gets the better of me.

  “What is it?” I ask politely.

  “I have been requested to join a task force.” He considers me for a second. “Who are you going to tell?” he mumbles. “This is strictly confidential, Cara. You cannot discuss it with anyone. Understood?”

  “Who am I going to tell?” I parrot back. He would have told me no matter what I responded. There is too much pride in him. He’ll flaunt his power over me any chance he has. In his head, I am nothing. Just the office girl who brings him his coffee. What I would give to rumple that perfectly ironed blue uniform and not in a kinky way either, more in a dump-a-plate-of-spaghetti-down-his-front way.

  “The Department is setting up a new initiative. Cutting edge stuff. Something to do with the latest technology and research on personal chip implants. They’re set to replace phones. I’ll be working in closely with the team there, making sure it all runs smoothly.”

  He gives me more of an explanation, telling me exactly what he will be doing in great detail. He’s trying to make it sound impressive. To me, all it sounds like is that he’ll be the errand boy. It’s not a step up.

  My brother has talked about the technology before. Internal chips implanted under the skin, near the base of the skull. He calls them S.I. chips, short for subcutaneous implant chips. He says they are the next wave of technology and will make the mobile handset obsolete. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to me—tech in the brain. I like it where I can see it. Even if it means leaving it behind sometimes—or dropping it in the loo.

  Perhaps he’ll be working with my brother. Wait—for my brother. That brings me a little pleasure.

  “Well, congratulations,” I say, hands gripping tight behind my back squeezing the lie out. “That is very exciting news.”

  “You have been a proficient employee for the short time you’ve been here, Ms Sullivan. I hope they keep you on. Although, I don’t know of anyone who needs a secretary right at this point in time.” I should be blown away by the first compliment he has ever dished out, but he’s followed it up with the possibility of losing my job and that’s a kick in the stomach. I push my shoulders back. There’s no point showing him weakness. My stomach churns. I need this job.

  “Human Resources will be up either today or Monday to talk to you.” He waves me away with the back of his hand.

  I’m more than happy to leave the stale room.
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br />   I sit at my desk and try to breathe through my fears. I’ve gained back some emotional control over the last few months, something I’m proud of. I refuse to let Captain Jackass take that from me.

  The rest of the day I wait for the tap on the shoulder from HR. When the clock reads 1700 hours I breathe a small sigh of relief. I’ve been given a reprieve for the weekend, perhaps they’re trying to find me another placement. I’m startled by my continued optimism. It doesn’t surface very often, and it takes me by surprise when it turns up unannounced.

  I slip out of my office without saying goodbye to anyone.

  “I’m going to be strong,” I say over and over to myself on my way home. Jack has been working from home today so he’ll be there waiting. I’m nervous about telling him. They were dark days when I lost the last job. No doubt that will be the first thing Jack will think of. I need to handle this well, so he doesn’t worry.

  His first words are, “Hey gorgeous, what’s the matter?” My face is a dead giveaway. I should have practiced smiling joyfully on the way home.

  I blurt out what happened, no composure, no tact, no filter. He folds me into his chest and kisses the top of my head. Good one, I reprimand myself.

  “No matter what happens we’re going to be fine, financially,” Jack says.

  He didn’t need to add the last word. We both know it’s not the finances that he’s the most concerned about.

  “Why don’t we go out and have a nice meal somewhere? Your choice,” he suggests.

  “We’re celebrating me losing my job?” I say it jokingly, but that’s how it seems.

  “No,” Jack replies sternly. “We’re celebrating you. Not that long ago, you would have buggered off somewhere where I couldn’t find you, so you wouldn’t need to talk about it.”

  The handsome man makes a good point, embarrassingly that is pretty much what I did last time. Perhaps I am getting a bit of strength back. Anyway, there’s no point in punishing my stomach over something that’s yet to happen.

  “Let me go throw on something nice.” I whirl away and head to the bedroom. I go to the effort of getting dressed up and even add a bit of makeup. I get a flirty eyebrow raise from Jack when I come back out.