VirtuaScape
Page 8
Bullets zipped past her head, and she ducked down again, just as her Squad Leader called for retreat. Hunkered down behind the armored vehicle, her weapon at the ready, she could hear the constant ricochet of gunfire around her. Overhead, jet fighters streaked through the sky. Their thunderous engines vibrated the ground beneath her feet. Finger on the trigger of her rifle, she rose up to lay cover fire for her Squad, when the seven millimeter round slammed into her Kevlar helmet. Grace awoke with a start to the darkness. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to recall the dream, but try as she might, any recollection was just outside her grasp. She lay there for a moment as she tried to relax. Slowly the rapidity of her pulse eased, and her breathing relaxed. She turned towards Mason, and reached out for him, but the bed was empty. She rose up to look closer in the dark, but it was evident that he was not there. She sighed as she lay back down and closed her eyes. She was sure that Mason was somewhere in the suite, but as she lay there she felt too drained to get up and find him. She drifted in and out of sleep several times, before she sensed the pressure of her bladder, and then the dryness in her throat.
Laboriously, she tossed the covers aside, and rolled to the edge of the bed. She grabbed her nightgown from the chair in the corner and slipped it on. Sleepily she stretched, let out a yawn, and then went into the bathroom. She hiked up her gown, and slowly sat down on the toilet. Even as she began to urinate, she verged into the edge of sleep. Half dozing, half awake, she finished, absentmindedly wiped herself and rose up. She teetered back to the bed, and almost crawled in before she remembered her dry throat. With great effort, she got up once again and made her way out of the bedroom. As she headed down the short hallway, she noticed dim light coming from under the door of the makeshift office that Mason had set up in the other bedroom. She heard his low voice, so low it was almost a whisper. She hesitated at the door, and almost opened it, but decided to quench her thirst first. In the kitchen she grabbed a glass and filled it half way with water from the tap. As she drank from the glass, greedily sucking at the cool water, she heard Mason raise his voice. Puzzled, she made her way back down the hallway. At the door she reached to open it, when again she heard Mason’s voice.
“What part of that don’t you understand.” He said. “Well, let me be perfectly clear. Regardless of what happens, you stick to the script.” Silence followed, as Grace realized he must be talking to someone with the campaign. Out of habit, she tried to activate her Smart contact to check the time, and then remembered it was in the cleaner being recharged. She took another sip of her water. “What I said was, that I don’t give a damn, you son of a bitch. That was not the plan, and you know it. I could have been killed, you idiot.” Startled at his anger, the glass slipped from Graces hand, and shattered on the floor. The door swung open. Mason stood there, hatred in his eyes. “What are you doing up?” He asked.
“I..I..” Grace stammered. Unsure if she had just heard what she thought she did.
“Are you okay?” Mason asked, impatience in his voice.
“I’m fine.” She managed to get out.
“What are you doing up, Grace?” He asked again.
“What time is it?” She asked. He hesitated as he checked the time.
“Two A.M.” He stepped closer to her. “Your meds should have you sound asleep.” He took another step towards her. She could see the soft bluish illumination from the small translucent rectangle in his hand now. As she stared at his phone, he asked, “You did take your meds didn’t you?”
“Yes.” She replied. “I think so.”
“Grace, honey. We’ve had this discussion before, now haven’t we?” She nodded.
“I think I took them.” She repeated. She honestly could not recall if she had taken her antidepressant medication before bed or not. She had been taking it so long that she rarely ever thought about it anymore. It was the only treatment for her Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that had worked.
“What are you doing up?” She asked.
“Putting out some fires.” He replied. He smiled softly, put his arm around her waste. “Is that glass?” He said, noticing for the first time the shards of glass on the floor. She looked down, with a befuddled look. “Careful.” He said, as he helped her to step past the broken glass, and helped her back to the bedroom.
“I need to clean that up.” She said.
“I’ll get it. Just lie down, and I’ll get your meds. She nodded, and slipped back under the covers as he left. Moments later he returned, with another glass of water, and several pills in his hand. She washed them down, kissed him, and lay back down, pulling the covers close up around her neck. She could hear the faint clink of broken glass as Mason cleaned up the mess. She closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. What she had overheard disturbed her. Was the stress getting to him, she wondered. He had seemed so angry. And the profanity, it was just not like him. And the anger is his eyes when he had opened the door. She turned over, and pulled the sheet close. She tried to replay his words in her mind, but they began to fade as her medication kicked in. Once more she drifted into sleep.
Chapter 9