Rewind, p.6
Rewind, page 6
part #2 of Time Captive Series
“Answer her,” Dirk said softly.
“Are you sure?” Scared. Oh, my darling priest. Don’t be afraid. Still, I didn’t say the words. I didn’t want to be distracted. I needed facts.
“Tell me,” I ordered, not looking away from Hatch and grounding myself with the clear blue in those startling eyes. “If I’m to escape, if I’m to make this work, I need to know. All of it.”
“You’re in a memoriam.”
My stomach sank, but I shuttled the emotion into another container and sealed it. They didn’t need my feelings—they needed my mind.
“You were dying,” he whispered. “In a coma…and we couldn’t bring you out, so we came to get you.”
They came for me.
I remembered.
The thick metallic door buckled as the walls seemed to swell, then retract.
“Go on,” I urged him. “Define the parameters of the memoriam. Drug interaction? Neuroplasticity reconditioning?”
Hatch’s grin was like the sun coming out from behind the stormy clouds. “Hell, yeah. All that and more—but it will be easier to show you.” He held out a hand. “Trust me?”
Chapter 5
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.” - Albert Einstein
“Where are we going?” The passage beyond the suite swelled and then snapped back into formation, the metal vanishing only to be replaced by wood.
“To the garden,” Hatch said over his shoulder, tugging me along toward the lift. A glance over my shoulder reassured me Dirk and Andreas kept pace. When I raised my eyebrows at Dirk, he shook his head. He didn’t know what Hatch planned. Andreas was in near lockstep with him, and the priest wore a worried frown like his own personal coronet.
“The garden?” All four of us were jammed into the lift. When I linked my free hand with Dirk’s, he threaded his fingers through mine. “There’s no garden it’s…just another compartment designed by my brain, right?” I didn’t have all of it sorted yet, but I remembered their admission—one among a thousand. Maybe not that many, but I understood the point.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” Hatch said, his tone admonishing. A part of me wondered if I could just move us as one and rearrange the surroundings to suit my desire. Even as the question took root, I resisted the temptation to experiment. Disciplined breathing kept panic at bay. Calm, I had to stay calm.
Every other time they told me the truth, my mind rejected not only their story, but the evidence they presented. In some instances, the rejection had been so abrupt, I’d endangered them and likely myself. Other times, I couldn’t surface from the swirl of doubt and anxiety, spiraling down until they had no choice but to eject themselves and let the construct reset.
Construct.
What the hell had my world become that I referred to a mental state as a construct? No, I had to stay calm and reasonable. All evidence suggested I could control the situation the same way I managed my mental state—as long as I kept my emotions in check. Don’t acknowledge the fear, the frustration, or the horrible sense of lost time.
“What principle?” I demanded, needing something else to focus on, even as the lift doors opened to the beach. The sand stretched toward the water, and though clouds obscured the sun, I knew it was there behind the heavy gray. The chilly breeze made me shiver—I was still in my pajamas. Not something I should wear to the beach, and even as I thought of it, the clouds began to part and let more of the heat kiss the sand.
“That this garden is where you hide your passions—your fears—perhaps what is holding you back.” Hatch pulled us out of the lift like a human chain, though Andreas wasn’t holding anyone’s hand. Guilt slipped its knife under my guard, and I tugged free of Hatch to grip Andreas’ arm. Surprise skittered across my priest’s face, though my pirate managed to look only amused.
“You do realize this is a beach,” I reminded them. “Not a garden.” Though it had once been a garden—it stretched as far as the eye could see and beyond. It had all the produce I could imagine, but lacked any insects or bees. It was like having perfection without the balance nature required.
That should have been my first clue, but I hadn’t let myself focus on that aspect. Only the lack of flowers. I loved flowers. I loved the way they added color to the world. A hint of jasmine perfumed the tastes of salt and sand in the air. Twisting, I looked to where the lift doors stood closed in the stone shelf bracketing the beach. Above there would be my facility, but I didn’t look for it, instead, I looked at the vines stretching down from the garden and the hint of flowers upon the green.
I wanted flowers, and there they were.
Discipline. Returning my attention to Hatch, I raised my eyebrows, and the water surged in with the waves cresting higher and frothier. “What secrets am I hiding on the beach?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I only know we can’t solve this dilemma without you. We’ve been trying for years, and each time we thought we were getting close—you would pull away, shut down, and then we had to start over.”
“Is that an accusation or a question?” I tightened my grip on Dirk when he shifted his weight. The image of them fighting in the past overlaid the present, but I kept myself in the now. They disagreed, all four of them, from time to time. We were in this together, a fact they reminded me of often. However, I was not in the mood for a fight.
At least not yet.
“It’s neither, it’s an observation.” The wind tousled Hatch’s hair, adding some boyish charm to the rake. “But you love the beach, too. I was rather hoping it might inspire you.”
His answer hadn’t been what I wanted to hear, nor what I expected. I wasn’t sure which aggravated me more. “Are you always this annoying?”
“Of course,” he retorted, stretching his arms wide. “It’s part of my personality.”
I laughed. Of course, that was probably his intention. Though it helped to ease the fist squeezing my heart, I sighed and leaned my head against Dirk’s arm. “I can’t believe you went along with this.” The last was probably an unjustified snipe at the man who’d always put himself between me and even perceived harm. Nothing about this could be safe for them, though.
“I believe I will always do what I feel I have to in order to keep you alive,” Dirk replied without hesitation. “Before we continue, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been hit by a train.” It wasn’t a lie. When Andreas covered my hand on his arm, I made myself smile just for him. Worry draped him like a shroud. “We all have a chapter of our lives we don’t want to read aloud, but this is like having missed an entire novel—or five.”
Then, because I wanted to lean on them both, I made myself let them go. The sand pulled at my feet as I walked a few steps away. They let me have my distance, but ranged around me like they could block even this surreality from hurting me. Their presence helped but… “Oz is outside of this, isn’t he?” I’d seen him through the window of my eyes, where I’d been trapped inside.
“He ejected,” Hatch supplied. “Your reactions worried all of us, and he wanted to make sure you were physically stable.”
“Mentally not even being a question.” Clearly, I wasn’t stable.
“Don’t do that,” Andreas said, speaking for the first time since we left his suite. “Don’t make light of this, Valda.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to accept my jokes, as weak as they might be. If I were mentally stable, we wouldn’t keep having the world crash down around us, and I wouldn’t be trapped in this—dream existence.” I’d almost said nightmare, but they didn’t need any more flagellation from me. If there was a tomorrow and that tomorrow included me awake, and my feet firmly back in the real world—we could argue about our difference of opinions then.
“No, I don’t have to accept it.” Of course, he wouldn’t want to wait that long. “Being here is hurting you, and you have a right to be upset.”
“Hey…” Hatch jerked to face him. “Andreas, just don’t. She’s cognizant and functioning, and we’re all still here. Can we not look this gift horse too closely in the mouth because you have to dissect motivation for everything?”
“Not all of us are thieves who try to steal whatever we can, when we can.” The snap of judgment and consternation in Andreas’ tone surprised me, but more—he amused me.
“Oh yes, most holier than thou, who would rather spend time rending his hair than finding a solution. Do confer your wisdom upon us all.” Hatch rolled his eyes. Andreas may not see it the way I did, but our pirate wasn’t engaged in the argument. His mocking was as much a distraction for him as my weak jokes.
“Do you want me to separate them?” Dirk’s voice was soft and right at my back. He was always there, always guarding me, even when I would have willed it otherwise. Twisting, I glanced over my shoulder to study him. The breeze tugged at his hair. He looked as beautiful as the first day he arrived to provide security for me and what would eventually become my facility.
Was that really so many years ago?
Three? No, five. Maybe seven.
I’d lost track of so much trapped in this twilight state.
“You couldn’t convince them to let me go?” I asked him, and followed his example in keeping my voice quiet.
“Why would I even try?” He raised his eyebrows, as if I had asked a very stupid question. His eyes though, those brilliant green gems—they were dark, a little sad, and very tired. What weight had he carried all this time? What weight had they all carried?
Conversations flowed through my mind, like an accessed file. Declarations. Arguments. One rose to the top of the others, a furious Dirk who loomed in front of me, anger radiating off him in waves.
“Damn you,” I’d shouted. How could they do this? What if they were trapped forever? What if something went wrong with the damn machine? They risked their lives and their very sanity on this quest to free me from a coma. A coma I’d trapped myself in when I’d tested the vaccine.
Even as the memory played out, so did the formulas I’d experimented with. I suffered from the breakdown in my genome. Something my parents had likely known, my mother for certain. It had taken me years to recognize the various tests she’d run on me, but when I had—I’d revisited her journals. Reading them revealed the depth of her commitment to the science of saving the planet and all her people, even as it also detailed how much she’d loved my father.
The memory with Dirk super imposed over those reflections. That was why I argued with them. I loved them. Oh, how I’d loved them. I wanted them safe, and secure. Not trapped in this hell with me.
“We’re not your enemies, you know,” his memory whispered in my ear a moment before he crushed me to him in a bear hug. The wisp faded, but the man remained, and he cupped my cheek. “We’re not your enemies,” he repeated, or maybe he just wanted to remind me. “We’re yours. All of us. We’re right where we wanted to be.”
“You are such a jackass,” Hatch’s words filtered into our moment. “Go bray at someone else, wanker, we should be celebrating.”
“Only you would want to celebrate when the clock is—”
“Andreas.” Dirk sliced between them with one word. “Stop.”
The clock was what? Winding down? Five years in a coma, chances were high I’d never wake. Sliding my hands into the pockets of my pajama shorts, I paced away from them. The clothing felt wrong, and it rippled until a skirt flowed around my legs. It was a blue one—a favorite—woven of the softest cotton and hand stitched, so I even had my pockets still. The skirt swirled around my legs as the breeze pushed against my hair.
Above, the clouds continued to roll in and chase away the sun. Was that because I needed a stormy day to think? Or for my turbulent mood? Somewhere, a soft ding echoed within me, like being inside the gentlest of bell towers as the clapper struck.
Pivoting, I stared at the lift and waited. The others had stopped arguing thankfully, or maybe I’d simply stopped listening. I needed to sort out what was happening, and how to fix it.
How could I save my guys? How could I make it possible for them to let me go if it proved we had no other choice?
Was I okay with dying? The question reverberated through me, and then the lift doors opened to reveal Oz. He strode across the sand, making a beeline for me. I met him halfway, and then he lifted me in his arms, and I closed mine around his neck. The feel of him against me, a warm balm against the chill in my very soul since the reality of our situation sank in.
Closing my eyes, I clung to him. I’d wanted to reach out to him in that room. I’d wanted to take his hand. To scream. To shout. I’d been unable to do more than stare. This half-existence courtesy of Hatch’s machine might be purgatory, but locked inside my body unable to respond or take care of them was a real hell.
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the spice of his aftershave. I never remembered its name, just that he used a splash now and then. It smelled of coming home.
“Hey,” Oz’s soft exhale tickled my skin.
“Hey,” I whispered, refusing to release him. When I tightened my grip, he locked his arms around me. The safest harbor in any storm. He didn’t need words or explanation, only that I needed to be held. I needed it just a moment longer “I remember.”
His muscles stiffened.
“Yes,” I said before he could ask the question. “I remember.”
Though I’d rather have stayed there for the rest of the day, I forced myself to relax and release him. They needed me at my best, my calmest, and my most focused. His arms loosened, but he didn’t allow me to slip away. Instead, I leaned against the cradle he created and met his searching gaze. “The chamber?” Real horror populated those three syllables.
“Yes,” I admitted, and didn’t try to suppress the shiver of revulsion rioting along my spine. I never wanted to go through that again, as though I were trapped behind the glass.
His brow tensed into a frown, and his dark eyes searched mine. Unfortunately, I had no answers for us. “I…”
“You were changing the solution, and then ordered sedation.” For a moment, I thought he would be sick at the confirmation. Staggering, he released me and dropped back a step.
Dirk caught him before he fell into the sand, one man bracing the other. Images flashed through me—the guys eating breakfast together, talking, working out, and planning. Luring me into conversations with them through tag-teaming, and when emotion threatened to overwhelm one, another stepped up to take over.
They’d formed a bond in this time, a bond that their sniping didn’t change. In the past…it was hard to see the past not alongside the present and all the confusion in between. Even as the memories slowed to a trickle, it was as though I was cataloguing and sorting them into proper perspective. Was that emotional distance or cognitive dissonance?
“Darling, it wasn’t the first time you opened your eyes,” Oz was saying, dragging me back to the present. “Please tell me that you weren’t aware all those other times?”
I had no idea, but he didn’t need to carry that weight. “No,” I said, and didn’t look at Dirk. Although technically not a lie, because I didn’t have enough information to confirm one way or the other, I wouldn’t share, even if it were true.
What happened—well, it happened. I was as much to blame for where I was as anything.
Tests. I’d been running tests…postulations on the formula I’d used, and relying on similar methodologies. Each time…each time we’d repeated this scenario, I’d somehow tried to follow that route. Had that been sheer obstinacy on my part?
“Why did you choose this scenario?” I glanced from Oz to Dirk, then finally turned to look at Andreas and Hatch. “Why this—biosphere place?”
“Doesn’t work that way,” Hatch answered, as he leaned forward and placed one foot on a rock I hadn’t noticed. The heavy stone would make a nice bench or place to meditate. The breeze ruffled his hair, mussing the hint of curls in those sandy waves. “The constructs always come from you.”
“Always?” Questioning the assertion pleased the scientist within me, but not the woman. I just wanted straight answers, but I also knew I wouldn’t accept them without concrete evidence and peer testing. “What was it used for previously?”
Why didn’t I know that answer? I understood the concept of memoriam, they’d explained it to me previously. The machine accessed theta waves, interfacing with neural activity to create—everything around us. A place I could interact as if in a living dream. I absolutely understood the principle, so why not the other?
Mouth twisting, Hatch grimaced. He didn’t want to tell me. That was not a promising sign. “It was employed at a reconditioning camp.”
The twist to my insides struck like a blow, and I flattened my hand to my gut. “For actual repurposing or for testing?” One really wasn’t better than the other, but understanding meant shining light into all the corners.
“Both.” He sighed, then ranked his hand through his hair. “It was a gamble then, and remains a gamble today. But we’d tried everything else. I wasn’t willing to lose you.”
“We weren’t,” Oz said solemnly.
“No,” Andreas gripped Hatch’s shoulder. “None of us were. We understood what we might be using, the tool—and we decided.”
“Together.” Dirk solidified the unit they’d become. “We didn’t always agree on the constructs or how to handle them. Some of us grew more impatient than others, and it took time to tune the equipment to you.”
“Calibrate.” A gifted engineer, Hatch never bragged about what he could do with machines. Funny, considering he bragged about everything else. A smile tugged at my lips. “We had to calibrate it to your brain activity, and it required time to acclimate to your specific settings. It was trial and error, but I didn’t care—it was worth it to see you again.”
“And to say goodbye, over and over?” The rawness of losing them, even when I hadn’t understood what they meant to me, was still fresh in my mind. What was it like for them?
