REVERSE
Book Two of The Infusion Series
Steven Tandberg
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Sincere thanks go to all those who helped with the editing process.
Spencer and Hillary Morgan
Victoria Chacon
Caroline Smailes of Bubblecow (www.bubblecow.com)
J. Scott Wilson of Piedmont Copy Desk (www.guru.com/freelancers/piedmont-copy-desk)
The characters, events, and many of the locations in this novel are fictitious. Any similarity is coincidental and not intended by the author
Copyright © 2014 Steven Tandberg
All rights reserved
ISBN-10: 0984700544
ISBN-13: 978-0-9847005-4-7
DEDICATION
To my dear brother and friend, Paul Tandberg.
Your absence pains my heart every day.
Prologue
Life is sure full of “I never thoughts.” I never thought I’d get cancer. I never thought my mom would die in a lab accident. I surely never thought my dad would break down as he has. I never thought curing my cancer would come with such a curse. That the company that seemingly cleansed my body of those rapidly dividing and spreading cells would improve me but also flat out copy me. I never thought my copy (I know it’s getting crazy now) would kill the person I trusted most, Dr. Strayer. Oh, and then kidnap my girlfriend. But hey! I never thought I’d have a girlfriend, especially someone like Jamie. I guess that’s a positive “I never thought” among a crap load of negatives. Here are some more. I never thought I’d need a highly skilled protection team led by Manuel. I thought his protection would be a positive, but that team just shot me up, so I think that falls into the negative category. But, I’m getting ahead of my bullet-ridden self. I never thought I’d be seduced by a fellow cancer “thriver” named Nevaeh. Just thinking about her makes me shudder. If she ever goes to her backward namesake, I’d rather go to the nether-regions just to avoid her. Oh, and don’t forget that because of me Jamie’s mom shot her dad while meaning to shoot me. Who knows if he even survived?
So yeah, my life has been a whirlwind of pain these past few years. Life is cruel. That’s what I’ve learned. Life is brutal and unforgiving. You may think you’re in control, that the “I never thought that would happen” won’t come to pass, but it will. Something crappy will happen that will change your entire life, your very being. The pastor would say that there is purpose in all of these experiences, whether positive or negative. But, I think that’s a bunch of bull. What purpose would there be in my mom dying, my trusted friend and doctor dying, my girlfriend being drugged, and likely raped, and now me bleeding out on the courtyard of the hacienda, huh?
Anyway, enjoy the next series of “I never” thoughts. It’s about to get brutal.
Part One
Purgatory
1 Death and Light
That warm, beckoning light I’d heard about from others’ so-called “near death experiences” didn’t materialize for me. My world went dim as if a gray filter flipped over my motionless eyes. The pain shooting through my legs and shoulder dissolved into the hard ground as my life slipped. I managed one last blink before a flash of light transported me somewhere. This somewhere seemed far away. My feet dangled high above the ground, at least what I sensed was the ground far below. I felt light as if something beneath me was urging me up.
Swirling murky clouds billowed up from below, encircling me as they rose. Faster and faster they revolved around me, inching closer with each spin. They made contact, and my vision went pitch black. A void formed around me, a void of all things physical. No air tickled my skin; no light illuminated my surroundings. I continued up, and as I rose, my mind felt lighter and lighter. Mists of my consciousness began to float about, threatening to leave me. I tried to reach for them, but I realized I had no physical arms. I had no body to move. Only my mind, or soul, could hold them close.
“Coyle?” a familiar voice echoed in the void.
“Yeah? Who’s there?” I didn’t need to ask, I knew who he was. I could feel him. His essence was my essence.
“Are we dead?” he asked.
“Maybe,” I said. Probably, really. The amount of blood I lost and the giant holes in my legs weren’t the most compatible with life.
“Where are we?”
“I don’t know where we are. Maybe heaven or hell, or somewhere in between?”
“Probably hell,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” I asked, already annoyed by my other self.
“Killing people normally doesn’t get you into the good graces of heaven,” he stated frankly. “You and I both know that.”
A pang of guilt stung my soul for a brief moment. “I had to. They’d tried to kill me, they… You, you kidnaped Jamie. They would have killed her. What was I supposed to do?”
“Killing is killing, man. You and I are the same in that way, and a few more ways for that matter.”
“We are not the same!” I tried to yell at him.
“If I could, I would show you,” he calmly replied. “We are the same. Same motivations, same personality, same killing ability, you just didn’t fully realize it. You were close. I heard what you did to the guards at Somatotech. Impressive, but I could have done better if you hadn’t screwed everything up.”
“Screwed everything up? Somatotech screwed with my life,” I said to my unseen other.
“Dr. Tessel gave you life,” he said with force, jamming the message into my consciousness.
“Maybe so, but he also tried to control it, tried to force my hand,” I retorted.
“You confuse control with guidance. Why can’t I see you anyway?” he said, changing the subject.
I tried to peer through the void, to no avail. The darkness consumed me as if it was part of me. “Maybe we are dead,” I said. The word elicited no emotion. I felt slightly confused but not angry about dying. I knew it would come eventually, whether through my cancer returning or Somatotech’s revenge. I didn’t expect it from the very people who protected me.
“Why are we together?” he asked.
I didn’t know, but I had my theories. Maybe Aedan was right, maybe our souls, or rather my soul had been split. “You were a part of me. The same connection we had during life we must have now in death,” I explained.
“If we are dead,” he said with an air of incredulity.
“Right,” I said, “but if we are, I’m sorry your life was so short.” I actually meant it. Life is life. Maybe my clone could have seen the light and changed his ways. Maybe he could have made something of his clone life. Not likely, but possible.
“So short? At least I grew up and had a family. You were born in a test tube,” he responded.
“A test tube?” I nearly laughed. “What in the heck are you talking about?” My near laugh became a nervous chuckle. Then a sharp barb of doubt stung my non-physical heart. “You have it wrong.” He had to. “I grew up with Mom, Dad and Greg. I fell in love with Jamie. You were my clone, my freakin’ clone nemesis.”
“You can tell yourself that, alpha male one. Do you even know what that stands for? You were the first copy, the first clone.”
It’s not possible! My memories could be implanted sure, but my feelings? My love for Jamie isn’t some programmed implant in my brain. When I woke, after the treatment, I yearned for Jamie. Where would that come from if not from my heart?
Roxanne’s voice came to me, breaking my thought process, “They cured Coyle’s cancer.” His cancer, not mine. What if it is true? I fought the thought back into the recesses of my soul and focused on my other.
“You killed Dr. Strayer. If you were the real Coyle, you never would’ve done that. He cared for us, tried to cure us.”
“Dr. Strayer had i
t coming.”
“What do you mean? He tried to save us, er, I mean me.” The audacity of his statement hit me and anger summoned from deep inside.
“Wow, they need to work on this clone education thing. You know nothing, do you?”
“I know who you were: a murderer and a rapist.”
He chuckled, infuriating me further.
“Rapist? Not quite. I knew she wouldn’t put out, just wanted to test the waters again.”
“Don’t you dare talk about her!” Now the anger surged up and surrounded me. If only I could reach him to strangle him, to squeeze out the last bit of life we seemed to be holding on to.
“Jamie was mine before she was yours,” he said with an air of resentment, interrupting my murderous thought.
“No, that doesn’t make sense. I…”
Before I could finish the sentence light as bright as the sun enveloped me. A rush of euphoria swept through my being and then left suddenly as quickly as it came. The sensation of lift vanished, and a sickening feeling of falling took its place. I fell and fell until I heard her voice like a faint wind chime in the distance.
“Coyle? You can wake up now.” Her voice became more clear and present. “Please, I need you here now. You can’t die on me.”
A single warm tear landed on my cheek then slid slowly down my face. My facial muscles flinched.
“Coyle! Are you there?” Another tear dripped on my face. “Dr. Bartnev, he moved! His face, it reacted to my tear. That’s a good sign, right?”
“Let me see.” I heard someone turn on a faucet and then a steady stream of water splash into a metal basin.
Without warning, a frigid blast of cold water splashed on my face soaking my hair and slipping into my ears. My eyelids shot open. Forms of people flashed before my eyes. Someone came close, a fuzzy profile in front of bright lights. My eyes refused to focus on anything but oblivion. She came closer and kissed me. Her lips, those soft lips! Jamie. Her soft hands cradled my face.
“Oh Coyle, I knew you wouldn’t leave me. Promise you’ll make it? Please?” Her lips made sweet contact with mine again.
I attempted to move my limbs to hug her, kiss her back, or even just hold her hand, but they didn’t budge. She came close again, and I could smell her familiar sweet scent.
My fixed eyes began to dry. The irritation grew, spreading along the outer surface of my eyes. They began to feel as if they would crack open like boiled eggs. My madness grew with the torture. Apparently, the monitors hooked up all over me detected my irritation as well. The machines scattered about the room all beeped loudly.
“Close his eyes,” said Dr. Bartnev. “They dry, are irritated, it’s very painful.”
Jamie gently lowered my eyelids, savoring each moment she could see my fixed eyes.
I wanted to yell out, “Open them again! I need to see you,” but I couldn’t speak. A tube was stuck deep within my trachea. Sound waves were all that connected me with the outside world now, nothing else.
“When will he come all the way back to us?” Jamie asked.
“You must understand, he still may die, very critical state. If he lives, his nerves must, how do you say, regenerate, and that could take long while.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “But, considering his abilities, it may be sooner. His blood volume is rebounding nicely considering we could not give him blood,” said Dr. Bartnev as he handled some metallic objects. The clanking continued followed by a rush of water from the faucet.
“Will he be the same?” Jamie asked.
“What do you mean? Will the body be the same? It should if he lives.”
“I mean his personality, will it be the same? You know, his Coyleness.”
“Coyleness?” asked Dr. Bartnev with obvious puzzlement.
“You know, the way he does things, how he talks, his likes and dislikes, how he loves,” Her voice choked up.
“Are you asking will he love? That, I do not know. But, Любовь и яиц лучше всего, когда они свежие,” Dr. Bartnev broke out into his native tongue.
“What does that mean?” asked Jamie.
“Russian proverb. It says love and eggs are best when they are fresh. If Coyle survives, you have fresh start.”
That pushed Jamie over the emotional edge. She began to cry with soft sobs.
I’m going to make it. I love you, Jamie. I will make it for you, I thought
While my mind desired to live, my body had other intentions. The machines in the room started beeping vigorously again. My head felt light like I was going to float away. My heart began to race, beating hard against my chest. Then my vital organ erupted into erratic beats, paired beats here and a single beat there.
“I need to administer more anesthesia. His vitals jumping all over the place.” He shuffled about the room preparing instruments.
No! Don’t put me out again. I need to hear her voice!
One of the monitors let out a sustained beep. My heart had stopped cold. I urged it to beat, desperately trying to force it with my mind. It remained deathly still.
Help me! I’m dying. No, this can’t happen again!
I poured out all the mental faculties in my soon-to-be oxygen-deprived brain to force my body to action. Not a single cell in my body reacted, as if they had all already given up.
“Coyle!” Jamie yelled.
“Stand back,” said Dr. Bartnev, his voice tinged with anxiety.
The IV in my left arm moved and a cool sensation spread up my arm. My legs instantly felt light as if they were floating above the table. The sensation ascended my paralyzed body and finally arrived at my brain. Intense joy hypnotized my mind. I felt like laughing as if being repeatedly shot, dying, being paralyzed, and now dying again were the funniest things in the world. I couldn’t move a single muscle but inside I was smiling. Dr. Bartnev gives the good stuff, I thought. Am I dying? The thought barely registered in my aloof, doped-up mind.
My consciousness started slipping into that same dark void. Jamie started crying loudly, heaving deep sobs and spraying tears onto my face. She grabbed my hand and squeezed fiercely. I could feel pressure on my chest. Someone pressing, pressing hard, over and over…
2 Cold Metal
I awoke to darkness. Only the regular beat of my heart thumped in my ears. I lay face up, arms at my side. A thin plastic-lined fabric sheet covered my body, and a small tag hung delicately off my right great toe. The cool metal of the platform felt as if I lay on ice. I raised my hand and pulled the sheet off my face. Pitch black. I jolted up and slammed my head into a hard metal ceiling. Lights flashed before my eyes but did nothing to illuminate the room. I lay back letting the throbbing die down. I raised my hands and knocked against the tight walls and ceiling of my tomb. Metal surrounded me on all sides. My heart began to tick harder. Where am I? Have I been buried? How can I breathe?
I lifted my left foot and tapped the far end of the box. Metal as well. With my toe, I traced the outline of what seemed to be a door. Two bolts stuck out from one side. On examination of the end close to my head, I found no such bolts. I kicked and kicked at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Where was my strength?
Despite the chill in the air, sweat dripped off my body, making me slide every time I kicked. I kicked once more and the platform I lay on moved back ever so slightly. Reaching down on the side, I felt a track on which the table rested. I wiped my hands on the fabric side of the sheet and turned my hands out onto the walls. I pressed my toes to the sides as well and began to rock back and forth on the track. Something clicked, and the table slid easily. I pushed it back to the end and then flexed hard, ramming the platform into the door. The door flung open, and I continued to slide out at an alarming pace. The platform jolted to a stop at the end of the track, sending me to the cool tile floor below. I landed flat on my backside. Pain shot up my tailbone, so I stayed there for a few moments, allowing the pain to recede.
The muscles from my head down struggled to wake, and my joints popped as I
lifted myself and then leaned on the platform before sitting on it. I dangled my legs off the side for a moment, letting the blood circulate through my seemingly frozen toes. I stood up and pain like needles shot up my feet causing me to grab the platform to stabilize myself. After a few tentative steps, I regained feeling and could walk like a normal person again. That’s when I noticed my current state of dress or lack thereof. I was naked, as in completely naked. I looked down at my bare legs. They were pristine, not a sign of injury. I wound my arm up as if to throw a pitch. My shoulder felt a little stiff but didn’t have the slightest hint of pain.
Goosebumps formed on my skin as I looked around. The deathly chill in the room seemed to creep along the lifeless autopsy instruments hanging on the walls. The only light illuminating the dark room shone in through a small window in the door leading to a hallway. I knew this place; I’d been here with Drs. Strayer and Bartnev when they tried to extract the device in my neck. It was the mortuary next to Salsitas.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” I yelled out.
No response. Silence. Not even the gentle sound of breathing or regular lub-dub of a heart made it to my supersonic ears. Nobody home.
The room had only one door leading out to the hallway. It was locked from the outside. I tried to pull the door off its hinges, but my atypical strength failed me. A white coat hung near the door, so I grabbed it and covered up my naked body. Scanning the tools hanging on the far wall my eye caught sight of a hammer and a set of chisels. I chose a thin, short one and pulled it down. Taking the tools, I popped out the pins from the door hinges. Then, after grabbing the largest chisel, I wedged the door out. It crashed to the floor with a sound to wake the dead. No one awoke or came.
I walked down the dimly lit hallway to the mortuary office. I pulled on the door, locked. I yanked on it harder. This one gave up less resistance and opened with a jerk, breaking through the wooden frame. I felt a release on the back of my neck, followed by the sensation of warm fluid trickling down my back. I tentatively touched the area with my hand. A small break in my skin gaped open; I could feel the frayed edges of my skin and the broken sutures. I moved over to a mirror and strained to see my neck. Sure enough, a small incision in the area of the bump splayed open, oozing a trickling stream of blood. I prodded again, searching in the wound for the tracker with my fingers, but found nothing. Was I free? Had Dr. Bartnev removed it? I pressed on the wound until the bleeding stopped and wiped my fingers on the white coat.
Reverse Page 1
