The Space Between Her Thoughts (The Space in Time Book 1)
Page 1
Table of Contents
THE SPACE BETWEEN HER THOUGHTS
Copyright and Contacts
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Author’s Note
THE SPACE BETWEEN HER THOUGHTS
MARIE CURUCHET
THE SPACE BETWEEN HER THOUGHTS
Copyright © 2018 by Marie Curuchet
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. Permission requests should be provided electronically to the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, dialogue, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. References to any products or services are only intended to develop the storyline and context, and they are not an endorsement by any party.
Contact, publisher information, and requests to publish: Marie@mariecuruchet.com
http://www.mariecuruchet.com
Cover design by Brandi Doane, www.ebook-coverdesigns.com
First Edition: October 2018
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Chapter 1
LIGHT.
She opens her eyes.
Where am I? I’m so tired. My hands, I can’t lift them to clear my eyes. I hate the sleep in my eyes when it makes things so blurry. Groggy, what the hell? My head feels like I did way too many shots of tequila. I swear I’ve never been this bad after partying. But I don’t remember drinking last night. Maybe a crazy blackout binge. Why does that seem so long ago?
She closes her eyes, the oily secretions of her outer eyelids reflecting a soft orange light in an otherwise empty room.
Listen to yourself breathe.
She makes a futile attempt to force her hand to her eyes. An index finger moves jaggedly upward.
Painful, feels like arthritis. Jesus, I’m tired. How long have I been sleeping? Why can’t I move?
Her lips part with a sudden tearing of flesh, like a desiccated saguaro losing a limb in a desert sun. A pebble of crimson blood appears at the corner of her mouth.
God, if I could only move my tongue. Where’s that friggin’ water bottle I keep beside the bed? Have I been sleeping with my mouth open again? That damned green retainer I had to use for so long. Got me accustomed to sleeping with my mouth open. Thrush and crap growing in there, eating away at my mouth. How I hate that! The boys, once they knew about it, once Joey told them, called me ‘green teeth’. And see what a legacy it brings! A parched mouth so many mornings, the embarrassing stench of stale breath. Or is this a stuffy nose? Another cold? Not another sickness! Could be the flu, it’s the only thing that knocks me out like this. Listless. Why can’t I move? God, I don’t want to remember the things I did last night.
Seconds pass.
What is that funny feeling at the top of my lip? Something brushing against it? Damn it! If I could only see through this haze in my eyes. Freaking crawly things in Arizona. Probably biting me. Zika mosquito, most likely. I just can’t get to it. I’m too wasted to even take a swat.
Her dry tongue scrapes like shards of glass against the roof of her mouth as she pushes the thick muscle slowly to her lips. She coughs.
Christ is that sore! My throat is on fire! I can’t swallow. My chest hurts! My stomach hurts. I must have coughed a thousand times, this damn flu! I should be able to bend my tongue back in my throat to see how swollen it is, but it’s too dry. God could I use that water! I must be in my bed. In my apartment. If I just had the energy.
She moves her parched tongue slowly, scorchingly, back to the base of her throat.
What a mess. No tonsils, but it still always burns like I did. Damn killer flu. I could die from these stupid little viruses! Why the hell would God make these things? Hey, what was that? My mouth is wet! I feel the cool trickle of water down my cheek. A squirt from a saliva gland? No. Too much fluid, too little time. My tongue feels a little better now. Thick but moist. Give it a minute. It will soften, and then I’ll have my tongue back.
She coughs again, a long, harsh cough that scorches her upper chest and sears her abdominals.
So I can move! At least one group of muscles seems to be working. But where did that water come from? My buds are coming back. That water tasted so sweet. Funny smell, maybe the aftertaste of whatever I drank last night, or, God forbid, some Mexican food too, if I know me. Double dose of terror on my poor intestines today.
She feels the reflexive action of her raw throat begging to swallow the fluid as it passes down her gullet.
Oh, the coolness. Relieve the burn. Sense the flavor. Jesus, I must have taken a drink of water. I don’t even remember getting it. I must still be drunk. Drunk or sick. Which is it? Where did I go last night? My head is still spinning – couldn’t have been that long ago. Damn flu, damn flu. It makes me so delirious, but then, so does tequila. I hate the stuff. I don’t know why I let my friends talk me into taking shots. Think back, damn it. Margot, can you think back even to last night? I have to stop this partying. Was I with Joey? Wasn’t he going to take me out for my birthday? To a nice place, so concerned about me because of what happened. That scum of a boyfriend. How he hurt me, the waste of a human. I can’t think about him, I’ll ruin my morning. Make it worse than it’s started. Why did he? Stop this train of thought! Think! Joey was taking you out. Joey was going to take me out. I was at Saks. I was at Saks yesterday. I remember buying the dress. That blue-green silk dress. Jesus. I don’t even remember getting ready or wearing it last night. A birthday present when no one else will buy me one. But Jesus, I can’t recall a thing. We must’ve gotten really wasted! That brother of mine. I’ve never had a such a total blackout before. Not that I can remember. That’s funny, a blackout that I can’t remember. I’ll have to remember I thought of that when I recover.
But that dress. That dress. They gave me that long plastic cover for it. Do not put it in a crib, it said. Give me a break! I’ll never need a crib, I’ll never get married, I’ll never have a husband or a baby, so why should I worry? With my bad luck at men, lousy men, why do I always get the lousy ones? Is there one decent one in the world? I can’t imagine ever having a kid by one. They’re so damned irresponsible. Can’t deny what they want. You always know. Sex, that’s why they stay. They’re never able to discriminate, to be selective, to be patient. Ruled by their friggin’ gonads. Ruled by them. Undisciplined shits. One thing, it’s always the one thing. God, I can’t believe we ever made it this far with them. Oh, Margot, stop this crap! Enough of down on men! Jesus H, my head is pounding. Throbbing, just behind my eyes. If I had the energy I’d get an aspirin. Had to be shooters, tequila shooters, the worst that I’ve sworn off too many times.
An am
ber glow softly illuminated the large round room, its brown sandpaper walls glistening in reflection. At the center, a machine of sorts resembling a translucent iron lung stood guard over the body that lay listlessly beneath it. Colorless flesh was bunched together like a discarded curtain on the folds of the neck, where at the base a jagged pink scar extruded rudely up the scalp.
Hers was a thin face of Anglo features. Nondescript. Hair was brown, pared evenly as if it didn’t matter. Eyes were widely-spaced and drawn upward slightly at the ends. Eyelashes were short and stubby, and eyebrows had grown thick from a lack of plucking. A wide mouth was slightly ajar, exposing perfectly aligned teeth surrounded by thick gray lips on the verge of peeling. Her nose displayed a small ridged knob at the tip, with a narrow bridge and nostrils that flared open slightly with each breath. Cheekbones protruded sharply through her skin, pale and grey to match her lips. A strong jaw was flaccid and misshapen at its base from muscles that had known too little chewing.
A platform lay just centimeters below her while her body, elevated slightly and quietly hovering, floated above a pool of orange ether. An arm protruded from the machine and moved deliberately towards her head. Saline began to spray from the machine’s arm, soaking through the sheer covering that lay atop her body. It slowly splashed her face. Water trickled into her mouth. Reflexive coughs were registered. Samples of breath were taken. Nervous system activity was monitored.
A sucking whoosh emanated from the arm as it started the descent down to her toes, and the body was suddenly dry again. It resumed spraying water a second time in a repeated effort to cleanse the body. More water trickled down the throat. The glottis, not completely closed, allowed a few drops of water to enter the bronchial tubes. Another series of coughs. But this time was different than the thousands of times before. This time, an alarm sounded in a monitoring room. An electrochemical spark was ignited in the cerebrum, shaken from its long stupor by a simple cough, and a nonfunctioning, reticent conscience was suddenly aware once again.
What am I thinking of now, damn it! I thought I was asleep. Jesus, could I use a Red Bull. That always seems to wake me up if I indulged too much. Besides, it calms my stomach. I must quit this kind of crazy shit. But there’s not much reason to take care of myself now, not the way I used to. I once had reason to. God, I pray there’s a Red Bull in the fridge.
Why doesn’t this feel like my bed? This isn’t a water bed! Am I in someone else’s bed? Did I seriously go home with someone last night? Again? Was I that bad off? My God, what if he’s horrible? What if he’s ugly? I have no sense of self-respect any more, and I can never trust my judgment with men-jerks. God, I hope my pills are in my purse. I should know better than this. But no, if I was out with Joey, he would have saved me from them. The dregs. I know Joey would never let me do this.
My bones hurt. I don’t feel the sloshing when I move. That gentle slosh. I should get Joey to release the air bubbles in my bed. He’s always good about getting the bubbles out. He said it was very retro, a waterbed, but it was cool, just sucked the desert heat out to let me sleep. I’ve got to open my eyes. It’s dark in here. Let me turn over. Jesus, I can’t turn over! Why can’t I see? Those things in my vision, moving, grey, green? Why are they moving toward me? Why can’t I focus on them? Oh God, oh God, I can’t move my mouth. Say something, damn it, scream! Why can’t I move my mouth? What a horrible dream I’m having! My heart is pounding out of my chest! Why can’t I move my mouth?
Bad dream. Not regular tequila. Mescal, no doubt. I hope I didn’t eat the worm again. The worm’s a killer. The things I’ve done when I ate the worm. Who told me about what the worm will do? College days? Oh, I don’t want to think about it. My head is still spinning. I better get up. I have to pee. It burns down there, all the way to my bladder. I hope it's not another bladder infection – or worse, an STD again. Can’t have happened in one night.
After the first cleaning, the oily secretions on the eyelids were gone. The eyes hesitated to open fully. Eyeballs rolled back into their sockets, then around in jagged disregard for each other after being unused for five years.
Look, Margot, you jerk. No more drinking. Ever! I’ve had it. I can’t even get my eyes in gear this morning. Even if Carrie and Anna want to go out after work. No way! I’m sticking with espresso. I hate to be the downer, but they’ll understand. I just need to stop partying all the time. Sulking in my pain, self-absorbing to forget what’s happened. My body can’t take it. I mean, here I am in some guy’s bed! God knows what I was put through last night. I hope he’s gone. I hope he’s not going to want more again of whatever I did with him last night. Or maybe he’s as bad off as me. I could not do it again, not sober, not drunk.
What a funny light! What’s that? My God! What is this thing over me? My God, what is this thing over me? What is this tube running from this thing into my nose? Why is this thing, this damn tube in my throat? Where’s the rest of me? Where’s the rest of me? Jesus, I can’t see the rest of me! What is this cloth on my chest? What is it? Damn it, I can’t move. I can’t move my neck!
As her body began to fidget and force itself to come alive, a minor commotion was occurring in the monitoring room. It was a changing of the guard, of sorts. Rovada was to take this shift. He had to eliminate and was a minute late. He moved quickly to the monitoring station.
“Margot has awakened?” he inquired.
Noda was angry. “Yes. In and out of grogginess but emerging into consciousness for now. You’re late. Do I need to remind you of Interlocking Effects?”
“No, be on your way, Noda.” Noda left the room in an instant. Rovada shuttered, “What a stiff!” He peered through the clear partition of the Wall to the body that lay on the table and scanned the activity of the sensors that recorded the body’s activity. “Another one!” he thought, with a half-gasp, half-laugh. “That makes five. Five from the billions. What a sideshow! They should allow us to clone. I know, I know,” he thought to himself, “the others will know my thoughts and my thoughts don’t always fall in line. But that’s okay. I am far from deviating from the norm compared to others. Besides, I know their thoughts. Who cares that I think this way for the millionth and one time? A molecule of words in a sea of cacophonous voices.”
Chapter 2
THREE LIGHTS? DO I count three lights? Yellowish, orange, brownish? Getting control of my eyes now. Better. Why can’t I move? Is this the same dream I just had? Your tongue, dummy, your tongue, move your tongue. There it goes. This will prove I’m not dreaming. I’ve never forced myself to see my tongue when I was dreaming! Jesus, I never thought of doing it. I’ve never had a dream where I needed to do this. If I could just see my tongue. What a talented tongue. That YouTube of me pulling M&M’s out of my nose – over ten thousand views! Capable tongue, agile tongue. But it feels so damn thick today. What’s that shadow? More water at the tip of my lip? My lips are so dry. Where’s my lipstick? My iPhone? If I could turn my freaking head, damn it, I could find my purse. I’m sure zombies look better than I do right now.
“Hello, Margot.” A deep, raspy male voice came from nowhere.
Who are you? Damn it, I can’t even talk, but I can move my tongue. Who are you assholes? And where am I?
"Margot, relax, please relax. You are in the hospital. You had an accident and you were injured. Stay calm. Relax.”
Like shit I’ll relax! Like hell! Car accident? I wish I could get my hands on the assholes who put me here! What happened to me? Am I going to die? If it’s a hospital room, where’s my nurse? Why can I only see these damned lights in my eyes and why is it so dark beyond the lights? What is this freaking thing above me? Am I in the operating room? Why can’t I talk? Why can’t I move?
“Margot, please listen . . .."
I am listening, asshole!
“Thank you, Margot, you don’t want to get too excited. I am assisting your physician. You have no nurse because this is a sterile room. You cannot move yet because you have been given drugs that regulate your
body movements and motion.”
What the hell happened to me, asshole, and who are you?
“If you want to know what happened to you, blink twice.”
I’m blinking, you scum. I’ll blink a hundred times if I must. Where’s your face, Jack? Come out and talk to me you son-of-a-bitch!
“Human medical history has shown that once awakened from a coma and having regained consciousness to this level, the probability is very remote that you will revert back into a coma.”
Coma. What?
“You have been in a near-vegetative state.”
Vegetative? How long? Am I paralyzed? Can I ever walk again? Are my legs still attached? Do they still work? Where are my parents, my brother? What is this godawful thing that’s hunkered over me? Shoot the lights, asshole!
Overcome with the terror of the possible, tears began streaming down her face.
“You had an accident, Margot, an accident, a head injury. You were in a department store. You slid on a garment bag on a down-escalator. You fell over the railing and smashed the base of your skull on the back of a chair. You have been unconscious for five years.”
Margot’s chest heaved rapidly.
I’m not hearing this. I’m not hearing this! I am going out tonight. I am going out with my brother tonight. He’s taking me out for my birthday!
Rovada scanned the monitors. Her heart rate was climbing, now above 145. She was in fine athletic shape, although five years in a hospital bed had taken a toll on her body as a functioning system. The liver and kidneys were degenerating before they began controlling her functions. She probably would not have lived more than another few years. Hospital records showed she was put through regular physical therapy and that there was occasional frontal lobe activity.
“Your family, of course, will be notified that you have awakened.” Rovada shook his large head. He hated lies, and he hated having to tell them, if only for a moment. “However, because of your case, you have been moved to facilities in Minnesota. You are at the Mayo Clinic. This is a special room we designed specifically for you.”