We—actually the real technology experts in the company—had truly blurred the lines of make-believe games and reality, at least compared to games played in the past. We'd formed a partnership with the NFL and had visions of expanding our technology into the NBA, MLB, and even FIFA, the international governing body of soccer.
Life on the West Coast had grown on me, a far different day-to-day existence than my previous life back in Franklin, Texas. Then again, life back in Franklin was all about my partnership with my lifelong partner, Marisa.
From the moment I'd rolled out of the driveway following Marisa's funeral, I'd only had limited interactions with friends from my former adopted hometown. I traded a few phone calls with Arthur—just enough for him to sell my house and give away the furnishings. Brandon and I exchanged a few text messages, discussing the splashy headlines he'd written for a few salacious stories published in the Times Herald—where I formerly held the associate publisher position.
A small piece of me missed the hustle and bustle of the newsroom, and the hunt for the truth. But when I dug deeper into my professional motivations and desires, the memories only uprooted sadness and guilt that I'd allowed my job to interfere in my relationship with Marisa. Sometimes, I could even make the leap that I was the reason she'd been murdered. In our "talks" since her death, she tried to convince me differently—both when I was inebriated and completely sober—in a setting much like tonight. She always had a way of calming my nerves, releasing me from a guilt trip, boosting my confidence.
Damn, she was the absolute best.
I had to move beyond this mental or emotional barrier, to figure out a way to live my life with no regrets. While I'd been mildly successful in carving out a new routine in this foreign world, I knew I had only a single toe in the frigid Pacific Ocean. I had yet to go all in—in my new job, even with my new work buddies. The lady department was a complete disaster, and I did nothing about it. Whispers from my guardian angel reminded me that I couldn't sit on the sidelines for the next fifty years.
Remnants of whiskey and melted ice swirled in my glass, and I wondered if I'd seen Marisa, spoken to Marisa, for the last time tonight. Was I prepared to leap headfirst into chilly, turbulent waters, a vast sea of uncertainty, to find another mate? I wasn't sure if I deserved happiness, at least not in the category of relationships. Shit, there I go again.
The same busty waitress dropped off a bowl of mixed nuts, but this time she made no eye contact. I ordered another drink and popped a couple of cashews in my mouth.
Without warning, screams rippled through the hotel, bouncing off scenic ceilings, massive columns, and enormous tiled floors. I glanced all around me and saw nothing, then jumped up to look beyond the bar. Heads swiveled, everyone searching for the source of the medical emergency or drunken fight in progress. A nearby agonizing groan jolted my senses, and I swung back to see a man in a white tuxedo shirt lunging, or falling over, the decorative railing next to my table—his eyelids flickering like a candle about to be extinguished.
I jumped back a couple of steps, and he crashed chest-first into the table, sending nuts, glass, a candle, a drink menu sailing. The man slid right and face-planted on the floor next to me. The table teetered for just a second, then slammed onto the hairy man, the stone edge crunching his head.
More screams, high-pitched and otherwise.
“Holy shit!” I yelled.
It wasn't the blood trickling down the side of his temple that created the stir. Nor was it his nearly unconscious state—his arms twitched slightly.
We were all frozen, staring at an ax buried between the man's shoulder blades.
Chapter Three
Today
Someone must know who I am. Someone must care that I exist.
I flipped the phone back around, and a ten-digit number popped into my mind. I punched in 214-224-7333 and tapped the green circle. My pulse doubled, anticipating a voice I'd recognize, my connection to a lost world that seemed so distant but at the same time was about to suffocate me.
It rang four times, five times. No one answered. Finally, an electronic message told me to leave a voicemail.
“Whoever hears this, please call me back. I'm desperate. I have no idea who I am, but I believe...I feel like you're the person who can help. Please call.”
I punched the line dead and pinched the bridge of my nose. The lack of human connection only accelerated my anxiety. I had to find my anchor. Surely I had one. We all did, right? I wasn't dreaming, but I could feel a yearning deep inside. I loved someone with all my heart. Her name wasn't coming to me. My name wasn't coming to me. It would be okay. I released a breath and tried desperately to keep my emotions at bay.
But it didn't take long for my impatience to return, which now bordered on full-fledged irritation, and I couldn't help myself. I punched in a text to the same number:
Me: R u there?
About thirty seconds passed.
The person on the other end: Who is this?
Me: I know this is crazy, but I don't really know.
The person on the other end: Omfg
Me: What?
The person on the other end: Can u not
Me: Not what?
The person on the other end: Just no
Me: No what?
I held a breath, my eyes glued to the tiny screen waiting to see three dots light up—which meant the other person was typing something, anything. I needed a response.
Two minutes passed. Three. Then five. My only connection to the world around me was ignoring me. It felt unworldly, like I'd been transported to another place, another time...hell, even another planet, where steep hills covered the landscape and I never existed.
I couldn't let go. Who this person was, specifically, I couldn't recall. I struggled to see images, remember a voice or a scent. Nothing. My heart pounded harder, like it was drilling for oil. I scanned my surroundings again, more hills, a few tall buildings, distant lights, a strange metal trench splitting the street. The cold wind smacked my focus back to the three-by-five-inch screen. The phone was silent—like my memory.
Ten minutes. Fuck! Where was she? Didn't she understand I needed her? My emotions were about to explode, my pulse now racing out of control. I braced myself against the building and struggled to get to my feet. My knees buckled for just a moment, and most of my weight fell against the stone edifice. The phone slipped out of my hand; I grabbed for it and missed. Kicking up my left knee, the phone bounced off my thigh, giving me an easier target, and I snatched it out of the air. I was lucky. My lifeline to the rest of the world was still intact, but in just a few seconds, I'd gone from feeling cold down to my bones to breaking out in a fierce sweat.
I gripped the phone until my knuckles turned white. Fifteen minutes had passed. I looked up and noticed two flags waving off the stone building. On one I think I read Fairmont Hotel, but I wasn't certain.
I'd officially run out of what little patience I had.
Me: R u still there? I really need your help.
The person on the other end: I don't know who u r asshole!!!
My hopes and my head dropped. I was alone, and I couldn't remember a damn thing. Something must have happened to me. I felt my egg-shaped bump, then clenched my teeth and closed my eyes. Focus. Look within and find that missing link that allows everything to come back to you.
My breathing calmed, I touched my face then scanned the back of my hands. I was young. The number thirty-seven popped in my mind. Was that my age? Good gosh, I was pathetic. I needed a mirror to find out who I was, what I looked like.
My wallet. What had I been thinking? I slapped each pocket searching for a wallet, driver's license, credit cards, any form of identification. All empty. No wallet, no keys, no money. Was I homeless, destitute? I looked back at my shoes. Doubtful. Maybe I'd been mugged, knocked unconscious, all of my things stolen. That seemed the most logical. I just needed to find a police station, and they'd help me piece my life back together.
&n
bsp; Unless this was all a dream, or maybe I'd been pulled through a time warp, and I existed as a different person in a different world.
Didn't feel right. I wasn't even sure if I liked sci-fi crap.
Fuck it. I started walking—trudging, actually, considering the angle of the hill I was climbing. After about twenty steps, I paused at a corner. A few cabs whizzed by, but I couldn't make out the names, hoping to see a city reference. My mind was still scrambled to a degree. I checked my phone and finally noticed the time: eleven forty-eight p.m.
A renewed sense of purpose overtook my thoughts, and I just started walking. I ignored the throbbing head pain and used my arms as pendulums to help propel me forward. Keep moving. The blood rushing through my body made me feel alive, human. I've done this type of activity before. I must be in decent cardio shape. Up and down hills I marched with relentless motivation, moving along Pine Street then veering left onto Masonic Avenue. I kept my focus on the sidewalk, the next step. I didn't look around. I didn't make eye contact with any of the few late-night stragglers. I was on a mission, like I had some place to be.
I did have a purpose. I must have a purpose.
I crossed a small bridge, then noticed a park off to my left. The name, Buena Vista Park, was imprinted in gold, wooden letters. Like everything else, it meant nothing to me. But I wasn't dissuaded. I persevered, like a ship steering toward a beacon of light. My light was inside me, an instinct that told me to keep moving. Another right onto Turk Street—another dark hole in my memory. Screw it. I kept walking, like someone was waiting on me. Maybe that love I'd felt earlier was real, and I'd find my way back home—to her.
I hung a right onto Frederick, dotted with more homes, all sorts of colors. I tried not to gawk, not to observe too closely. It would only remind me of what I couldn't remember. My mind was singularly, even obsessively, focused. Keep walking. I will get where I needed to be.
Some type of green patch off to my right, a kid's playground. Looked like some teens messing around on a swing set, a few yells, some cursing. They must be drunk.
Left on Willard Street. The hill was ominous, but something told me to not stop until I reached the top, about a hundred yards or so.
While the pace and lengthy trek had sparked hope and given me purpose, my legs now felt like thick, lead bricks. My head pain was more intense, and I was hungry. I struggled to lift my legs the last few steps. Finally at the apex, I bent over and leaned on my knees.
What drew me here?
A bird, possibly a blue jay, swooped past my face, gliding off to the right. Startled initially, I spotted a trailhead across the street, opening onto a strange land of vegetation in the middle of the concrete jungle I'd been traversing. It magnetized me, and I ambled over.
I was immediately engulfed in a foreign world, filled with lush trees, wild plants, flowers, vines, and darkness. Only splinters of light invaded the sanctuary. There were no homes, no buildings of any kind. The area was hilly, secluded. I trudged through the vegetation, wishing I had a machete. I imagined myself swatting away dense, invasive foliage.
Was that a memory? I couldn't tell.
These new surroundings intrigued me. Keeping my lonely existence in the back of my mind, I plodded up another slope toward a slice of light. Finally at the top, I could see the city beneath me, but not very far. A dense fog huddled over the city like a layered, fuzzy blanket.
I turned back around and stared into the dark forest. I heard leaves ruffling, then two birds fluttered overhead. A branch snapped—at least I think it did. I'm sure animals roamed this oasis, but of what variety? Rabbits, squirrels certainly...anything bigger, I wasn't sure.
I thought about a zoo breakout, where dozens of wild animals had escaped, including a lion, creating panic and havoc in a city. Was that just a random thought or an actual memory? This time I hoped it was my active imagination. I didn't want to think about a grisly seven-hundred-pound beast with claws that could rip out my heart lurking a few feet away, ready to pounce and devour me for his late-night snack. He'd chew off my neck and...
What was I thinking? Geez, I was really losing it.
Out of nowhere, I heard rapid sounds, leaves crunching, like someone was running. I narrowed my eyes, straining to find the source of the sounds in the forest, but saw no movement. It could be one of those tiny creatures frolicking around with an animal friend under the safety net of a dense layer of vines, or maybe they were on the hunt. Survival of the fittest.
The sound ceased. I lowered my head, curious if the little runt would appear right under my feet. I could use a little friend, even if they weren't my species. Then again, I could just live here, start swinging from tree to tree. I'd adopt the name Tarzan. Eventually, though, I'd long for my Jane.
Suddenly, leaves crunched; they were getting closer. Heavy steps, branches flapping. Was that a yell or some type of moan? I lowered my body like a linebacker and looked inward. Nothing visible. Had my fried brain finally created a new, fictional world just to keep me from going stir-crazy? I listened again. The sound stopped. It was nothing, just a sound mirage, or maybe the wind whistling through the immense trees.
I took in a breath.
“Michael!” I heard it before I saw anything. I jerked my head around, and I was tackled head-on, which sent us tumbling down a vine-covered hill, twisted and tangled, both of us yelling out of fear, out of pain...God only knows. Slipping, sliding off enormous dewy leaves.
Finally, the falling stopped. I felt my body parts, and they were all intact. But a girl sat on top of me. The lighting was poor, but she had dark hair.
“That shithead. When I get the chance, I'm going to kick him in the nuts,” she yelled, then brushed off leaves and pulled things out of her mouth and hair.
Her legs wrapped around my waist. Did I even know this person?
“Let's get the hell out of here, Michael.”
“You said my name.”
“Huh? Quit screwing around.” I could only make out her silhouette. Her head swung back and forth—like she was searching for someone—her dark hair flipping side to side. One swing smacked me in the face.
“You said my name.” Blood rushed to my brain. I hoped, prayed this was real, not a fantasy I'd pulled out of my ass to avert a mental breakdown.
I found my hands grabbing each side of her waist. She had trim, tight abs, but this didn't jog any memories. I still couldn't make out her face. Her youthful voice was lower than most girls'.
“Michael, are you okay?”
“I don't know who you are.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she exclaimed, irritation in her voice.
“It's a long story, but the good news is, you know me, right?”
“Know you? I worked for you. Are you tripping on some West Coast acid or something?”
“West Coast?” My head began to ache. I was lying at a downward angle, head first. I attempted to prop myself up on my elbows, while this person who says she knows me, worked for me even, straddled me like a horse.
She said, “I'm not going to deal with your...uh, situation right now.”
“Umm...” I tried to get her attention, so I'd be allowed to crawl out from under her and we could have a sane, adult conversation. But she continued surveying the hills and shrubs surrounding us, her mind apparently elsewhere.
“Look, Michael—”
“I like hearing my name. Michael. What's my last name?” I sounded like a five-year-old, but I didn't care. I finally had an identity—if she wasn't bullshitting me.
She mumbled something.
“What?”
She looked left to right twice more, the grip of her legs around my waist on the verge of cracking a rib.
“Hey, can you ease up a little? Jesus, I need to breathe.”
Another indecipherable mumble.
“Listen, can you act like I'm here? I'm a real-life person with a real-life brain. And while I do have a bulging knot on my head, I haven't broken any bones—not yet a
nyway.”
“Shit!”
“Huh?” I peered around, wondering what she saw. Maybe she didn't like my sassy attitude. “Hey, I'm sorry if I came across like a—“
“Duck!”
A split second later, I saw a fist the size of a HoneyBaked Ham two inches from my face.
Lights out.
Chapter Four
One Month Ago
This wasn't Los Angeles, so it couldn't have been a scene from an upcoming Bourne movie. The ax was real and so was the thick blade buried deep in the man's massive back, a matted, crimson shirt sticking to his skin.
I shot a glance at my fellow witnesses, most of whom had a date on their arms, as we encircled the man.
“Call nine-one-one!” I got down on one knee, picking up a sour, pungent odor...sweat, maybe blood. I scanned the body and lifted a hand toward his back, unsure if I should touch the ax handle.
“Don't touch it,” I heard a man's voice say.
“Get me some water, a towel,” I ordered to no one in particular, not sure how I'd use the accoutrements.
Just as a bottled water and a white towel appeared, a petite woman in a slate blue dress burst through the packed crowd and hovered over me and the body that had ceased movement.
“Dear God, Gustavo!” A slight accent came from the alluring blond girl from the bar, and The Natural fell to her knees. Water spilled from her turquoise eyes. Her shaking hands touched his cheek, and she moved closer, her face nearly touching his as she stroked his dark stubble.
She cried out again. “Gustavo, oh no. Please no!”
The man, who looked to be north of two hundred fifty pounds, didn't respond. I wanted to touch his neck, check for a pulse, but I took her lead. The Natural knew this person. Maybe it was her husband or boyfriend. He looked to be older, ten years or more. I held the open bottle of water and the towel, and could only think to offer them to her. I motioned in her direction, then we locked eyes, just briefly, like she recalled me from earlier, when piano keys danced in the background and pretty people frolicked like they didn't have a care in the world.
GREED Box Set (Books 1-4) Page 72
