Hearts Collide

by Masters, Ellie

  “She won’t be. I’m here and she’s…wherever the hell you’ve stashed her.”

  “That’s not how this is going to work.”

  “That’s exactly how this is going to work.”

  Forest could bluster all he wanted, but Bent was tired of being pushed around. This was between him and Piper. Forest could suck shit.

  “Look, I get you’re protective. I get that you have a history with Piper, but this is between me and her. Go ahead of me if you need to. Tell Piper my terms. I want to talk to her. You tell her, then come out and let me know if she’s good with it. But whatever happens I’m not talking to Piper with you hovering over my shoulder. What I need to tell her needs to be said alone.”

  Forest shook his head. “You’re all hopeless, but I hear ya.” He flipped his headset over his eyes. “I’ll be back in a second.”

  Bent watched as Forest’s fingers fluttered and stabbed at the air. Several minutes later, Forest lowered the headset.

  “Go ahead,” Forest said. “She’s agree to speak with you.”

  The bottom dropped out of Bent’s world. His stomach rose to his throat. He wanted to hurl and defecate at the same time. It wasn’t the same feeling as getting kicked in the nuts, but it was damn close. His hands shook as he lowered the headset. It was time to beg. He settled the VR headset over his eyes.

  A moment of disorientation followed until Forest’s virtual world settled around him. He found himself standing stage center. Noodles’s keyboards sat to his left. Spike’s guitar perched toward the front of the stage to the right. Bent’s bass sat on the opposite side of the stage, far left. Ash’s microphone stood front and center, with his guitar sitting in a stand just slightly to the rear. Bash’s drum kit dominated the back of the stage on an elevated platform. The entire scene was eerily quiet and tingles of electricity spiked along his nerves.

  He glanced around, not seeing Piper. In the silence, he approached his virtual guitar. Identical in every aspect to the real thing, he lifted it off the stand. Somehow, he felt it. The weight of the neck settled in his left hand. The fingers of his right hand hovered over the strings. His wasted, broken mess of a hand plucked at the strings, and a low warbling note rolled across the stage. It almost felt real…normal.

  On Stage

  Piper

  Piper watched Bent from offstage, hiding from him. Not because she was afraid to talk to him, but because she wanted to see what would happen when he didn’t think anyone was watching him.

  Fear wasn’t the primary emotion swirling in her gut. She didn’t fear him. Instead, a building anticipation raced in her veins. In the weeks she’d worked with Bent, she’d failed to reach him and break down the mental barriers keeping him from recovering the full use of his arm.

  A little trepidation did swirl in her gut. It mixed with a simmering excitement. The contrasting emotions made her a little sick to her stomach, but she was excited for him. If this worked, they could do so much together.

  Together.

  Now that was a complicated word. They would continue to work closely with each other. What had happened in the hall outside Bent’s rooms needed to be discussed, both the chokehold and the kiss.

  That kiss changed everything, but how that would play out remained unclear. She’d gone to Forest in tears and begged to be released from her contract. Bent had her thoughts in a tailspin and confused as hell. She wanted more of his kiss, but his aggression concerned her. Okay, it had terrified her. She had to sort through what that meant, because she still wasn’t afraid of Bent himself.

  His rugged looks turned many heads, and not because he was a rock star. He was the kind of man who silenced a room with his entrance. He turned heads and set hearts to fluttering. Her heart had skipped beats around him, but she’d been very careful to hold that in check. Theirs was a professional relationship, and she’d been able to maintain a certain distance because he was a client and nothing more. Now, he had flipped everything upside down, turning nothing into something more, or at least the potential for more.

  Her heart had run full tilt during that kiss. She’d liked it, and hadn’t stopped thinking about it. Even now, she wanted his lips on her and fantasized about more.

  With a shake of her head, she focused back on Bent. He had slung the guitar strap over his head and stared at his instrument. He held the neck with confidence. His left hand, thick and strong, moved up and down the neck while his fingers danced along the frets.

  Piper knew next to nothing about music, and zero about playing guitar, but it seemed as if he was playing a song. The only problem lie in his right hand. She hoped the tweaks Forest had implemented worked.

  Many things in the VR world paled with reality. Hands were one of them. She lifted hers and stared at them. They didn’t look real, a bit too long, spindly, and blocky. Her mind told her these were not in fact her hands. However, she’d read an article about transference and that would be how she broke through Bent’s walls.

  The experiment was a simple one. An investigator would sit someone down at a table where there was a lifelike, but fake, left arm with attached hand placed on a table. The subject would put on a jacket, sliding into white sleeves with long cuffs. They would sit in front of the arm, place their right hand on the table, then they would place their left hand alongside the fake hand. A divider would be placed between their hand and the fake one. Looking down, their right hand and the fake hand looked like both their real hands.

  The really cool part was in what came next. The person running the experiment would touch the person’s real hand behind the divider and the fake hand at the same time, a feather-like touch. The person saw the fake hand being stroked while feeling their real hand also being stroked. It took a couple minutes, but eventually the person transferred perception to the fake hand, believing it was in fact theirs.

  If the experimenter then shoved a needle into the fake hand, the people reacted. They believed a needle was actually being poked through their skin. Many said they felt real pain, even though nothing had been done.

  Piper wanted this for Bent. She needed him to look at his virtual hands, watch them as he played, and begin to believe they were in fact his real hands. In a way, they were. It wasn’t a true reproduction of the classic transference experiment, but she had high hopes.

  Forest had used image capture technology, something he’d already been working on to improve the avatars in his virtual world. He’d scoured footage of Angel Fire concerts and Bent’s hands to tweak what Bent saw.

  For Piper, her virtual hands were clunky. For Bent, they looked exactly like his real hands. The real hands he used to have, rather than the emaciated hand he hated. As he played, her hopes were that he would settle into the illusion, deep enough that he might actually try to play.

  Right now, only his left hand moved up and down the neck of the guitar. His right arm rested on the guitar and his right hand hovered over the strings. There were only four strings on a bass guitar. Something else she hadn’t known, but Forest had explained the difference. Forest had also built Bent’s avatar with a short-sleeved shirt. Again, he’d built up the illusion using footage from hundreds of concerts.

  “You going to watch me from the shadows, Piper? Or are we going to talk?”

  Bent stared out toward where the crowd would be. His gaze cast about, but he couldn’t see her, and wouldn’t, until she activated her avatar’s presence.

  “I know you’re here.” He turned to check out the back of the stage.

  She took in a deep breath. Skulking in the shadows wasn’t her style.

  “I’m here.” Her avatar materialized near the front of the stage. “It looked like you were playing something, but I couldn’t hear.”

  “I was just running the frets…” He lifted his right hand. “My hand…”

  “That’s not your real hand. Things work differently in here.”

  He glanced down and strummed. The strings vibrated and let loose a deep buzzing sound.

 
“Wow, that’s…it’s amazing Bent.”

  He walked over to her. “We need to talk.”

  She had to get through to him. “Talk while playing.”

  “Piper.”

  She took a step back. “Nonnegotiable. You want to talk, then talk, but do it while playing. That’s the only way I’ll listen.”

  “Seriously? We’re going to argue about this?”

  Piper shook her head. “We’re not arguing. I said nonnegotiable. Whatever you want to say, I’ll listen, but only if you’re playing.”

  “It’s gonna sound like shit.”

  The one thing she missed about VR were facial expressions. He stared back at her, the face devoid of emotion. She imagined the smirk Bent would have on his face and the way his lips would have twisted when he had said shit. Instead, the flat features of his avatar smothered the emotion.

  “I don’t care what it sounds like. I just want to hear you play.”

  Please play.

  “It’s not real.” He waved about. “Everything in here is fake.”

  “No talking without playing.”

  “You’re fucking serious about this?”

  “I’m out of here if you don’t.”

  “Can’t we talk in real life? This is kind of weird. I can’t see your expressions.”

  “No.”

  “Look, I know you don’t feel safe… not after what I did.”

  “I’m serious Bent,” she said, “if you’re not playing, I’m out of here. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. It doesn’t even have to be a song. You could tune the strings for all I care, but you will play, or I will leave.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  “Then play.” She gestured to the guitar.

  He plucked at the strings with his injured hand. Deep vibrations filled the stage.

  “It feels strange.” He looked at his virtual hand, wriggled the fingers, and plucked at the strings again. “What a weird sensation.”

  “How?”

  “I can almost feel the strings.”

  “Forest engineered a special glove for you. It’s programmed to feedback directly to your muscles.”

  “I thought it looked weird. Did you see the glove?”

  “I did.”

  “Makes me look robotic.”

  She shrugged, but wasn’t certain if the gesture translated into their strange world. “Keep playing. I like the sound. It rumbles deep in my chest.”

  Another sensation throbbed at the juncture between her thighs. Her entire body vibrated and not from the music. That kiss kept replaying in her head. He had said he wanted to talk about it, but he seemed to be talking about anything other than what had happened in that hall. That was fine with her. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that conversation.

  What was she going to tell him? Choking me really, really turned me on until it didn’t? Kiss me again you fool, I loved it? Dominate me, but don’t make it that real…He would think she was insane. This—this!—was why she didn’t date. If she didn’t understand how her body worked then how could she expect a man to figure it out?

  His voice pulled her from the complexity of her thoughts. “Bass isn’t really given the credit it deserves.” Bent’s fingers picked at the strings. “It carries the backbone of a song. The soul and power of the music rides on the back of the bass.”

  “I thought that was the drums?”

  He cocked his head. “Maybe, but I consider Bash as more as the leader for the song. His drums take us where we need to go and keeps all of us on the same page. We just fill in the gaps, layering sound on top of the beat he lays down.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that. I always thought it was the lead guitar and keyboard that led the song.”

  “A lot of people do. They are the movement, the intricate dance holding the melody lines. They string together the notes that you want to sing along with. It’s what you remember in your head, but without bass and drums, they aren’t fully formed. It’s like the drums are the heart of the music. Bass is the skeleton. The lead guitar and keyboard fill out the muscles and flesh. Vocals are all the pretty stuff layered on top…the words that sink into your head and imprint on your soul.”

  “I like how you describe music. I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

  “It’s the truth, but I have a secret.”

  “Yes?” If he was willing to start sharing secrets, it meant she was finally making headway.

  “I like to play alone. I love the power of a bass solo, but there’s nothing that compares with when we’re all playing together.” He fingered the frets and played. “I miss it.”

  She wanted to scream, Then play! Instead, she kept her tone level and conversational.

  Music came out of his guitar, hesitant and unsure, but Bent played and refined the sound. While he played, he talked. Not about the issues between them, but about his love for the band, for music, and for the fans that made it all worthwhile.

  “I never considered how much musicians draw from the crowd.”

  “It’s pretty insane, but true. We’re in a symbiotic relationship with our fans, where the whole truly is greater than the sum of the parts.”

  “I hate that you won’t play. It’s obvious you really love it.”

  During their conversation, he hadn’t once tried to start an argument. She took that as a good sign.

  “I know you’re expecting some miracle, Piper, but it’s not going to happen.”

  He stopped playing and cast out to the empty void where a crowd would be. She noticed the pause and an idea struck her. Using the control panel on her wrist, she tapped out a request for Forest.

  “I’m not expecting miracles. I just want you to try. If it doesn’t work, you haven’t lost anything, but if you never try…what if I’m right and you’re wrong? What if this isn’t gone from your life?”

  He paused and glanced around the stage, his attention moved from the drum set to Noodles’s keyboards, and up front to the solitary microphone standing all alone. Ash played guitar as well, supporting Spike’s lead, but tended to sing more than play when on stage.

  “I’m tired of disappointing everyone.”

  “You stopped playing, Bent. Do you want me to leave?”

  “You sure as shit are serious about that, aren’t you?”

  “When we’re in here, you play. You won’t try in the real world, but the glove compensates for the weakness of your hand. I’ve beat my head against the wall trying to convince you otherwise. In here, you have no excuses. And I’m serious, I’ll leave if you don’t play.”

  He plucked on the strings. She remained quiet, watching brilliance at work. In her silence, he ran the fret, the fingers of his good hand flew faster than she could follow, then slowed for a few notes before picking up speed again. She had never actually watched someone play guitar, let alone bass, and didn’t really understand the intricacies of how everything worked.

  It wasn’t perfect, the sound. Bent struggled with his right hand and made mistakes. Outside in the real world, Forest actively tweaked the feedback from the glove based on this initial run.

  They’d talked about how to approach rehabilitating Bent in the VR world. All she’d given Forest had been the roughest of ideas. He’d taken it from there, speaking about heuristics, feedback loops, computer learning and AI interfaces, slamming so far past her basic understanding it was as if he were speaking a foreign language.

  Her understanding was limited only to the very core of what they were trying to accomplish, but she knew what she wanted. Forest understood how to make that happen. Like the band and the crowd, she and Forest had a symbiotic relationship going, at least in this project. The other remained one hundred percent in Forest’s hands.

  “Hey, can we like sit in here?” Bent spun around, looking for a stool.

  “I think you have to request a chair.”

  “Don’t want a chair. How about a stool? How do I do that?”

  “I can text Forest and let h
im know. I’m sure he’ll figure it out.” She passed along the message.

  “Aren’t you tired of standing?”

  Showing concern for her comfort came as a surprise. Bent had never asked about her before. She glanced down at her avatar and laughed.

  “I’m actually sitting right now.”

  “Weird…I think I am too. At least I remember sitting.” He paused for a second. “Yup, ass is on the chair. It feels like we’re standing though, right? I’m not just making that up?”

  A tingle of excitement surged inside of her. Transference had begun. If he thought he was really standing, then there was a good chance he actually felt like he was playing. It was too early to count this as a success, but she had high hopes for what this could mean.

  “Forest has shown me only the barest little bit of what this thing can do,” she said. “He’s got simulations upon simulations. There’s a game he’s working on too, like a fantasy adventure. Your character has to hike, run, ride horses, drive wagons, and all kinds of stuff. And you do it all while sitting down.”

  “Seems like a waste.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, imagine if you could hook it up to a treadmill. It would be a really cool way to exercise.”

  “He showed me an underwater mockup.” She couldn’t help but smile. “Now that felt weird.”

  A stool materialized beside Bent and a couch behind her.

  “Looks like Forest has delivered the goods.”

  She plopped down on the couch while Bent pulled the stool close. He dutifully kept his guitar going. It was a mess of sound, random plucks and strums of the strings. Cords changed but nothing ever materialized into a real song. Piper was okay with that. It would come with time, and she needed to be careful not to stress Bent’s hand. His fingers weren’t used to the demands of the fine movements. For now, Forest had the gain turned up on the glove. The glove augmented most of what Bent was doing, but with time, and as Bent’s strength and dexterity recovered, that would scale back.

  “Can you play me something?”

  “What would you like?”