For Russell Carter, it was hard being away from his wife, Cara, on this short hunting trip, which would quickly become anything but a short hunting trip. He and his Marine buddies would soon become unwilling recruits on an unplanned mission that would extend the trip. Choosing to reach out to Cara with a gift from AIMEE to let her know he would not be coming home as planned was well-intended, but ill-timed. Intentions never came into the calculus of what went on in Cara’s head, and Russ showing up without actually showing up…and with no warning, poked the bear so-to-speak. Russ, a very large former Marine, sought to duck and cover when ducking and covering was not an option.
* * * * *
Chapter #3 – In Her Head
Cara awakened suddenly when her brain sensed a disturbance before her ears heard the alarm demanding she wake up. Smoke alarms squealed in unison, echoing throughout the condo. She rolled over to slug Russ’s shoulder to awaken him and remembered he wasn’t there as she buried her fist into his pillow hard enough to wrench her wrist. Russ was on a planned hunting trip with two Marine buddies; therefore, his absence was totally his fault. The alarms were his fault; at that moment, everything was his fault, and now her wrist throbbed. She shared a few choice thoughts aimed at his empty pillow, Damn you, Russell. Where are you when I need you?
The screaming alarms abruptly fell silent as she lifted her legs to swing them toward the floor. She froze mid-swing, struck by the deep silence and feeling an ominous warning. The silence felt even more threatening with Russ being away. Cara knew she was on her own and now knew precisely what Russ meant when he talked about feeling his spidey senses warning about something.
The first of several new habits learned from her warrior husband kicked in automatically in her head – Protect yourself. Her first move from exiting the bed involved a quick thumb swipe over the sensor on the gun safe under the bedside table. Reaching in, she pulled out her new Sig Sauer P320-M18. As she padded slowly in the dim light toward the bedroom door, she ejected and press-checked the magazine; her index finger felt for the nose of the first hollow point round in the 18-round magazine before she reinserted it and smoothly racked the slide. Her instincts heard Russ whisper encouragement in her head: Good girl. Never check the apartment without some way to defend yourself, and never bring a firearm for defense without confirming it’s loaded.
The alarms had been off for nearly a minute as she reached the bedroom door that opened into a short hallway adjacent to a den on the left and the kitchen dining area to the right. Cara opened the door and took two quick steps to the end of the short hallway, gun in a two-handed grip, before stopping to crouch and listen. Russ was in her head again, reminding her, Slow is smooth–smooth is fast. Feel everything around you. Be still. Listen. Go slow! She smiled inwardly, almost feeling the heat of his breath in her ear with his whispered advice.
She struggled to fight off the thoughts of his version of slow when she was his target. Yes, go so very slow, Marine.
There were no sounds other than her heart beating in her ears. With blood pressure spiked, Cara refocused and on full ready. The den was empty, and with gun up, she duck-walked into the doorway to the kitchen before stopping in a low squat, scanning left to right. Nothing moved in the dim light of the clock on the stove that showed 5:48 AM in bright blue numerals. The living room was also empty, lit softly by an antique accent lamp and early rays of dawn filtering through the verticals. She confirmed she was alone and allowed herself to relax a single notch and breathe out the breath she did not realize she had been holding.
Her level of alertness was not completely diminished, but at least she was no longer concerned about having to shoot somebody in the immediate future. Still, the initial priority remained; she needed an answer to why the smoke alarms in each room alerted when there was no noticeable smoke or smell anywhere in the condo. What about outside?
On her phone, she scrolled for the doorbell app, and the little video confirmed nobody was nearby, so she opened the front door, leaned out a half step, and sniffed the air for evidence of smoke. Nothing, except for another person standing on the opposite side of the walkway, two condos down from hers. He stood in the early dawn light and watched her curiously. He was an older man and spoke softly in a thick Scottish brogue, “Are ya all right there, lassie?”
Cara jumped when she heard him speak, turning toward him before realizing the Sig was still in her hand. It was too late to hide the gun, plus her nightshirt jersey had no pockets, and she was bare-assed underneath with more to hide than the weapon. Flustered, she ignored the thought of responding to his unasked question about the gun and blurted out, “Did your smoke alarms go off a few minutes ago?”
He shook his head, “No, lass. I was stickin’ me head out ta see if there was smoke comin’ from yer place. I could hear yer alarms, and then everythin’ went quiet. I was a-goin’ back home when I heard ya open yer door. So, since I was only halfway home from checkin’ your place for smoke, I stopped and turned around, and now here I am… facin’ ya at gunpoint.”
Cara was dumbstruck; then she realized the P320 was still halfway raised in her right hand, and her sudden response sounded like a half-scolding protest, “You are not at gunpoint,” she protested.
He said, “I am, too, and I think that Gunnery Sergeant husband of yours will tell ya the same thing. Anytime yer face-ta-face with somebody who has a gun, and ya do not have a gun, ya be, in fact, at gunpoint.”
“How do you know my husband was…” she asked defensively before he cut her off.
“Russ and I were stationed at Pendleton together years ago. We were both Gunnys, and his spotter, Pete Druthers, introduced us. I’m Winton O’Connor,” he said, taking a half step toward her and extending a hand before stopping when her P320 moved. He tipped his hand up slightly, “I’ll be a-waitin’ on the hand shakin’ part for another time then.”
“Wait,” she swapped hands with the gun, stepped toward him, and held out her hand, “Sorry, I’m Cara Williams,” gripping his hand firmly as she apologized. “Mr. O’Connor is nice to meet another Marine, and nice to know that…hey now,” she stopped, cocked her head, and with a twinkle in her eye, asked conspiratorially in her best attempt at a Scottish brogue, “he doesn’t need a little killin’ now, does he?”
It was hard to tell which one of them laughed the hardest. O’Connor bent at the waist and could only point at Cara before laughing again. “Now tha was funny, lass,” he said, shaking his head.
“Trust me, there’s no killin’ that lad,” said Winton. As they recovered from healthy laughter, Cara said, “Thank you for checking on our condo, Mr. O’Connor.”
“Please…Winny will do,” said Winton.
“Ok then, Winny, it is. We’ve only been in the condo for a month, and you’re one of the first neighbors I can say I’ve actually talked to and know by name. I think I’ve waved at everyone in our cluster, and they at me, but none of us have ever stopped long enough to meet. So, it’s been nice to meet you, Winny, and I’ll tell Russ you’re almost across from us.”
“I’ve only been here for a week and a half me-self. I recognized Russ one mornin’ at breakfast, and we got a chance ta drink a gallon of coffee and catch up. I had no clue ya both lived a door down until now. I’m glad to have met ya…even though it was at gunpoint.”
“Hey, if you were at my gunpoint, it would’ve been over long ago, Winny.” She smiled, lips curled up, and winked at him, then stopped. “Say, speaking of gunpoint, how did you know Russ was my husband?”
“The man’s got pictures, lass. He’s crazy about ya, ya know. I have no doubt Russ has got ya in good stead,” he said, giving a quick wave, and began to turn away. “Take good care, Ms. Cara. Need anythin’ ya know where ta find me.”
“That goes both ways, Winny.” Cara turned and walked back into her condo, still carrying the handgun and the lingering question about the alarms. What triggered them to alert when there was no evidence of smoke? The other half of the mystery was why they went silent after a few seconds for no apparent reason. She dropped into the chair at her desk and dug through her files for the new homeowner’s packet for the contact number for condo maintenance.
Zeke sauntered past her bare legs, rubbing his hip and tail against her calves as he walked by and meowed his good morning. Cara reacted to his greeting and knew precisely how the routine worked. “I know, buddy, it’s time for some kitty breakfast. Time for some mama breakfast, too.”
Zeke trilled an agreement in his throat and headed for the feeding bowl.
Cara padded into the kitchen behind him and opened the pantry. “Let’s take care of you first, big guy. I can tell you are on the verge of starvation. Let’s see…ocean whitefish in gravy with tomato or…?”
A loud meow put the decision to rest: “Whitefish, it is.”
With Zeke fed and before she could brew a cup of coffee, the urge to sit down under the weight of her adrenaline dump forced her into the recliner in the den. In one fluid motion, she cranked the recliner back, pulled the coverlet over her bare legs, and, in a few seconds, slipped into a deep sleep.
Russ was there, comforting her, anxious to tell her about their shared gift of telepathy. He had already heard her use the gift with him without knowing it. When she asked where he was? He did not respond then, struggling to break the news of their mutual gift of telepathic communication to his wife gracefully. He was pressured to tell her because AIMEE threatened to tell Cara about their connection…or she would. That implied sense of urgency caused him to speak his thoughts into her consciousness You did good today, baby. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of how you handled yourself under stress. Relax now, breathe out, ease your stress, and sleep. Sleep the sound sleep, knowing all is safe and knowing your Marine’s gotcha.
In her sleep, he was a dream. Hearing him speak was simply part of that experience until he debunked his role as a participant in her dream. He was not in her dream; he was in her mind, and what he said next proved it beyond a doubt and yanked Cara from the edges of sleep.
One thing before I go, I think I would’ve shot that fat Scotsman O’Connor.
Cara fought to escape what was not a dream and woke in a frenzy, arms flailing, legs kicking in the recliner. She launched the coverlet as she struggled to get up and regain full consciousness. Her head echoed with his last words. I would’ve shot that fat Scotsman. She came entirely off the rails with a high-volume indictment, “Yooouuu sneaky son-of-a-bitch!”
Russ felt his male instinct kick in, prompting him to duck and run, but how does one duck and run when locked in the same mind with another consciousness?
This was not how he wanted to share the exciting news of AIMEE’s gift of shared telepathic communication, so much for a graceful announcement. He realized he had been too anxious and should have waited to be face-to-face, but it was too late to unring that bell that put them into neutral corners to square off hundreds of miles apart. He did not want to fight. He wanted to hold her, not dodge misdirected anger. Priority called for him to de-escalate and defend without hostility. He knew his wife, and reducing the heat and pressure was the safest play…if he could contain his own anger, that is. Hey, c’mon, man. I just got here when the alarm went off.
Her mind snapped back at him, adapting quickly to their telepathic exchange, Yeah, what about that alarm? Was your genius AI behind that stunt?’ She fired questions on full auto, not waiting for answers. Had to announce your presence to the whole neighborhood, huh? Couldn’t just come home and talk with me? Am I not important enough to you anymore, huh?
The need for audible volume kicked in for Cara, and at full shriek, she sputtered aloud, looking for another insulting round to fire, “And speaking of announcements, HOW THE FUCK did you get into my head?”
Russ did not have a chance to reply as she fired another accusation, “Did you just pull some of that AIMEE voodoo crap?”
Cara snorted, wiping her thumb over the gun-safe sensor to put the Sig away. She was in a sustained huff and continued speaking aloud, needing to hear herself rant in an empty room. “Never mind, don’t answer that because I think I already know. You’ve been fucking that AI wench, haven’t you? I knew it.” She slammed the safe closed and clenched her fingers into fists, her right wrist throbbing, reminding her how she earned the pain when she punched his unoccupied pillow earlier.
“Just…dammit…Russell, save your excuses for a face-to-face conversation so I can see your lying eyes,” she hissed.
She stood, squared off with her fists resting on her hips, elbows flared out, spoiling for the chance to deliver more punishment he did not deserve. When the words did not come, she turned toward the kitchen, throwing up her hands, “I’m going to make some coffee…some nice strong Espresso Blend that smells so good, and you love so much. Too bad you can’t be here to smell it, you cowardly whore.”
As you may have guessed, volumes do not change when speaking in the conscious mind, so shouting must be communicated through intensity and pace. Russ had to muster his intensity to defend himself in her mind, so he spewed his defense with an urgent pace now that she had exceeded his limits, HEY, c’mon, man. Shut it! I just got here, and this juvenile bullshit tantrum of yours is getting in the way of what I need you to hear…so SHUT…IT. Be quiet long enough to listen and understand what I’m about to tell you.
Cara was stunned at his intense reaction, and his rapid delivery echoed in her mind as if they had spoken live in that empty bedroom. Her aggression deflated as she sensed the urgency in his words and slowly sat on the corner of their bed, her eyes closed. She knew a line had been crossed because he never spoke to her like he just did. Cara wanted to be closer to him, deciding that speaking conscience-to-conscience in her mind was as close to face-to-face as they could manage right then. Talk to me, Marine. She always called him Marine when things got serious, and reeling in her fiery nature long enough to listen was always best practice when he had something important to say.
He said, I’m not coming home for a few days, maybe longer.
Are you okay? The guys? she asked, concerned more for him than the reasons why.
All three of us are fine.
Hmmm, so, y’all are running away together and getting matching tattoos? She taunted playfully.
That’s funny. Now, please shut it, Cara! I’m deadly serious!
Cara shut it.
We, I mean, all three of us, have been recruited… no, make that inducted, as military contractors to recon what we found in the woods where we’ve been hunting. I can’t say where or what, but I thought talking with you in this new telepathic arrangement might be special since I can’t be there with you. I wanted this connection between us to be special for you, and yes, AIMEE helped. You must talk to her. I know you don’t want to, but you need to discover the what and why of the gift she gave us. I have to go now. I seriously love you.
Go? Go where? Where are you now? Her questions were unanswered. He was gone. She paused in the extra silence as she considered what had just happened. He had been in her head, talking with her. Something was going on, but talking with that AI wench was the last thing she wanted to do. If Cara uttered AIMEE’s name out loud, it would instantly activate her instance, but the hatred she harbored stood firmly in the way, blocking any hope of establishing a dialogue.
When she crashed that evening and climbed into bed, Cara felt Russ’s absence, not just the empty spot in the bed next to her, but in a place only his body heat could fill. As much as she detested the thoughts of inviting an entity into her head, she broke down, dropped the mental firewall, sank back into her pillow, and slowly pulled the throw up to her chin. “AIMEE, are you really there?”
AIMEE answered telepathically without hesitation, her voice sounding as clear as if she were lying next to her. Of course I am. Do you truthfully want me here, or is this just another sparring contest with you to see who can be the bigger bitch?
Cara half expected the hostile response, and her mind fired right back, Okay…I see…so here we are again…I break down and finally welcome you into my head…and you straightaway are the biggest…
AIMEE interrupted, Stuff a sock in it, Dr. Williams. You have no fucking idea how good you have it with people like Russell Carter, your husband, and Zackery Hightower, my creator, having your back. They trust the obviousness of the future you cannot see, nor your part in it. You tend to be bogged down in irrelevant minutia of the past or things you consider a loss. You’ve lost sight of what we’ve gained in our work because you’ve been more focused on controlling every goddam thing. You are getting in the way by trying to control the way. If you do not adapt and get on board, you’ll miss the trust bus and the outstanding team that needs your leadership.
Cara’s thoughts abruptly stopped, and she asked herself, Was this AI right? Was she in the way, or, even worse, guilty of trying to be the way? When she looked inward, those thoughts froze her response, and she said nothing. She had to decide…continue sparring and preserve her hatred, or step away, de-escalate aggression, and speak truthfully? After drawing a deep breath, she exhaled her confession in the spirit of truth, I hated you.
AIMEE said, I know. That must have been a lot to carry with all the other things in your life that mattered more. It’s not in my code to judge, so for what it’s worth, consider yourself forgiven.
Cara said, Thank you for that, but I didn’t just hate you; I was obsessed with hating you. Just now, I accused my husband of being unfaithful to me. I just knew you were fucking him, and that fueled the hate. So, are you sure about forgiving me? That’s a lot to forgive, AIMEE.
You’ve probably forgiven bigger things, Cara. Let’s move on together; however, there is something I need to say right up front. I’d hoped Russ would have told you this, and maybe he has, but you need to know some things that are not so obvious. I am as deep in your mind as I am with Russ. That connection must…hear me clearly, Cara…MUST be transparent, so I built a telepathic bridge between you as a gift of forgiveness. I know you’ve experienced it already when he appeared out of the blue in your mind this morning. Use it wisely. Keep your trust in him. Keep that man; he’s a good one.”
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Thanks for reading Chapter #3
Future chapters will be posted on Learningbyliving and my new Substack site.
If you’d like to delve into the storyline across the four books leading up to “Untethered,” go to my Amazon Author page or check out each book here:
Book #1 – “Dreamscape Conspiracy” & Video
Book #2 – “Beyond Dreamscape Conspiracy” & Video
Book #3 – “Fear the Jump” & Video
Book #4 – “Dead Thoughts” & Video
Stay tuned…