His hand dragged down his face. A bad dream. A nightmare caused by all of his mother’s incessant lectures about wasted life and the need to start his family. So, this wasn’t real. But what about Shawn?
What
had he said? Something nagged at him for a moment before it snapped into place.
The hospital. Shawn had said that his best friend was in the hospital. No, but
that could be part of the dream.
He
grabbed for the phone again and dialed quickly. “Misty?”
“Yes?”
She sounded puzzled. That could still be a dream, though.
“Misty,
I need you to listen, and I need you to not hang up…and I need you to think
with that fantastical writer-mind of yours.”
“Who
are you?”
“It’s
Cameron.”
“False.
Try again.”
“Are
you at the hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Am
I awake?”
“My
brother is not awake, but before you try some sort of out-of-body story, he was
awake a few minutes ago, and he’s been muttering off and on for the last twenty
minutes since he passed out.”
“About
what?”
“Like
I’m going to tell you?”
“Your
favorite pair of underwear is pink with blue stripes because you think it makes
you look like one of those anime ecchi girls. You did wear them once, but felt
so embarrassed that you actually came home early from your date.”
Silence.
The good kind. The kind that let him know he’d shaken her belief enough to
think about it.
“It’s
not possible.”
“Your
brother would never share those kinds of details with people for a joke.”
“But
I’m looking at my brother,” she insisted.
“Help
me. I don’t understand it. I’m stuck in some desert place in the body of a very
large Mexican man and a poor woman who expects to see her husband, and there’s
at least one kid in the picture, though I haven’t seen her in person yet, and
the worst part is that I feel like I remember some of it, so I’m thinking it
has to be some sort of super realistic dream, but I’ve already pinched myself
and that didn’t work.” He stopped babbling and waited, praying for her to come
up with a solution. She had much more creativity than he did.
“Where
are you, exactly?”
Cameron
searched the area for clues. “Tucson.” The yellow phonebook looked like some
castoff vintage artifact. People still made those?
“Tucson?
What would you be doing in Tucson?”
“Why
are you asking me that? I called you!”
“Alright,
alright, calm down. How do you feel? Do you hurt at all?”
“Hurt?
I have an entirely different body, Misty. Why would I hurt?”
“Can
you feel this?”
He
frowned. “Don’t hurt my body.”
“I’m
just squeezing your arm.”
Cameron
stared down at Peter’s arm, willing himself to feel something, but there was no
additional sensation on the deep brown skin.
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“Hmmm.
Give me time to think about it. What’s your cell?”
“No
cell. I thought for a moment I’d gone back in time or something. They have a
corded land-line and a Yellow Pages.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah.”
She
made a noise in her throat. “Alright, call me back in a bit and I’ll think
about it.”
That
was the best he was likely to get. At least she believed him. He hung up and
turned again. “Your name is Celina?”
She
nodded. “How do you know?”
“I’m
not sure.” How crazy would he sound if he said he dreamed about her? Probably
no crazier than saying he wasn’t her husband in his body. “Look, Celina, I’m
really sorry about all of this. I swear I’ll do everything I can to get your
husband back for you.”
“Your
sister is Misty?”
“Yeah—is
that a good thing?”
The
lines in her face lessened; she looked almost ready to cry. “I thought—I
thought he was cheating on me and—”
She
dropped her head into her hand, and suddenly she was crying. Cameron moved on
autopilot, pulling her into his arms. Of course she would, after that jerk of
an ex-husband. “There, there, mi amor. No te lloras.”
She
gasped and pulled away, staring up at him. “What did you say?”
Cameron
let her go, backing up with the same sick dread that seemed almost a part of
this body. “I, I’m not sure.”
“You
speak Spanish?”
“Nope.”
He shook his head, then stopped. “Yes, I do know Spanish, but, I mean, it’s not
like I speak it, like, I wouldn’t. It just slipped out like that. Probably
because of this house and this body. It just felt like the right thing to say.”
He spun away. “I need to go. This is a bad situation and there’s not really a
way to make it any better besides leaving.”
“What
about Peter?”
He
stopped midway to the door. “I don’t know.”
“You
can’t just leave. What if something happens and you suddenly go back to
wherever you came from and then he’s just disoriented or confused? He could get
hurt.”
“So,
I should stay here? What about when my T comes home? She’s going to expect her
papa, and I’m not him.”
“Papa?
Peter, if this is some sort of game, it’s not funny. No one calls her T but
you. Now I’m giving you to the count of three before I go to my mother’s house
for the weekend.”
“No.”
Cameron’s hands came up so fast he felt the muscle cramp. This body probably
didn’t move much. Ce threatened to go to her mother’s regularly, but she also
followed through. “No, come on now. Give me a little time to figure out what’s
going on and we’ll work through this.”
“Peter?”
She asked again, brows lifted.
“No.
Cameron. He doesn’t joke like this.”
“How
would you know?”
Good
question. “I think your husband and I are somehow connected. I swear I’ve
dreamed about you before.” He decided for the truth. Ce hated when he beat
around the bush.
“What
about Peter’s work?”
“Work?”
He almost laughed.
“He’s
a security guard.”
“You’re
kidding, verdad?” Except she wasn’t, and he knew it. How many times had he
imagined the kind of dead-end job his mother always nagged about? Sitting in
front of monitors and eating jelly donuts through the whole endless, boring,
never-ending night. “Oh, please no.”
Was
this like the incarnation of everything he secretly dreaded in the world? “I’ll
call in sick.”
“You
can’t. They said if you call in one more time—”
“Oh,
right.” He remembered that.
Remembered?
Cameron
slammed his palm into his head and just held it there, staring at nothing. Was
he crazy? He must be crazy. The accident. This had to be the result of the
accident—maybe a tumor. Those sometimes cause hallucinations, didn’t they?
Wasn’t the movie Powder about something like that happening?
“Pe—Cameron?”
she said, quiet and hesitant.
The
sound pulled at his heartstrings. The thickness in her voice warned that she
was about to crack, something he absolutely could not abide. “Don’t worry. I’ll
go to work for him and I’ll figure out what to do about all of this tomorrow.”
“Well,”
she wrung her hands for a moment, “should I make you dinner?”
Cameron
felt a strange shot of guilt with no idea why. She made dinner every night.
“No, let me cook for you.”
The
look she gave him could have been comical. A twinge of fear mixed with a
healthy dose of distrust. She thought he was an axe murderer, ready to poison
her. Peter didn’t offer to cook; Peter would have walked into the adjoining
living room, turned on the TV, and tossed back a beer, even knowing that he had
to leave for work in an hour.
“Can
I help, at least?” he offered.
“Perhaps
you should shower and dress?”
Cameron
nodded his head, feeling more depressed and confused by the minute. Back in the
bedroom, he picked out the recognizable uniform shirt from among several and
just stared at the tent-like material. Carrying that and one of many pairs of
thick black slacks, he headed toward the bathroom.
Allowing
his body to go into autopilot, Cameron focused on what he understood, which was
not much. Aside from the accident, and the déjà vu moments of memories related
to Celina and her family, he had nothing else to go on. He’d never been to
Tucson. What state was that even in? He’d heard a really old song that
mentioned the city once, maybe Nevada? So how did his mind jump from New York
to Nevada, and why Peter’s mind? If it was all just a nasty hallucination,
wouldn’t he have selected a place he’d at least been before?
His
thoughts churned sluggishly, but he had plenty of body to wash, and by the time
he was done thinking he was also clean enough to turn off the water. Drying was
an Olympic feat, and he still missed the triangle between his shoulder blades.
Grumbling about his sticking shirt, he combed out his hair and headed back down
the short hallway to the dining room.
Celina
set out a bowl of rice. Warm tortillas and a smothered burrito already waited
by his spot and Teresa sat on the edge of her seat, excited for the upcoming
meal. Cameron took his place, trying to act nonchalant.
“Mijita,
como fue tus clases?” He asked.
“School
is boring.” Teresa made a face. “You should let mama homeschool me like Tia
Sandra does.”
“Your
aunt doesn’t work outside the home. She has a little more ability to watch over
her children in their activities than I do.” Celina set a much smaller version
of Peter’s burrito in front of T and settled a third plate in the last spot
opposite Cameron.
“Plus,
you’re too smart. We can’t keep up with you.” Cameron smiled down at her. It
felt so natural to talk to her as she beamed back at him, eyes alight with
youthful excitement.
“Papa,
when’s your next weekend off so we can do something together?”
“Eh?”
He widened his eyes in mock disbelief. “Play? I don’t play! Besides, we played
last week.”
She
laughed, taking his banter just the way he meant it. She was the perfect child
for a man like him.
Cameron
stopped himself and cleared his throat. What was he thinking? The thoughts felt
almost foreign, but there was no doubting they were his. The whole thing only
added to his confusion.
He
ate half of his burrito in silence. When he’d finished half, he put down his
fork. “Thank you, Celina. That was wonderful.”
“You
barely touched it.” She looked at him in concern. “Your body needs energy.”
“Believe
me, I’ll be fine.” He patted his gut affectionately, then rose. “I’ll take the
rest for my lunch.”
“That’s
not enough.” Celina protested, rising to her feet. “I’ve already got your lunch
made.”
She
opened the fridge and removed something that reminded Cameron of a small
backpack. It would have held enough food for a two-day hiking trip. Cameron
shook his head. “No. Way too much. I appreciate the thought, and your cooking,
but this is probably why we can’t afford to get new tires for my car, or a car
for you. I eat us out of house and home.”
“Papa?”
Teresa looked at him quizzically. “You’re acting weird.”
“I
know I am sweetie, but papas sometimes do that for a little while.” He looked
up at Celina. “I’m going to buy a cellphone, one of those single-use
month-to-month ones, so I can work on this problem. Can you write down…our…phone
number so I can put it in?”
Celina
nodded, once again hesitant as she moved toward the writing drawer and pulled
out the first pencil with lead in the tip. She scratched out the 7 digits and
handed it over while Cameron returned to the bedroom for the rest of his outfit
and gear. When he returned to the main room, he gave Teresa a tight hug
followed by a fake one for her mother before heading out to the beat-up old
truck that served their family well.
He,
at least, had a car. Celina walked to work each morning after seeing Teresa off
to the bus and walked home each afternoon. Cameron shook his head at their
family situation as he crammed his overly large midsection into the truck’s cab
between the steering wheel and the back of the seat.
After
monumental effort, he managed to insert the key and pulled away from their home
with Teresa waving frantically from the picture window.
Cameron
picked up a burner phone at the gas station and made calls to both Shawn and
his sister, though neither answered.
At
work, the déjà vu continued as he logged himself into the system; walked
through the metal detectors; and along foreign, familiar hallways. He paused
before rounding the last corner to the guard headquarters.
“That’s
exactly what I’m saying. You’ve got nothing. What I developed was on my time,
with my supplies, in my home.”
“But
it was based on your research and data collected here.”
“There’s
nothing to prove that.”
The
second speaker, a woman, growled. “We’ll see about that. My legal team will
decimate you and drive your stock prices right down with you. Let’s see if Mr.
Clement will continue to back you when your legal fees are higher than his
payouts!”
“You
have no idea what you’re messing with.”
Cameron
decided to make his presence known and turned the corner just in time to see
her slam a thick-sided box into the thin man’s chest. “I think it’s the other
way around, kid. You’ve got brains and smarts, but you don’t have common
sense.” She caught sight of Cameron and waved. “Escort this gentleman to the
edge of our property and make sure the gate guards are aware that Jerry’s no
longer welcome. I’ll have a formal restraining order filed by morning.”
Cameron
bent over, a monumental feat, and retrieved a fallen notebook. As he picked it
up, he couldn’t help seeing the contents. The list of times, dates and names
was obvious, but one caught his eye. “7pm - Go to sleep.”
Curiosity
piqued, he opened the book further, glad for Jerry’s distraction and continued
verbal fight with the head of research and development.
‘Don’t
forget to pick up Maury at 7:15 and have her to school by 7:30.’
Maury? A child?
Cameron looked up at the man before him, a recent graduate. As he did, shock
coursed through him. This was the man with the billion-dollar breakthrough. The
news report from this evening — yesterday?—sometime in Cameron’s past. It said
that Richard Clement’s investments into Jerry Wormheimer’s newest business
endeavors were paying off in a big way. Was it a coincidence that he was here
now? Was Jerry part of the dream because he’d watched that news not long before
the accident? But then, he hadn’t seen the entrepreneur’s face, just the
description of his newest business ideas that were revolutionizing the package
delivery industry.
Jerry
snatched the book from his fingers. “Back off, fatso. That’s mine.”
Cameron’s
eyes widened at the abuse. “Sorry, you dropped it and I picked it up.”
“What
did you see?” He flipped through a few pages, obviously glancing at the
contents for anything incriminating. One hand unconsciously tapped against his
thigh as he scanned each page.
“I
saw that we’ll need to subpoena that notebook because you’re too worried about
it for no reason.” Cameron frowned at him. “Come with me, please.”
The
head of R&D laughed at Cameron’s response and gave him an appraising look.
It grated on Cameron, but he understood her judgment. Despite his shower right
before leaving, he could already smell his own BO from the heat of the evening
on his AC-less drive over. In his former life, he wouldn’t expect a man like
that to understand potential legal implications. What a jerk he was! That would
have to change if he ever managed to get back to his own body.
Jerry
slammed the journal onto the top of his box, glaring toward Cameron. “Watch it,
worthless mass of a man, I’ll own this place soon enough and then I’ll fire you
for your impudence.”
“If
you ever managed to own this place, I’d make sure to let everyone know what
kind of man they’d be working for.” Cameron grabbed for his arm, but the
thinner researcher dodged back, cartwheeling the arm out of reach.
Cameron
growled. In his regular body he’d have taken down the guy with a quick punch to
the ribs, but the security training specifically required only necessary force.
“Please come with me, sir.”
“Keep
up, fatty.”
The
man scooted past, cocky head held high.
Cameron
couldn’t help himself. He kidney-punched the man lightly, scattering the box of
toys and supplies across the hallways while Jerry slammed into the wall as if
Cameron had taken a sledgehammer to him. Cameron regretted the outburst
immediately. He blew out a breath as he started gathering the man’s things back
into his box. Dang. Not even five minutes on the job and he’d already lost it.
Now what? Celina couldn’t get more hours if she tried, and who was going to
hire Peter with this body? It had taken him half a year to find this job…
“I’ll
say you were provoked, and he resisted your directive twice.” The manager said
quietly, joining in the cleanup with Jerry moaned like a beaten kitten.
“Doesn’t
matter what you say. They have the footage.” Cameron didn’t bother glancing
toward the cameras, although she did.
“I’ll
do what I can to protect you.”
“Don’t
bother. Just call the police and have him taken into custody. I’ll deal with
his things.”
The
woman rose to her feet, stiletto heels clicking along the floor as she hurried
to the nearest office.
Cameron
shook his head. What made women insane enough to put their full weight on a
half-inch diameter spot? Didn’t they grasp the laws of physics and weight
distribution? Then he saw the journal. He grabbed it along with a few other
items, but slid the journal between his thighs instead of replacing it in the
box. After he’d finished, he adjusted himself, turning one side toward a blind
spot in the cameras and slipped the journal into one of his side-pockets.
Whatever was in there, he wanted to know. On the off chance there was
incriminating evidence within those pages. It might just be what he needed to
keep himself out of a lawsuit or worse.
Cameron
stood over the whining man’s body until the real police arrived a few minutes
later. After answering their questions and giving an official statement, he
found himself alone in the corridor with no idea what to do.
“Peter!”
His boss, Grieves, returned from escorting the police back outside of the
campus. “Let’s go.”
Cameron
followed the man into his office and sat in a too-small chair. He kept as much
of his weight off as he could, worried for the chair’s sake, and tried to focus
on his boss.
Grieves
waited for him to settle. “I’m a little surprised at your actions today.”
“Yes
sir, I’m sorry about that, sir, I let my—”
Grieves
held up a hand. “I was in the control room when it happened. I was about to
call orders to provide backup for you because I could tell he was being
obstinate, but then you handled it.”
“I—”
He couldn’t figure out what to say and realized that saying the wrong thing
might incriminate him. “Just wanted to make sure that our employees were safe,
and his verbal abuse and resistance to come with me required a response.” That
was a good way to put it, right?
“Well,”
Grieves’ pulled out a sheet of paper and pushed it across the desk. “I’ve got
to admit, I’m not sure what to do at this point. You see, I have a write-up
here that we were going to present to you this evening. Your second warning for
not fulfilling your job responsibilities, but after your actions tonight—”
Here
it was. Cameron imagined Celina’s face when he told her he’d been fired…again.
“Peter,
I’m still required to have you sign this warning, but you’ve bought a little
more time, as far as I’m concerned. I don’t want to lose you. I know you need
this job, so start showing me more of the same dedication to your work, with a
little less force, please, and these warnings will disappear.”
Cameron
accepted the pen from the man’s hand and signed Peter’s name, nonplused by how easily
the muscle-memory of the signature came to his thick fingers. “You’re not
firing me?”
“Nope,
not tonight at least. That said, we’ve noticed how you avoid the physical
portions of this job, and that’s got to change. We’ve already told Kenneth he’s
not allowed to take your perimeter rotation from here on. If you’re going to be
part of the team, you need to walk the fence.”
“But
what about my disability?”
“Your
doctor said the weight precluded you from running, but he also mentioned that
walking and other aerobic exercises would help stimulate blood flow and reduce
the risk of heart attack. You said a few months ago at our last meeting that
you wanted to lose weight. Have you taken me up on the offer of enrolling in
the health club benefits package for our department?”
Cameron
shook his head, wordlessly accepting the silent reprimand from his boss. “Can
you give me the address again? I’ll go sign up after work today.”
“Good
man.” Grieves slapped him on the meat of his arm. “Now get back to work. I only
stayed to talk with you, and I want to get home to my family.”
“Have
a great night, sir.” Cameron matched him as he stood and exited the office
first. Down one more door, the security room waited. He walked in, nodded to
Kenneth and John, and picked up the raspberry donut out of habit.
Stopping
himself, he placed the powdered deathball back into the box and looked between
the two. “My turn to walk first?”
They
eyed him in unison. Kenneth seemed relieved, as if he’d worried about being
caught between his boss’s directive and his friend’s pleas. “Sure. I’ll take
second.”
“It’ll
take me a while.” Cameron gave them a wide grin. “I can’t waddle as fast as you
can, but I’ll try to keep on target.”
No comments:
Post a Comment