Chapter 2: Career Changes

My name is Cameron Drake – “Cam” to my friends and family. It’s been a very hectic three months since my wife, Ginger, fell into a coma after an accident caused by her immediate boss, Chad Wheeler. Ginger is still in a coma, so I come by the hospital every day after work to sit with her for a few minutes.

I sat next to her bed, her hand in mine. I tried desperately to make some contact with her, but there was nothing. I was reminded of the saying, “the lights are on but no one is home.” Yes, she was alive, but that was it. Her heart was beating, she was breathing, and her body continued to function. But whatever it is that made Ginger, Ginger, wasn’t there.

At the time of her “accident,” we were “this close” to divorce. I had even spoken to an attorney and had a post nuptial agreement drawn up after being informed of what I would face in a divorce. I had learned that she had been involved in a seven-month long affair with Wheeler.

Actually, it was much worse than an affair. He blackmailed and drugged her in order to use her as his whore. As time went on, she began accepting her role and had been used by a number of men, including members of her company’s Board of Directors and more than a few of their clients. At the same time, she was treating me like crap, making my life a living hell.

I learned the depth of her betrayal after I had been accidentally struck by something that drastically altered my DNA. At first I thought it was lightning, but I later found out it was something else. As a result of that, I developed strange mental abilities, one of which was the ability to “download” memories into my head, which could later be exported to an application on my computer that allowed me to review them.

I could also “hear” thoughts of people close to me and could tell at a glance if someone was being deceptive. Under certain conditions, I could also use my abilities to defend myself and control the actions of others. That’s what I used to get my vengeance on Wheeler.

Since then, the two strange men who gave me those abilities – men I now called “Smith” and “Jones” since I didn’t know their real names or even if they had Earth-like names – had been training me to use my abilities more wisely. They had been coming by the condo once a week over the last three months, putting me through my paces. They even had the nerve to assign homework.

I also took the time to enroll in martial arts, at Smith’s insistence. He said it would help me become more disciplined, more focused, and less prone to strike out in anger. Turns out he was right, but my body has been in a near-constant state of pain ever since.

The bodies of Wheeler and the two goons I took out that night in Riverside Park never showed up. About a week after that confrontation, I got a visit from Detective Black. I expected to be cuffed and hauled off to jail, but I got a surprise the night he came by the condo.

“Detective,” I said when I answered the door. “Please come in. What can I do for you?”

“I have a couple questions for you, Mr. Drake,” he said. “First off, can you tell me where you were last Friday, say, from about 10 pm to midnight or so?”

“I was here,” I said, lying my ass off. “And before you ask, no I don’t have an alibi. I was alone all night.”

“Did you speak with Chad Wheeler that night?” he asked.

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did, Detective. I was drunk, pissed off and I called him. Why?”

“I spoke with Lisa Hall, his assistant. She told me you called him and wanted to meet him at Riverside Park. At midnight,” he said.

“No law against that, is there?” I asked.

“No, there’s not. It’s just that no one has seen or heard from him since. We found his car at the park, but no trace of him. Nothing. Nor has anyone seen these guys,” he said, pulling out two photos. I recognized them right off as Antonio and Steve, the two goons he had with him. “You recognize these men?” he asked. I shook my head.

“No, Detective. Who are they?”

“The curly-haired guy is Antonio de Blasio. The other guy is Steven Scroggins. Both of them are hit men. Scroggins also happened to be an informant. He was helping us put together a case against Wheeler and his associates.” I felt a bit bad about Scroggins, since he was helping the police take Wheeler down, but at the same time, he was about to shoot me when I took action.

“Well, I don’t think a computer guy like me could stand up against Wheeler and two experienced hit men, do you, Detective?” I asked with a slight smile. He smiled back. “Seriously. Look at me. I’m just an average guy. If I had gone there, it looks to me like I’d be the one you would be out looking for, not them.”

“I suppose you have a point there, Mr. Drake,” he said. “Have you heard from Wheeler since last Friday?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Why did you tell Wheeler you wanted to meet with him? What did you hope to accomplish?”

“Like I said, Detective, I was drunk and pissed off. At the time, I thought about kicking his ass, but I passed out shortly after I called him,” I said as he wrote in his pad. I heard him say “bullshit” in his mind as he scribbled his notes. He clearly didn’t believe what I was saying, but he had no evidence to the contrary.

“Did you ever consider what he might do if you didn’t show up at the park?” he asked. I shook my head.

“No, I didn’t. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, Detective. I was drunk, remember?” He continued writing, but I could tell he was having a hard time buying my story. I decided to get him off track just a bit. “But while you’re here, I do have a question for you,” I said.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Any word on what happened to my wife’s car?”

“Yes,” he said. “It appears her car was sabotaged. We found partial fingerprints that appear to be de Blasio’s. We also found what looked like part of a remote control device and her brakes had been tampered with.”

“So, it definitely wasn’t an accident?”

“No, it appears to be attempted murder. My guess is Wheeler wanted her out of the way. We’re still putting the pieces together, so we don’t have the complete story,” he said. “In the meantime, I’d appreciate it if you stayed in the area. I may have some questions for you later.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Detective,” I said. “I have a job and my wife is still in a coma.”

“Of course,” he said before leaving. “If you think of anything that might help, please give me a call.”

“You got it, Detective,” I said, extending my hand. He accepted it and I felt the now-familiar spark that let me know his memories were being downloaded into my mind. I was curious to see how much of a suspect he thought I was. “Sorry, lots of static electricity in this carpet,” I said when I released his hand. He rubbed his hand and nodded his head before he left.

When I downloaded his memories into the application, I did a quick scan. Yes, he did consider me a suspect in Wheeler’s disappearance, but as I suspected, he had absolutely no evidence to back it up. He didn’t have a body nor did he have any DNA, something that irritated him considerably.

He was counting on me to slip up and say or do something that would put him back on my trail. Failing that, it would become a cold case, which irritated him further. I realized I would have to be extremely careful from here on out. I watched an encounter between him and his lieutenant.

“How are you coming on that Wheeler case, Jason?” the uniformed lieutenant asked. Black shook his head as he sat down.

“Coming up empty, Lt,” he said. “All we have is his car and a vehicle belonging to one of his goons, but there’s absolutely no forensic evidence to indicate any of them were ever in the park. We’ve had uniforms with dogs go over every inch of that park, and haven’t found a damn thing. No blood, no pieces of clothing, nothing. Even went over it with ground-penetrating radar. Still nothing.”

“What does your gut tell you?” the lieutenant asked.

“My gut tells me the husband – Drake – is involved up to his eyeballs. He certainly had motive, and he had the opportunity. Plus there’s that call Wheeler’s date told me about.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I plan to follow up with Drake this evening,” Jason said. “Maybe I can get something from him. If not, hell, I don’t know. Maybe aliens abducted them or something,” he added with a chuckle. I couldn’t help but chuckle myself at his last statement. He had no idea how close he was to the truth.

“Yeah, that’ll certainly get you that early retirement you’ve been talking about,” the lieutenant said with a smile. Jason laughed as he stood up and prepared to leave. “Let me know how it goes, okay?”

“Will do, lieutenant,” Jason said. I ended the playback and sat back, somewhat relieved.

Feeling a bit better about the situation with Wheeler, I took Judy – the nurse who cared for me in the hospital – out to dinner a few times

Our dates were nice, but mostly uneventful. We had a good time and enjoyed each other’s company, but she told me right up front she wasn’t interested in a physical relationship with a married man. My respect for her increased significantly upon hearing that.

We’ve gone out a few times since, but nothing romantic ever happened. At this point, we’re a bit more than acquaintances, but a lot less than lovers, or even “friends with benefits.” If I had to describe my relationships with her, I would say that at this time, we’re more like siblings than anything else.

I spent a lot of time over those three months going through Ginger’s memories. Thanks to the accessories Smith and Jones provided, I was able to listen in on her thoughts as I watched the video playback and that helped give some context to her actions.

From her thoughts I could tell that while she responded to what was done to her, she hated what she was forced to do. But that didn’t ease the pain I felt as she fucked our marriage down the drain. If she hated it so much, she should’ve come to me at the beginning.

And yes, they plied her with various drugs and threatened to make her actions public if she didn’t go along with their program. They used her and abused her, and had a damn good time doing it. More than once, they laughed as they left her covered in semen, crying her eyes out. I wanted to kill the bastards for doing this to her – slowly and as painfully as possible.

She handled it by taking it out on me. Instead of coming to me for help, she pushed me away and became an unbearable shrew. Apparently, that became her defense mechanism. It started to change, however, not long before her “accident.”

I learned from Smith and Jones that I could actually perform a search on her memories. So I did. I figured there was a chance she could’ve either gotten pregnant or contracted a disease. I had a pretty good idea that she hadn’t gotten an STD as I had myself tested shortly after learning of her infidelity, and her memories revealed that Chad had her frequently tested.

As it turned out, she had gotten pregnant, and was forced to get an abortion. I found the memory and watched as she entered Chad’s office.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Chad, I’m pregnant,” she said.

“So, deal with it,” he told her.

“What do you mean, deal with it?”

“Just what I said. Deal with it. Take care of it. There’s clinics that handle that sort of thing. Our insurance will cover it.”

“It could be Cameron’s child,” she said.

“So what? Get rid of it,” he told her.

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“You WILL do it, and you’ll have it done before the next board meeting. Unless, of course, you want your wimpy husband to find out what kind of a slut you really are.”

“You bastard,” she hissed. “I fucking HATE you!” He chuckled as he looked at her.

“I really don’t give a shit,” he said with a smirk. “Get that taken care of, the sooner the better,” he added, pointing at her stomach. “If you need an extra incentive, try this. You either get rid of it, or Antonio will have a 45-caliber visit with your husband. Understand?”

“You’d really kill my husband if I don’t get an abortion?” she asked, shocked.

“I wouldn’t. But Antonio would,” he said with a wicked grin. “In a New York minute. Think of it as a life for a life. One lives, the other dies. Next time, be more careful with your birth control.” Ginger crumpled where she stood and sobbed. Chad let her cry for a while, then ordered her to get out.

“Get out of here and clean yourself up. I have work to do,” he told her. She left the room in tears and at that point, I realized I had been far too easy on him. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

She had the procedure done a couple days later and went into a bit of a depression afterward. I remembered that time and recalled how out of sorts she was. I tried talking to her, but she rebuffed all my efforts, finally telling me to leave her “the fuck” alone. I learned from her memories that she did it thinking she was saving my life. She actually contemplated suicide and was set to do it, but changed her mind.

A part of me was glad she didn’t kill herself, but there was another part of me that wished she had gone through with it. I felt a pressure in my head and knew if I didn’t get away from this I would explode in a fit of rage. I went on the balcony and counted backwards from 100. I finally calmed down when I hit 25 and went back to her memories. After calming down, it hit me that maybe she was as conflicted and confused then as I was at that point in time.

Some time after she contemplated suicide, Chad talked to her about her attitude.

“I know you’re in a bit of a funk over the abortion, but you need to get over it,” he said coldly. “Women have abortions all the time and they deal with it. We have a meeting with some clients this afternoon, and I need for you to be at your best. Now, snap out of it and get your shit squared away. Understand?”

“I understand,” she said quietly. I looked at the date and realized it was the day I saw her in his car.

I switched from her memories to his and began looking through them. I wasn’t surprised to learn that he had done the same thing with several other women over the years. All of them were married, and from what I could tell in his memories, all of them ended up divorced.

The men he cuckolded tried going after him, but they all failed, and a couple of them ended up in the hospital after his goons worked them over. Ginger was just his last victim. He was gone now, literally, but there were others who had to pay the price for what was done to Ginger and to our marriage.

One thing kept coming back to me, though. I remembered Ginger’s thoughts when I was first in the hospital. She seemed exuberant at the thought of Chad screwing her in our marital bed – a bed I replaced almost immediately after her accident. Yet, she also seemed to hate him at the same time. This didn’t make any sense to me, so I sought counsel from some marriage counselors, hoping they could give me some insight.

They all pretty much told me the same thing – that without talking to Ginger they really couldn’t help me much. But, they all said, it would be very possible for her to hate Chad yet enjoy the physical act of sex with him. One counselor suggested I simply try to get over that and move on. Another asked the age-old question: “Would you be happier with her or without her?”

“Frankly, doc, I really don’t know at this point,” I said. I later asked Smith and Jones about it. Smith brought up the memory, then used a keystroke combination I wasn’t aware existed – Ctrl-Alt-Shift-E. Another window popped up, showing a number of irregular lines that moved up and down.

“The application not only stores memories, it also stores thoughts and the emotional state of the target at the time,” Smith said. “Looking at this, it seems your wife was extremely confused. In your vernacular, she was so mixed up, she couldn’t tell up from down. Yes, she hated Wheeler, hated what he did to her and what he made her do. But she enjoyed the physical stimulation he gave her. Don’t ask me to explain it. She even hated you a bit for not rescuing her.”

“But I had no idea this was going on,” I said. “She never said anything.” Smith shrugged his shoulders.

“The problem, Cameron, is that you are trying to use logic to understand an illogical situation,” he said. “You are thinking logically, which is good. But emotions have their own logic and the two are different. Our people still have emotions, since we still have physical bodies, but we are more disciplined in dealing with them.”

“In our studies of human emotions, and how some humans let their emotions rule them, we see that most humans live with contradictions all the time. Your mate’s subconscious desire for you to save her, co-existed with and conflicted with her desire for you to save yourself when she tried to drive you away,” Jones added.

“You have similar but much lesser tensions when you wish to speed in your vehicle, but also wish to avoid a ticket. The disciplined and rational mind makes a choice and lives with the consequences of that choice. The undisciplined mind, however, weaves randomly back and forth between possible choices. We are assisting you in the disciplining of your enhanced mind. Whether you know it or not, yours truly is a superior intellect as compared to the other beings native to this planet. You will still have human emotions, but you will consciously choose how you act on them. Does this make sense to you?”

“Not completely, but I’m sure it will,” I said.

After they left, I went back over her final memories and tried the keystroke combination. I found that her emotional state had significantly changed from what it was before. I used the headset and focused on her final thoughts just before and after the accident.

“Cam, I swear to God, I am going to make this up to you,” she thought. “I promise I’ll be the best wife ever. I just hope you can forgive me.” Her final thoughts after the accident were of me. “Please, Cam, forgive me. I love you. I’m so, so terribly sorry...”

I was brought back to reality by the sound of her doctor’s voice.

“Mr. Drake, I’m glad to see you here,” Dr. Samuels said. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk with you.”

“Sure,” I said, standing up. I followed him to his office and sat in a chair in front of his desk. He closed his door and took his seat.

“So, what can I do for you, doc?” I asked. He looked at me, then consulted his charts before speaking.

“I Just wanted to update you on your wife’s status. It would help if you spent more time with her, Mr. Drake,” he said. “I know you come by every day and spend a few minutes with her, and that’s good. But in my opinion, you need to spend even more time with her. Talk to her. Touch her. Let her know you care. That will help a great deal.” He saw the hesitation in my face and continued.

“Just out of curiosity, how were things in your marriage when she had her accident?” he asked.

“Not good,” I said. I hadn’t said anything to him about our marriage simply because I felt it was none of his business. “In fact, I was close to filing for divorce.”

“I see,” he said. “Well, I’m a doctor, not a marriage counselor. My first priority is getting her back on her feet.”

“I understand,” I said.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Her condition is getting worse. I’m concerned that she may be losing her will to live. You need to set your problems aside and think about her.” He pulled a photo out of her folder and set it in front of me. I could see the outline of her brain with part of it showing green.

“This was her brain activity two weeks ago,” he said. He put another photo down next to it. There was less green in this one than the previous one. “That was two days ago.” I shook my head, not understanding the meaning of the photographs.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I’ve been told there’s no change.”

“There’s no improvement,” he said. “There has been some change, however. And it’s not good. I’m afraid she’s slipping into a persistent vegetative state. She needs more positive interaction. Preferably from you.”

“I was told she’s healthy and stable,” I said.

“Physically, yes,” Dr. Samuels said. “Mentally, I’m afraid she’s slipping. Tell me, Mr. Drake, have you even told her you love her since she went into her coma?”

I considered what he said, and realized that he was right. Yeah, I had been by every day to see her, but I hardly ever said more than a few words to her. And not once have I ever told her that I love her. Perhaps that’s because I’m really not sure how I feel about her right now. If it wasn’t for the accident, chances are I would have filed divorce papers against her.

“No, I haven’t,” I told him. He leaned back in his chair and studied me before speaking again.

“Studies have shown that patients in a coma respond more positively to familiar voices – family members, close friends, loved ones. In fact, Mr. Drake, hearing those voices several times a day can help speed recovery and exercise parts of the brain responsible for long-term memories. Here’s something I’d like you to try,” he said.

“Tell her some stories about your life together. Preferably good, happy stories. Your honeymoon, for example. Or maybe a good date you shared or a trip that she really enjoyed. Record those stories on a digital audio recorder. Tell her how much you loved her and how much she meant to you. Have other family members do the same thing. We can let her hear those stories through headphones and loop them so she hears them multiple times a day. When you come by, give her positive feedback. Can you put your feelings aside long enough to do that?”

“I think so,” I told him.

“Good,” he said. “Do this for her, alright?” I nodded my head.

“Yeah, I will,” I said. I left the hospital and went home, stopping on the way to purchase a good digital audio recorder. I was torn. Yes, I wanted her to burn for what she had done, but I also wanted her to recover. Right now, I felt like everything was in limbo. I wolfed down a microwave dinner, washed it down with a cold beer and sat back to watch some television.

I did as the doctor suggested and recorded a few stories recalling our wedding, our honeymoon and some of the more memorable trips we shared. I even called her mother, who had retired to Florida, and got her to email audio recordings of memories when Ginger was a child. I put them all on the digital recorder and found there was about two hours of audio on the unit.

I took the recorder and a set of headphones to the hospital and one of the nurses put it on her head, then set the recorder to play in a continuous loop. Before she started the unit, I got close to Ginger and whispered in her ear.

“Get well soon, Ginger,” I said. “Your family misses you.” I gave her a kiss, and motioned for the nurse to turn the device on. I watched her for a few minutes and thought I saw a tear forming in a corner of her eye.

“We’ll give this six weeks and see how she responds,” Dr. Samuels said. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You’re welcome, doc,” I said before leaving.

Smith and Jones came by later that night and put me through my paces. Between them and the workout I was getting at the dojo, I was becoming a new man in more ways than one. My muscles were tightening up, I was getting a lot stronger and I was developing a whole new outlook on life.

Moreover, I was learning to control and fine-tune my abilities. No, I wasn’t turning into some kind of “Superman” and bullets didn’t bounce off my eyeballs. In that regard, I was just as vulnerable to injury as anyone else, and no, I didn’t expect to don a cape and start flying.

A couple weeks later, I was in the office of Georgia Hamilton, The HR manager at the company Ginger worked for, going over some paperwork. By now, she had used up all of her vacation and sick time and only had a few days of comp time left on the books.

The company had agreed to put her on a paid extended leave for medical reasons so she could still draw her paycheck and have medical coverage. There was simply no way I could handle her hospital bills and the normal monthly stuff on my salary alone.

As we talked, I noticed a somewhat older man with graying hair talking to one of the other girls in the office. He looked at me intensely a few times as the girl spoke to him. I recognized him from some of the pictures on the wall – Jackson H. Peabody IV, the CEO.

I wondered what he was thinking and why he seemed so interested in me. I tried reaching out to his mind, but for some reason, found that I couldn’t read anything from him. That was odd, I thought. I looked at him closer and realized that he was completely in focus. I had expected he would display some of the anaglyph characteristics I had seen in many of the other upper-level managers, but he didn’t.

He stood and looked at me directly, his brows furrowed. I wondered what he was thinking. We stared at each other for a few moments, then he nodded his head slightly and left the office. I didn’t think anything more of the encounter and completed my work with Georgia.

I was just finishing my dinner that night, when I heard the doorbell. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and wondered who it could be. I looked through the peephole and saw Peabody. What did he want, I asked myself. I tried again to read his thoughts, but was unable to.

“Mr. Peabody, I presume?” I said after I opened the door.

“Yes,” he said with a smile. I noticed a tiny gold speck in one of his eyes and wondered if he had encountered Smith and Jones. “And you must be Ginger Drake’s husband.”

“Guilty as charged, at least for the time being,” I told him. “Please come inside.”

“Thank you, Mr. Drake,” he said, stepping in my living room.

“Please, have a seat. I’m afraid all I have to offer is water and coffee,” I told him.

“Coffee would be perfect, Mr. Drake. Thank you. I take it black, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I’ll be right back.” I went into the kitchen and poured us each a cup of hot coffee, black, and brought the cups back into the living room. I handed him one cup and watched as he took a tentative sip. He nodded his head in approval and set it on one of the coasters I kept on the coffee table.

“So, Mr. Peabody, what can I do for you?”

“First off, you can drop the ‘Mr. Peabody’ shit,” he said, smiling. “My name’s Jack.”

“Alright Jack,” I said. “And you can call me Cameron.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Cameron,” he said. “Tell me, how is Ginger doing?”

“She’s not improving, but we’re trying something the doctor hopes will help stimulate her brain,” I said.

“I see,” he said. “I saw you in the office with Georgia today and just wanted to stop by to let you know her paid extended medical leave has been approved. We’ll re-evaluate in six months to see how she’s doing.”

“Thank you for that,” I said. “Look, Jack, excuse me for being direct. I’m just a simple man but I find it hard to believe you came all the way from your Manchester Heights mansion to tell me that, though. You could’ve had Georgia send me an email.”

“That’s alright, son. I appreciate candor. And you’re right – I could’ve had Georgia send you an email. But you’re not right about something else. You may be many things, but you’re hardly a simple man,” he said. “If you can indulge an old man for a few minutes, I’d like to tell you a little story.”

“Of course, Jack,” I said.

“My great-grandfather started the company back around the turn of the 20th century. Saw it through the Great Depression and later handed it off to my grandfather. He, in turn, passed it down to my father, who later handed it to me,” Jack said. “Unfortunately, there’s not a Jackson H. Peabody V to pass it down to. Unless my daughter accepts the reins, I’ll be the last of the Peabodys running the company.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.

“In a way, I’m not,” he told me. “You see, other than myself and maybe one or two others, everyone in the upper echelon is filthy dirty. That includes the Board of Directors. Unfortunately, I’m in no shape to deal with the situation. Legally, or in any other way.

“You see, my position as CEO is just window dressing. I’m little more than a figurehead. A rich figurehead, but a figurehead nevertheless. And one who is hamstrung by a rather odious contract my father was forced to sign before he retired. And before you ask, yes, I’ve had the best legal minds in the country go over it with a fine-toothed comb and they all tell me it’s legally binding, at least for the next ten years. Or as long as the current board is seated.”

“I’m not a lawyer, so I can’t help you there,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “But you can help me clean my company up before I retire. Or die.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, Jack,” I said. “What makes you think I can do that?” He smiled before speaking.

“This is where my story gets a bit ... unbelievable, Cameron. I hope you’ll hear me out before you decide I’m a madman,” he said.

“Go on, Jack, please,” I said. He nodded his head and took a sip of coffee.

“Alright. About eight years ago I was on a hunting expedition with some colleagues. I was walking back to the camp when I was suddenly surrounded by a strange green light. It didn’t hurt and only lasted for a few seconds. I thought maybe it was a light from a patrol helicopter, but I didn’t hear anything overhead.