Chapter 4

Unconsciousness is such a strange thing. We sleep because we must, but the act itself holds so much mystery. Science has uncovered the physical aspects involved. I've read about REM sleep, and brainwaves and electrical impulses.

I've read about the new sleep chambers created by NNASA ... and how they can stimulate the segments of the brain that control sleep using light therapy and sound.

I know these things and yet many still struggle to sleep. Some even struggle to stay awake.

And everybody dreams.

We lie down each night and embrace a small death. We lay unmoving, as our minds press frantic images upon us that ... for all intents and purposes, are hallucinations.

I awoke with a start.

It wasn't a normal awakening. I didn't drift up from slumber ... nor did any audible alarm clock ring. I simply awoke, abruptly and perfectly ... like I was a machine programed to start at a certain time. Perfect, clinical, clockwork.

My body felt good, that massage had worked wonders.

I took a deep breath and sighed.

The house was quiet. It was the dead of night.

Sarah lay next to me. Her beautiful red hair was fanned across the sheets, and her pale breast rose and fell softly next to me. I could hear her whisper-soft breath escape her parted lips. My eyes trailed across her face. She looked troubled.

It was then I noticed that we were not in my bed.

Sheets and pillows had been laid down in the middle of my living room floor to create a makeshift bed. The stolen bedding didn't really ease the hard press of the wooden floor, and I could tell the dainty professional model had never before slept in such conditions.

My leather couch would be more comfortable.

I slid my arms under her warm body, and lifted her like a child. Her slight weight came up easily in my embrace. Her throat gave a low hum of pleasure, and her face turned in sleep to press against my chest.

Small moments are where true love lies.

The walk to the coach was easy, and in no time at all, I had Sarah on the sofa with a blanket and pillow.

Hopefully her own sleep would be more comfortable now.

I gathered up the rest of the bedding, and stowed it in the laundry room.

I found my clothes from the previous day hung up on the coat rack. I slipped into them.

Now I had nothing to do ... which meant I was going to start thinking ... and that would take me nowhere I wanted to go.

I plodded into the kitchen with thoughts of having some granola and a sleeping pill. The time above the microwave read 3:04. My microwave was exactly four minutes fast ... so it was 3:00.

Strange. I didn't feel tired, or buzzed, or hyper. I was rested and focused.

I knew what would fix that...

I sat at my kitchen table, and poured some whiskey into a coffee mug. Behind my off-white drapes a city that shared in my insomnia glittered proudly amongst the night. If I strained my ears I could hear the car horns and club music that permeated the city's nocturnal crowd.

Hmm ... enhanced hearing as well ... no ... dammit, stop thinking.

The first mug of whiskey disappeared before I knew it, and pouring a second was as easy as breathing.

For a few blissful moments, I managed not think for a while.

A car alarm shattered my composure, the repetitive beeping woke the neighboring dogs, and they joined their barking to the city's nocturnal symphony.

The thoughts returned with a vengeance, and I was suddenly confronting that which I wanted to ignore.

Something was happening to me.

I wasn't stupid ... far from it.

I was simply scared to confront the changes I had been noticing in myself. My mind didn't want to go over these new abnormalities it kept discovering. Ronald Turner's threats of being a brain dead zombie kept floating to the surface of my thoughts. What if that was still coming? What if my mind couldn't handle the extra stress this chip forced on my brain?

I had told the FBI that Turner had put a chip in me, but I claimed that it failed to activate. Turner wouldn't know any better, and Carol said nothing to give me away during questioning.

More whiskey slipped down as I speculated. I was having trouble finding my usual buzz.

Then there were the calculations.

I still remembered those moments of unending clarity. Every aspect of my surroundings had been laid bare to me. It was almost like seeing the future, written out plain in the cold long hand of probability and percentages.

I had known what I needed to do, and how to do it. The chip had turned me into a supercomputer ... an omniscient being.

Escaping imprisonment and killing two armed thugs had been child's play.

I owed this chip my life ... but now it was changing the life it had saved.

I didn't want these changes ... I didn't want anything to do with neural processors.

But then you would have never met Sarah fool, my beast whispered. Don't be so melodramatic.

I winced. I loved that girl so much it ached. I wish I could fool myself into thinking we might have met in a coffee shop by chance ... and have fallen in love that way.

The fantasy fell apart before it even started.

It would never have happened.

Still, I wished I could do something for her. Sarah needed a life that wasn't so tightly wrapped around mine. Her separation headaches needed to be properly resolved ... and I really needed to try and figure out how to focus more on the love in our relationship, and less on the dominance and submission.

You like the dominance.

Shut it.

I managed three coffee mugs of whiskey and no buzz before I decided coffee wouldn't be a bad idea.

Time had crawled by at a maddening pace as I brooded at my kitchen table ... but I had finally decided upon a few courses of action.

I would call Jim as soon as the office opened, and ask him to bring me any diagnostics on the neural processors we currently had.

It would be foolish to expect too much. The FBI had yet to lay hands on a neural processor that was not currently attached to a brain stem, but I knew a few of the women we originally saved had agreed to a few noninvasive fact finding tests.

With the dawn of Photon-Radio Screening or PRS, it was much easier to find accurate information about the human body than the rudimentary x-ray or CAT scans. The diagnostics should be fairly informative.

I needed to know the basics of how these things functioned.

"Coffee," I said, "French Roast, black."

A small whirring in the corner of my kitchen started up immediately.

"Voice command understood ... brewing..." came the mechanical voice of my coffee maker.

My ears picked up a gentle rustling in the room next door. I listened to the pitter patter of bare feet on hardwood draw closer to the kitchen.

I turned to greet my awakened red head.

Sarah smiled softly at me. The morning's first sunbeams had just found their way through my drapes, and they illuminated her as if she were an Angel.

She gracefully sunk to her knees, and stared down at my feet.

"Good morning Master," she said.

Every time my mind wavered, all it took was the sight of this beautiful trusting girl to turn my resolve to ashes. Her entire posture oozed submission and tranquility. Firm breasts sat like high tear drops on her chest, and true red hair trailed down her flawless alabaster skin in artful waves.

The meekest man could look upon her like this ... and desire to dominate her.

I reached down, and cupped my hand around her cheek. My fingers traced the outline of her jaw as I tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

"Good morning dear," I said.

My voice was the cold baritone of the beast ... it came so naturally now.

A small shudder moved over Sarah, and I knew my tone was not lost on her. She leaned into my extended hand and kissed my wrist.

"I'd like to thank you for my massage last night little one," I said kindly.

She kept her eyes down, but her smile grew, "It was an absolute pleasure Master."

"Brewing complete," came the harsh mechanical voice of the coffee maker.

That thoroughly destroyed the mood.

"Real life has a way of destroying the magic," I said through a small laugh, "I think the formality of our positions has been satisfied for now, stand up love, let's get you some breakfast."

Her green eyes flicked up to me. I offered her a hand, and she put her slim fingers in my grasp.

I effortlessly hauled her up and into a full standing embrace.

Sarah insisted on making breakfast.

A huge omelet that must have been made of at least four eggs was placed in front of me, accompanied with toast and strawberries. This was all food I didn't remember buying.

I gaped at Sarah at the ridiculous amount of breakfast she had whipped up.

"You need to keep up your strength Master," she said with a sweet smile.

"Hmm," I grumbled, "what are you eating Ms. Gale?" I asked teasingly.

Sarah shrugged and held up an apple and chocolate milk.

"Chocolate milk?" I asked with a snort.

"Protein shake Master," she answered warily.

"Model's really do starve themselves don't they? Why don't you have some of this big breakfast?" I said with a raised eyebrow as I push my plate over to her.

She sat down across from me and bit into her apple.

"I'm a girl," she said, "I don't need to eat as much as you. I'm also trying to stay skinny."

The most beautiful girl in the world, and she still had these self-image problems ... or maybe this was simply what taking care of yourself looked like. I wouldn't know.

"Have you been picked up by that other agency yet?" I asked through a mouthful of toast.

Sarah nodded, "They called to confirm if I could do a small perfume shoot this afternoon ... I told them yes." She peeked up at me from under her lashes. "Was that okay Master?" She whispered.