Sweet Dreams (12 page)

"What's goin'...?" The letters painted on the side of the silo blazed out in the sunlight making Kirk's heart miss a beat.
It was the same symbol that he saw on the notes at the prison,

"WJA."
He stared, trying to put it all together. What did it stand for? Was it a logo or a symbol, or was it nothing? He pulled out his camera and took a picture of the giant lettering. It was beautifully done, not a hack job, like he was used to from the local gang sign back home in Detroit. This was very professional.

Someone spent some time on that.

Placing the camera back into his pocket, he turned just in time to see a billy-club come crashing down on his forehead. A flash of light filled his vision as he crumpled to the ground with a thud; he vainly tried to reach for his gun...and then a split second later, he felt the next blow smash the back of his skull!

Darkness.

His limp body lay curled up in the dirt as two masked men grabbed him and carried him around to the back of his own car. The trunk opened with a click, and then the sound of a hard clunk as his body hit the floorboard and then the trunk lid slammed shut and Kirk remembered smelling roses. They smelled good, like a rose garden but so much stronger as if he was thrown in a bed of roses.

Kirk could hear his own heartbeat just before he blacked out again. Thump, thump, thump...

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MARK TOOK OUT A silver colored key to open the door to his apartment; he walked inside trying to take in the fact that he had been cheated. His life was turned upside-down, and for
what
? The thoughts of K and Sam tortured him; every time he closed his eyes, he saw them. He could barely eat... he had to keep busy. He would call Hank and go into work tomorrow; he needed to get his mind off his own personal hell. Opening the cabinet, he saw a bottle of wine that came in one of the gift baskets left in the hospital room when he woke up. He stared at it, then grabbed the bottle and started rummaging through the silverware drawer. Finding a corkscrew, he popped open the wine and poured himself a glass. Mark never drank, it was something that he didn't believe did anyone any good. He used to say that it was the easy way out. Now he wasn't so sure, all he felt was pain. He just needed rest... a break!

The smell of the red wine hit his senses; he breathed in deep taking in the rich sent and the promise of relief. He could almost taste it as he sat down on the couch with the bottle in one hand and the wine glass in the other..."Owww!"

His side screamed out as he tried to sit down, and he clenched down his jaw to keep from waking the neighbors.

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The glass dropped from his hand, hitting the floor and spilling the contents all over the area rug. Frustrated, he set the bottle down, and worked his way up off the couch and went into the kitchen to get some carpet cleaner.

After he cleaned the rug he laid it out on the balcony to dry, he went back inside to relax for a little bit... "Ahhh."

This time he lowered himself slowly onto the couch and took a breath even though it hurt like fire.

Much better,
you are not invincible, you know!

He picked up the now empty wine glass...looked at it...then back at the bottle. And with a sigh, he put the glass down on the end table, thinking about the pain in his heart and the grief that he felt. He could not numb those feelings, he wanted to live, to feel. The good feelings are just as much a part of life as the bad ones. This, he thought, is how he can remember how much he loved K and Sam,
the pain was his
love
!

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A THROB OF PAIN rushed over Kirk's head, waking him from a forced slumber making his skull pulse with each heartbeat. He opened his eyes, or he thought he did although the darkness was so black that it could be felt. He pulled his hand to his face, waving them madly across his eyes...

Nothing,

His head felt like he had been hit with a baseball bat and he managed a slight grin. "You did get hit with a bat, stupid!"

Feeling the back of his skull with his fingers, he felt something wet and a little tacky, it was blood. Kirk grunted and surprised himself when he thought of how happy he was to be alive. As his brain turned back on, he rolled onto his back, and reached for where his gun was supposed to be. He knew it would not be there but he searched for it anyway. It was gone. The floor felt like metal when Kirk reached down to investigate what kind of mess he had gotten himself into now. He could feel how smooth and cold the floor was as he drug himself to his knees, and feeling his way around his new home he had to try to imagine what it looked like but he didn't have much of an imagination. This feeling of blindness was a new experience to Kirk and he didn't like it, not at all. He had his left hand out in front of his face, waving it back and forth in front of him just in case he found a wall or something worse; he didn't really want to find it with his forehead. Stopping, his heart leaped into his throat and Kirk almost gulped audibility but held it in. His right hand felt something...well, not something, but nothing. He felt nothing but air up above him, and now in front of him and below on the floor.

Not good, it was as if the metal floor had simply vanished!

Lowering himself onto his belly, he hugged the floor and reached out, feeling with just his fingertips as he moved. The floor was two inches thick and rounded like a disc, as if he was sitting on a large Frisbee. Kirk traced the edge and began to crawl around the edge so he could find the wall that this cliff was attached too. That would be the safest place to be so if in his sleep he wouldn't accidentally roll off, and fall into nothingness.

"No wall?" Kirk muttered. "Can't be. Something has to be holding the floor up!" He felt sweat begin to form on his forehead and could smell fear, his own fear seep from his

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pours.

He felt along the edge once again hoping that he was wrong. He went around the circle or what he perceived was a circle, and found no wall, no strings, or cables suspended up in the air, nothing but this floating crazy metal floor and a deep dark hole below him. Kirk moved to the center of the disc in order to keep himself from falling off into whatever was below him.

Click, click, pop, pop. Blinding white light made Kirk twitch and snap his eyes shut and then open in a weird blinking motion. He couldn't see at first and then when he did see he wished he was still in the dark. Squinting, he held his hand up over his eyes, trying to make out what he was seeing. Kirk froze as every muscle in his body tightened and wound like a rubber band just before it snapped. What he saw next was something he had never dreamed could exist. His discovery of a floating floor was right, more right than he thought.

The room he was in was about fifty feet around with a dome ceiling and hanging warehouse lights high above him staring down at him like huge monstrous eyes. He was laying on a solid round chunk of metal about fifteen feet in diameter and Kirk pulled himself to the center, for where he was a few feet from the edge was not the center of the death floor like he thought originally in the thick darkness. As he moved to the middle, he felt the heavy metal disc move and sway a little. This unnerved Kirk, he hadn't noticed this before but now he felt at any moment it would tip over and pitch him over the side.

Looking down below him, he could see that this room had to be at least one hundred feet to the bottom and there, he saw a door, a single door. It was metal as was the rest of this new cell and as far as he could tell it was the only way in and out of this huge round room.

Straight ahead, Kirk noticed a large window, like a twoway mirror...he knew what they looked like; they had a few back at the station in Detroit, and now Kirk thought of how he liked it much better on the other side of the glass, this side wasn't much fun. The walls were smooth and at first glance, they looked like they were swimming. The silver sheen reflected the light from the eyes high above and bounced it back making the room feel like the inside of an oven.

"Hello, Mr. Weston!"

Kirk flinched when he heard the deep voice thunder off the walls. His heart pounded in his ears as he responded. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

The voice echoed off the room's walls, making his headache even worse.

"Please don't talk Mr. Weston, all you need to know is that you are a prisoner here, and as you can see, if you try to escape, you will die in the attempt. I will explain...You, Mr. Weston, are in what we call the MAG Chamber.

"It is a room we built with magnets and specially engineered metals. All around you, the walls, the floor you are sitting on, even the lights, are set to an exact range and magnetic strength. What is holding you up is the magnetic field all around you."

Kirk looked around and his anger started to build. "What kind of people are you? Do you have any idea who I..." The floor dropped from beneath Kirk so quickly that Kirk left the

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disc and was airborne. About twenty feet from the ground, the floor stopped, causing Kirk to crash into it with a thud. Letting out a groan, he pulled himself to the center again and rolled onto his back.

The floor began to rise back toward the top to rest in its original position. "Mr. Weston, we would appreciate it if you would follow the rules. If we want your comment on something, we'll ask."

Kirk made a thumbs-up motion from his back, and then muttered something about what he was going to do when he got out of this God forsaken place.

"Now, the rules are as follows: No talking unless asked a direct question; don't try to escape, as you will be killed onsite if you try; and last but not least, we would like to welcome you to the WJA."

The sound system made a harsh squeal and then it clicked off and all went silent as before. Then just as fast, as the lights came on, they shut off with the same sound of breakers popping, Kirk breathed in a sigh of relief. He figured he was getting close to breaking the case wide open if they were willing to kidnap him to shut him up. Problem was the WJA did not know Kirk Weston. Feeling his head again, he cursed, "Now what?"

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"HELLO, HANK," MARK SAID into the phone. "I just wanted to let you know that I am coming in tomorrow." Mark knew he would get resistance from his boss, however he was not going to take no for an answer.

"Mark, come on. You've only been off for like, what, a day?" Hank protested.

"I really need this right now, Hank. I've got to get my mind off of everything. Just give me some small project to work on and you won't even know I'm there. I need to keep busy."

Hank sighed; he knew it was pointless to argue with Mark when he was like this. He had that all too familiar tone and he knew Mark was determined to get his way. "Fine, but you're going to take some time off later in the year...when you can enjoy it. Are you sure you're ready to come back this soon?"

"I can't just sit around here. All I do is think about..."

Mark trailed off and the silence was sharp and made Hank feel uncomfortable.

"All right, all right, see you tomorrow." Hank sighed as he gave in like a house of cards.

"Thanks. I'll see you first thing tomorrow," Mark hung up the phone and looked down at the floor. He knew that this was what he needed to do; he had to get back into a routine. Memories of K and Sam, consumed Mark no matter where he went, he wanted to remember them, and he felt somewhat like a selfish pig not wanting to think about them. He just couldn't do it right now, not now.

Mark sat in front of the TV flipping through the channels going from the extreme to the ridiculous. He thought about getting a hobby, something new to learn to keep himself busy, golf or fishing...maybe, he would start working out harder and really try to get the six-pack he always wanted but just never found in himself the drive to go all the way.

You don't have to be so strong. You're allowed to grieve.
He stopped when he saw the Discovery Channel. They were

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running a series called
The History of Weapons.
He watched and was surprised how interesting it was, he could not believe how many different guns they had: Semi-auto, full auto, pistols and machine guns, they even had one that could shoot around corners. Mark remembered that Bert down at the office had invited him to go shoot with him at the shooting range a few times but he always had other things in the way but now it sounded like fun. This might be something to take the edge off. He might even like it.

Most guy's like to see something blow up or make a loud noise, burn, and Mark was no exception. He used to shoot a 30/30 hunting rifle back home when he and his dad would go hunting. It was one of the few times that Mark could remember his childhood. He only remembered bits and pieces and the thing that bothered him was the feeling deep down that he should be able to remember. Mark looked forward to having proper instruction in how to shoot a handgun and maybe even get good enough to enter a competition someday.

"Whoa there, bud, let's just take this one step at a time,"

Mark said out loud. Mark did everything with all of his soul and energy. He did not just stick his tow into the water to see if it was cold or not, he ran toward the shore and dove in headfirst. Lying down on the sofa, he realized how tired he was it was just after noon but a nap might be just the thing he needed. As he lay on the couch, his eyes got heavy, and soon he was asleep.

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THE NEXT MORNING, MARK walked into his office, avoiding anyone he could in the process. He just didn't want people feeling sorry for him, and looking at him like he was made of glass. He set his briefcase down on his neat organized desk and sat down carefully in his chair. He had a tight wrap around his ribcage and it was amazing how much it helped to ease the pain. He could almost move like normal but sitting was the hardest thing to do with broken ribs.