Prototype Read online

  It was his deep blue eyes that harnessed your soul and pulled you into his world. Marshall knew the power he had and always used it to his advantage. He was older than me by several years and exuded confidence that always commanded a room. His words masterfully wrapped themselves around your heart and possessed the deepest, most private corners of your mind. His raw, unchallenged power was influential and seductive.

  I stood there consciously trying to swallow in hopes of dampening the back of my throat. His dark brown hair tumbled across his eyes as he got up from his desk and came around to greet me. I froze, my heart pounded in my ears. Every ounce of restraint I owned was dissipating in his presence … I was losing the battle in my body. He came toward me, his arms extended and I knew to deny him would be futile.

  The unyielding electricity that shot through my body as the contour of our bodies molded to one another as he pulled me into his chest. I didn’t want to let go, he smelled so intoxicating. “Lauren. I am pleased you are on board with this. How are you?” His warm breath penetrated my ear. I used to love how he dragged out the au in my name. Now it just made my stomach tie in knots.

  “I’m doing okay,” I lied. My body hijacked my mind, creating a memory from a week ago when he manipulated me into agreeing to this.

  “Well, you look good for a woman that’s been poked, pricked and prodded.” He pulled away and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, completely casting off any frustration I had left. He always knew how to make moments all about him and what he needed; this time I had to make this moment about me. I pushed my weakened feelings aside, pulled up all the dignity I could muscle and let the words spew from the deepest part of my gut.

  “I agreed to this last job … that’s it. Had I known what you were going to put me through, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. You never told me I’d have lenses thrust into my eyes, a computer configured in my head, and my nose filled with so much god awful fluid I gagged. Why?”

  Marshall stood resolute, listening without interrupting. When I was finished, he turned and pulled me closer. His aroma swarmed and caught low in my stomach. Without saying a word, he led me to the dark brown suede sofa that faced his desk. I sat down as the swell of regret filled the empty space between my heart and stomach. It wasn’t fair that I had no defense to his allure.

  Calmly he strolled over to a bar tucked behind his desk and pulled out two small glasses, dropped in several ice cubes and filled them with Gran Patron Platinum. He scooped them up and stood in front of me, baiting me to take the drink. When I didn’t take it, he swirled the glass again. Silently, I grabbed the shot and nodded waiting for him to answer me. He pushed his glass toward me, and then downed the liquid in his glass before he narrowed his eyes at me when I didn’t follow his lead.

  I watched his mannerisms change before me. He pulled his broad shoulders back and cocked his head slightly. A shit-eating grin came over his face. It was the same person he became when he was about to strong-arm one of his clients into agreeing to something.

  “Lauren, my love, come on … we both knew I could get you to do anything I needed, and without a lot of explanation. I know how you feel about me. Now, I can see where you might think I took advantage of my position, and I am sorry for that,” he continued. “But in my defense, you decided to leave me and not come back. I couldn’t have that. I needed some type of insurance, something to keep you active with Grayson Industries. Roger’s invention became the perfect excuse.” His words cut me like a shard of glass. My heart crumbled as my soul poured from the huge hole he created. I couldn’t find any words to respond.

  “I had them install the prototype in your head because I knew it would buy me two weeks. That’s just enough time. Then you can be on your way to whatever life you want and I will have the assets I wanted. I didn’t have to convince Finway or Roger; they knew I would take care of them, just as I plan on taking care of you.” The words tumbled prolifically out of his mouth. I raised the glass of Patron to my lips and took a burning drink.

  Betrayal scorched every brittle thread of trust I had left. The tenacity I once regarded as an asset became the deficit I blatantly marked myself. He used me knowing I would have done this for him.

  It was Marshall who ruined me for anyone else. He might as well have torn my heart from my chest, stripped the air from my lungs and left me for dead. Being here, trying to be strong, was pointless … he found my weakness for him and kept exploiting it.

  I shot the rest of the tequila and took my empty glass to the bar. On the way out I snatched up the old book, an undersized payment for the enormous pain he caused me, and barreled down the long decorative hall. I heaved open the ornate front doors and told the man in the tuxedo, holding the massive black umbrella, to bring me my car.

  I was reduced to a mangled heap of emotional leftovers. The logical part of me was done with the demands of Marshall and done with Grayson Industries for good; and yet, the emotional side couldn’t stop visualizing Marshall chasing after me; taking me in his arms and begging me for forgiveness. I struggled to get away as he fervently took hold of my face and finished what he started in his office days ago. The cold rain falling hard between us as it rolled and caressed down the curve of his exposed skin. He looked deep into my eyes, drawing me in as his soft lips drowned mine. His tongue sweeping vigorously through my mouth with an uncompromising fury causing my knees to weaken, igniting trimmers down my spine. Nothing stopped me from giving in to his unyielding kiss. When I opened my eyes, my car had been pulled around. The rain had slowed to a mist and just like that, so did my fantasy. It was nothing but an empty delusion.

  My eyes burned, stinging with the moisture that welled in the corners and ran down my cheeks. I brushed the wetness away with the backside of my hand and remembered why I’d left. I thundered down the slippery marble stairs, hurried into my car and drove away.

  I couldn’t explain the unabashed hate that bubbled for Marshall. It ate away at the most vulnerable part of my heart. My tears fell fast. Before I could wipe the old ones away¸ new ones would form; each tear being more influential than the last. I didn’t appreciate the fact that Marshall had me crying. I’m not a crier … it’s just not conducive to my line of work. My problem—I’m fiercely loyal and it was completely fucked to be treated so horribly by someone I emphatically trusted. Lesson learned―I will never trust like that again …

  I approached the wrought iron gate when the cursor that obstructed the lower part of my right eye began to flicker. It made me wonder if it was possible to contact Roger. Even if he didn’t have the prototype in his head, there had to be a way to contact him … I needed to talk to him. Roger had a way of reasoning with me when I was frustrated by Marshall. I drove a couple of miles past Marshall’s property before I pulled into a well-hidden turnout on the side of the road. I turned off the key and sat there for a moment, feeling edgy and compromised. I clung to the idea that there had to be some way to contact Roger, even through his iPhone. I mumbled Roger Clarke and his file popped open, filling my entire vision. Anything I wanted to know was there plain as day. His full name, the last four digits of his social security number, education, previous addresses, work history, family history, medical history, people he associated with—everything. To be honest, it was a bit creepy. I forced my eyes to focus and scanned the file, looking for any way to contact him. Finally, down at the bottom on the right side, I noticed a phone icon. I focused on it and thought, call Roger. Suddenly the icon turned bright green and a small rectangular graphic equalizer surfaced on the screen as a phone rang impatiently in my ear. Holy shit!

  “Hello? This is Roger.” His voice was calm, eerily calm. I didn’t answer immediately. A low frequency hum and his voice was all I heard in my head.

  “Hello? Hello … Lauren?” Roger asked as I watched the lines on the screen record his voice.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” I answered in a whisper after a long pause. “Lauren! Are you ok?”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, I guess so. Why? What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I want you to stay where you are,” he demanded.

  “What’s going on, Rog?”

  “We don’t have time. Listen, I need you to stay where you are. I will call you back and tell”— his voice cut off … silence.

  The phone icon went dark and the lines on the graphic equalizer disappeared.

  The words CONNECTION TERMINATED flashed red once across my eyes … something was wrong. Without thinking, I pushed open the car door, stepped out into the dampened air and tried to contact him again. Pacing back and forth, I could feel the thick air pass through my hair and moisten my skin; I was determined to hear his voice. There was so much I needed to know. Did he really betray our friendship? He wouldn’t! There was no way he would be a part of Marshall’s plan. He wouldn’t manipulate me like that. I stared at the blinking cursor and screamed his name, but nothing; I couldn’t reconnect with him.

  Moment after painstaking moment taunted me. Time was moving too fast, cluttering my thoughts and slowing every attempt to reach Roger. Finally, his information appeared just as it did earlier; my heart pounded heavily in my chest. At last, I would get a chance to talk to him and find out what was going on. Relief spread across my mind but was stilted when a big red word blinked in a diagonal line across his information—DECEASED.

  Words spun and images were plastered across my vision; my stomach muscles tighten and I stiffened as my body excreted the pain that poisoned my mind. Was this real? Not Roger, not him. I couldn’t lose him; not this way. I couldn’t believe what I read. Suddenly, I couldn’t discern what was reality and what wasn’t. I heard my phone chime with a text. My eyes clouded and I could barely see as I swam in the air to my car. I needed to find my phone, but it was nowhere. The more time it took to find it, the more my mind created images of Roger’s death.

  Finally, I swung my upper body toward the passenger’s side; looking in between the seats, I spotted it. As tears clustered in my eyes, I slid my finger across the screen, scanning my previous calls. Vicious confusion clouded my mind and I couldn’t think of the last time I had called him. Finally, I found his number, but it seemed to ring forever.

  Come on, pick up the phone. Come on, Rog.

  “Hi, this is Roger, leave me a message.”—and then there was a beep. I pressed it hard against my ear as tears poured down my cheeks, confirmation of my worst fears.

  Roger was dead.

  I was snapped from my heartbreak by the phone ringing loud against my ear. I choked a short breath and looked to see who it was. NO DATA flashed across the screen. I pressed the talk buttonon the phone and listened.

  “Lauren?—Hello?—this is George, Doctor George Finway—is this Lauren?” his voice rushed to get an answer.

  Suddenly Doctor Finway’s information filled my eyes, just like Roger’s had.

  “Lauren—listen to me very carefully, I don’t have much time. You need to get out of town. Do you hear me?” I couldn’t tell if I heard him on my phone or in my head.

  “Get away, and do not trust anyone. Don’t tell anyone where you are—understand—nobody!” He forced the words out. “I’ll try and contac—”

  Suddenly, horrific sounds echoed through my head. I heard him begging for his life, sobbing. My hands shook and the phone dropped from my ear, but his heinous torture didn’t stop. Every thud, yelp, gasp, and tear created graphic images in my mind. They were coming from my inside my head; Sounds etched in every fiber of my being before dead silence and the big red word DECEASED filled my vision.

  This exact moment, where death owned more than anything life could barter, my mind surged and was out of control. My body jerked as the acidic pain of death rotted in my trachea. Warped visions of Finway’s murder embroiled my whole body from my skin to my soul; I had experienced his murder.

  I snatched my phone from the floor of the car and tossed it across to the passenger’s side, the old book that I had taken from Marshall’s library caught my eye as it sat awry on the seat. I reached over and grabbed it with my fingertips; a slight gap appeared half way through the pile of pages. I balanced the book in my hand and re-examined it again, running my index finger across the tiny gap. I gently pulled the pages apart with my thumb. A small single sheet of paper was purposely taped to the left side of the book.

  I looked at the words and recognized the handwriting immediately―It was Roger’s. I placed my hand on the paper, wanting to feel his words speak to me. I tried to decipher the notes he had scribbled in countless directions, skimming what he wrote. My heart tumbled into my gut and the wind that kept me alive vanished all together. Peering up at me from the bottom of the page were five names, four I was quite familiar with and one I didn’t know at all.

  1. Roger Clarke ✔ 2. Marshall Grayson ✔ 3. George Finway ✔ 4. Sam Wilkins ✔ 5. Lauren Matthews.

  Every name had a check mark behind it but with the exception of mine. What did that mean? I read what Roger had written below the five names. The deepest betrayal I have ever experienced was confirmed by four affirming words.

  Prototypes installed and functional.

  Just when I didn’t think my life could get any worse, a pitch black limousine pulled up behind my car. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and realized there was no time to escape. I ripped the paper from the book and shoved it into my back pocket before hurling the book onto the floor. I grabbed my cell phone and shoved it into my front pocket. I should have known that Marshall would find me.

  I watched the driver’s reflection in my rear-view mirror as he stepped out of the limo and lumbered up to my car. I knew it was Marshall’s chauffeur, the perfect black suit and small captain’s hat gave him away. His huge knuckle rapped on my window, motioning me to roll it down. I let it go a quarter of the way, peeking up to see him. I sat there waiting for him to speak, trying not to look like a deer in the headlights.

  “Ms. Matthews, Mr. Grayson would like me to bring you to the house.”

  “Well, what if I say no?”

  “Ms. Matthews, you know he won’t take no for an answer.” He dropped his hand to the front edge of his jacket and pulled it back; there tucked in a shoulder holster was a semi-automatic handgun. It was just enough evidence to convince me there was no way I was going to get away from Marshall or his massive goon. I nodded and closed my window. I leaned over the passenger’s seat and wiggled my way to reach the old book I so carelessly threw to the floor. With the old book in one hand and my keys in the other, I stepped out and locked my door.

  I slipped into the limo and positioned myself in the far corner. I kept my hands busy by flipping pages of the ancient book back and forth. My mind shuffled images of what was going to happen when I got to Marshall’s house. Suddenly the name Sam Wilkins flashed across my thoughts. The cursor in the bottom of my eye flickered and data materialize. I shuttered. Anticipating another huge red word blinking across the file, but when the information appeared I gasped. Somehow in my mind I figured Sam was a man, I didn’t expect to see a woman’s picture embedded amongst the file. The details of the image left much to be desired but the way her long red hair cascaded and pressed on her shoulders, I could tell she was beautiful. I skimmed down through her information and found the same phone icon that Doctor Finway and Roger had in their files. I focused on it. It turned bright green and again the graphic equalizer appeared. It was a long shot, but this could be my one chance to contact her and maybe the only way I was going to save my life.

  The ringing in my head became impatient as each ring quickly pursued the next. We were through the gate and on the driveway leading to Marshall’s. I knew I was running out of time; I was anxious to talk to her.

  “Who’s there?” Sam asked after she answered the ringing in my ears.

  I focused on communicating with her in my thoughts, hoping she was able to hear me. “You don’t know me, my name’s Lauren Matthews and I’ve got some bad news.”

  “I’m sorry, but you must be mistake
n I’m—”

  I focused and projected my thoughts, interrupting her before she could hang up. “No wait, Roger and George are dead! I’m in Marshall’s limo and I think he is going to kill me. You’re the only person I think I can trust.”

  All the lines on the graphic equalizer that vibrantly moved as she spoke dropped flat. She was silent.

  “Samantha—please,” I whispered.

  “Where are you now?” she questioned. I forced myself to focus and send the last part of my message.

  “I’m on the way up to his house; I don’t have much time. I know about the prototype embedded in your head.” I waited for a slight moment before I continued. “You, Marshall and I are the only ones left. I’m the next one to be killed. Please, I need your help.”

  The limousine came to an abrupt halt and I adjusted my sight to what was happening outside the car. Sam must have severed our connection because all of a sudden I was looking out with both eyes. The door quickly swung open and I knew I was going to face Marshall—alone.

  I noticed the sun had already set and the stars were beginning to shine. I saw a slight glow in the sky. The moon must be hiding behind the dark clouds pasted randomly in the heavens. The perfect indication it’s been a long day.

  My eyes stung as they adjusted to the lights that lit the way to Marshall’s huge marble steps. I tried to remember the last time I was here at night. I scoured my memories, but found nothing. Environments change in the dark, things disappear in different lighting. I thought about the advantage I’d have if I had a way to record what I was seeing. Immediately a small camera icon appeared in the upper left hand corner of my eye. Teeny numbers rolled over as the recording started with a small graphic equalizer that showed the inflection of the sounds around me. I followed the same tuxedo man I had ignored hours earlier today. He stopped and directed me to a sidewalk that wrapped symmetrically around to the side of the house. Now he was following closely behind me. I made sure I scanned the landscape, carefully recording it, just in case I needed to escape.