Onset, Reset, Mindset

ONSET, RESET, MINDSET

By

E L Russell & E C Russell

Box Set Published by authors

Copyright © 2016 E L Russell

All rights reserved.

ISBN 9781310575235

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.

Philip K. Dick

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Dedication

A Note from the Authors

Part One ~ Onset - Chloe 1.0

Part Two: Reset - Chloe 2.0

Part Three ~ Mindset - Chloe 3.0

Dedication

To my wife, Enid, my co-writer and development editor who started us on this journey as storytellers, writers and finally, authors.

To everyone researching genomic medicine to improve the lives of millions awaiting cure and relief from suffering everywhere.

To our critique circle friends who have had to endure bits and pieces of this series for several years, we thank you for your patience and for your valuable input and for reading our stories. We hope you enjoyed them.

A Note from the Authors

Thank you for reading our stories. We encourage you follow us on Twitter @EnosRussell. We only share information with readers when we publish a new story, set special prices, or offer opportunities for readers such as being a beta-reader for an unpublished book. Checkout our website www.elrussell.com for more information, including audio books, sample reads, and new technologies for writers and readers.

Other novels by the author include:

Deadly Awakenings

Deadly Discovery

Deadly Conflict

Mindset

Reset

Onset

The Seeker vol 1 - Finna's Quest

The Ghost in my iPad

Part One ~ Onset - Chloe 1.0

Onset ~ Prologue

Chloe Russo, you better watch out for those twins from Pittsburgh, they've trained all summer in their hills.

Yeah, and me without a rear-view mirror. Chloe grinned at her own trash talk and checked her chain while she rubbed a section with an oily rag and then wiped her hands. You and I both know there’s only one other cyclist here worth a glimpse. She spun a tire and checked its treads.

Her friend made binoculars with her hands to scan the 80 or so contestants frantically checking their equipment.

Funny, Chloe laughed in spite of herself. Like we don’t both know it’s you, Kelly, but note I said, ‘Glimpse, nothing more.

As they jostled their bikes through the parking lot to the staging area, Kelly said, Come clean, Chloe, we’ve split wins all season. It’s my turn today.

Yeah, right. Good race, girl. Not today, girlfriend. You will eat my dust. An air horn signaled the imminent start and the racers elbowed for position.

She nudged her bike to the front. "That’s woman to you, kid," Kelly said, dishing out her own trash talk.

Chloe hooted and adjusted her helmet over her sleek brown hair, fixing her eyes on a spot fifty meters down the road. She stretched her long athletic body and flexed well-developed shoulder muscles. All out by three pumps. She tensed like a jack-in-the-box ready to spring.

The start sounded and her body shot into action. Tendons flexed and tungsten strained with the first circle of the wheel. As she flew past her first checkpoint, she noted with satisfaction that the pack had already fallen back. So much for the Pittsburgh twins.

Eighty racers had entered, but in Chloe’s mind, she entered a two-woman race. Kelly was always her toughest competition and today would be no different. There would be time to renew their friendship after the race. The challenge of beating her was one of many flames that fueled her fire to win.

She thrived on competition. The satisfaction of a powerful start, the freedom in speed, the exhilaration of wind in her face that made her feel like she could fly, and even the exhaustion at the finish. She loved it all and stretched for her personal best, in practice as well as in competition.

Police cars and red traffic cones loomed ahead, marking the ninety-degree turn into the loop around the reservoir. Careless navigation could send a biker into a slide over a low wall followed by a free-fall into the deep deadly reservoir waters.

Chloe knew the lane she wanted and drove hard, leaning into the turn. The spectators on the reservoir wall zipped by in a colorful blur and the commotion of police whistles and shouting didn’t phase her focus.

Kelly? Chloe felt her near. She was closing the gap. Odd how Chloe always knew when Kelly was near. She pushed herself harder. Kelly doesn’t usually make her move until the end of the race.

Chloe lowered her head and dug in for more speed. From the corner of her eye, she saw the front wheel of a Kelly’s bike in the narrow space between Chloe and the reservoir wall, challenging her lead.

Chloe’s muscles fought her demand for more speed but she lost ground. Then, everything went wrong.

Kelly shouted.

Chloe’s screams vanished into an explosive roar that assaulted her senses, then drained all sound. The void, replaced by a wall of heat, washed over her like liquid fire. She struggled to maintain her balance as peddles defied feet and handlebars refused purchase.

Pain!

Panic!

She sucked hard for the air the scorching blast had drawn away.

Darkness prowled the perimeter of her vision and she felt her body melting.

Something… a hand… a foot… shoved her left shoulder hard and she crashed toward oblivion as a huge, hot, unyielding monster slammed and hurdled her through the air.

Blackness stole her vision… her pain… and finally, her consciousness.

Onset 1 ~ Two years later

Former detective Dave Westfield popped his gum in cadence with his hammering heart. Wiping sweaty palms on his hospital scrubs, he double-checked the angle of the security camera to be sure he was in a blind spot. The squawk in his earpiece fired his reflux and he swallowed hard.

Two minutes out. You have the package?

Yeah. Sweat pasted this hospital scrubs to his torso and crotch. Texas summers are too damn hot to stand around in a concrete garage.

Wait, the voice instructed.

Right. The delay, the heat, and the danger of discovery compounded his irritation. At first, his little break-in had seemed simple compared to the chunk of money they offered, but then they demanded more. He’d heard stories and back room rumors of bad things happening to people who didn’t come through. Late last night They called to say it was going down today… or else.

It would be simple, they said. Walk in, grab the files, and walk out. Nothing to it.

He sluiced the sweat of his forehead with soaked handkerchief and tried to shut out the sound of the squealing tires fighting the continuous left-hand turn up the parking garage ramp. He inhaled a couple of Rolaids and wished he’d brought another pack.

The tinny voice in his ear erupted, Level two.

Westfield’s body spazzed at the sudden sound and he threw his hand to his chest. Yes. Two.

Be ready to hand us the ear piece and the envelope. The voice was female… flat and toneless, yet, it held expectation… menace. Even in the hot and humid garage, the lack of inflection was chilling.

Scared, yet needing to know, Westfield croaked, My money?

The same dead voice answered. When we make the exchange.

Thank God this deal is over. He closed his fist in triumph. He wanted to take his money and run. He wanted to be free of them. Whoever they were.

Dave edged toward the outer side of the ramp. The walls, covered with black tire streaks and chipped paint, spoke volumes of failed turn ratios. He heard the black limo cruise toward him from behind, and then slowing.

Removing his earpiece, he pulled a manila envelope from under his sweaty scrub top. The black limo eased by without stopping. Unable to see through its tinted glass, Westfield hesitated. Then the rear window opened halfway to reveal a small black-gloved hand waving an envelope.

Pay day! He walked backwards up the ramp, matching the limo’s slow progress. Holding the damp goods and earpiece in one hand, he reached for his money with the other.

The limo accelerated slightly and Dave turned sideways to keep up. He caught the flash of reflecting sunglasses in the dark shadows of the limo’s back seat, but no face. The hand snatched his offering, then dropped his payment to the oil-stained concrete. The car sped off.

He swore as he ran to pick it up. You can kiss my ass, Darkwood. I got your prints now, you bastards. With this insurance, you can’t screw me over.

With relief, he listened to the diminishing distant squeal of tires and stuffed the money in his thigh pocket. He couldn’t wait to leave this hellhole and he hurried his climb toward the closest elevator.

Out of shape and out of breath, however, he stopped at a ‘No Pedestrians’ sign and leaned on the ramp’s wall to take the pressure off his overworked lungs.

Concentrating on catching his breath, Dave jumped at the sudden appearance of a beautiful young woman. Uh. He sucked in his gut and stood taller. "Where the hell did you come from?"

Although dressed in a black leather jacket and tight black jeans, she looked unaffected by the heat and humidity. Without a word, she extended a black-gloved hand.

Breathless? she cooed.

I’m Dave Westfield, Sucking air through a sweaty smile, he ogled the cleavage in her half unbuttoned blouse, and reached out to shake hands.

I know, she purred. Then she surprised him by painfully locking her grip on his arm.

Hey! What the… let go! He yanked hard, but couldn’t pull free.

Unruffled, the woman smiled a lazy grin and held his arm with ease. Without a word, she located his payment with her other hand and stuffed the money into a pocket of her jeans. We don’t want a money trail, now do we?

Raising an eyebrow, she twisted his arm toward the restraining wall.

Dave’s inability to resist escalated from pain to fear. What the hell! He unsuccessfully kicked at her legs and tried to hit her with his other arm.

The more he thrashed about, the more her smile deepened. Finally, it seemed she lost interest. She knocked his other arm aside so hard she broke it and then grabbed his waistband. In one slow motion movement, she effortlessly rolled him over the top of the wall, dropping him head first toward the cement floor four stories below. He screamed all the way down.

***

Back in the limo, the woman, neither breathless nor disheveled from her encounter with the double-dealing Dave, tore open the small, sweat-stained envelope and carefully examined its contents. She shouldered her phone to her ear and said with satisfaction, Colonel, I have the scans. They’re on a DVD with a written message from our man inside.

Read it.

Of course, Colonel but this would all have been much tidier if you had just let me do it.

Come now, you can’t do everything, he cajoled. The rest of us would feel useless.

Not in the least placated, she read, I have confirmed that the candidate has the special brain tissue we seek. I await your instructions.

Succinct.

While she repackaged the items, she listened on the phone to the next step. Yes, the team’s in place. They are monitoring the candidate and can initiate extraction at any time. She took the phone off her shoulder. Our mole will let us know the minute they schedule the candidate for treatment.

Onset 2 ~ First Day

Trying not to sweat, Chloe pulled hard on her wheels with her strong arms and maneuvered her way down the labyrinth of patient-filled hallways. Her silk blouse and dress pants were so alien to her usual attire of shorts and t-shirts, she felt like a fraud.

Where’s the blasted Patient Services Office? She glanced at her watch. Twenty-five minutes late. Aunt Doris will shoot me if I screw this up.

Crossing yet another intersection of halls, she passed a small sign that pointed down a side corridor. Why the heck was she so insistent on MD Andersen in Houston?

Doubling back, she made the turn and grinned. It’s empty. I’ll be making time here. She set her titanium wheels spinning toward the end of the corridor. How she loved going fast. Relishing the feeling of freedom, she pushed herself for maximum speed and set her long, brown hair flying. Her euphoria didn’t last.

Blinded by reflected sunlight halfway down the corridor, she missed the unexpected appearance of a man, backing out of a door directly in front of her. Too late, she grabbed her racing wheels with all her strength and shouted in panic.

The man turned his head at her voice, but she careened into him. His long legs buckled and he landed in a heap on her lap, knocking the air from her lungs with a whoosh. Her wheelchair kept rolling and she automatically wrapped her arms around him as they headed for certain collision with the door at the end of the hall. We’re gonna die! Staying home and interning at Johns Hopkins would have been so much easier.

Frantic, she let go of him with one hand and stretched for the wheel rim, desperate to slow and turn her chair. A useless effort. They slammed into the door with a jarring thud. Chloe’s vision grew fuzzy and blackness circled her sight. She pushed at the jumble of arms and legs.

Off, she wheezed. Can’t breathe.

Someone on the other side of the door forced it partly open, and in the process, pushed the wheelchair back. Michael? What happened?

The man pushed off Chloe’s lap, effectively squeezing the last vestige of air from her lungs. Woo-e! he hooted, wiping tears of laughter off his face, That was some ride.

Chloe’s jaw dropped. How is that funny? She couldn’t believe it and sucked in air., Afraid I’d break your neck... she wheezed. Thought you were a goner. Her eyes caught his. Are you nuts? That’s what she really thought.

No, No, I’m fine.

An older woman with concern on her face placed a hand on Chloe’s shoulder. Are you hurt, my dear?

Still gulping air, Chloe managed a, Um… fine.

The tall man with the handsome face and dancing brown eyes bent down to examine her scowling expression. You look a bit… off. Your eyes are glazed and you’re red in the face. Take deep, slow breaths.

Duh, she thought, her vision beginning to clear. With her mouth open, gasping for air, she knew she looked like a fish out of water. He’s good looking for a lunatic, she thought, apropos of nothing.

I tried. To warn you. She talked in short sentences so she could breathe in-between. Where’d you… come from? She wheeled her chair to look down the hall for a door. Turning back, she said, "I am sorry,"

No problem. I’m Michael Kregg. Amusement still skipped across his face as he reached out to shake her hand. I must have knocked the breath out of you pretty good.

Do you think? Chloe cocked an eyebrow at him, but kept the sarcasm to herself. Not too… bad. She extended her hand. I’m here to see Dr. Deal.

A smile lit the woman’s face. You must be Chloe Russo. I’m expecting you. She kept looking at Chloe when she said, Michael, Chloe is our new patient advocate in the summer intern slot. You know. The one I told you about.

Ahh. Excellent. Then I expect I’ll see you around the hospital, Chloe. He nodded in the direction of his office. My door is recessed. With a chuckle that said he thought that was hilarious, he said, "By the way, I don’t usually need to check traffic before I enter the freeway." He waved his hand and departed.

Chloe pulled her chin back. Did he look at me funny after hearing Dr. Deal’s info? Remembering her unpromising arrival, she searched for some dignity and focused on the middle-aged woman dressed in a dark business suit.

Ah… um…. Dr. Deal? I’m afraid I’m late.

Yes, quite late.

***

Michael sauntered away still grinning. He’d been sure that hair-raising ride was going to end in disaster… at the very least with him and the young woman in a heap on the floor. He still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to turn her chair to avoid a bruising collision. She was strong, but then a person in a manual wheelchair would be. He had felt her strength when she locked her long lean arms around him. She would be tall… if she could stand. He liked tall women, he thought inanely.

He laughed out loud. She was seriously breathless from his weight. No wonder. At six feet four and 200 pounds, he would knock the breath out of about anyone if he sat on them.

Although only 32, Dr. Michael Kregg was a well-respected psychiatrist. He’d been recruited from Johns Hopkins by MD Andersen to run a research lab for patients coping with brain tumors. His professional motivation was triggered by the death of his adored younger sister. When he was sixteen, she was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor.

Even though she’d been incredibly courageous and optimistic throughout the God-awful treatment, in the end, she’d died. Michael had vowed he would find a cure, but he didn’t want to bury himself in a lab and forget the human side of the dreaded disease.

At his request, the hospital encouraged him to work directly with patients in handling the psychological horror of brain tumors, as well as in the labs. With each encounter, he remembered his sister. Patient by patient, he was able to let small bits of the bad memories go.

He shook himself. He had experiments to check on and he whistled as he headed for his lab. His path would definitely intersect with the interesting young woman who had mowed him down. He looked forward to that.

So she was one of Shannon O’Quinn’s adopted daughters. She’d been a good sport with his laughing and teasing.

Lowered brows expressed Helen Deal’s matter-of-fact-concern rather than anger over the accident or her tardiness. Shall we move into my office, dear? Are you able to do that? She led the way.

Dr. Deal’s office décor identified her as a no-frills sort of person, a thought reinforced by the no nonsense attitude in their discussion. A framed degree said she earned a Ph.D. in Human Resource Management. Ah, she’s not an MD kind of doctor. Still, I wonder if she knows Shannon. Her desk was clear except for the computer at the workstation, and to the right a single file on her desk.

Getting right to business, she pointed behind her saying, Your office is just down that hidden hallway where you met Dr. Kregg. You should have no problem finding it.

Met him? I almost killed him. She nodded. He’s a doctor?

Oh, yes. I am sure your paths will cross again. He’s a psychiatrist.

That figures. What other kind of doctor would laugh in such a situation. Chloe waited for more information on the man, but Dr. Deal moved straight to business.

Sitting against the desk, Helen reviewed the job parameters. There’s a stack of patient records on your desk that you will need to study. Reaching behind her, she picked up the solitary, and rather thick, folder lying front and center on her desk and handed it to Chloe. I thought you could start with this patient today. Read through these records and give me the highlights of what you think is important.

Chloe placed the file on her lap and scanned the medical reports, mentally creating a personal profile. After scanning the first part, she looked up and said. The hospital admitted an seventeen year old female, Sophia Ramirez, for tests after complaints of bad headaches, occasional blurred vision and loss of balance. Doctors suspect a brain tumor and hope it is not cancerous.

Helen nodded and Chloe turned the next few pages, running her index finger down the print. Sophia lives with her single, elderly, grandmother and, although she won scholarships and grants to several prestigious state and private universities, elected to attend Houston Community College this fall as a freshman.

What does that tell you about her?

Although surprised by the direction of the question, Chloe’s answer was immediate, almost as if she felt what the patient felt. She’s smart, she’s got to be scared, and she’s probably angry. I would guess she also feels alone.

Why is that? Helen tapped her pen on the desk.

Chloe shifted in her chair wondering what she was getting at. It’s all overwhelming, isn’t it? I mean, cancer is scary, isn’t it? I’d be afraid. She needs her grandmother, but the woman is too old for any real support.

It’s awful to be alone, Chloe thought. She looked at the diplomas on the wall rather that make direct eye contact with the woman.

Although she tried not to go there, Chloe remembered all too well what it was like being alone. She was fifteen when her mother died. Her death left her depressed, frightened, and alone.

At first, she was dumped on her Aunt-once-removed Myrtle, where she felt, more often than not, invisible. True, she never wanted for any of the physical comforts, but she was treated with indifference. Totally lost and miserable, she barely noticed when Myrtle said. My sister in law will watch you now.

She was shuttled to Houston to live with Audrey, her aunt-by-marriage-once-removed. Audrey was just plain mean, but by then, Chloe was older and learned to cope. Through cycling and racing, she had begun to gain some confidence and a sense of self.

And… Helen prodded.

Startled out of her musings, Chloe brought her focus back to Dr. Deal. "Sophia’s mother died when she was ten, but she had a grandmother who took her in. Until recently, that worked well, but now the roles are reversed and Sophia is the caretaker. She works to supplement the Medicare checks and she turned down the scholarships because her needs to stay close to take care of her grandmother. Sophia’s bound to be angry at what life has dealt her."

Helen held her chin with one hand considering Chloe’s response for a moment before speaking. I suspect you’re right.

The wheels in Chloe’s brain spun. What does the close scrutiny imply? She turned a few more pages then flipped back to find the one she was looking for. Ah, here. She placed her finger on the info. In high school, Sophia made a failed attempt at suicide. She closed the folder, indicating she was finished.

Helen lifted an eyebrow and thrust her face forward, looking expectant.

Did I miss something?

After several seconds, Helen murmured, Your speed reading skills don’t miss much, Chloe. Give it a minute. She pulled her chin in.

The telephone rang. Checking the caller ID, Dr. Deal, said, I’m sorry, dear, but I must take this.

Dr. Deal walked behind her desk and turned toward the wall. Yes, we’ll monitor her… No, not yet. We haven’t had a chance. She listened and waited until the caller stopped talking. Of course. I know how important this is and I assure you… She waited. Yes… you said… possible schizophrenia... Trust me. We have it covered.

Hanging up the phone, she stared at it a moment then turned to her new intern. Where were we?

Who were they monitoring? Sophia? And who was Dr. Deal talking to? Right, Chloe said. She hugged the folder close, not opening it. Sophia’s mother suffered from Schizophrenia and died from complications associated with alcohol and drug abuse. The father bailed soon after.

Didn’t your mother suffer from schizophrenia, Chloe? Helen asked, looking directly at her and not looking the least bit embarrassed at asking such a personal question. I mean your biological mother not your adoptive mother.

Chloe jerked her head back in surprise and some annoyance. No. Well… possibly, but not actually. She put her hand to her temple where a headache had begun. Why are we talking about me?

She’d heard her mom mention schizophrenia a couple of times and she acted pretty freaked out sometimes. No, she was never diagnosed with it… and then… she finished in a barely audible mumble, she died. Chloe felt defensive and angry.

Yes, of course, I knew that Chloe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.

Then why does it feel like you did? Chloe said nothing.

Dr. Deal cleared her throat. Well…um… you did a fine job in harvesting the important aspects of Sophia’s personal information. You’ll make a good patient contact person. Let me clarify one salient point.

Taking a deep breath to stomp down her irritation, Chloe waited. It wouldn’t do to be at odds with the boss of an internship her adoptive mother, Shannon, so carefully arranged for her.

Sophia’s Grandmother is old and her mind wanders. Even if she were better equipped to be supportive, she doesn’t have the mobility to get to the hospital to be with Sophia. However, for all that she is incompetent, she is still legally responsible for her granddaughter. Pausing for that to sink in, Helen added, The point is, the girl has no competent adults to act in her behalf.

Chloe nodded to show she was listening, but her mind raced to integrate the innuendos of Helen’s comments. And this affects me how?

Flipping out her hand, Dr. Deal said, Being just shy of eighteen, Sophia is not legally old enough to make decisions about her medical treatment. Foreseeing this problem, we had her grandmother sign legal papers giving the hospital the right to decide her treatment, should the need arise. She paused. Sophia is not aware of this."

I see. Chloe’s brow furrowed. Where is this going? As the patient advocate, surely I am not the competent adult. I’m only twenty-one for Pete’s sake.

Sophia’s psychological history complicates the situation. Helen clicked her fingernails on the desk. You’re wondering why I started you with this patient, she said, studying Chloe’s face.

While Chloe dropped her head down in a marginal nod of agreement, her thoughts were, I have no earthly reason why. Her hands wandered of their own volition to her wheels and held them tight. She was ready to bolt.

Sophia refuses to engage in normal doctor-patient dialogue. She refuses to discuss any aspect of her condition. Helen paused while Chloe digested the information then clarified her intent. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I don’t want you to become fast friends with Sophia because you share a similar history, but she needs someone who supports her, someone she can go to with questions. She needs someone she feels she can trust.

This is crap. What shared history?

Your goal, Chloe, is to establish a warm, but professional, channel of communication while remaining separate from the mental anguish she is experiencing. If you can do that, she will stand a better chance of recovery. With the success you’ve had in dealing with your own recovery from your accident, I expect you can help her deal with what she is facing.

The movement of Chloe’s head was all but invisible. Oooo-kay.

Helen stood abruptly. We’re done, Here is Sophia’s room number, your hospital ID, don’t lose it, and a notebook. I’ll see you at 12:30 in the staff cafeteria. Go and visit her. You can fill me in over lunch."

She came around her desk. Oh, she said, looking meaningfully at Chloe, "Never discuss anything about a patient with anyone. If someone seems to be asking too many questions, even someone within the hospital, alert me immediately. Understand?"

Yes, ma’am, Chloe said in response to the gravity of Helen’s tone. She put the patient record in her backpack and slung it on the back of her wheelchair.

And, set your watch to my wall clock.

Ouch. Loud and clear, she thought, and with a Thank you, popped a wheelie to turn and rush out the door.

***

As Chloe wheeled out of the elevator reflecting on the meeting, her cell phone rang. Pulling it from her pocket, she flipped it open without slowing down. Kelly? What’s up? Her biking buddy from when she could bike and race had an uncanny way of knowing when she needed to talk.

Just wanted to hear about your first day. The cheery voice said.

So far, I’ve lucked out big time. I didn’t kill anybody and I wasn’t fired before I even started. Chloe felt better immediately.

What will your duties at the hospital be?"

Seeing patients. I’m on my way to one now. A Sophia Ramirez.

So, what worries you about Helen?

What? She didn’t remember telling Kelly her boss’s name. Dismissing it for the moment, she said, "She thinks she knows things about me that I didn’t include in my application. She also thinks Sophia Ramirez and I have things in common?

Yes…?

Then, there’s this guy I hit with my wheels… She told Kelly everything. She always did.

Onset 3 ~ First Patient

The all too familiar flashbacks bombarded Chloe. The smells, the dim lights, the quiet sounds, and the scurrying hospital personnel. Cruel intruding voices marched into her mind. You need another operation. It’s too early for more pain meds. Time to take your vitals. The doctor is here. Just a liquid diet for you. She began to sweat.

Oh, damn, she mumbled. She took a deep breath, then another… and another. Shut down the damn memories. Think of something good. I’m at home by the lake… with ducks. Seeing Mom’s silly flop-eared giant dogs bounding through tall grass. She glanced about to see if anyone had seen her meltdown.

Okay, I have this under control. She pushed her wheels in motion. Where is room number 606? At least no one at the nurses’ station had offered to push her. In her book, that was a plus for the hospital staff. She read the names on the message boards next to the patient’s door and wondered if they were all her patients. I need to get to my office for the files.

Although she didn’t intend to, she found herself looking around to see if Dr. Kregg was on the floor. He’ll be upstairs in the psych ward, she chided herself for her wandering thoughts. Besides, he has a goofy sense of humor. Mentally kicking herself, she muttered, Let’s get with the program.

Getting no reply from her soft knock, Chloe cautiously entered Sophia’s room. Wheeling past the bathroom and into the room beyond, she saw two oversized leather recliners by the window. They were empty. I’m the only visitor she has and I brought my own chair. Sick humor, she mumbled.

Since Sophia lay in the bed with her eyes shut, Chloe assumed she was asleep and rolled to the foot of her bed to look at her charts. Movement made her glance up and she gasped.

The patient’s long black hair framed a face with wide, angry, dark-brown eyes. Supported by white pillows and surrounded by white sheets pulled to her chin, her head created an illusion of a disconnected floating face rising slowly. What the hell do you want? it whispered. Then, leaning forward and sounding suspicious, it added Are you real?

Although startled, Chloe quickly collected herself and jerked her chin up and down. Yes, for real. I’m Chloe Russo, your patient advocate.

Having pressed the bed’s sit-up button as far as it would go, Sophia sat there glaring at her. "I didn’t ask if you were for real. I wanted to know if you are real… big difference," she growled. Then she frowned and turned her head left and right in an effort to look down on both sides of Chloe.

Why are you so short? What are you sitting on? With obvious suspicion, she pulled herself to the edge of the bed in order to see Chloe’s wheelchair.

Ignoring Sophia’s anger, Chloe rolled her wheels back to give her a better view. "I am real. Believe me, if this were a dream I’d be standing." She wheeled her chair in a 360 and suppressed the urge to tell Sophia exactly how much she understood what she was asking. She felt the same way on occasions. "I am not a figment of your imagination."

The annoyed patient removed her arms from under the sheets and folded them across her chest. You look short in it.

So you said. Not quite able to shut down her irritation, Chloe mocked her by crossing her arms in imitation. "If I weren’t stuck in it, I’d be a hell of a lot taller."

Sophia frowned, studying the interloper.

What’s a patient advocate going to do for me?

That all depends on what you may need. Chloe felt better with the turn of direction in the conversation. "Or, maybe it’s about what you think the hospital’s not doing to address your concerns." She removed a notebook from her backpack and set it on her lap.

Sophia followed every movement of Chloe’s hands like a tourist playing three-card Monte for the first time.

After Chloe opened the notebook and took out a pen, she looked up to see wide eyes glaring at her again.

So, Chloe, Sophia said, presenting her forearms like a challenge, You got some of these? Each forearm had a three to four inch scar that ran parallel to her arm bones.

Stifling a gasp, Chloe said, No-o, and slowly shook her head. This girl freaks me out. I see you had the correct technique. I’m glad it didn’t work.

How do you know—

A knock on the door interrupted Sophia’s response. Good morning, the chipper voice intruded. It’s time to check your vitals. Chloe rolled to the other side of the bed to make room for a small collection of monitors bundled onto a six-wheeled pole.

While the nurse in teddy bear scrubs swiped Sophia’s forehead with an electronic thermometer, she made small talk. Am I right to assume you’re Dr. Deal’s new patient advocate?

Chloe Russo. Nice to—

Hope you enjoy meeting everyone. The nurse turned to enter data into the pole’s laptop. Have a blessed day. And she breezed out, leaving the door open.

Yeah, Sophia said, our days are truly blessed.

Ignoring the sarcasm, Chloe lifted the checklist and pushed on. "Are they treating you well?’

The young woman, whose records said she was still a teen, sat back against her pillow and huffed, Define ‘well.’

Chloe grimaced. This was going to be like pulling teeth. Do they listen to you?

Of course, not. They’re adults.

Do you have any pain?

Sophia bolted up, finger pointed at her head. She counted the words tapping her finger on her temple. I … have … a … brain … tu … mor. She fell back onto her raised bed and chewed on a fingernail, staring at the ceiling. But no, it doesn’t hurt.

What do your doctors want to do?

Nothing, right now. They’re going to look at it to see how bad it is.

Despite the anger meant to cover it, Sophia’s voice wobbled and Chloe felt at a loss as to what to say. She was relieved when another knock at the door heralded a food cart that smelled like hamburgers.

Lunch time. A large male hospital worker in Star-Wars-figured green scrubs placed a tray on the bed table.

Sophia looked at the burger with hungry eyes while the orderly checked her chart.

Uh oh. Sorry, girl, my bad, He said with fallen brows. He came around and fluffed her pillows. Your doctor scheduled you for some blood work. Light lunch today. Just Jell-O and fruit juice for you. Having ignored Chloe, he exited, putting her burger in a pocket and leaving the door open.

Sophia stared at her Jell-O and murmured, Yeah… blessed.

Chloe’s stomach growled at the residual aroma and she put her hand on her stomach as if she could silence the sound. Leaving her contact card on the food tray, she said, Sophia, and looked hard into her eyes, call if you need something. I mean it. I’ll be around and they’ll page me.

Sophia looked down at her Jell-O and in a voice that sounded like a little girl alone in the world, said quietly, You’re leaving now? She sounded vulnerable... and disappointed.

I’ve a meeting with my supervisor, but I’ll stop by later this afternoon. Okay? After the belligerent show she’d so convincingly put on, Chloe was surprised at Sophia expressed disappointment. Fooled me. I thought you didn’t want company. I should’ve known better. It won’t take long. I’ll be back.

Looking forlorn, Sophia buried her head in her folded knees and didn’t say a word as her visitor wheeled out.

Closing the door, Chloe flinched hearing the girl’s muffled sobs. Yes, I understand perfectly.

Onset 4 ~ First Encounter

After not seeing Helen Deal in the cafeteria for their 12:30 lunch, Chloe wondered if she had the location wrong and raced to Helen's office. Knocking on her door, Chloe congratulated herself for being on time in spite of first showing up at the wrong place. Not getting a response, she knocked again and pushed it open. Dr. Deal? It’s Chloe. A woman slammed the drawer closed and backed away from the filing cabinet behind the desk. A non-descript middle-aged woman, she acted as if she had been caught stealing from the cookie Jar. Oh, she gasped with her hand to her heart, I… uh… you’re Chloe, aren’t you. Welcome.

Yes, hello. I’m sorry I startled you.

No, uh, no problem. I’m Marge, Dr. Deal’s girl Friday. She rubbed her forearms and appeared nervous. I was, uh… she ran a hand across her cheek and looked at the window. She… Dr. Deal… ah… called out for an emergency meeting. She wants to reschedule for tomorrow. 12:30, will that work?

Chloe looked at the woman. Oh, sure, that’ll be fine. What in heck is she nervous about?

Before she had time to say more, the woman backed out the door and by the sound of her footsteps, ran down the hall. Rolling closer to the desk Chloe discovered a new collection of patient folders in Helen's wire basket and wondered if any were for her.

Under the desk blotter, next to her basket, she spotted the corner of another folder. She had almost missed it and slid it out far enough to peek at the patient's name. She smiled at the label. Patient X. Hmm. Mysterious, this could be interesting. Feeling a bit guilty, but enjoying the rush of misbehaving, she looked around to see if someone could see her and quickly added it to the stack. She waited a few seconds fighting the urge to return it. Deciding to read it over lunch, she planned to slip it back before Helen returned. Checking once more that no one could see her, she dumped them in her backpack and wheeled out of the office.

Yes, a quick lunch on my own, she thought and remembered a Starbucks on the corner by the parking entrance. Taking off at a fast clip, she thought, I’ll just read all about Patient X.

***

The cell phone sitting next to the hand grenade on Colonel Doyle’s desk vibrated, but he ignored it, not wanting to end the conversation with his special guest. He watched her walk across the room to sit next to him.

Don’t you need to take that call, Colonel? Her skirt barely covered her ass and when she crossed her shapely legs and leaned toward him, her blouse, unbuttoned halfway down, exposed a nice expanse of cleavage.

Colonel Gavin Doyle, USMC, Ret., Director, Darkwood Security Special Programs, took pride in still being known as an AJ-squared-away, Marine. Adjusting the brass nameplate so it aligned with the hand grenade and miniature statute of the flag rising at Iwo Jima, he waved aside the ringing phone and extinguished his cigar in the ashtray next to it. It’ll keep, he growled and sat back, folding his fingers over his rock solid abdomen. How are our guests responding to their treatment, Adrianne? He liked to watch her chest swell whenever he mentioned their prisoners.

She displayed her small sharp teeth with a self-satisfied smirk and ran her gloved fingers through a strand of sleek black hair that had fallen in her face. The drugs are working well. I have a team training the five recruits.

Any problems?

With a cruel smile she said, Oh, I hope so. I like working with the problem cases, then laughed at what she considered her special humor.

Colonel Doyle smiled and re-examined her shapely form, wondering when they would get around to mixing business with pleasure. She was slim, but he liked her strength. He liked the athletic ones.

Colonel, her voice became sharp and demanding. "If you want the mission to succeed, the assault team we are putting together needs at least seven special people. The ones whose brains contain what you refer to as the anomaly."

You told me you could train anyone. That’s no longer true? He stared at her and drummed his fingers on his desk.

She appeared unimpressed with his demanding questioning or his apparent impatience. The anomaly is the only thing that indicates we have someone who can develop the skills I have.

You also said your people couldn’t see the brain tissue.

She nodded, her mouth stretched in derision. "You are missing the reality, Colonel. My people can sense the presence of those who will soon awaken and develop these skills. Those who we hired to kidnap the ones who have awakened, had to first seek them out, one at a time. These Seekers often had to be in contact with them to know if they were worthy of joining our family."

I imagine that took some time, he offered quietly.

We are a patient people. We have all the time in the world.

Not sure he was clear of her meaning, he slapped the desk. Well, dammit girl, we don’t.

Her voice rang with ice. That, Colonel, is precisely why I suggested we monitor the Worlders’ hospitals for teams who are using the technology to find the anomaly. They will do our work for us. We just harvest their finds.

And you say the physical aspect, the anomaly, in these people who have awakened is new intel to you? This physical thing in the brain? The colonel reached for a file to check it was up-dated.

We went over that, Colonel. Her impatience was blatant as she crossed her arms and glared at him. Yes, our monitoring of Worlders’ technology is faster. Using it, I can recruit more candidates sooner. Thereby allowing me to train them as warriors for us, sooner. She paused, pulled at her black leather gloves and said with a grin, That’s the part I find most entertaining.

I know you enjoy that, Adrianne. It is one more reason we need you. He squared up the folder on his desk. Damn she’s a pistol. I’ve got to get her in bed.

In any field operation, she continued, it is imperative to have five warriors in the field plus two special ones with additional training and motivation to oversee and direct from a distance. The two who direct must have the talent that comes only from a great deal of maturity. Without such individuals under my control, the field agents they control could quite possibly go rogue.

As the phone continued to vibrate, Doyle reached for another cigar, his mind on anything but business.

She regarded the cell, then, without touching it, spun it around and slid it to the center of his desk. Take the call, Colonel. It’s important.

His head snapped up at the sound of authority in her voice. He picked up the phone. Doyle. Report.

Put it on speaker, Colonel, Adrianne ordered.

Damn pushy woman. He did as commanded. He pushed the button and laid the phone on the table.

The time to extract our person of concern is imminent, the phone squawked

We discussed that yesterday? Do you have a new development?

Yes, sir. I’m not absolutely sure about this, but, ah…

Spit it out.

I think we have more than one candidate, sir, another young woman.

Colonel Doyle shifted his full attention to the conversation. How fast can you confirm that?

Acting as if she were the one in charge, Adrianne interrupted. Agent, locate and tag this person. I’ll track and check her personally for the anomaly.

Colonel? The agent questioned.

Do it. We can’t pass up the opportunity to acquire another one. Understand? We move in forty eight hours.

Yes, sir.

Ending the conversation, Doyle considered Adrianne with barely concealed lust. You’ll have to show me how you did that phone trick some day.

She leaned over his desk and said softly, with her lips pursed, I just blow on it.

He squirmed in his chair and adjusted his pants.

Adrianne said, What will you use to mark this one? as she patted him under the chin.

The agent will give her his business card, which will contain a signal you can track on your smart phone.

She coiled her fingers around her phone like a python wrapping itself around a rodent. How retro. She exploded in a laugh and vanished with a pop.

Onset 5 ~ First Lunch

Helen felt agitated; there was no denying that. Sitting stiffly upright, she beat a staccato rhythm on the desk so hard with her pencil; he’d wanted to grab the thing to shut down the noise.

I think we need to assume someone paid Westfield to steal our patients’ records. she said. The important question is, who is this new faction and how dangerous are they to us?

Michael paced around the office. Whatever group did this, it can’t possibly be on the up and up. He stopped and crossed his arms, frowning. Not only do we need to find out who is behind this, but we need to figure out what they expect to gain? Our patients are hardly more than kids for Pete’s sake.

Helen sighed. Exactly. This is way above routine hospital security and in any case, she stopped her tapping, we don’t want to involve any hospital staff. I called Q to get some special investigators down here to stand guard.

Helen rubbed her hands together as if in preparation of something, but she hesitated, as if stalling. "Uh… one more thing. The intruder stole several sets of records. I can only assume it was to draw attention away from the one they wanted, but it’s possible if they read the other folders, they’ll learn the identity of a certain Patient X, who is also valuable to them. If someone is serious enough to kill to get the patient’s information, then patient X in also at risk. Q will go ballistic when she hears of this screw-up."

What information… exactly, are they stealing? You have duplicates, right? Michael threw out a hand. Where’s the gain in the info?

Helen looked at him a moment before she spoke. Oh, I have duplicates all right, but they now know of an access to a valuable tool.

Which is…? Michael lifted his brows and threw out a hand.

Weaponry, Michael. If these kids, as you call them, have the brain matter, as we suspect, they can be taught to use their burgeoning abilities in many ways. Right now, their skills are undeveloped.... unrecognized by the patients themselves, but in the wrong hands, these patients can be brainwashed and trained… trained to become powerful weapons.

***

In spite of the Houston heat, Chloe took her iced coffee and bagel to the coffee shop’s outside shady walkway. Outside was always her preference. She selected one of several empty tables and sat comfortably in the relatively cool breeze generated by the wind tunnel of tall buildings.

She liked watching people. Surrounded by pedestrians rushing toward their next thing, she sat relaxed in her own private bubble of solitude… until a coffee cup and lunch bag slapped down next to her bagel, interrupting her with presumptive rudeness.

May I join you?

Rather than acknowledge Michael’s presence, she made a point of looking at all the empty tables before fixing her eyes on at him from below furrowed brows. Although she nodded slowly, her attitude was less than gracious.

Obviously undeterred, he pulled out a chair and sat as if he’d be given a written invitation. Not intruding, am I? His tall lanky frame, concealed in green scrubs and hunched in the small chair, made him look just short of ridiculous.

Doctor Kregg, I’m glad to see you can still walk.

It’s Michael, please. I suspect it was a near thing, but yes, I am uninjured.

He gave a small huff of laughter that showed his gleaming white teeth in contrast to his tanned complexion.

He probably has time for tennis. No wait. Doctors play golf, Chloe thought uncharitably.

I thought you looked … he stopped talking and rummaged through his lunch bag. …familiar this morning, but… I wasn’t sure. Would you like an apple? He handed to her without waiting for a reply, and some company?

Chloe looked at him sideways with suspicion and took the apple. Thank you.

Oh. He waved a hand in denial. No, no, it’s not a line. Princeton, right?

She took a bite of the apple and chewed before saying, What tipped you off? She held up her right hand and wiggled her naked fingers. My ring?

He chuckled. "Very funny. That’s an old, old joke. Truthfully? It was the wheels. I remember seeing them on the campus." He unwrapped his sandwich.

His chiseled chin was as square as any she’d seen and his eyes were very dark, almost black, except when they danced with humor, like now. Then, gold lights flickered through them. Way too handsome. When were you at Princeton, Dr. Kregg?

Michael, call me Michael. He held his sandwich in both hands, elbows on the table, and took a big bite.

She looked at him and tapped her nose.

Thanks. He used a napkin to wipe off the dab of mayo. I saw you run over some hapless man. He bit on a carrot stick and looked around. It’s amazingly comfortable out here. I’m surprised. I thought it’d be hot as the dickens.

What? her chin jutted forward. I never...

He sat back in the small chair and grinned at her. He looked completely comfortable, which was more than Chloe could say. During her two years of recovery and rehab, she’d missed the dating scene most girls go through and then when she started college, she was too busy catching up to give boys the time of day.

He was teasing her. She knew that, but he made her feel decidedly ill at ease and curious. Leaning forward, she asked. "So, when did you see me on campus?"

"I go back to Princeton every spring to do some recruiting for Johns Hopkins’ Medical School. I remember your wheels. You were tear-assing across campus racing another wheelchair student. He crossed his legs and put a hand under his chin like Rodin’s thinker.

Chloe sat very still, mesmerized by the lights dancing in his eyes.

As I recall, the two of you were pretty reckless. Okay, so you didn’t run him over, but it was a near thing for the Director of Admissions. I guess his lucky streak held better than mine.

Humph. She turned her attention to her bagel as if unwrapping it was an intriguing puzzle. You should watch where you’re going. Maybe that would improve your luck. She smeared cream cheese on the top half of the bun and licked the excess off the edge. I know you’re a doctor, but do you also work in Human Resources?

Yes, I work with Helen. Your turn. What are you taking at school? Do you like Princeton?

Not much information. She picked up the apple and took a bite. What do you do with Dr. Deal? Is this a Fuji? Pretty good. she mumbled with her mouth full.

I’m just there if she needs me. He watched her chew. And you?"

He sits so still… like it’s my responsibility to fill the void. She turned the apple in her hand, debating how much to tell. I’d rather forget that part of my recent life. Reluctantly, she replied. "I’m trying to follow the advice of my mother… and a pushy aunt." Both of whom I love dearly.

She flipped her left hand. My mom is chairperson of medical research at Johns Hopkins. By some incredible miracle, toward the end of my time in the hospital, way after the accident, she found me. I was still so broken and still in unbearable pain. Shannon, after questioning, I should say interrogating, Aunt Audrey, who was theoretically watching over me…

Her voice faded off and Michael prodded her to continue.

As if disturbed from sleep, she said, Shannon discovered that her husband, James, was a very distant relative of mine. Chloe wrapped it up. So she convinced him to adopt me. She swore he was good with it. Chloe smiled inwardly.

What?" Michael said, grinning in reaction.

"She adopted me after the accident. It’s funny. I was on so many pain meds I was a little out of it, but I am sure she said, ‘You and I, Chloe… we have a connection.’ Anyway, thank God. She thinks I’m best suited for medical science. Not surprising. It’s the love of her life. She thinks everyone should love it." Chloe gave an inelegant snort.

Hey, wait. She squinted at him. You said you recruited for Johns Hopkins Med School. You know her. You must.

Shannon O’Quinn. Sure. She’s your mom? Wow. Yes, of course. We’ve met.

You’ve met? Chloe leaned forward, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. Not bosom buddies then.

Now, my aunt, she continued, who has the social finesse of a Texas longhorn steer, is a Nobel Laureate in literature. Since she’s a professor at Princeton, I got to see her most every day. With her usual subtlety, she is driving me like a jackhammer toward the Humanities.

"Doris Mather is your aunt? Woo-ee, she is a force to be reckoned with," Michael said, folding his arms on the table and leaning toward her.

That’s for sure, Chloe said, wide-eyed that he seemed to know her aunt so well.

Since she’s not in the science department, in the normal course of events, I probably wouldn’t even have met her, but darned if she doesn’t come to all the recruitment gatherings trying to wrangle all the top students from med school to the humanities. Sometimes, I could just choke her. Sometimes, I think she’s nuts. But always, she makes me laugh.

That’s her. That’s Aunt Doris. Chloe said, with a big grin. Her heart’s as big as her home state of Texas, but it’s tough to win when you go against something she wants. Actually, she’s my honorary aunt. I love her for sure, but she can drive me crazy. She’s always checking up on me. She took a nibble of her beagle. She’s the reason, I’m here this summer. The internship isn’t even in her field, yet this is where she pushed me to go. She made a derisive face with her lips. More weird stuff.

So Shannon O’Quinn and Doris Mather are playing tug-of-war with you. That must be somewhat like being drawn and quartered metaphorically speaking, of course. How do you manage them?

It pleased her that he knew them both. She took a sip of her iced coffee and looked a bit sheepish in her confession. They are not woman you manage. For the time being, I am placating both and am majoring in humanities for Aunt Doris and taking the science labs required for pre-med for mom, but don’t think I’m a push-over. I will ultimately decide for myself.

That’s a heavy load.

I manage. Mostly. She squirmed in her seat thinking of the last couple of months of the spring semester. It wasn’t that the classes were hard, but she was distracted. The damn voices in my head… She looked at the street and the passing traffic. They’ve gotten louder… and clearer...

Michael said something, but she didn’t hear him. Before, it had been too many voices, like the rumbling of a crowd. Now, it was individual voices invading her mind. They scare me. I must be freaking schizophrenic just like my real mom.

Do you… Michael looked at her wheelchair.

Chloe jerked her attention back to the conversation. What? Its an L2 ~ S5 cord injury, from a cycling accident. She hadn’t meant to be abrupt, but between the question and the memories generated by it, anger bombarded her again. Sometimes, it seemed all her energy went to stomping down her anger.

Who was that bastard in the truck? How did he get through the police barricade? And how the devil did he get away? Chloe’s heart raced and she took short shallow breaths. Tunnel vision…closing in.

Michael shook his head and waved a finger sideways. Jeez… no, Chloe … I’m sorry. I was asking about your wheels not the accident. I wondered if you competed in the thing.

He stretched his hand out and held her arm. Whoa, girl. He steadied her. Maybe it is too hot out here. You’re sliding off your chair."

Her cheeks grew warm and she knew she face was bright red. Chloe muttered, No, not hot. She shook her head. These wheels? That’s crazy. They’re just for daily use.

Michael locked her gaze with hers. She could tell he knew she’d lost it. You’ve got something faster?

Umm. She wasn’t sure she wanted to share this pocket of joy with him. She’d spilled her guts too damn much. It’s probably all a game to his professional ego. With reluctance, however, she said, Okay, Mr. Psychiatrist. One day, when the end of physical therapy was finally in sight, but miles of academic catch-up stretched before me, I took a nose dive emotionally. Everything was so hard and there was no damn rainbow in sight to mark the end.

Michael looked at her as if he were hanging on to every word. Too much like pity. She looked down and clamped her mouth shut.

I am not belittling your struggle, Chloe, but I suspect you know your feelings were normal in such an uphill battle. You had shattered bones, constant pain, one operation after another.. no one is strong enough to go through that without a few crashes. You must have had many such days… days when everything looked impossible, yes?

Yes. She felt her anger rising again. This feels like therapy to me. I hate it. She watched some guy in scrubs at a distant table making a pass at a pretty pedestrian.

You used to compete in cycling. I bet you miss it.

Yes. A pause followed and Michael didn’t try to fill the gap of silence. Oh