Page 27 of On the Rocks
“But it’s really bad. They’re prototypes, so each version is a bit different. All of the feedback is based on the test subjects whose experiences were similar but had a few variations.”
I can’t fucking believe this bastard exposed her to this fucking science experiment. He knows how delicate she is. How fucking fragile. How innocent. “Just say it.”
“There are two transmitters. That’s why they sliced her arm, to embed the main receiver which is about the size of a corn kernel. The other half is applied to her head. Maybe in an earring or a patch to her scalp. When it’s first implanted, it causes a severe headache. Almost debilitating. Once the body gets used to it, the pain lessens to a dull ache with a feeling of confusion or fuzziness. Described as a radio playing between stations, like white static in the background.”
My own head throbs. Killing me to know she’s suffering. Without me there to help her. Or fucking stop him.
“The amnesia is invasive. Occasionally a memory may surface, but doesn’t last more than a second. If the person attempts to resurrect a memory, they’ll experience horrific pain that may lead to unconsciousness. If that happens, the entire absorption process starts over.”
Done. I am so fucking done. I cannot take any more.
"Once the device is removed, the person doesn't remember anything that happened while they were under the effects. Just a blank space from a few hours before the insertion until they wake up."
I push my back up the wall and get to my feet. Unable to sit here and do nothing. Not wallow in my pity party without doing a damn thing while my wife is being tortured.
Noah hops up too, his head tilted in exasperation. “Where you going?”
I fucking hate the condescension in his voice. Like I’m a fucking wayward child who needs to be guided. Like he can fucking stop me. “Back off or I’ll beat your fucking ass.”
“And then do what? We don’t know where she is yet, and I-“
Fuck him. I don’t want to hear his reason or logic or rationale. There’s no more time for all this shit. Fucking waiting and talking and researching. It’s all fucking bullshit, and he knows it. I know it. Even the god damn fucking dog knows it.
I seize the bench that I fucked my stunning, wonderful, sweet wife on and slam the wood against the half block wall separating the kitchen and dining room. Shattered glass ricochets across the hardwood, making Midnight finally leave his waiting spot to cower behind Noah.
Tipping the table where she bared herself to me. Letting me enjoy her as dessert. Drizzling her with chocolate and whipped cream after I discovered her making my birthday cake. Flipping the sofa where she snuggled against my chest, struggling not to fall asleep while I watched the last of the game. Heaving the mixer, from the fucking cinnamon rolls she never got to finish, into the flat screen.
Overcome with exertion, I bend over and grab my thighs. Trying to catch my breath when I’m suffocating without her. All I can see and smell and hear is her.
“You done?”
I nod. A fucking lame ass temper tantrum that will only upset her when she comes back. I can’t let her see the destruction I’ve caused.
“I’ll call someone to clean it up.”
“Thanks.” Sweat drips into my eyes, and I swipe at my forehead. Welcoming the sting. I’ve got to get my shit together. “What’re we going to do?”
Noah’s blank look matches my stupid empty head. And aching gut. Neither of us has any genius ideas.
“Butcher’s from some small town on the coast, in the middle of a big tourist area. I’ve got guys already headed there to start a search. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got until they locate the car.”
Then it’s about all I’ve got too. Which scares the fucking hell out of me. Only one other option. I slide out my wallet and flip the leather open. My chest pounds from my beautiful sunshine’s shy smile looking back at me as I tug out her photo and hand the picture to my brother. No one looking for her would be able to miss those gorgeous, wild curls. "Call in all your favors and have the guys contact every PI, bounty hunter, and mercenary they know. Ten million. For her safe return. No questions asked about their search or retrieval methods."
"I'll get the word out."
Because I don't give a damn how they do it or who they hurt. I just want her back.
* * *
“Time for breakfast.”
Michael stands in the doorway, watching as I bend over the sink and rinse out my mouth with water. The best I can do without a toothbrush or toothpaste. More proof of his lies. No explanation for why we don’t have any luggage or clothes or toiletries on our supposed vacation. Only the meager offerings of travel size soap, shampoo, and conditioner left by the cleaning crew.
I return my gaze to the faucet. Unable to stomach looking at his face. So arrogant and smug. Oblivious to my torment. Or even worse, enjoying my torture. “I’m not hungry.”
“Don’t start another argument. You’re going to eat.”
Argument.
