The Linq (WIP)

 CHAPTER ONE

The Chicken or The Egg

She’d been sitting on the couch for most of the Bengals v. Chiefs game, arms crossed in indignation but mostly for warmth.  Both teams were fighting hard to claim their playoff seat for the Super Bowl, and while she consciously registered each exciting play, she let her eyes wander the room before fixating on the coffee cups neatly arranged beneath the television screen.  

They were staying in a beautifully furnished suite at the Venetian, rounding out a boisterous weekend celebrating multiple birthdays with two of his best friends and their new young girlfriends.  She was tired.  It had been a loud last couple of days and nights, full of raunchy humor and belly-aching laughter.  It was the first time all three couples had spent a significant amount of time together and they got along swimmingly, but she was exhausted and if she was being completely honest, a little bored.  She’d been expecting some dedicated time with her husband; a chance to dress up for a fancy dinner with fancy cocktails and take in the sights. Unfortunately, the weekend had taken its toll and he hadn’t recovered enough to recall the plans he’d made.  She was over it. And really, she was craving something with more substance, an environment that not only stimulated her wit, but delighted the senses.  To keep consistent with the moral theme of truthfulness, she was craving someone that could stimulate and delight her.

The game was winding down, and had proven itself to be a showstopper despite its failure to capture her full attention.  They’d just had a fight.  Her new husband said some stupid things in anger, blindly defending himself against her own outrage, and she’d finally decided to tune out.  She knew she could simply walk out if she really wanted, taking his impetuous advice to “go out on your own”, but she recognized the veiled attempt to manipulate the situation and was much too tired to call his bluff.

Oddly enough, she was too tired to deal with anything in her physical environment but her mind was alight with a humming excitement that seemed to feed into the depths of her chest and elsewhere.  I need to write, she concluded.  It’s the only way to get out of here, and I might even get to see him.

She grabbed her laptop and settled back into the couch, signaling to her husband that she wasn’t going anywhere.  She’d started writing this new story a couple of months ago, spurred by a similar night as tonight, in an attempt to channel her simmering energy into productivity.  What came forth was something completely unexpected: the birth of what would be her most well-developed character, and unbeknownst to her, the most skilled and passionate lover she would ever have.

Her screen lit up with the last few paragraphs she’d punched out last Friday night, curled up on their couch at home with a bottle of merlot and a mouthful of biting retorts that would remain unsaid.  Ugh, I could totally use a glass of something right now, she mentally grumbled.  She scanned over her words and smiled to herself at how easily she fell back into the scene she was building for her front-running characters, Annabelle and Caleb.  Annabelle had just finished sassily reciting a list of Caleb’s shortcomings to his face, and was now impatiently waiting for his response.

Caleb raised an eyebrow, crossed his well-defined arms, and leaned back against the door.  ‘Are you done?’  He asked, his voice devoid of any humor, ironic or otherwise.

‘Actually, I am done,’ Annabelle bit out, ‘Kindly remove yourself from my presence.’ She glared at him then, silently willing him to turn around, walk out of her room, and never return.

His face suddenly broke out into a brilliant smile, and before she could draw another breath to scathingly ask him just what could he possibly be smiling about at this very moment, Caleb snaked his arm around her waist and swiftly closed the gap between them.  He held her tightly against his hard frame, ignoring how stiffly she held herself away from him, and raised his free hand to her upturned face.  He brushed her bottom lip with his thumb, feeling her breath catch before she released it in a huff.  He couldn’t help himself then, and brought his lips down to hers, softly silencing any protest she was about to make.

Her fingers paused over the keys as she realized her own breath was coming out in short, hot bursts.  Something was beginning to build deep within her chest.  She frowned, slightly annoyed with the distraction, and deliberately inhaled before letting out the air slowly. 

Focus.

‘Yeah, baby,’ a deep, familiar voice crooned, ‘Focus.’

She looked up from her screen with a start.  Her husband had fallen asleep with his back to her and was quietly snoring away.  She looked around the room, her eyes wide, scanning the shadows of the drapes.  Not seeing the pair of shoes she expected to see that would have accompanied the voice of the unknown intruder who somehow snuck into the room without her or her husband noticing, she gave her head a quick shake and looked back at the screen.

‘Focus on that feeling inside of you, on what you see in your mind.’  Her palms were tingling and her fingertips grew warm as the screen began to dim until it turned completely black.  ‘Focus on me.’  Her eyes began to feel heavy, as her fingers relaxed and her hands slowly fell to her sides.

A thin buzzing began in her right ear, moving through her brain until it reached her left and filled her entire head.  Its volume increased quickly, almost like a car revving its engine to beat the traffic light, before fading to a dull, tinny note.  Blinking slowly, she tried to feel for her keyboard again, eyes out of focus.  When she felt the “F” and “J” keys to orient herself, she tried to shake her head once more, hoping to clear both the buzzing and lethargy, but all she managed to do was tip herself over to one side.  With her hands grasping for both purchase and her laptop, she was unable to brace her fall and her shoulder took the brunt of the impact, which actually wasn’t as hard as she’d expected. It felt as if she’d fallen on something firm rather than hard, something that had a very slight give at the surface upon first touch.

‘There you are, my darling girl.’  The voice had returned, and with it came the sudden realization that the firm surface she was laying on rumbled slightly with the resonance of each word.

Her own voice seemed to have caught in her throat as she struggled to get up.  Strong fingers grasped her upper arms, helping to support, brace, and lift her all at once until she was sitting upright.  She knew his name before her eyes reached his; hell, she knew nearly everything there was to know about this man!  After all, she’d created him from nothing more than pen, paper, and a vivid imagination.

Finding her voice again but still not ready to meet his gaze, she finally addressed him, “Hello, Caleb.”

“Back so soon?” Caleb asked nonchalantly, his tone belying the pounding in his chest he thought she could surely hear.  “I thought you said you’d had enough of my.. What was it you said, again? Enough of my ‘wicked cock’?”  He tilted his head to the side inquisitively, keeping a straight face.

Her eyes flew up to his, alight with indignation and something else she wasn’t quite yet ready to admit.  “Your ‘wretched cockiness’ is what I said, you vulgar brute, and nothing about that statement has changed!”  She untangled herself from him and scrambled to her feet, taking in her surroundings.  She was back in his living room, a fire danced in the fireplace, bouncing warm shadows off the furniture and walls.  He had been laying on the rug, probably enjoying the cozy evening with a dram of Scotch.  Her eyes fell on the glass tumbler that had fallen on the thick rug, thankfully unbroken but clearly having spilled the last bit of its contents.  She glanced at the coffee table where another glass sat empty, “Are you alone?”

“Save for the mice running around ‘tween these walls, I’m all yours,” he said, “but I was hoping to see you again.  Lucky for you, I’d just opened this bottle so we’ve only lost the neck thus far.”  He stood, snatching the fallen glass from the floor and the other from the table.  “Figured you might want a drink whenever you did make your grand return.”  At the small bar cart, his hand waved over a few different bottles before reaching for a clear option, “Gin, wasn’t it?”

Surprised that he remembered, and slightly impressed, she merely nodded once when he turned to her expectantly.  “Right, splash of lime and sparkling water.  A simple preparation for what’s probably going to be a complex evening.”  He walked back to stand with her in front of the fireplace, handing her the drink and letting her take a satisfying gulp before clarifying, “Or d’you suppose I might be incorrect in my assumption?”

“No,” she sighed, “you were right the first time.  I need to figure this out now, before anything progresses.”

“‘For better or for worse’,” he added solemnly, “‘in sickness and in health, until death do us part’.”  He grinned at her exasperated eye roll and lifted his glass, “Cheers, love.”  She couldn’t help but raise her drink to his, as he said, “May we find the answers you’re looking for.”

So help me God, she silently added, letting another generous swig simultaneously cool and warm her throat.

“What do we know so far?” Caleb asked.

“We don’t know anything,” she corrected, “and all I know is this is the second time it’s happened.”  

It was his turn to roll his eyes.  “Listen, my darling girl, if you hope to ever figure out what is happening, why, and how, then we are going to have to work together.”  He grinned, adding, “And you should know better than anyone exactly just how hard I can work.”

She snorted, “Guess you’ve never heard of the saying ‘work smarter, not harder’.”  

He chuckled at her attempt to deflect his flirtation and doubled down, “I’ll work however way you want me to work: smarter, harder, faster, slower…” He trailed off, allowing her a moment to wonder about those last two options.

She cleared her throat but did not take the bait.  Instead, she forged ahead, “I need to find the answers to two questions: 1) Did I write you into existence or do you exist somewhere, sometime and our realities collided? And 2) Why is this happening?”

She hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten until he leaned in close and added in a low, deep voice, “And 3) What should we do about it?”

What do we do? She swallowed audibly, knowing exactly what she wanted to do, right here, right now.  But she’d had so much to figure out.

She took a shaky breath, registering the faint smell of sweat, bourbon, and masculinity that was already trying to wrap its wispy fingers around her senses. “I’ll tell you what WON’T happen,” she began,”you WON’T be standing suffocatingly close and crowding my space.” She poked his chest hard.

CHAPTER TWO

The Challenge

She awoke with a start, subconsciously reaching to catch the laptop from falling off her lap before realizing it wasn’t there. Looking over to the coffee table, she saw the laptop neatly closed. She ran her hand over it, registering a lingering warmth; so she had been using it.  An eagerness to open her story swept over her but her husband’s frustrated groan drew her attention away.

“We missed the alarm,” he announced sourly.  He threw the covers off and began moving about the room, gathering their items and unceremoniously packing them away.  “We have 20 minutes to get our asses downstairs and in an Uber or we’ll miss our flight.”

An hour and 35 minutes later, they were 35,000 feet above the Vegas skyline, her husband was back to snoring his hangover away, and she was gratefully in front of her screen again.  Although she could feel the tendrils of sleepiness creeping up on her, she hated waking up to cramped muscles and sore joints.  Come on, where are you.. 

Without warning, her neck rapidly began to warm and the tingling returned to her fingertips. She braced herself for the vertigo, this time concentrating on her center of gravity. Blinking away the fuzziness, she was ….

SNIPPETS

“You could cross a thousand worlds and I’d never consider you lost,” he murmured.

“I’ve ached for you long before you brought me to life. But if you were the one to create my soul’s loneliness without you, I’d have to wonder what type of cruelty..”

Or “I don’t have to wonder about the extent of your cruelty. Don’t forget, you’re the one who created me and I’ve ached for you long before you brought me to life.  That type of loneliness could kill a man.”

The warmth didn’t start in her fingers this time. It bloomed in her chest and branched out to the lungs, and every pulse of her heart was like a flicker of flame, getting stronger with each ragged draw of breath.  It threatened to burn her alive.