Cruel Blue Nowhere Read online

  "Oh. So, I should steer clear of the medication?"

  She shrugged her slight shoulders. "I don't know, just wanted to warn you."

  "Warning accepted. Heck, now that I'm on a regular sleep schedule here maybe I won't need any medication. I've had my share of strange dreams lately too." He looked at her curious face. "Mom, have you ever had the same dream over and over?"

  She closed her eyes a minute, then looked at him. "Yes. You mean a good dream?"

  "Not exactly. I mean, it starts off good, a real pretty meadow with wildflowers and then..."

  His mom gasped, a hand going to her mouth. "That...that sounds like my dream!"

  Shocked, he said, "Tell me about yours."

  "I'm in a field of wildflowers, then I hear a young woman's voice saying, 'Help me.' I can never find her, and it feels like I'm walking in circles getting nowhere."

  Ben stood, started pacing. "Jeez, that is just like mine. Have you ever noticed the sky brightening...so brilliant you can’t look at it?"

  "No. Just hear the woman's voice and then...wake up."

  Ben didn't know what to make of this, but he asked, "I wonder if anyone else in the family has had this dream?"

  "No. I mentioned it to your sisters and brother, but they seemed to pay no attention, thought it was just a simple dream."

  "Mom, if I tell you something, can I trust you to keep it to yourself?"

  She stood, took his hands and said, "You know I have always been here for you, and just because you're grown, doesn’t change that."

  Ben launched into a short tale of what had been happening at the facility, but being somewhat vague on which patient, didn't give any specific names or dates. He ended with, "That is why I want to see a counselor."

  "You know I didn't much like you taking a job at that place. No one seems the least concerned about what happens to the soul if the dying process is interrupted."

  "I know you are a Christian, and go to church, even if dad doesn't and I haven't in years. I guess that's why I wanted to ask you about this. But the dying process isn't interrupted; I mean, technically by the time prep starts, the patient is declared medically dead."

  "Somehow though, that process of preparing the body for preservation... Don't they use something like CPR on the person?"

  "Yes, CPS – cardiopulmonary support – not cardiopulmonary resuscitation. CPS just circulates blood by a portable machine called a thumper to help prevent brain damage."

  "Exactly. What if that causes the soul to stay in the body instead of leaving it?"

  Ben shook his head, pulled his hands away and started pacing again. "That has occurred to me. But even if that was true, there's never been any sign of paranormal trouble at the facility. Certainly nothing like this."

  "Are you sure? Maybe others have had similar experiences, but just never told anyone?"

  Ben hadn't considered that, but said, "No one that I work with has had any strange experiences. Or at least my co-worker, Tom, said they hadn't. And he’s been there twenty years."

  His mom started for the door, said, "The dreams you and I have had, that could be an ESP thing. I've read of related people, those with an emotional bond, having similar dreams, especially of someone in distress. But it's usually a loved one in danger, not a stranger."

  "True."

  "Why don't you get some rest, and I'll call Gail, see if she can drop by tonight with Georgie? And before you leave, I want all the family to visit. Other than holidays, we aren't seeing you enough.”

  He walked over, gave her a light hug. "I know. And I miss you all, so this visit is going to be great. And thanks for having me here."

  "Please, it's our pleasure."

  Once alone, Ben finished unpacking and then laid down on the bed, puzzled at what his mom had told him. Why were they having a similar dream?

  Chapter 7

  "And that is why I'm here," Ben summed up, watching the therapist's face; the man had a bland, vaguely disinterested expression.

  When he said nothing, Ben rushed on, "So what do you think? PTSD? Sleep deprivation?"

  The tall, gaunt therapist leaned back in the armchair, templed his fingers under his chin, and said, "I want to run some tests, a CAT scan on your brain, take some blood for tests."

  "Wait a minute, you mean you think this is a physical thing? Not psychological?" Ben was surprised, though probably he shouldn't have been, considering the man was psychiatrist.

  "I always like to rule out medical issues with a new patient. Hearing voices, seeing things...not to alarm you, but that could indicate a brain tumor. Or it could be any number of medical symptoms, which blood testing can rule out. In the meantime, I will write you a couple prescriptions, one for panic attacks and the other a mild sedative for sleep."

  Ben stood, straightened up to his full height of 5'9" and said, "I had a checkup last November, everything was fine with bloodwork."

  "That was months ago." Dr. Benton stood, nodded. "Let's get the physical over and then go from there."

  Reluctantly Ben agreed, but as he drove back to his parents’ house, he wasn't convinced. In fact, the more he considered the testing, which was set up for tomorrow, the more he wondered if this was just a waste of time?

  One thing he hadn't mentioned to the shrink: Georgie had uninstalled that ghost app last Saturday night, but the next day, it appeared on his cell again. Worse, it had chimed several times in the wee hours Monday morning. When he picked up the cell, he had watched the radar's green glow indicating a red orb near the dead center of the circle, pulsing slowly. Looking around his bedroom, he saw nothing unusual -- yet the disembodied voice said, "Here" before the app shut down.

  Ben had talked to Tom the next morning, and Tom had said that the entire facility had lost power approximately the time Ben had experienced the ghost app coming on. Ben didn't tell Tom about that, but felt the blackout had something to do with it. Tom said it only lasted about ten minutes, and no one had figured out why the glitch happened.

  Back at his parents, he told his mom what the shrink had said, and though she instantly started worrying about his health, he went ahead and scheduled the testing.

  * * *

  The following weekend, Ben drove back to his apartment. Now the first of March, he had to get back to work. Fortunately, the tests had ruled any biological/medical problem, and he was able to schedule secure webcam online sessions with Dr. Benton. Not that he thought it would help, since Ben was now starting to accept that whatever was happening to him was...maybe something supernatural.

  When he walked back into Mountainside Infinity Monday night, he spoke with another co-worker, Don, a few minutes, asking if they ever figured out what caused the power outage. Don said no, but added, "It was strange, though, because all the security cams failed, and the guy filling in for you, Clyde, a temp, said he was in total darkness with only a flashlight. Here's the odd part though: He swore that he saw a bluish orb near unit 99 in storage. Said it hovered there, then blinked out at which time the lights came back on. He was spooked as hell, bad enough that he exited the building and waited outside for a tech to show up."

  Ben said, "Huh, odd." But he didn't want to go into his own experiences with Don, so walked with him out to the parking lot. "Do you have that guy, Clyde's, contact info? Might need him to fill in again someday."

  "He was hired by the temp agency, there's a card for them in the desk drawer. Hey man, glad you're back. Oglethorpe told us you're being moved to second shift next week, and I'll be on the graveyard gig for six months."

  "I have to warn you those hours play hell with your sleep."

  "Yeah, I've done it before. FYI, I also have heard through the grapevine that Oglethorpe thinks someone has been...uh, tampering with files in the records room. He confiscated everyone's digital access cards, even his niece, Candace in the office." Shrugging, he added, "I think he's getting paranoid due to the power glitches lately."

  Ben watched Don get in his pickup, and said, "See you later, dr
ive safe."

  Back at the control panel, Ben sat staring blankly at the computers. Did Oglethorpe know he had taken Olivia Masterson's file home? And what about that missing picture? He'd searched his apartment three times but failed to find it.

  Leaning back in his chair, Ben looked at the security cam view inside the storage room, staring hard at Olivia's unit. The file stated her entire body had been preserved, and at age thirty, she must have been in good physical shape until the cancer hit. He wondered if Oglethorpe’s paranoia was due to that photo which clearly showed Olivia to have been in the prep room before her death? While he'd thought that meant she had visited, or toured, the facility he now wondered if her appearance could have a more sinister reason.

  Ben knew that the surgeon and medical techs, as well as Oglethorpe, had long speculated that starting prep just moments before death would enable better chances for recovery. There had even been rumors that several of the "patients" in units had offered to go that route, but of course, in addition to being unethical, it would be murder. No matter how close to death the person was, ending a life was still a criminal matter -- and if that had occurred, it was something Oglethorpe would want to keep under wraps.

  Had Olivia come here alive, Ben wondered? And volunteered to start prep before death? As the thought took hold of his mind, the cell chimed, and he looked down to see the greenish glow pulsating, brightening to a glaring white, just as the power went out and the disembodied voice stated, "Help."

  Chapter 8

  Ben stood, almost overturning the desk chair; the lights flickered, then came on. He headed into the hallway, intent on walking through the storage area. After using his access card, he stood inside the cold storage area, blinking, then focusing on the next to last unit which contained Olivia.

  As he started along the line of units, he began to smell the most glorious floral perfume; the closer he got to Olivia's unit, the stronger the perfume. When he was at the steel Dewar, he was overwhelmed by the scent as he placed his hand against the cold metal.

  Suddenly he was back in the recurring dream, his eyes closing and envisioning the field of wildflowers. But now on closer inspection, he saw this field was not random flowers; rather, it was cultivated in rows and rows of luscious lavender plants in full bloom, the heady fragrance making him swoon. He once again heard the woman's voice, "Over here, come see what I've found."

  He started down a row of lavender plants, gazing at the surrounding majestic mountains ringing the region. Again, he heard her call, "Over here..."

  Taking the last step toward the last lavender plant, he stood beneath the twisted branches of a fig tree, seeing the swollen, ripe fruit. He reached up to pluck one, but then saw movement just past him, and hurried in that direction.

  As he glimpsed the woman with long blond hair disappearing into a thicket of high field grass, he called, "Wait! Wait, what did you want to show me?"

  And at that moment, hearing his own voice, he came out of what he later thought must have been a hypnotic trance. He jerked his hand away from the unit, realizing it had been vibrating beneath his touch. Stunned, he simply stared at the steel tomb, amazed he'd experienced almost the same situation he'd only known in dreams.

  At last he started out of the storage area, but stopped at the door, glancing back over his shoulder to see the bluish orb bobbing near Olivia's unit. Just as he turned to get a better look, it vanished. "Damn!" he muttered.

  Back at the monitors, he suddenly realized his experience just now had been recorded. He pulled up the digital feed, ran it back to study the footage: He saw himself standing rigidly by the unit, hand against it, eyes closed. Then he distinctly heard his own voice, "Wait! Wait, what did you want to show me?"

  When the footage got to where he was about to open the door, he didn't see the orb he had observed. Then he realized he had to destroy this footage, because Oglethorpe was already questioning his strange behavior. Ben knew his job would be on the line if Oglethorpe suspected he was having psychological issues; his contract had specifically stated every employee had to be mentally and emotionally stable and dependable, capable of honoring strict privacy rules regarding patients. An unstable employee could get bent on destructive ideas, such sabotage; that is why his law enforcement background had been a plus. Knowing this, he'd paid for his therapy sessions in cash, and of course, the therapist was sworn to privacy by his code of professional ethics.

  As Ben ran the footage back, he decided to make a copy before erasing that section. As he did that, he could still smell the aromatic lavender plants, and that heady perfume inside the storage room. It was distinct, and yet...like the field of flowers, somehow familiar.

  After finishing his task, he got online and did a few google searches for lavender fields; he came up with plenty of information, but when he saw the Jean Patou flower fields in Grasse, France, he knew he'd found what he was looking for. The south of France in that region was popular for growing flowers for perfume; the town was quaint, historic with ancient architecture as well as a profusion of flowers. And Jean Patou created the most expensive perfume in the world: Joy Baccarat Pure Parfum, $1,800 for one ounce.

  He kept staring at the fields and recognized the landscape from his dream. But as he sat there, he had no idea what this meant. Or what Olivia was trying to communicate to him. Just then the cell chimed, and he looked at it to see the ghost radar screen and then hear, "Vault."

  Ben watched the screen go blank, leaning back in his chair, now convinced he was experiencing supernatural phenomena. Grasse, France must have been a region Olivia loved, and perhaps where something significant happened in the past. When he got home, he planned to research her life more; she'd been a famous model, and surely it would be easy to learn about her background.

  At least he hoped so.

  * * *

  After fitful sleep, even with the mild sedative, Ben got up around two in the afternoon. He made coffee, then sat down at the dining table and opened his laptop. Putting "Olivia Masterson" in the search engine, he watched the screen fill up with images of her. Clicking through each one, he noted her classic beauty -- an oval face, high cheekbones, blond hair and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. The photos were all from her modeling days, at least ten years out of date. She looked like a teen in some, and an early twenty-something in others.

  He finally found a website that gave a sketchy background: Olivia had grown up in Georgia, a small (unidentified) town outside Atlanta. She'd been "discovered" at the age of sixteen, then moved to NYC to model for a topnotch agency. There was nothing about her family, nothing about her life back in the small town -- only that she'd thrived in NYC, having a private tutor until she finished high school courses. Then off to Italy, France and England for an international modeling career.

  There was nothing else about those seven years, until suddenly she started to appear in photographs with the ultra-rich tech genius, Cranston Fillinger. The usual stuff, charity events, nightlife clubbing, hobnobbing with other rich and famous people. Suddenly they were engaged, and pictures showed Olivia happy, smiling at their wedding, Cranston dark and brooding beside her. They were reported to be honeymooning in the south of France, and then would relocate permanently to a private island owned by Cranston. He guessed she was happy when in the south of France, perhaps why he kept dreaming of that specific place. Was she simply trying to recreate a beautiful landscape, so he’d be at ease? If so, it wasn’t working because he was still terrified of these visions, hauntings, whatever was happening.

  That was all he found, nothing about their life, not a hint of what they were doing. Olivia had told the press she was happily retiring from the modeling field, and apparently, she meant it. Ben searched and searched, but the only thing he found was an obituary in the New York Times: Olivia Masterson-Fillinger passed away at the age of 30 from rare acute leukemia. She leaves behind a grieving husband and three-year-old daughter, Samantha. In lieu of flowers, please make donations to the American Cancer Society. />
  Ben got up, poured a cup of coffee, and sat back down, puzzled. But then again, money can buy privacy, which it apparently did in this case. He scrolled back to the images of Olivia, noting the exquisite face, the crystal blue eyes that had a hint of tragedy. Or maybe he was imagining that, since he knew she would have been sad to leave her husband and little girl?

  Just as he shut the laptop, his cell vibrated, and he answered. "Hello Mom, how's it going?"

  "I could ask you the same thing. How are you?"

  "I'm good, sleeping better," he lied.

  "Good. I...have had another one of those dreams in the wildflower fields. But this time, there was an overpowering floral perfume, so strong I woke up still smelling it. Has that happened to you, or is it just me?"

  "Yeah. Or no, I mean, I have experienced the scent...but in the storage area when I had another peculiar episode."

  "Tell."

  "I touched Olivia's unit and seemed to go into a trance, saw the field, but this time it was lavender plants in bloom. Not sure what this all means. I did some research, and found that Grasse, France might be where that scent originates. Or at least, where the flowers are grown in the south of France."

  "Odd. But everything about this is..." She stopped, yelled, "I'm coming. I must go. Your dad is about to start a new wood-working project and I need to get out to his shop. We'll talk later. And by the way, you need to keep your online appointments with Dr. Benton."

  "I will mom. Talk later."

  Ben sat there a moment, wondering what Olivia was trying to communicate to him about the south of France, as well as the last word on the ghost app: Vault. The latter he hated to think meant he must get into the vault to find more information.

  How on earth could he do that without arousing suspicion and losing his job?

  Chapter 9