The Get

The Get

Book 1

Staci Cornwell

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Staci Cornwell

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Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 (Pendleton's Knife)

Chapter 14

Prologue

The view from top of the summit was breathtaking. Even I could appreciate it. A crisp ocean breeze billowed around me, giving way to an invigorating sensation within my core. I realized that I no longer had to force myself to feel the excitement that now coursed through me. I almost felt human again, and I allowed the unpredictability of it all to come over me. It was a long way from the vacant outer shell of an aimless walker that had taken over for the past several years since I became lost.

Lost is how anybody who knew me had referred to me. It was a fitting reference. I was lost, and had never felt more so than the several months leading up to the abrupt departure from my old life. Leaving everything and everyone behind, I began my adrenaline driven phase, and I seemed to get a little closer each day to feeling less like a trauma zombie, and more like my old self...pre-lost.

The flickers of life, forged by the surges of adrenaline, were the only markers that I was in fact still alive. For the past nine years, I had turned off all of my emotions, feeling mostly nothing. I was not alive, nor dead. I moved closer to either with each new crazy act of recklessness. What didn't kill me, made me more alive.

I arrived to the highest point of Pedra da Gavea in Rio de Janeiro. A gust of wind cooled me down as I caught my breath from the three hour hike. It was an athletic trek, one that eventually led me up the face of the summit as the final test of endurance.

My heart pounded heavy through my heaving lungs. My arms gave a dull burn as they pulled me up onto the top. I shook them out, indifferent about the signs of exertion my body had been screaming at me. I still clung to my paralyzed emotions as forcefully as my hands gripped the rock on the climb to the top of this summit.

As I peered over the ledge, my exhaustion was quickly replaced with an exhilarating chill that had nothing to do with the cool breeze. I inhaled a deep breath, allowing the scent of the crisp air fill my lungs.

I took a 360 degree scan around me. Just off to my left was a group of women. They were seated on a blanket, thermos in hand, sharing the view of the dawn sun that had just begun to warm the beach below. The faint aroma of coffee flitted through the air, twirling around me in a taunting way. I took another deep breath.

On the other side was a man stretching. His legs held him in a lunge with his hands placed on either side as he rocked back and forth. He looked like he was getting ready for a sprint, but the only place to go was back down the face of the mountain, or over the cliff, which is what I intended.

I stared curiously at the man. His clothing was littered with famous labels as if he was a human billboard. I doubted that his sponsors agreed that a summit jump with only four witnesses constituted efficient advertisement. He looked around, almost paranoid, like he was waiting for someone. Like he was expecting some sort of audience. He stretched and jumped around to loosen up with a plastered grin as if his audience was already here. I looked back to the three women who were toasting their morning coffee to the beautiful sunrise. They faced the opposite direction with their backs to him. There was no one else. Surely his show was not for me.

I turned my eyes back to the three women. They appeared to be in their fifties, looking as if they were preparing a morning picnic. They were completely oblivious to anything that didn't involve a thermos or the massive statue of Corcovado. I exchanged a friendly smile with the group, and reluctantly declined their silent gesture to join them for a cup of coffee. I could force a smile, but there was no way I would be able to force human contact. I wasn't ready. Not yet, but a glimmer of hope smoldered within me that the day would soon come.

I took off my pack and carefully sat the bag on the ground. The relief from the weight was instantaneous, and my back thanked me for it. My arms instinctively reached above my head, and my hands clasped together for an alleviating stretch.

I unfastened the clasps of my pack, and clumsily untied the crisscross straps, releasing the security of the contraption. My hands were shaking in anticipation. Kneeling down in front of it, I lifted the rig. I unfolded, and popped open the wings. Dumping out the rest of the bits and pieces from a small compartment in my pack, I completed the assembly.

As I finished securing my gear, I heard the putt putt putt of a helicopter touring the nearby mountains. The women behind me looked as irritated as I was with the uninvited annoyance. I looked over to the man with his invisible audience, to see him beaming his extra white smile. Perhaps the helicopter was his intended onlookers. I relished the fact that I would be flying freely soon with the soft breeze in my face, and not confined inside the metal chopper.

I was a level 2 hang glider, a novice. The portable glider was a new convention, currently in the field test stage. The concept was to allow hikers to pack a disassembled glider so that they could travel to more remote places, rather than rely on predetermined staging sites. Someone had given it to me. Not that I remember who or their face, or why. I hadn't really paid attention to people over the past several years. They all blurred together in a hazy gray. Just like everything else around me. But that was changing. I could feel it. There was something different about this place. The gray had parted, allowing me to inhale the serenity of the bluff's beauty.

My plan was to dive off the top of Pedra da Gavea and coast around for as long as I could, flying over the city before landing on the beach below. Unlike mid day, the sky was free from other gliders. It was empty, with exception to the intruding helicopter.

I rolled the shell of my empty pack into a small scroll, using the straps to tie around my waist. I clasped the buckle, securing it tightly to the small of my back. It was hard to believe that this tiny piece of fabric had once securely packed a full size glider on my back. The entire assembly and clean up took less than 15 minutes. There was nothing else but the glider, the shell of my pack, and the clothes I was wearing.

I could feel my passport burning through my pocket, reminding me of my current imprisonment. I didn't want to be reminded of who I was. Not now. Up in the air, I wanted to be free. Free from who I am. For as long as I could. I reached into my pocket to pull out my passport. Staring back at me was a young, vivacious girl who resembled nothing of me now. Silky brown hair with thick red chunks flowed around her shoulders. Her mouth curved into a photogenic smile, and her dark blue eyes glowed with life. So long ago. I thought to myself. The only resemblance to me and the girl in the photograph was my name and social security. My hair had returned to its natural brown. I no longer straightened it, allowing it to fall wavy or pulled back in a messy pony. Even my face had changed. At some point I removed all the mirrors in my apartment, hiding from the despair that now filled my once lively eyes.

I traced my thumb over my photo and felt tears begin to well up. I squeezed my eyes shut. Stop it! I silently scolded myself. I snapped my passport shut, and without a second thought I impulsively flung it over the cliff. I watched it flutter down hundreds of feet before it was out of view. A small part of me regretted my impulsivity since I needed a Passport to travel internationally. A bigger part reminded me to leave caution to the wind, and live in the moment. I didn't need the past or the future.

I lied down on my back, closing my eyes. I took in a deep breath of fresh air to clear the clutter that had entered my mind. The heat of the sun intensified with each passing minute, but the breeze provided a contrasting refreshment. I lied there for who knows how long. Time was also lost on me.

I stood up and stretched my legs. I took in the 360 degree view, in awe. Never in my life had I seen such serenity. I have visited beautiful places, but none that pacified me like this today. I could feel the tranquility engulf me, and I was excitedly overwhelmed.

Corcovado was barely visible on this morning. The massive statue blended with a clearing fog. The three women continued with the second course of their morning picnic. Fresh croissants complimented the rich coffee aroma. I stole a quick glance, and was met again with a silent invitation. One of the woman held out a pastry toward me as an offering. I politely shook my head, but before I could finish my silent decline, she stood up and walked toward me.

The woman handed me the delectable pastry. I took a bite of the warm croissant. It was topped with a melted cherry garlic chutney slathered on gooey brie. I hadn't eaten anything this morning, and was thankful for her generosity.

Thank you. It's delicious.

Your welcome, was all she said.

She stared at me with compassionate eyes, and gently patted me on the back before returning to her group. It was a familiar gesture, one that I had blocked out any memory of for years. Her smile was consoling, as if she knew my secret. But how could she? An uncomfortable heat blazed through my insides, like a fever burning from where she touched. A scalding hot tear tried to burn its way out of my eyes. I turned away from the three women, squeezing my eyelids tight. I took in several deep breaths.

The cool air helped clear my mind. I could feel the fever inside me smolder, leaving the familiar nothingness behind that was both comforting and terrifying. Part of me wanted it to burn longer, but I knew I wasn't ready. Or that's at least what I told myself. It had been a long time since I could feel anything. I knew I was getting closer to my old self, and it terrified me.

I had spent the last year on my own, paying little attention to others around me. When you can't feel anything, you don't need human contact. That's how it was for me, but each day brought me closer to being human again. Today was definitely one of those days. I took one last look around. The entire panorama was stunning. Nothing like I had ever seen before. My eyes had not been open to beauty such as this for a long time. Behind my jump site were hills of green, sparkling from the mornings dew.

I settled into my gear, getting ready to jump. I locked the wings and rechecked my harness to be sure it was securely fastened around me. I gripped the control bar, snapping it into a length that was comfortable for me. I was ready to go.

I overheard the trio of women discussing a local superstition as they peered down just below the summit. They were searching for what they believed to be a gateway to the Bermuda Triangle. I figured I'd check that out as long as I'm here, and without a second thought I dove in the direction of the unlikely portal.

My glide began shaking erratically. For a brief moment I feared I had made a grave error in the assembly. My eyes darted across the control bar and to the apex of the wings. A quick review of the construction gave me confidence that I had done it correctly. I gripped the control bar firmly, and tilted slightly to one side. A gust of wind caught my sail and smoothed out my glide. The shaking stopped.

I was intoxicated with the wind embracing my body and the sun kissing my face. I took another deep breath, inhaling the cool ocean air. I was the only one in the peaceful sky. So I thought.

The chopper returned, hovering around the ledge. I tried to steer away to quiet the mechanical clamor. I was looking for peace, not a fisticuffs with a helicopter. Irritation swept over me. Another good sign. I thought with the part of me that was trying to emerge. It had been lifeless for so long now.

I angled left, away from the chopper, and felt a gust of wind throw me up. I steadied as I corrected my position. Another gust bulleted through my left wing, almost rolling me over. I dove downward to lose the high wind but my glider stalled, plummeting me toward the stone gate that opened Bermuda's Triangle. With one heavy crash against the wall of the mountain, everything went black.

Chapter 1

It was July, three months since my accident, and all of my injuries had healed completely. Well, almost completely. My memory had still not returned. I had post traumatic amnesia. I was losing faith in the doctor's belief in spontaneous recovery, which he described as a random return of my entire life which currently remains an empty slate.

Lying on my couch, a vacant shell absorbed in thought, I waited for some revelation as to what I should do next with my life. My memory extended back for only a year. Everything and everyone that I once knew had vanished into a blackness that only occasionally would tease a hazy, indiscernible image. Resolved to only spending bedtime trying to find my old self, I settled on redefining who I am now.

I caught up on all the latest shows, music, and celebrity gossip since all of that had been lost too. Entertainment seemed very simple. Vampires, Wizards, and Comic heroes ruled the silver screen, and if you were a rapper accessorized by a talented singer, and had lyrics about watching, dancing, or having sex with a girl in a club, while you put your hands up, then you controlled the airwaves. I discovered reality shows were dominating all the major networks, and fashion was going through a retro stage.

As I flipped through to see what was on t.v., I came music video and promised myself I would find out what a dirty bit was. The new pop culture language was another thing that was lost on me. I needed to do some tween watching at a mall or amusement park to get a a crash course on current street lingo if I was ever going to keep up.

It had been three months since I left Brazil after realizing that I had to stop hiding from myself. My thoughts took me back to the brief but unforgettable fling with Adrian. I felt a warm blush cover my face as I recalled some of the details of our affair. Our time ended on good terms with an open invitation to return anytime. I took comfort in knowing that, and extended the same invitation for him to visit me if he ever found his travels near Colorado.

I nestled into the couch and shut my eyes, willing my thoughts back further. I searched through the darkness, through the emptiness. I squeezed my eyes harder as if it would strangle any memories into submission, forcing them to step forward. There was nothing. I unclenched my fists, releasing all tension as I inhaled another breath of defeat.

My thoughts defensively reverted to the present. I stared blankly at a spider web draped from a crevice in my ceiling. I was entranced by the intricate detail instinctually created by such a little being. The spider worked vigorously to secure new webbing in efforts to repair a damaged section. Oh if life were that simple.

Getting intwined in my thoughts again, I was interrupted by a noise in the drive way, and looked out the window to see a white stretch limousine arrive at my house with unknown intentions.

Out stepped a tall, slender woman with long, fire red hair. It was smoothed in a suave style, resembling a 50's lounge singer. Expensive clothing and jewelry emanated wealth and stature with every step she took toward my small cabin. I had never seen anyone like her. She was dressed in sleek white silk pants, a white sleeveless blouse, and five inch stiletto gold heels. Quarter size diamonds accessorized her ears, neck, and fingers. A white fox shawl covered her shoulders, accentuating the glamour of her ensemble.

I stepped out the door to meet this bizarre guest, feeling uncomfortably inadequate in my jeans and tee. Her greeting was as cold as the winter scene she walked out of.

Liya Madison, My name is Catherine Windsor, and I have followed your career quite closely. I require a Profiler and hold an interest in your background. I am especially intrigued by your recent ventures. I could use someone with your—- skills—-, and am offering you a job in California. I have a small jet waiting for me at the airport. Your flight leaves in two hours, if you choose to join me.

The way she emphasized my skills made me suspicious, but I carelessly dismissed this and thought to myself, how many times have I wished for a change in my life? Catherine seemed like fate; the answer I had been waiting for. As I briefly pondered her greeting, I noted that both her feet and hands were expertly manicured in a matching french style that appeared to have flecks of gold inlaid within the polish.

Although I couldn't remember anything about my life, I maintained what the doctor referred to as procedural memory. The facts of my life were lost, but my personality and skills were fully intact. I had no idea what skills Catherine was referring to, and for a moment I thought she might know me from before. As I searched my brain for any prior connection, a strange processing began.

My thoughts began to speed race a myriad of questions about this woman who was standing before me. Silent answers appeared just as quickly as the next silent question. It was as if she had flipped some lost switch, triggering a part of my brain that had been darkened, and not by my recent head injury. It was if a rusty rudder had come to life on an old iron ship. Once spinning, I had no control over the momentum. This exchange took less than seconds, although the information that I now had was something that would have been retrieved in a normal thirty minute conversation.

I knew details about this stranger without barely a verbal exchange. Her clothes, jewelry, even her hair style screamed personal attributes in my head. Her initial greeting, the words she used, and her tone of voice rang other conclusions. I considered the information I had, grouping it all in neat files in my head. A strange thought overcame me. It was a compulsion to test what my brain had said I knew about this woman. To see if my predictions were accurate. I seemed to know what her next move was, and how she would respond to anything that I would say or do. I had a full mental sketch of this woman. A profile.

She called me a Profiler. I had know idea what that meant, but the summation I just experienced was a profile of what I knew about Catherine so far. Is that what she was referring to? Does she know me? Is what I am doing some sort of profiling. I asked myself again. I carelessly asked myself if these were memories, but I knew they weren't. I resisted the urge to ask if she knew me, but a second thought confirmed this was our first meeting. All I had were my observations. I had profiled her, but it was not in the context that she had referred. She couldn't possibly know what happened in my head?

I could tell she had little tolerance, and did not value the virtue of patience. I looked back at the cabin I had been renting. None of the items inside belonged to me. Without a second thought, I impulsively packed up a bag with my clothes, a few personal items, and walked out the door, never looking back.

I had no doubt that I was used to impulsivity in my life, and so I wasn't uncomfortable at all without knowing what was waiting around the corner for me. All I could think about is that whatever it was, it would be better than staying here in my pretend existence of a life.

***

The car drove onto the runway, stopping just a few feet away from a small plane. A man wearing a black suit and black captain's hat opened the car door and escorted Catherine to the plane. I reluctantly stepped out, not because I was anxious about my impulsivity, but rather in awe at the beautiful jet.

The same man returned for me and reached for my bag. He placed a gentle hand on my back. It was a gesture that ushered me to the stairs of the plane. A small smile crept over my lips as I committed to this new adventure, despite no knowing anything about what I had agreed to.

Catherine provided no additional insight, nor was there any opportunity for questions. She was on her cell phone for practically the entire flight. When she wasn't directly talking into the phone, she was engaged in text with no awareness or ability for distraction.

Catherine was an intentionally brutal woman. Her calls were filled with ruthless demands and a bitter cruelty. Without hearing the other side of the conversation or even having any idea to the nature of the call, what I did learn is that it was nearly impossible to escape a well articulated vicious humiliation by her, usually related to the recipient's performance. Catherine was indeed brutally degrading, and appeared to have years of practice. While on the plane, there were multiple times that I had to get up, just to escape her phone rants.

She overused words such as unacceptable or pitiful disgrace to describe people, and relied on subjective personal attacks to communicate her needs. I kept telling myself that she was unhappy, and that I should feel bad for her, but her relentless criticism with each new call was more than I could tolerate in close quarters.

After a short flight in her small jet and a 45 minute drive, we pulled up to a single story building completely made of glass. The reflection from the street lights whirled around the mirrored body of the building, giving the illusion of a rainbow colored tornado.

Catherine led me behind a secure door into a plain large hallway that narrowed on a decline. The walls were bare and painted in an icy white, giving the illusion that the hallway never ended.

There were tiny flat surveillance cameras throughout the passage way that lead to a dead end. I would not have noticed them, except that I traced my finger tip right over one of the miniscule discs no bigger than the tip of a pen. I did not call attention to my discovery. After reaching the end of the hall, I looked at Catherine and then back at the blank wall. I started to speak, but as I turned around in this apparent dead end, I noticed a concealed entry way on my left.

Without thinking, I traced my fingers along the barely visible lines. Before I realized what I was doing, Catherine commanded the entry to a voice-activated security feature, and the invisible door slid open. Catherine seemed pleased at my observation, as if I passed some test. Disturbingly though as if she already knew I would.

I got the feeling that Catherine never made a move without already knowing the outcome, which included never being in a position where she would be proven wrong.

We entered a large open room that resembled some underground secret intelligence pod. It was a warehouse centered with what looked like a place where secret espionage analysts spent their day and then went home telling their significant others of the highlights from their sales meetings.

The rest of the warehouse had a homelike appearance. Catherine rolled her eyes at the sign that hung above the door, clearly viewing it as tacky, but allowing its presence nonetheless. I stifled a smirk as I read it. What happens in the Pit.... I had guessed that this place she brought me was The Pit. It was here that I first met Kasie, Ben, and Dez.

Catherine left me with Kasie while she took another call on her cell phone. If I had counted correctly, that made over 20 calls that she received just in the car ride over here. I did not understand the content of the calls, and she was being purposefully vague for my benefit, I gathered.

I cautiously scanned the room, I guess as an old habit, looking for the layout, exit options, and other information that I would need in the event of an emergency. The Pit was a gutted warehouse with an open area that stepped down into a circular computer station.

Nothing looked familiar. This was a cruel game that I played. Hoping that one day I would walk into a place that would trigger a memory, any memory, from before my accident. Each turn, crushed me harder than the last. This place was no different. I was left with closeted devastation. I wiped on a fake smile and continued my visual tour of the area.

Most of the equipment was high tech electronics that I had only seen in movies, or I imagined behind Pentagon doors. There was a 52 inch plasma screen hanging in the middle of the room with various electronic devices linked to it. I had no idea of the functionality. Transparent sheets of glass were erected vertically, looking as if they replaced where a monitor would sit. Under each sheet was a touch keyboard embedded into the glass console.

I observed a man with his back to me touch one of the glass plates, which produced green and blue images that he expanded or moved aside with the flick of his fingers. It looked like he was viewing a map. He swiped it, balling up the invisible map in his hand, and virtually threw it to the center plasma screen. He walked over to the big screen which was also touch and voice activated.

I watched in amazement as he flipped the orientation of the virtual map, zooming into a topographical view, and then transforming it into a three dimensional image. With a quick voice command he was able to dissect the rocky landscape and manipulate an X-ray image of caves that laid below the surface. With another quick flick, the image expanded, depicting intricate detail. It drilled down to the passageways and crevices that lined the cave's walls. I realized that this three dimensional image was a tunnel structure of an underground cave. It was the coolest thing I had ever seen.

The man was oblivious to my presence, focusing only on the monitor in front of him. Still, a stranger walking into an area like this would at the least attract a quick glance. I realized he had earbuds in and hadn't even heard Catherine or me walk in. His lips quietly mouthed the lyrics to the song he was listening to, and I realized I could understand him.

Hmmph. I guess I can add lip reading to my skills list. Even though I had lost